《南華真經註疏》Vol. 27

Miscellaneous Chapters: Zeyang, Chapter 25

Zeyang—Peng Yang, styled Zeyang, a native of Lu—was traveling in the state of Chu and wished to enter the service of King Wen of Chu. Yijie, a Chu minister, recommended him to the king, but the king had not yet summoned him.

Yijie’s recommendation failed; he withdrew from court and returned home. When Peng Yang met Wang Guo, a worthy minister of Chu, he asked, “Why did you, sir, not speak on my behalf to the king?”

Wang Guo said, “I am not equal to Gong Yuexiu.”

Peng Yang asked, “What sort of man is Gong Yuexiu?”

Wang Guo said, “In winter he spears soft-shelled turtles along the Yangtze; in summer he rests beside the mountain forests. When someone passing by inquired, he would say, ‘This place is my home.’”

Guo Xiang’s annotation: Wang Guo brought up these matters to restrain Peng Yang’s eagerness to advance. Cheng Xuanying’s commentary explains: chuò (擉) means to spear or stab; fán (樊) means the edge of a forest or dense woodland. Gong Yuexiu speared turtles by the river in winter and rested in the woods in summer, following his nature and at ease. He had no fixed dwelling and treated the forest margin as his home.

Wang Guo continued, “Even Yijie could not manage it—how much less could I? I am also not equal to Yijie. Yijie is a man without De (Virtue/Power) yet possessed of cleverness; he does not entrust himself to the Dao (the Way) but relies on cleverness in dealing with others, sunk deep in the pursuit of wealth and rank.”

Guo Xiang’s annotation: Wang Guo said he fell short of Yijie because Yijie was avid for wealth and honor, skilled at cultivating the powerful, and exhausted mind and wit in striving for position. Cheng Xuanying’s commentary states that diānmíng (颠冥) means to be lost and submerged in worldly entanglement.

Glory, rank, and wealth turn the spirit upside down, breed confusion, and feed craving. Those who chase wealth and status often lack genuine De (Virtue/Power) yet still enjoy a name.

Ordinary people cannot set desire aside and quietly, in simplicity, follow their spiritual nature; they prefer to act on their own cleverness, overstep themselves, and offend their superiors.

If someone keeps acting that way and still cannot measure up, how much less could I, who willingly cling to plain foolishness, ever be put forward for recommendation?

These are Wang Guo’s words of modesty.

When people fail to uphold one another through De and instead harm each other, De grows thin and reputation is spoiled.

In the commentary, “xiao” means to ruin or injure. If Zeyang used what I have said here to go persuade the King of Chu, he would only damage his own name and conduct and do nothing to strengthen De.

Someone freezing with cold who waits until spring for clothes, or someone stricken by summer heat who waits for winter’s cold blast to be cured—plainly that makes no sense.

The commentary explains that the frozen warm when clothed and the heat-stricken ease or even survive when they meet water; to wait for warm yang before thawing, or for icy wind before treating heatstroke, is of course against ordinary expectation. Yet though that is not how most people act, it can accord with heaven’s timing. One who knows the great Dao and understands human affairs does not chase only a small favor in front of his eyes; for that reason he does not aid Peng Yang—and his meaning is exactly this.

The King of Chu is imposing and stern in manner; he never pardons offenders and is fierce as a tiger. Unless one is skilled at pleasing him, who could turn his mind?

The commentary adds that the king holds the honored place of ruler and governs sternly over a state of a thousand chariots. He thunders in rage and rules with violence like a tiger, killing and humiliating the people without mercy. Those who cannot flatter him are hard for him to employ; as for the upright who keep De, who could bend the will to serve him?

Thus when the sage is in hardship, he can let his household forget poverty.

The note says the sage is tranquil and without desire, content where he is, does not treat luxury as precious, and takes moral conduct as honor; so his family does not feel poverty as hardship.

The sub-commentary cites Lie Yukou in Zheng and Old Master Lai in Chu: their wives and children were poor yet lived at ease. If worthy men are like this, how much more the true sage? That is the resolve to rest content in poverty.

When the sage is eminent, he can also let kings and nobles forget rank and stipend and set aside their lofty station.

The note says the sage holds rank and stipend lightly and De heavily, stands beyond things, reaches zuowang (the state of sitting and forgetting outer objects and the self), and does not treat glory and wealth as his own; therefore he can make kings and nobles forget their own nobility.

The sub-commentary says that in hardship the sage hides his light and when eminent he shows his trace. Duke Ai of Lu took Confucius as a friend in De; the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan once knelt and went on foot to visit Guangchengzi. Such cases show that with the great Dao, position and title cannot confine a person’s worth. So the sage can make rulers of ten-thousand-chariot states and nobles at every rank lay down proud, lofty airs.

The sage lowers his own heart, yet manifests conduct of humble deference.

In relating to the myriad things, he always harmonizes with them and finds joy therein.

[Note] He does not regard external things as sources of suffering for himself.

[Commentary] The sage moves among the world, engaging in various affairs, without partiality toward the myriad things; everything he does is exactly right, so there is never a moment of unhappiness.

In dealing with people, he delights in letting the myriad things each attain their own course, while also preserving himself.

[Note] He lets others succeed without losing anything of his own.

[Commentary] Though the sage dwells in the world, he is never obstructed. Even when he penetrates the myriad things, he does not lose himself; in action he does not hinder the stillness within, and always holds fast to his authentic nature.

Thus at times he need not speak, yet people are transformed and their hearts grow peaceful.

[Note] When each person finds their proper place, peace arises naturally—what need is there for deliberate preaching?

[Commentary] The sage shelters all beings and silently accords with Heaven and Earth. The way of centered harmony lets each person settle body and mind and depart content; why labor at teaching?

Merely standing alongside others, he can transform them.

[Note] People admire his bearing and naturally change accordingly.

[Commentary] The sage does not display sharp edges; he blends with the common world and stands among the multitude. When each returns to authenticity, that is transformation.

Between father and son, each keeps the fitting role and rests in the proper place.

[Note] The father is father, the son is son—each returns to where they belong.

[Commentary] Even when the sage levels noble and base, he does not overturn the order of elder and younger. Thus father and son, ruler and minister each occupy their stations without confusion—is this not wholly fitting?

Whatever he undertakes, he can do with ease and composure.

[Note] The kindness he extends matches the virtue of Heaven and Earth; hence he is calm and unhurried and does not stray from the right path.

[Commentary] He bestows favor in accord with the order of the four seasons, always at ease; whether moving or still, he never departs from the right path.

Such is the depth with which the sage discerns and employs the human heart.

[Commentary] The sage’s use of mind is as described above; from this we see that his realm is clear and lofty, profound and far-reaching.

Therefore the text says: let King Chu wait for Gongyue Xiu.

[Note] The point is to have the king set aside state affairs and follow Gongyue Xiu, using Gongyue Xiu’s calm, secure manner to quiet the king’s restless heart.

[Commentary] This sentence sums up what precedes.

The sage penetrates what binds and entangles people.

[Note] This is what is called mysterious penetration.

[Commentary] “Entanglement” means binding and constraint. The sage who penetrates the Great Dao transcends and is released; understanding that the realms of things are empty and illusory, he is not caught in the world’s net. Gongyue Xiu had not yet reached the highest Dao; he is cited here only to illustrate the point.

The myriad things and the sage return together to one body.

[Note] There is no inner versus outer; he regards all alike.

[Commentary] The sage’s wisdom pervades the myriad things; exhausting principle and fully discerning nature, he knows that things and self are not two—thus the myriad things and the self are utterly one substance.

Yet he does not know that this is his own nature.

Not understanding why things are as they are, yet going along with how they naturally are—is that not what true nature is?

Note: “Not understanding why it is so” means that the knowing mind and the realm it knows respond to each other; mind and realm fit together without gap, so one cannot say why it is so. That is precisely alignment with true nature.

Commentary: The knowing mind and the known realm correspond; wisdom and realm fuse into one, and the reason cannot be stated—so one cannot distinguish why it is so. Hence one can match true nature.

After true nature is restored, there may still be stirring and acting, yet one takes the Way of Heaven as teacher.

Note: “Stirring” is stirring on one’s own; “acting” is acting on one’s own. In any case, one does not turn against true nature and takes the natural Way as teacher.

Commentary: Return to the real root and the original endowment. Even when there is activity, one moves with outer things; in motion and in stillness one does not harbor private intent, and thus harmonizes with Heaven and Earth—so one takes Heaven and Earth as teachers.

People then go along with the situation and give him a name.

Note: He does not deliberately elevate his conduct to seek a reputation; he simply acts according to nature, and fame naturally stands out—so people cannot help but honor him with such praise.

