《南華真經註疏》Vol. 35

Many who govern the world and pursue methods (principles and techniques) believe that because what they do springs from authenticity, nothing can surpass it.

【Guo Xiang’s commentary】Because the action is authentic action, it is not pretense; and since it is authentic action, what could be added to it?

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】“Method” (fang) here means the Dao. From the Yellow Emperor and Zhuanxu down to Yao and Shun, there were many ways of governing and many technical approaches. All followed the disposition of things, accorded with each thing’s native character, and let every living being grow and move on its own, without imposing anything beyond its proper place. Thus, though there was teaching, it was as if there were none; though there was activity, it was as if there were none.

Where, then, lies the “method of the Dao” spoken of by the ancients?

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】The method of the Dao practiced by the Three Sovereigns of high antiquity was to comply with things and allow change, so that custom stayed thick and plain and Wuwei (non-action) prevailed. Where is that method? This is a rhetorical question posed to bring out a deeper meaning.

The answer: there is no place where it is absent.

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】The answer is that the subtle Dao of Wuwei is everywhere; from antiquity to the present, no place is left out.

On what basis does numinous principle descend? From where does discernment appear?

【Guo Xiang’s commentary】The numinous and discernment appear and descend only because things respond to one another.

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】“Shen” (numinous) refers to the mystery of things; “ming” (discernment) refers to thorough wisdom. If the open, penetrating sacred Dao had existed from antiquity to the present all along, why would one need numinous beings to display mystery and wisdom, or to institute ritual and music to guide the myriad things?

From this, sages are born and kings accomplish their work.

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】The mysterious, still great Dao, through the responsiveness of the myriad things, gives birth to sages; the achievement of kings is what then appears in the world. Their arising is not without cause.

All of this stems from one and the same root.

【Guo Xiang’s commentary】Let each thing return to its root; holding fast to the “One” (the common source of all things) is enough—there is no need to add ornament on the surface. This is how the sage-king brings the myriad things into being.

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】“Yuan” (origin) means root. Though the great Dao descends into the world, meets the myriad things, and blends into the mundane without showing its edge, in responding to things it never leaves the true, constant Dao; holding the One, it ultimately returns to the root.

Not leaving the root is called “Heaven-and-human” (tianren); not leaving the refined essence is called “spirit-person” (shenren); not leaving authenticity is called “utmost person” (zhiren). Taking Heaven as root, taking De (Virtue/Power) as foundation, taking the Dao as gate, and manifesting in transformation—this is called “sage” (shengren).

【Guo Xiang’s commentary】These four designations refer to the same person, named from different angles.

【Cheng Xuanying’s commentary】Accord with the hidden root is called “natural” (ziran); purity and refinement, without admixture of alien elements, is called “spirit…”

When its subtlety is lofty and its depths profound, needing no help from any outside thing, this is called the "Ultimate." What takes naturalness as its guiding principle is called "Supreme De (Virtue)." What takes De as its root and the mysterious Dao (the Way) as its gateway, belonging to those who "observe the subtle signs of things," that is, who can perceive the faintest omens in events and accord with the changes of all beings, is called the "Sage." These four kinds of people in truth share a single realm; they received four names only because their functions differ in how they are expressed.

One who bestows kindness through benevolence, establishes principles through righteousness, regulates conduct through ritual, and harmonizes temperament through music, who is gentle, loving, and a source of blessing to others, is called a "Gentleman" (junzi).

Note: These four are only the coarse traces of the Dao, what worthy persons and gentlemen keep in mind and put into practice.

Commentary: To spread benevolence and kindness widely is to confer grace; to carry out righteousness is to judge right from wrong; to use ceremony and ritual form is to regulate conduct; to set music in motion is to harmonize temperament. When the radiance of compassion shines over the nine regions and the spirit of benevolent virtue blows through the eight directions, it is like orchids and thoroughwort giving off fragrance that is smelled far and near. Such a person may be called "worthy."

Fix duties by means of laws and standards, mark status by means of names, test by means of verification, and decide by means of examination. The so-called order of "one, two, three, four" refers to these.