Commentary: “Name” here means to name. Sages who accord with the Dao originally have no fixed title; because they leave a pure style worth admiring, later people name them.

Worry arises from cleverness and anxious thought; if one acts in this way, thoughts never cease—when can they stop?

Note: Let crafty mind lead action, and worry will come one after another.

Commentary: Act from crafty mind and worry arises; spirit is easily pulled by outer things, and what one does rarely rests for a moment. Thoughts keep clinging and attaching—when could there be peace? Even a spirit like Yu could not change this.

Someone born beautiful is given a mirror and then sees her own beauty; if no one tells her, she also does not know that she counts as beautiful among people.

Note: “Mirror” means a looking-glass. A mirror reflects all things without partiality, so people call it a mirror. Does the mirror know it can reflect and therefore reflect? By nature it can be used for seeing, so people call it a mirror. If no one told people the mirror’s use, they would not know what role it plays in human life. Here the mirror is used as a simile.

Commentary: “Mirror” is the glass; “tell” is to inform. A mirror is bright by nature, reflects things, and is impartial—so people cherish it and call it a mirror. If no one told people, the bright mirror would have no name either. This uses the mirror as comparison.

Whether one knows or does not know, whether one has heard or has not heard, it is still worthy of love—and that love never stops.

Note: The mirror is loved because it has no favoritism; whether the other knows or does not know, has heard or has not heard, if they come before it, it reflects them—so people’s love for it does not cease. If the mirror had to hear or know something before it would reflect, its function would come and go.

Commentary: “Cease” means to stop. A mirror reflects things because the key is being without feeling and without bias—it equally reflects those close and those resented. If a mirror had to hear and know something before reflecting, it would be constrained by outer things, sometimes reflecting and sometimes not.

People love mirrors without end because mirrors, in their nature, reflect steadily and without exhaustion—so people always cherish them. That love has no limit; it arises from innate nature.

Note: If one’s nature did not like mirrors, how could mirrors keep reflecting for long?

Commentary: A mirror’s power to show things comes from its natural disposition. People’s fondness for it likewise follows the nature the Creator gives—not forced effort—so that fondness never runs out.

The sage cares for the people, and the people bestow on him the title “sage.” If no one told them, they would not know that the sage cares for the people.

Note: The sage has no partial love, like a mirror; yet what he does benefits all things, so people give him that title. Without being told, people would not know he cares for them.

Commentary: The sage’s grace reaches the common people; his kindness flows through generations. All things receive his De (Virtue/Power), and people call him sage and pass the praise among themselves—thus the honored name “sage.” Otherwise, how could such a title exist?

Whether people know or do not know, hear or do not hear, the sage’s care for the world never stops.

Note: The sage’s mind is empty and clear; he regards the people as things in nature, like the straw dogs used in ritual (woven grass dogs employed in ceremony and then set aside)—yet this still accords with caring for the world, so his care has no end. If that care depended on people hearing or knowing, it would sometimes fade.

Commentary: The sage’s virtue is vast and far-reaching; in dealing with others he shows no favoritism, nurturing and protecting living beings. Would he wait until the people knew or heard before he cared for them? He simply saves beings from unbiased compassion, so his grace is inexhaustible. This shows how the sage cares for the people.

People rest content in that care without end—that too is from innate nature.

Note: Only what innate nature can rest in can last.

Commentary: “Rest content” means to be settled. In stillness the sage shares the virtue of Yin; in movement he shares the transformation of Yang—so he does not cling to either stillness or movement. Even when thunder splits mountains he remains settled; when fierce winds stir the sea he is not alarmed. This is following true nature. Forcing against nature and dressing up the emotions leads to wavering. Thus Wang Bi said: “If one cannot follow innate nature, how can one long persist in what one pursues?”

Gazing on one’s old country and capital, the heart suddenly opens in ease.

Note: To regain what one once had already brings ease—how much more when one recovers one’s true nature?

Commentary: Here the old country and capital stand for one’s true nature. One who lost home young and wandered afar feels joy and ease when looking back on the homeland; how much more when one has long lost the Dao and chased externals, and now at last returns to the root—naturally one feels relief.

Even when hills and mounds are thick with continuous, lush vegetation—

Note: “緡” means to join and stretch on without break.

—those who enter: nine out of ten, for ten li, still feel at ease; how much more those who can see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears?

Even things we are used to seeing or sounds we are used to hearing can still bring delight when we see or hear them again—how much more so when we truly realize their nature?

Old kingdoms and capitals lie long abandoned; hills are broken, vegetation runs wild. When people go in and visit one another, nine out of ten recognize what they once saw and hear voices they know. As long as the heart still cherishes life, delight arises. How much more, then, when someone who has long lost the Dao, adrift between birth and death, suddenly returns to the root, meets the true source, comes home to the deep and mysterious native place, and beholds the realm of the Dao—joy like that is hard to put into words.

A terrace ten ren high (in ancient measure, one ren was about seven feet) hangs above the crowd. People get used to it; though it is high and looks dangerous, they often climb it without fear and even feel at ease. If what is familiar can remove fear, what place would trouble someone who has attained the Dao?

Lord Ranxiang grasped the principle of huanzhong—the “center of the circle”—and so could go along with the ten thousand things and let each fulfill itself.

Lord Ranxiang was a ruler who governed through wuwei (non-action) before the Three Sovereigns. Huanzhong means the empty, non-grasping center. The ancient sage understood this way of emptiness, awakened to the subtlety of huanzhong, and thereby went along with living beings and let all things grow naturally, each becoming what its kind is.

He companions the ten thousand things with no end and no beginning, not tied to the past and not tied to any particular moment.

This describes suddenly transforming and running together with all things. “No beginning” means no starting point in the past; “no end” means no endpoint in the future; “no few, no time” means not being hemmed in by the scales of space and time before one’s eyes. Whoever grasps the way of change moves with all things and is not bound by the three times—past, present, and future.

The one who changes every day along with all things is precisely the one who does not change.

Because he yields to new change day by day and changes with all things, he usually has no fixed self; without a fixed self, he is not trapped by change. Outwardly he moves with things, yet inwardly he stays constantly still and settled, holding fast to the constant Dao.

How could he ever cast it aside?

“He” here means “why.” Whoever grasps the way of emptiness merges in obscurity with creation and transformation; however the ten thousand things may shift in endless ways, he moves with them—why would he leave creation and transformation even for an instant?

To take Heaven as teacher, one must not deliberately imitate Heaven.

Only when nothing is taken as a fixed model does one truly take Heaven as teacher. “Teacher” means to emulate; “Heaven” means what is so of itself. Heaven and Earth create and transform the ten thousand things, and things act according to their nature. To set out to imitate or learn some fixed pattern is already to turn away from the natural.

That is how things come to this state.

If you are always led by external things, making the pursuit of them your own undertaking, what can you expect?

Note: Even if you take the Way of Heaven as your teacher, you still cannot escape having something to pursue. How could that count as truly accomplishing anything? Taking the Way of Heaven as your teacher is not worthy of praise; how much less so is failing to follow it?

Commentary: Here, “pursue” means to chase after and seek. If you set your mind on imitating the transformations of nature and run along with the myriad things, you are not following your own nature. How could that count as cultivating your own undertaking? As long as you harbor something you seek, you are still pursuing. If taking the Way of Heaven as your teacher is already worthy of praise, how much more so is abandoning yourself to chase after external things? What, then, can come of it?

The Sage has never clung to Heaven or to humanity; never clung to beginnings or to the myriad things.

Commentary: The Sage understands the centered and balanced Way and penetrates its highest principles. Thus, the Sage can let go of attachment to both Heaven and humanity, and forget the distinction between things and self. If there can be no talk of an ending, how can there be talk of a beginning? The Sage follows their nature and accords with the Dao, no longer deliberately taking Heaven as a teacher.

The Sage moves along with the world, never abandoning what they do, never blocking the paths that join them to the myriad things. What, then, can come of it?

Note: This means being entirely free of preconceived intentions and merging silently with the myriad things.

Commentary: “Abandon” means to set aside; “block” means to obstruct. The Sage blends into the affairs of everyday life and moves forward with the world, engaging with the myriad things and adapting to the times, never abandoning what needs to be done. The Sage experiences both good fortune and adversity in human life, yet is never obstructed by them; whatever arises, the Sage can connect with it. The Sage has no deliberate wish to study under a teacher and so naturally accords with the Dao. Deliberately imitating it, with the sole aim of matching the true Dao, makes this impossible.

Shang Tang appointed someone to oversee the horses, and Men Yin Deng Heng taught him how to govern.

Note: Shang Tang entrusted the affairs of state to his officials and did not manage them personally.

Commentary: “Men” is the surname, “Yin” the given name, and “Deng Heng” also comprises a surname and given name; here, “Men Yin” is an official title. The sage king Shang Tang of the Yin dynasty was able to forget himself and follow things as they naturally unfolded, and so he gained capable ministers to manage affairs of state for him. Since he already had teachers, he remained quiet and inactive, ruling from his seat without personally laboring.

He followed his teachers without confining or restraining them.

Note: He let them come together naturally, without fencing them in, and let them disperse naturally, without deliberately separating them.

Commentary: “Follow” means to employ; “confine” means to gather and restrict. Shang Tang was empty, still, and detached, ruling through Wuwei. He entrusted affairs to his teachers and did not gather their achievements to himself.

He let his ministers accomplish things by following the natural changes of events, and let those responsible receive the credit.

Note: Ministers such as the horse overseer, too, could act in accord with the natural state of the myriad things. Shang Tang gained their services, so his reputation rested on his ministers’ achievements, while the credit did not belong to him.

Commentary: Once entrusted with their duties, capable ministers followed the course of events to accomplish their tasks. Shang Tang passed the credit to the ministers in charge, so the reputation did not belong to him.

Reputation and laws are merely traces left by past actions. They are not the proper foundation for acting at the right moment, and so they are said to be “excess.”

Note: “Reputation and laws” are traces left behind after things have passed. They are not the proper foundation for acting at the right moment, and so they are said to be surplus.

Yet by being without deliberate intent and letting each minister perform his own duty, one’s fame and achievements become manifest through them.

Commentary: “Yingran” describes a carefree, unforced ease; “jian” means to appear or show forth. The credit for accomplishing things and the norms the sage leaves behind are borne by his ministers; the sage does not insert himself. Thus both reputation and standards show forth in the ministers. The sage rests at ease, completes the work, and does not claim the merit.

Confucius (Kongzi) used the thorough elimination of deliberation to assist all things.

Note: Confucius said: “Matters under heaven—why deliberate over them? Deliberation has already run its course. If the mind still holds the slightest thread of thought, how can one sit in still forgetfulness (zuowang) and respond to boundless stimulus, thereby assisting all things to follow their natural course?”

Commentary: “Fu” means to assist; “jin” means to exhaust or eliminate. The sage Kong Qiu forgot fixed assumptions and cut off deliberation, and so could teach the people and help all things receive their innate nature. If the mind still retained the slightest flicker of intent, how could one practice sitting in forgetfulness and respond as things arise?

Rong Chengshi (the legendary ancient sage-king) said: “Remove the reckoning of years, and there are no days left.”

Note: People today count years and mark days because there is birth and death. If there were no birth and death, the business of counting years and days could be set aside.

Commentary: Year and day are only names for ordering time. People count years, months, and days because of birth and death; if birth and death did not exist, the distinction of year and day would also vanish.

There is no inside, and no outside.

Note: With no this-and-that, no self-and-other, there is no division of inner and outer.

Commentary: “Inner” means self; “outer” means other things. People fix on birth and death, and only then do inner and outer appear; once the ideas of year and day are gone, whence could any split between self and things come?

King Hui of Wei (Wei Ying) made a covenant with King Wei of Qi (Tian Hou Mou, named Mou), and the King of Qi later broke the pact. King Hui was furious and planned to send someone to assassinate him.

Commentary: Wei Ying was the personal name of King Hui of Wei. Tian Hou was King Wei of Qi, named Mou, a ruler of the line of Tian Heng descended from Duke Huan of Qi. Qi and Wei made a treaty pledging not to attack each other; soon after it was sworn, King Wei of Qi violated it. Hence King Hui of Wei grew angry and intended to have him killed. This occurred in the twenty-sixth year of King Wei of Qi and the eighth year of King Hui of Wei.

Xishou (a martial office akin to the huben guard; Gong Sunyan once held it) heard of this and found it shameful. He said: “You are lord of a state of ten thousand chariots, yet you would take revenge like an ordinary man.”

Commentary: “Xishou” was a military title, comparable to the huben corps; Gong Sunyan served in that role. A feudal lord with ten thousand chariots is called a “lord of ten thousand chariots.” “Pifu” is a common man without office; “cong chou” means to settle a grudge. As sovereign, to flare up in anger and leave corpses strewn and blood flowing…

Tian Xue (a minister of Wei) now actually wants an ordinary person to assassinate the envoy of Qi and take revenge for someone else—how is this something a state with ten thousand chariots (a great power) should do? It is truly shameful.

Xi Shou (Gongsun Yan, a Wei general) asked to take command of two hundred thousand armored troops, attack Qi for the ruler, capture the people of Qi, and seize their cattle and horses.

Commentary: Xi Shou asked to take the commission alone, receive the military tally, and lead two hundred thousand soldiers to attack Qi’s cities, believing victory was certain. After that he would carry off the population, seize cattle and horses, and distribute the spoils among the troops as merit and reward.

He would make the ruler of Qi brood until poison sores broke out on his back; when Qi fell and he fled, they would strike his back and break his spine.

Commentary: The Qi general Tian Ji, named Ji. “Chi” means to strike. When Qi was destroyed and Tian Ji escaped, resentment would fester in his heart, heat would gather, and poison sores would appear on his back. After breaking Qi and capturing the commander, they would strike his back and break his waist and spine, then return in triumph—would that not be satisfying?

When Jizi (a worthy of Wei) heard this, he found it shameful and said: “Build a rampart ten ren high; when the city is finished, you tear it down again—that is the suffering of those who do corvée labor.”

Commentary: “Xumi” refers to people doing forced labor. Jizi held to the Way but was not employed. When he heard Xi Shou ask to send troops, he was ashamed of it and remonstrated: building a wall seven zhang high already cost much labor; to tear it down for no reason after it is built only makes corvée workers suffer in vain. This uses building a city as a metaphor.

For seven years now swords and spears have not been used—that is the foundation of the ruler’s achievement of kingship. Xi Shou is one who throws the world into disorder; his advice must not be followed.

Commentary: Wei had stopped warfare for seven years, rested the people, and promoted civil rule—that was the great foundation for achieving kingship. Gongsun Yan now wished to stir up trouble; one could not listen to him.

When Huazi (a worthy of Wei) heard this, he thought that view was also wrong and said: “Those who skillfully argue for attacking Qi are people who throw the world into disorder; those who skillfully argue against attacking Qi are also people who throw the world into disorder. To say that both attacking and not attacking belong to those who throw the world into disorder—that way of speaking itself is still throwing the world into disorder.”

Commentary: Huazi held that clever words in favor of attacking Qi were inciting war and making trouble—that referred to Gongsun Yan; clever words against attacking Qi, meant to preserve the ruler’s kingship, were likewise throwing the world into disorder—that referred to Jizi. As for saying that both those for and against attack were people who threw the world into disorder, that still had not let go of words and was still fixated on courses of action, remaining within the split of right and wrong…

Because there was still something on his mind, he had not yet freed himself from disturbing others; this is Huazi explaining his own situation.

The King of Wei asked, “If that is so, what should be done?”

Commentary: Huazi’s skill in dispelling fixations was already very deep, yet the King of Wei could not grasp his meaning, so he asked what his point was.

Huazi said, “Your Majesty need only seek the Dao.”

Commentary: The Dao is pure stillness and emptiness, plain and without contrivance (wuwei); it can make one forget outer things and the self, so he urged the king to seek the Dao. Thus desires might be reduced; if one truly practiced the Dao, rivalry would dissolve on its own.

When Huizi heard this, he introduced Dai Jinren.

Commentary: Dai Jinren was a worthy man of Liang. Huizi, having heard Huazi’s talk of pure stillness and plainness, still feared the King of Wei had not understood, so he brought Dai Jinren, hoping he could clear up the king’s doubts.

Dai Jinren asked, “There is a creature called the snail—does Your Majesty know it?”

The King of Wei said, “I do.”

Note: The snail is extremely small; on its head are two horns.

Commentary: The wo is a kind of insect, shaped like a tiny spiral shell. Folk call it the yellow calf; it is also called the snail, with four horns. Dai Jinren asked whether the king recognized it; the king said he did.

Dai Jinren said, “On the left horn of the snail there is a state called the Clan of Touch; on the right horn there is also a state called the Clan of Man. The two states often fight over land: corpses pile up by the tens of thousands; when one side pursues the fleeing enemy, fifteen days pass before they return.”

Note: If one could truly know that what they fight over is so minute, there would be no more strife in the world.

Commentary: On the snail’s two horns there is a state on each. The Clan of Touch and the Clan of Man clash repeatedly, with many dead and wounded; going and coming in pursuit also takes a very long time. Here the tiny states on the snail’s horns serve as a parable.

The King of Wei said, “Alas—surely this is made up?”

Commentary: What Dai Jinren said was strange and uncanny, not like ordinary human affairs, so the king sighed and doubted it was real.

Dai Jinren said, “Allow me to explain to Your Majesty—there is indeed sense in it.”

Commentary: Since the king took it for fiction, Dai Jinren asked leave to set out the reasoning.

Dai Jinren asked, “Does Your Majesty think that what the mind can conceive—east, west, above, below—has an end?”

Commentary: Dai Jinren asked the king whether he thought the four directions and above and below had bounds; he was probing how the king viewed things.

The King of Wei said, “There is no end.”

Commentary: The king answered that the four directions and above and below are inexhaustible.

Dai Jinren said, “Since you know the mind can roam in what is endless, yet you come back to the range where human footsteps reach—are those states really there, or are they as if they did not exist?”

Note: “Where human footsteps reach” means places people can get to—that is, what was then called within the four seas.

Commentary: “Where human footsteps connect” is where people can arrive; “exist” means to be there, “not exist” means not to be there. After the mind roams in the endless, it returns to where human footsteps reach….

When the mind rests in the infinite, and one then compares things within the nine regions, their relative magnitude may be said to be as if they barely existed at all.

The lord said, “So it is.”

Note: People today take the four seas to be vast, yet measured against the infinite, they too seem as if they were there or not there.

Commentary: Ran here means “so it is.” This affirms that the reasoning set out above is indeed sound.

The guest said, “In the realm of attainment there is Wei.”

Commentary: Wei lay within the four seas.

The guest said, “Within Wei there is Liang.”

Commentary: In former times Wei had its capital in Hedong and its state was called Wei. When Qin grew strong and pressed Wei, the capital was moved to Liang; Liang inherited from Wei, hence “within Wei there is Liang.”

The guest said, “Within Liang there is a king. What difference is there between the king and the Man of Manchi?”

Commentary: Bian means “distinction.” The king’s domain is only one part of the world. If one speaks of size, compared with Manchi it too is as if it were there or not there. This is offered as a parable.

The lord said, “There is no difference.”

Note: The king and Manchi are alike finite things. Since both are finite, there is no need to reckon their size; neither can be compared with the infinite. Even heaven and earth share the infinite and appear insignificant—how much less worth disputing are the king within Liang in Wei, or Liang within Wei?

Commentary: From this the lord understood that what he had been arguing over was no different from the fight between snails over their horns.

After the guest left, the lord was desolate and unsettled.

Note: The lord grieved that the matters he had disputed over were so small.

Commentary: Tangran describes a look of regret and loss. When the man of Jin had finished and departed, the lord felt he had been in error; his heart was tangled with regret, dazed as if something had been taken from him.

After the guest left, Huizi came to see the lord and said, “That guest is truly remarkable—not even a sage could match him.”

Commentary: Here “sage” means Yao and Shun. The guest’s discourse was vast and profound; even the deeds of Yao and Shun could not compare.

Huizi said, “Blow a bamboo tube and you may get a hoarse, roaring sound; blow through the hole in a sword guard and you get only a faint ‘xue.’ Yao and Shun are what the world praises. To hold forth on Yao and Shun before the Man of Dai is like blowing once through a sword guard—a sound too slight to be worth hearing.”

Note: That sound is too weak to deserve attention.

Commentary: Hu is the loud sound; xue is the faint one. Blow a bamboo tube and the tone is still fairly strong; blow a sword guard and the tone is very slight. Tang Yao is what the vulgar world extols, yet to preach Yao and Shun’s way before the Man of Jin is like the soft puff through a sword guard—hardly worth listening to.

Confucius was traveling to Chu and lodged as a guest in the household of the sauce-maker at Ant Mound.

Jiqiu is a place name. Kongzi traveled to Chu as an envoy and stopped to rest by the home of a family selling frothed drinks. This family lived below Jiqiu, so they took the place name as their surname.

The neighbors of the drink sellers—husbands, wives, servants, and maidservants—climbed to a high point and gathered to look out. Zilu asked, “What are these people gathering for?”

“Ji” refers to a high place; “zongzong” describes the appearance of a large gathering. Kongzi was traveling to Chu to seek employment, accompanied by many disciples and a retinue with a grand procession, which startled the locals. The neighbors, both men and women, gathered on the high ground to watch. Zilu did not understand the reason and therefore asked the question.

Kongzi said, “Those are the retainers of a Sage.”

In ancient times, “Sage” (Shengren) could also generally refer to a virtuous person. The Sage Kongzi spoke of was Shinan Yiliao (surname Xiong, given name Yiliao, living south of the market); those gathered on the high ground watching were his servants.

Yiliao hid himself among the common people, mixing with ordinary folk without revealing his virtue (De). Whether advancing or retreating in the world, he did not seek prominence, nor did he fall into distress and despair. He concealed his reputation, yet his inner aspirations knew no bounds.

When he spoke, although words issued from his mouth, his mind did not cling to the spoken words; he said only what was commonly spoken in the secular world. His views clashed with the secular world, yet he disdained allowing his inner mind to turn with the secular world.

Such a person is called “Lu Chen” (sinking on land, referring to one who lives among the crowd yet remains hidden and inconspicuous).

Zilu asked, “Is this Shinan Yiliao?”

Having heard that Yiliao was a worthy man hiding among the people, Zilu asked Kongzi to let him go visit him. Kongzi said, “Let it be.”

Yiliao, the recluse who had withdrawn from the world, had already left. He probably would not return; fortunately he departed in good time—there was no need to call him back.

He knew that I understood his situation clearly.

Note: “著” here means to make manifest or to understand.

He knew I intended to go to the state of Chu, and that I might ask the king of Chu to summon him.

He likely feared that I would be seen as someone who flatters and curries favor.

Commentary: The “he” spoken of here is Yiliao. “著” means to understand clearly. Yiliao knew that I recognized him as a recluse of virtue, and that once I reached Chu I might recommend him to the king and request a royal summons. In that case he would take me for a sycophant and flatterer.

A man like that, who is ashamed even to be counted among the crafty, would surely find it shameful merely to hear the words of such people—how much more to see their faces in person?

Commentary: Those who hide from the world are mostly spontaneous, sincere, and upright. They take crooked flattery as a disgrace; they are unwilling even to listen to such talk, let alone behold such persons.

Then why insist on keeping him?

Note: Better to let him go and follow his wish.

Commentary: “汝” is “you”; “存” is to keep or retain. For him to conceal his tracks, efface his reputation, and long avoid the world—that is the way. Why do you still summon him, as if he were still here?

Zilu went to look and found the house already empty.

Note: He had indeed fled.

Commentary: Zhong You (Zilu) did not heed his teacher’s words and still went to Yiliao’s home, wishing to see this man of lofty character. He went earnestly and in haste, but Yiliao had already fled; the dwelling was utterly deserted.

The border guard at Changwu asked Zilao: “In governing, do not be reckless and careless; in managing the people, do not be slipshod and perfunctory.”

Note: “鹵莽” and “灭裂” both mean to work in a hasty, negligent way without fulfilling what duty requires.

Commentary: Changwu is a place name—there was a tall paulownia tree there, hence the name. A “封人” is one who guards the frontier. Zilao was a disciple of Confucius, surname Qin, who held office in the state of Song. “为政” is to carry out government and teach the people; “治民” is to govern the people. “鹵莽” means not to apply one’s mind; “灭裂” means to be casual and superficial. The people are the root of the state; when the root is firm, the state is at peace. Governing the people calls for wholehearted attention, and they must not be disturbed at will. The Changwu border guard understood this, and therefore admonished Zilao.

“In former days when I grew grain, if I plowed carelessly the harvest was poor; if I weeded half-heartedly, the yield of the crop was poor as well.”

Commentary: Here “为禾” means to grow grain; “芸” is to weed. When plowing is not deep and weeding is not thorough, at harvest the grain is naturally scant. Such an outcome is precisely what negligence and carelessness produce.

“The next year I changed my practice: I plowed the soil deeply, then harrowed it carefully.”

Note: Doing every task of cultivation thoroughly is the utmost of following nature and refraining from arbitrary action (wuwei).

When crops grow lush and the grain is plentiful, I can eat my fill for a whole year.

Commentary: Here “change” means to alter one’s approach; “plowing” is tilling the soil; “耰” is covering seeds with earth; “芸” is weeding. Last year the land was worked too often and famine struck; this year the planting method was changed—deep plowing, weeding, and covering the seed—so the crops grew thick and the harvest was abundant. With a generous yield, one naturally eats enough.

Zhuangzi, hearing this, said: “People today who cultivate the body and regulate the inner life are in many ways just like what the border guard described.”

Commentary: People today are restless and shallow; they indulge desires and chase external things, and even when weary they will not stop. As for how they actually cultivate body and mind, it is much as the border guard just said. Zhuangzi took this as a cue for his discussion.

Straying from the way of nature, deviating from one’s innate nature, harming genuine feeling, and draining spirit—all of this is caused by being pulled along by a multitude of external things.

Note: Straying, deviating, harming, draining, and being tugged by externals are all causes of the problem. If each thing stays within its proper measure, what is there to worry about?

Commentary: When people abandon the natural order, lose a plain and balanced nature, injure authentic emotion, and discard methods of nurturing spirit, it is because they pursue what is not theirs to pursue and remain trapped in deliberate striving they cannot escape.

Thus, when one lets innate nature grow coarse and damaged, desire and aversion become calamities, and true nature spreads like reeds and rushes.

Note: Reeds and rushes harm millet and grain; desire and aversion harm upright nature.

Commentary: “萑” and “葦” are kinds of reed-like weeds. The mind of desire and aversion easily becomes a disaster, just as weeds harm the crop; they injure human authenticity, all from coarseness and falsity.

As soon as the reeds sprout, they begin to harm my body and mind.

Note: If desire can be opened and released, spirit and qi will flow freely.

Commentary: Weeds are easy to uproot when they first sprout; once they grow dense, they inevitably harm the crop. So too desire is easy to check when it first arises; once one is sunk in it, it is hard to quit. Therefore guard against desire from the moment it shows itself. Laozi said: “When a matter has gone to its end, it is no longer easy to handle.”

Desire pulls my nature away and uproots it from the right path.

Note: Desire and aversion draw nature outward and make one overshoot the proper limit.

Commentary: “寻” is to draw along; “擢” is to pull up. Affairs of desire and aversion entice the heart, so that one leaves authentic nature and no longer stops at moderation.

Then inside and out the body festers; illness keeps arising, even floating gangrene, scabies, carbuncles, internal heat, and greasy matter in the urine.

Note: This is the outcome of letting nature be damaged. How can those who cultivate nature fail to keep their conduct within what is fitting?

Commentary: “溃漏” refers to festering, suppurating sores on the body; “漂疽” is hot, toxic swelling and sores; “痈” is another kind of ulcer; “溲膏” means fatty, greasy substance in the urine. Sinking into external objects and sensual pleasures will harm body and mind.

Thus the spirit grows confused, the body weakens, vital energy is drained, and ailments arise one after another until nothing is left untouched by harm.

Bai Ju (surname Bai, given name Ju; according to the commentary, he was a disciple of Laozi) asked Laozi for instruction: “Please allow me to travel throughout the realm.”

The commentary explains: Bai Ju wished to tour the land, observe local customs and moral teaching, and learn how people and affairs actually were.

Laozi said: “Forget it—the situation everywhere is much the same.”

The commentary explains: Laozi dissuaded him and did not approve the journey, meaning that human affairs and the temper of the world elsewhere were no different from what lay right before them.

Bai Ju pressed Laozi again. Laozi asked: “Where do you plan to go first?”

The commentary explains: Seeing Bai Ju’s repeated earnest requests, Laozi asked which place he intended to visit first.

Bai Ju replied: “Qi first.”

The commentary explains: Bai Ju was a man of Lu; Qi was near Lu. He thought the people of Qi acted without the Dao, so he wanted to go there first.

When Bai Ju reached Qi, he saw someone who had been executed lying dead. He straightened the corpse and laid it flat, then removed his own court robe and spread it over the body.

He looked up to heaven and wailed: “Alas, you! Alas, you! Great calamity has fallen on the world, yet you were the first to suffer it.” What follows is all meant to warn people not to steal and not to kill.

The annotation explains: “Great calamity has fallen on the world” means that once such a catastrophe has already occurred, how could exhorting people not to do evil possibly undo what has happened?

The commentary explains: “Li” here means to encounter; “zai” means disaster. Bai Ju cried to heaven in pity, thinking this man might have been wronged, and so called out “you!” again and again. The annotation also interprets the executed man as a court official: they shift blame onto one another, use insignia such as court robes to weave a net, and drag the common people into it; Bai Ju’s lament means that calamity begins from this. Below, these afflictions are listed one by one.

Once fame and shame are fixed, people can see the harm in them.

The annotation explains: If everyone kept to their proper place, there would be no strife over gain and loss in honor and disgrace. Once the ideas of honor and shame are established, people flaunt what they call honor and strain to escape what they call shame; racing between such pursuit and rejection—how could that fail to become a source of calamity?

The commentary explains: High rank and wealth count as honor; punishment and humiliation count as shame. People bustle to win honor and avoid shame—how could that fail to become a calamity?

When goods and wealth are heaped up, people can see that contention arises from it.

The annotation explains: If taking sufficiency as wealth, what would there be to fight over?

This passage contrasts the governing methods of ancient sage rulers with those of later monarchs, along with the consequences of misguided governance.

The wise rulers of antiquity attributed achievements to the people and took responsibility for failures themselves. They refrained from unnecessary interference, allowing all things to develop naturally, so that the people could each fulfill their roles. A prime example is Tang of Shang, the founding ruler of the Shang dynasty, who willingly accepted blame for his mistakes. This approach of governing through Wuwei (non-action) enabled the people to preserve their innate simplicity.

Later rulers, however, acted contrary to this principle: they established harsh laws that only led to more violations, set impossible tasks only to punish those who failed, and assigned distant journeys only to reprimand latecomers. Such methods were akin to piling up treasures to incite conflict, exhausting the people and depriving them of peace.

The commentary emphasizes a key insight: when those in power openly favor something, those below become restless; when tasks are excessively burdensome, the people, pushed to their limits, resort to deceit to evade punishment. Modern rulers conceal their true intentions to manipulate the people, setting unrealistic standards to justify punishment—a complete reversal of the ancient sage-kings’ principle of "crediting the people with success and taking blame upon oneself."

The text highlights the Daoist concept of "Wuwei Renwu" (non-action and letting things follow their nature), where rulers minimize interference, allowing all things to unfold according to natural laws. "Bingfen" refers to the inherent differences in people’s natural dispositions, advocating that each should contribute according to their abilities. These practices stand in stark contrast to the oppressive laws and punishments of later regimes.

When stratagems and force are exhausted, one still cannot escape execution and punishment; as fear of punishment grows more urgent, deceit follows in its wake.

Hypocrisy grows day by day—how can the people remain sincere?

Note: Wang Bi says that when rulers foster hypocrisy, how can the common people attain sincerity?

Commentary: Deceit and falsehood appear every day; hypocrites are as numerous as grass—where can sincerity still be found?

When strength is insufficient, people resort to sham; when wisdom is insufficient, they deceive; when goods are insufficient, they steal. In acts of theft, whom should we rightly blame?

Note: We should blame those in high position.

Commentary: When human stratagem and strength reach their limit, fraud arises. The more urgently taxes are levied, the more readily greed and theft spring up. All this stems from the ruler lacking De (virtue) while laws grow ever more intricate. If one could forget partiality and dissolve selfishness, and not treat treasures as precious, then responsibility should rest with those above—how can the common people be blamed?

Qu Boyu (a worthy minister of Wei in the Spring and Autumn period) lived to sixty and underwent sixty transformations.

Note: This is because he could follow the times and not cling to the distinction between self and things.

Commentary: Qu Boyu, surname Qu, given name Yuan, style name Boyu, was a virtuous grandee of Wei. His De was deep and his insight keen; he penetrated the principle of emptiness and stillness, and so could renew himself day by day and change year by year. He never held fast to what he had once taken as “right” until the end; when a matter had passed, he could also look back and regard it as “wrong.”

Note: Following things is also a way to penetrate how situations change.

Commentary: At the start of a given year, people call it “right”; when that year ends and the seasons turn, they call it “wrong.” Within a single year, “right” and “wrong” keep shifting: what was first held to be right may later be judged not right.

Who knows whether what we now call “right” might be exactly what at fifty-nine we called “wrong”?

Note: The changes in how things stand never come to an end.

Commentary: Change brings new understanding, and people take the new as “right”; when it has passed, they take the old as “wrong.” Thus what was wrong last year may become right this year; what is right this year may become wrong next year. From this we see that stubbornly insisting on right and wrong and clinging to old and new are inverted practices. Rongchengzi said: “Remove the calendar, and there is no such thing as years and months.” Qu Boyu understood this principle, and so could change along with things.

All things have life, yet no one sees their root; all things emerge, yet no one sees where they emerge from.

Note: Things have no root and no gate; they arise suddenly and naturally, so no one can see. Only one who does not fix on “birth” or fix on “emergence” can see their path and probe their root.

Commentary: Things are born along with change, yet birth has no root; they appear as creation allows, yet emergence has no doorway. Since we say there is no root and no doorway, we should understand: things do not possess a fixed “birth” or “emergence”; what we call birth and emergence…

If the principle is as stated, how can one take the circumstances of a single year as a fixed standard?

People value what they themselves can know, yet they do not realize that only by relying on what they have not yet known can they advance further in understanding. Is this not a very great confusion?

What I do not know, perhaps something else can know. Therefore, if one can draw on the knowing of each thing among the myriad beings, nothing lies beyond understanding; if one relies only on one’s own knowing, what one knows is very limited. Now, instead of drawing on the knowing of the myriad beings, one esteems one’s own views and treats them as authoritative—then the myriad beings will not disclose themselves to one. Is this not a great confusion?

Interpretation: What people are familiar with as “what is known” is worldly knowledge; what they do not understand as “what is unknown” bears on genuine understanding. Worldly people prize cleverness in discrimination and judgment, making choices through likes and dislikes, yet they cannot use this discriminating intelligence to illuminate the root of what is real. This may be called falling into great confusion.

Enough, enough! Pursued in this way, there is nowhere left to hide.

Note: If one cannot employ the knowing of other things, one has no place to settle.

Interpretation: “Stop” (yi) means to halt. Rather than constantly acting on sharp feeling in choosing and rejecting, it is better to stop; otherwise one is sure to invite calamity and will not even find a place to hide from harm.

This is what is meant by “thinking it is so—can it really count as so?”

Note: What one oneself holds correct, the world may not hold correct.

Interpretation: Each person thinks his own view correct and also approves what he thinks can be done. Set against one another, who is right and who is wrong?

Confucius (Kongzi) sought instruction from the Grand Historians Tai Da, Bo Changqian, and Xi Wei.

Interpretation: “Grand Historian” (taishi) is an official title; the three names below are the historians’ personal names. What Confucius asked about is set out in what follows.

Confucius asked: “Duke Ling of Wei was addicted to wine and pleasure and neglected the affairs of state; he hunted birds and did not take part in thealliances and meetings among the feudal lords. Given this, why was he still called ‘Duke Ling’?”

Interpretation: “Bi” is a large net; “yi” is an arrow with a string attached, used to shoot birds. Duke Ling was such a mediocre, muddled ruler—drowning in wine and music, hunting birds, ignoring government, and absent from the lords’ assemblies. You historians were supposed to fix his posthumous title (shi); he was so devoid of the Way—why call him “Ling”?

Tai Da said: “The title was fixed according to how he actually was.”

Note: “Ling” is precisely the posthumous name used to describe his lack of the Way.

Interpretation: By the posthumous-title law attributed to the Duke of Zhou, one who is muddled and does not repent is called “Ling.” “Ling” means devoid of the Way; hence they said the title matched his real condition and gave him the posthumous name Ling.

Bo Changqian said: “Duke Ling had three wives; they once bathed with him in the same pool.”

Note: Men and women bathing together violates ritual propriety.

When Shi Qiu served Duke Ling, he once came forward bearing gifts and supported him …

The commentators say that when Duke Ling of Wei regarded Shi Yu as worthy and wise, he wished to have him enter the palace to attend upon him. To keep Shi Yu from completing this act contrary to ritual propriety, he took out wealth and had someone hold Shi Yu back and escort him away. What is meant by bi (币) is property given as a gift.

The sub-commentary adds: Duke Ling of Wei was an worthy minister of the state of Wei; his name was Yu, and his surname was Shi. When Duke Ling bathed together with a woman, he had worthy men enter the palace to serve him. Upon seeing Shi Yu, he felt deep shame and sent someone with silks to support and send Shi Yu away, so that he would not complete the matter. Duke Ling showed such respect for the worthy; therefore his posthumous title was “Ling.” “Ling” is the posthumous designation of a ruler who possessed the Way.

Duke Ling had previously been frivolous and disrespectful; before Shi Yu he became so deferential—this is precisely why he was called Duke Ling.

The commentators say that Duke Ling wished to use respectful conduct toward the worthy to make up for his private discourtesy. The posthumous title “Ling” carries more than one meaning; one cannot simply call him a good ruler—hence Confucius pursued the question further.

The sub-commentary says: Duke Ling bathed with a woman, conduct utterly frivolous; suddenly seeing a worthy man, he at once felt awe. Therefore people considered him possessed of the Way and gave him the posthumous title Ling.

Xi Wei said: After Duke Ling died, divination was taken for burial in the old tomb—the result was inauspicious; they divined again for Shaqiu (Sand Dunes), and the result was auspicious. After digging several zhang deep, a stone outer coffin was found. Washed and examined, an inscription was carved upon it: “Do not rely on your son. Duke Ling will take away your burial place.” That Duke Ling could be called “Ling” was fated long before.

The commentators explain: “Your son” refers to Kuai Kui (son of Duke Ling). The inscription means that Duke Ling would seize the burial ground that had been yours. Each thing has its allotted fate; the coming and going of events has always been thus. Therefore whatever must happen, a person cannot but do it; whatever should not happen cannot be forced. Yet fools think everything is decided by themselves—is this not absurd?

How could such people see clearly?

The commentators say: They only see the appearance of things after they have already happened, and do not know that these affairs were naturally so from the start.

The sub-commentary says: Shaqiu is a place name, north of Mengjin; Kuai Kui was Duke Ling’s son. The point here is that a person’s name and posthumous title seem fixed before the matter has shown itself—not something human intention can alter. The inscription on the stone coffin already existed; could Kuai Kui only later seize the burial ground? How could Shi and Chang Qian have known these things in advance?

Shaozhi (“Little Knowledge”) asked Taigong Diao (“Grand Harmony Diao”) for instruction.

The sub-commentary explains: “Shaozhi” means narrow, shallow understanding; in “Taigong Diao,” tai gong means vast and impartial, and diao means harmonizing and accord with things. Taigong Diao’s virtue was vast and unbiased, and he could harmonize all things—hence this name.

Taigong Diao imagines several characters who discuss principles through questions and answers.

Someone asked: “What is meant by ‘words of the hamlet and neighborhood’ (qiuli zhiyan)?”

In ancient times, ten households were called a qiu, and twenty households a li. People from different hamlets and neighborhoods had different customs, so here dialogue is used to explain this idea.

Taigong Diao said: “What is called qiuli is gathering what people of ten surnames and a hundred households say and taking it all together as one custom.”

A commentary explains: select the statements of ten surnames and a hundred people, bring them together, and you can discuss a single custom.

Combine what is different and regard it as the same; separate what is the same and regard it as different. If you fix your gaze only on the horse’s hundred bodily parts, you will not recognize the horse; yet when a horse is tethered before your eyes, people will combine those parts and call it “horse.”

The commentary explains: gathering the different sayings of each household in the hamlet and neighborhood and treating them as one custom is “combining difference into sameness.” A person adapts to local conditions and carries out teaching in accord with different things—that is “scattering sameness into difference.” It is like looking only at the horse’s head, tail, waist, and back: each part alone is not a horse—that is taking the whole apart. When a horse stands tethered before you, you know those parts together are the horse—that is taking different parts and seeing them as one.

Thus low hills accumulate tiny stones and soil and become high mountains; rivers gather many streams and become great rivers and seas; the great person—the sage of virtue—embraces and contains all, and thereby can bring the world to fairness.

A note says: When there is no selfishness toward the world, the world’s customs can become one.

The commentary explains: stones and soil pile up into hills and mountains; fine streams converge into rivers and seas. Likewise, the sage harbors no fixed prejudice, follows things as they are in carrying out teaching, and therefore can take all four directions into account, bring the world to unity, let people of the central lands and the borderlands live in peace, and let those near and far alike receive fair treatment.

Therefore, what comes from outside can have one who leads, yet is not rigidly controlled by that leader.

A note says: “From outside” refers to the great person’s teaching; “arising from within” refers to the inherent nature of the people and all things. When each inherent nature is set right, the people do not go against their hearts; when teaching accords with fairness, the one who leads has nothing to cling to. Only then can one gather the words of the hamlet and neighborhood, embrace the world, unify all things, and let every kind of difference stand on equal footing.

The commentary explains: you also means to follow or comply. The myriad things and the people each have a proper nature and act according to that nature. When they receive the king’s teaching, if the teaching fits the reason of things, they will follow and accept it and will not resist.

The four seasons each have different weather—not because heaven specially bestows it—yet the year still brings abundance because of this.

A note says: The shifts of the four seasons are already there, so they can always be present. If they originally did not exist and depended entirely on heaven’s gift, there might be times when they would not appear at all.

“Ci” (to bestow) means to give or grant. Spring warmth, summer heat, autumn coolness, and winter cold arise of themselves in nature, so the four seasons follow one another in turn and the years keep their course. If one said that Heaven bestows these, then that bestowal might someday cease.

The five offices each have their own charge, and the ruler shows no partiality—therefore the state is settled and at peace.

Note: The five offices have different duties and each office holds the talent suited to its role; the ruler simply appoints people according to ability and does not favor anyone by handing office to them as a private gift.

Commentary: The “five offices” here are the offices set up in antiquity on the model of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The spring office, autumn office, and the rest each oversee their own affairs. The king keeps to quietude and wuwei (non-action), entrusts affairs to his officers, and does not play favorites—so the realm is clear and calm and the state is secure.

Civil officials and military commanders each have their own strengths; it is not that a great man bestows ability upon them—therefore virtue and talent can be brought to completion.

Note: Literary talent is literary talent, martial prowess is martial prowess; neither is something the great man grants to them. If capacity were something another person could bestow, it could at times be lacking. And it is not only literary and martial skill that are like this—every innate endowment is the same.

Commentary: Civil officials govern affairs; military leaders command troops. The ruler weighs ability and assigns office, letting each play to his strength. This is not the sage handing down talent to them; rather, because he is not partial toward things outside himself, virtue and ability can be rounded and full.

The myriad things each have their own patterns; the Dao shows no partiality—therefore no fame or merit is left behind.

Commentary: The myriad things are not alike, and their endowed natures differ: some dwell in nests, some in burrows, some walk on the ground, some fly in the air. Allowed to grow and nourished, each can live in its own way. When every thing has its place, there is no merit that can be credited to anyone in particular.

Not seeking fame and merit is therefore wuwei; and in wuwei, nothing fails to be accomplished.

Note: Fame and merit stop at the actual effect of the affair; the myriad things each complete themselves—so it appears as non-action, yet nothing remains undone.

Commentary: Merit is attributed to the myriad things—hence it is called “wuwei.” Not keeping “doing something” for oneself, yet nothing is left unachieved.

Seasons have an end and a beginning; affairs in the world constantly shift and change.

Note: Therefore one who harbors no fixed preconception in the mind can comply with these changes.

Commentary: “Seasons” means the four seasons revolving and cycling; “the world” means the movement and change of human affairs, which have no fixed rule.

Fortune and misfortune revolve and flow without settling.

Note: Fortune and misfortune keep turning and changing back and forth.

Commentary: Cold and heat in the seasons of Heaven alternate without a constant pattern—how could human fortune and misfortune stay fixed for long? Thus the Laozi says: “Misfortune, ah—fortune leans on it; fortune, ah—misfortune hides within it.”

What here looks contrary may elsewhere be exactly what fits.

Note: What for this place is perverse may for that place be appropriate.

Commentary: “Fu” means to go against or violate. The shape of things and people’s likes and dislikes have no fixed standard—so what does not suit here may suit perfectly somewhere else. Therefore one who penetrates the great Dao does not cling to “against” versus “with.”

Each person pursues the principle he holds to; standpoints differ from one another.

Note: Each believes his own view is right and cannot break free of it.

Commentary: “Xun” is to pursue or die for something; “mian” is the face one turns toward, one’s standpoint. Right and wrong tangle among people, and they often stubbornly hold to their own views…

Therefore, each person acts according to their own view, and the paths they take diverge accordingly. What counts as right in one place may seem out of place elsewhere; what is judged correct here may elsewhere be seen as skewed. This shows that people’s feelings, reasoning, and opinions differ, so judgments get turned upside down and mixed together, and tendencies part ways.

Take a great marsh: it holds all kinds of materials, each of which can be weighed and put to use—nothing need be thrown away. In a great marsh the trees are many; people need only measure and use them according to what each is fit for, without discarding them. The great person who takes up all things works on the same principle.

Look at a great mountain: its trees and stones differ in size and fineness, yet all gather on one mountain and together form its foundation. That is treating different things as one whole.

What has been said above may be called “words from the hill and village” (qiuli zhi yan)—plain talk from the neighborhood; from such neighborhood talk one can also infer how things stand in the world.

Shaozhi asked, “Then is it enough to call it by the name Dao?”

Taigong Diao replied, “No. When we count things today, they already exceed ten thousand; yet people still sum them up as ‘the ten thousand things’ (wanwu), using a name for what is merely very numerous. If visible, countable things are already beyond full numbering, how much more so the Dao, which cannot be counted—how can a single word ‘Dao’ be enough to explain it?”

Heaven and earth are greatest among forms; Yin and Yang are greatest among Qi (vital energy). The Dao runs through all things, operates without partiality, and so we reluctantly give it the name “Dao.”

Heaven covers all things, earth bears all things, and Yin-Yang Qi nourishes all things; hence heaven and earth are greatest in form, and Yin-Yang greatest in Qi. The Dao connects all things, nurtures the living, brings about change without favoritism—therefore it is called “the public” (gong: impartial, universal).

One may also give it a name based on its vast, all-penetrating work—that too is possible. The saying “the Dao that can be spoken of” (Dao ke dao) means precisely that the Dao can be spoken of only by leaning on its effects. The Dao has no fixed name; people, according to its work of penetrating all things and generating change, reluctantly call it “Dao”—a convenient label that still cannot fully express it.

When the myriad things already show themselves in these ways, how could they be taken as images of the Great Dao?

Note: Once these manifestations have each gained a name of their own, how could one use them to compare or describe the Dao that cannot be named?

Commentary: When things acquire functions, they acquire corresponding names. One cannot use such named, formed things to liken nameless principle. To do so misses by a great margin—like comparing a dog and a horse, where the difference is already enormous.

Note: To explain by means of names still falls far short of the Dao. Hence it is said: even speaking in this way does not exhaust it; one must enter the nameless, wordless realm before one is close to the Dao. Though the Dao cannot be named, naturally nothing can be set beside it for comparison.

Commentary: To compare using only dog and horse, the gap lies not only in size but in high and low, noble and base. To take a named, formed “Dao” and liken it to nameless principle is to mix coarse with fine and shallow with deep—so the distance remains vast.

Shaozhi asked: “Within the four quarters, in the midst of the six harmonies of heaven and earth—from where are the myriad things born?”

Note: Shaozhi may have assumed that the Dao generates the myriad things.

Commentary: Within the six harmonies, between heaven and earth—where do all animals and plants in fact come from? Shaozhi asks this because he wants to trace the root of the myriad things.

Taigong Diao answered: “Yin and Yang face and cover one another and regulate each other; the four seasons succeed one another, at times promoting growth, at times bringing decay.”

Note: These changes all happen of themselves; they are not without source.

Commentary: Sun, moon, and stars shine on one another; heaven and earth cover each other; wind and rain adjust to one another; cold and warmth take turns. Spring and summer foster growth; autumn and winter wither and shed. None of this is deliberate arrangement, but the inherent patterns of things.

“Liking and disliking, leaving and drawing near, arise from this; male and female pairing also becomes the ordinary way from this.”

Note: The various acts of choosing and rejecting all stem closely from Yin and Yang’s mutual facing and from the alternation of the four seasons.

Commentary: “Qiaoqi” means to rise and occur; “yong” means what is usual. What suits one’s needs, one draws near and favors; what goes against them, one dislikes and leaves. Things dwell in the changes of Yin and Yang, gradually giving rise to feeling and judgment, and also multiply through pairing—all common natural occurrences.

“Security and danger turn into each other; misfortune and blessing beget each other; slow and urgent wear against each other; gathering and scattering together make up change.”

Commentary: When circumstances go smoothly, there is security; when they are hard, danger. Danger brings misfortune; security brings blessing. Slowness may mean long life, haste early death; gathering is life, scattering is death. All are formed by the interplay of transforming creation, like the turn of seasons and the shift of things—not from deliberate intent.

These distinctions between yin and yang, heaven and earth, and the myriad things—their names and their actual states—can all be recorded; even the most subtle and refined phenomena can still be described. Yet when we investigate nature itself, why nature is as it is—who can fully explain the reason for that?

“Recording” means to document and set down. Within yin and yang and between heaven and earth, there truly are various things and names, and thus they can be summarized and recorded; even the most refined principles can still be articulated in language. As for truths that are profound and mysterious, exceeding the scope of form and name, they cannot be grasped through words and images.

The four seasons succeed one another in turn, each regulating the next; the Five Phases operate in rotation, each propelling the other. When things reach their extreme they turn to their opposite; one phase ends and another begins anew. These are all the inherent patterns of the myriad things—not something created by a power that brings them forth from nothing.

The four seasons cycle and replace one another; the Five Phases mutually propel one another; when things reach their limit they transform. When one cycle ends, another begins again. The principles of the myriad things are, in the main, exhausted in this.

What words can express and what knowledge can reach ultimately amounts to nothing more than the myriad things and their transformations.

Beyond the myriad things, nothing more can be spoken of or known; therefore, the limit of what speech and knowledge can reach is merely the myriad things.

The true Way is profound and mysterious, beyond the range of words and cognition. If one uses speech to analyze and knowledge to infer, what one touches is only tangible myriad things—and one can never arrive at a more abstruse realm.

Those who see the Great Dao do not follow the direction in which things perish, nor do they investigate where they originally came from.

The waning and waxing of the myriad things all accord with nature; there is nothing that needs to be traced back or pursued.

“Seeing” means to awaken to; “following” means to cling and investigate insistently. Those who awaken to the Dao rise in spirit beyond the myriad things; their minds are still yet clear. They realize that all realms are darkly profound and that living beings have no independently unchanging substance. Why insist on clinging to individual things and investigating how they arise and by what they are caused? This is what is meant when we say that words can no longer express it and discussion should cease.

Shaozhi asked: “Jizhen holds that the Dao is ‘non-action’; Jiezi holds that the Dao is ‘perhaps acts.’ Of these two views, which better fits how things actually are, and which is skewed in reasoning?”

Jizhen said the Dao has no deliberate action; Jiezi said the Dao may propel and govern the myriad things. “Perhaps acts” (huo shi) means that the Great Dao has the function of moving and driving the myriad things.

Jizhen and Jiezi were both worthy men of Qi who lectured together at Jixia. Here their differing positions are used to discuss the Great Dao: “mo” is without, “shi” is to drive and propel. Jizhen regarded the Dao as rooted in non-action (wuwei); Jiezi regarded the Dao as having the power to move the myriad things. Each held half the truth—not yet the full picture. Shaozhi posed this question wanting to judge which of the two accounts accorded with how things really are and which deviated.

Taigong's explanation says: "The crowing of a rooster and the barking of a dog are things everyone knows. Even someone of the greatest wisdom cannot use words to explain fully how they arise naturally, nor can they infer by intention how they will occur."

The commentary notes that each thing has its own natural transformations, which human will cannot command. From this perspective, what Jizhen said makes sense.

The exegesis explains that the eyes see and the ears hear the rooster's crow and the dog's bark—all of this is what creation (zaohua) brings about of itself. Fool and sage alike know it. Even the greatest sage cannot by intention fathom why things happen thus, still less explain in words the natural principle within them. Do the crowing of a rooster and the barking of a dog mean that the Dao has specially ordered them to be so? Therefore Liezi's account is not quite fitting on the level of principle.

When things are so subtle that there is no comparable category for them, and so vast that they cannot be enclosed and measured—the commentary says all of this happens of itself and is not arranged by human design.

The exegesis says: if the subtle had no distinguishable categories and the coarse could not be measured, and one pursued analysis by this principle, then nothing in the world would fail to arise naturally and transform each on its own.

Whether one holds that "some force is directing" or that "no force is directing," one has still not left attachment to things and will in the end become one-sided. The commentary says that things may seem to direct one another, but in truth it is all natural thus; to say "nothing directs" is not to go beyond the myriad things. The myriad things change in profusion—all within Wuwei (non-action) they develop and transform.

The exegesis says these views do not accord with the Dao because they still cling to concrete things, each leaning to one extreme, and in the end become error.

To believe that force directs is to fix the mind on "doing" (youwei). The commentary says things in fact occur thus of themselves.

To believe that no force directs is to fix the mind on emptiness. The commentary says this amounts to drowning in void.

Having name and having substance is the state in which things stand. The commentary says this refers to where name and reality depend. Having no name and no substance is the empty aspect that things present. The commentary says the substantial in things ultimately returns to the void.

The exegesis says: if the mind clings to "being," wherever it goes there are only concrete things; if the mind favors "non-being," wherever it goes there is only emptiness. Clearly, being and non-being depend on the human mind, not on objects in the outer world.

Whatever can be put into language or traced by thought only takes one farther from the Dao. The commentary says one must therefore seek beyond language and intention to approach it. The exegesis says: whatever can be stated in words or known by thought is already farther from the Dao; hence one should apprehend it from outside what language and deliberation can reach—only then can one approach the Dao.

Before life is born, one cannot guard against its sudden appearance; after life has died, one cannot stop its sudden departure. The commentary says life suddenly arises without my control—I cannot forbid it; life suddenly ends and I cannot go against it.

Prohibition means to block and obstruct. When death suddenly arrives, it cannot be blocked; since that is so, what is there in death to resent or obstruct? One should only follow transformation and accept whatever situation one is in with equanimity. Some manuscripts read “resentment” (沮) here instead of “prohibition” (忌)—meaning resentment. To die in accord with how things are is why there is no resentment toward perishing.

Death and life are not far from us, yet the principle within them is hard to see clearly.

[Note] Life and death are within the person himself; people still cannot see how they arise naturally, yet want to worry about them.

[Commentary] Toil and rest, gathering and scattering—all occur within this one body; the principle involved is deep and obscure, and the foolish do not perceive it.

Some say a certain force is at work driving things; some say there is no force acting at all. People in the world are puzzled by both views.

[Note] These two positions are what people in the world find most puzzling.

[Commentary] Clinging to “being” or to “non-being” is not the mindset of one who has attained the Way; only those who harbor doubt and each hold to one side argue over this.

I observe the root of things and trace their past—the past has no end. I seek their extremity and infer their future—the future has no stopping point. Past without limit and future without end both illustrate the principle of “non-being”: it follows the same pattern as all things.

[Note] The principle of things has no exhaustion, so one knows that words too have no exhaustion; only then can one connect with the principle of things.

[Commentary] “Root” means the past; “extremity” means the future. The past is already gone, yet birth-and-death and change are endless and the source cannot be fathomed—how can mind alone make it clear? Even if one discourses greatly on “non-being,” if one still fixates on one side, one has not transcended things and still shares the same principle as all phenomena.

Some hold that a certain force drives things; some hold that no force acts. Both statements address the root and course of things from start to finish.

[Note] Things are always thus: not deliberately made to be so, yet they run of themselves.

[Commentary] “Root” can also mean the beginning. Those who take one side and treat that alone as fundamental have not escaped the distinction of root and branch; they therefore still share the same starting point as formed things and have not risen above the myriad phenomena.

The Dao cannot be spoken of as truly existent; what is truly existent also cannot be spoken of as wholly non-existent.

[Note] The Dao does not deliberately bring things into being; that things exist is always a matter of natural spontaneity.

[Commentary] The utmost Dao has never been cut off, yet it can neither be called “being” nor “non-being.” To insist on being or non-being—neither is fitting.

The name “Dao” is only borrowed to indicate the basis by which all things move and operate.

[Note] All things run by means of it, so for the time being the name “Dao” is borrowed.

[Commentary] The Dao is vast and has no fixed name; one can only reluctantly call it “Dao,” using that label to explain and guide people’s conduct.

Some say a force drives; some say nothing acts. That is only a partial grasp of things—how can it be used to understand the vast Dao?

[Note] Point to one corner and the whole can be known from it.

[Commentary] “胡” means “how,” “方” means “the Way.” Those who talk of “deliberate action” or “non-action” have not yet reached the realm of emptiness, stillness, and mystery; they are merely people in the world with one-sided views—how could that suffice to understand profound principle?

When words hit the mark, even speaking all day long can exhaust the meaning.

If one can go beyond words and literal meaning to apprehend the underlying principle, understanding becomes complete and rounded. If one only talks without grasping what lies beyond the words, then even talking all day long cannot exhaust the principles of things. If one cannot forget the words yet preserve their meaning, understanding becomes narrow and obstructed.

The fundamental realm of the Dao and the myriad things cannot be fully expressed by either speech or silence. The ultimate state of the Heavenly Dao and the myriad things often manifests spontaneously and in accord with nature, and does not depend on whether one speaks or remains silent. At the ultimate point of the Dao and the myriad things, the distinction between "Dao" and "things" is transcended, so neither speech nor silence can fully bear it.

It belongs neither to speech nor to silence; discourse too has a limit beyond which it cannot go. The ultimate of the Dao lies in spontaneity and naturalness, and cannot be exhausted by discourse through speech or silence. Silence is not true silence, and discourse is not true discourse; only by going beyond speech, silence, and all forms of distinction can one enter the gateway to the wondrousness of the myriad things.