Commentary: "Examination" means investigating, and "holding" means grasping firmly. Laws and standards are used to fix duties, and names and titles to indicate actual substance. One holds verification in hand to inspect conduct, and uses assessment to judge ability. "One, two, three, four" refers to these stages, namely names, laws, and the rest.

The hundred officials are ranked according to these, and doing their work becomes the regular practice.

Commentary: After Yao and Shun established the hundred officials, these four methods were used to arrange positions in relation to one another. Between ruler and minister, and across every kind of affair, this became the regular practice. This is what is called "yilun" (constant principle and human order).

Clothing and food are taken as the foundation, so that the population multiplies and goods are accumulated and stored.

Commentary: Among affairs, farming and weaving must not be neglected, and clothing and food are what the sage cannot overlook. Hence the state takes the people as its root, and the people take food as their heaven. For this reason the population must be made to grow and goods must be amassed and stored, all of which are means of nourishing the people. Caring for the elderly, the weak, orphans, and widows is likewise part of the principle of nurturing the common people.

Note: Such is the inherent principle of the people's livelihood, and so the sages and worthies did not go against it.

The people of antiquity, it seems, possessed all of these in full!

Note: "The people of antiquity" here refers to the four kinds of persons named above.

Commentary: Supporting the elderly, pitying the weak, and showing compassion to widows and orphans were all fully carried out from the time of the Five Emperors onward.

They accorded with the divine illumination, refined the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth, nurtured the myriad things, and harmonized all under heaven.

Commentary: "Accord" means to match or join with. Enlightened sovereigns had no private interest and followed the nature of all things. They could therefore unite with the subtle principle of divine illumination and share in the pure virtue of Heaven and Earth, nurturing the common people of the world and harmonizing the myriad kinds within the four seas.

Their grace extended to the common people; they understood the fundamental principle, and were also able to hold to the lesser matters of law and standards.

Note: Once the fundamental principle is clear, the lesser matters of law and standards will not stray from the root.

The root lies in benevolence and righteousness; the branches lie in law and proper naming. The sage’s heart holds compassion, and his grace reaches all the people—therefore he can clarify benevolence and righteousness and thereby honor the root; he can also rely on law and proper naming to shore up the branches.

The six directions are open and the four quarters are cleared; whether great or small, subtle or plain, transformation in motion is nowhere absent.

【Note】This is so that the teaching may be complete in every respect.

【Commentary】“Cleared” means opened up. On the large scale there are Heaven and Earth (the two modes); on the small scale there are the myriad things. The subtle aspect is spirit and wisdom; the plain aspect is form and appearance. Penetrating the six directions (above, below, and the four sides), one roams freely; taking the four seasons as one’s model and changing with them, one turns with the occasion—present everywhere.

What can be made out from institutions and regulations: old systems have been handed down through generations, and historical writings still preserve a great deal.

【Note】What can be seen through institutions and regulations, though much survives, still belongs to the outward traces on the surface of the Dao.

【Commentary】Historical writings include the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Book of Documents—both are ancient chronicles. Institutions and regulations include benevolence, righteousness, law, proper naming, and the like. What was transmitted from antiquity and made manifest in the world is still preserved in great quantity in the chronicles and classics.

As for what appears in the Poetry, Documents, Rites, and Music, scholars and Confucians in the regions of Zou and Lu could for the most part explain them.

【Note】They could only clarify the superficial traces of these matters—how could that amount to grasping their root?

【Commentary】Zou is a place name; Lu is a state name. “To insert” refers to holding the court tablet (the board used in ritual); it also has the sense of putting in place. “Girdle sash” is the great belt; “the master” means the Confucian scholar. The point is that benevolence, righteousness, proper naming, law, and similar matters are recorded in the Six Classics (the Confucian scriptures), and men in Confucian dress in Zou and Lu could explain them.

The Poetry is used to express feeling and intent; the Documents to narrate affairs of the world; the Rites to regulate conduct; the Music to harmonize disposition; the Changes to clarify the transformations of Yin and Yang; the Spring and Autumn to fix praise and blame and establish proper naming.

【Commentary】“Way” here has the sense of expressing and penetrating. The Poetry expresses feeling and intent; the Documents record affairs of the world; the Rites regulate mind and action; the Music brings people into accord and harmony; the Changes clarify the emblems of the hexagrams and penetrate the transformations of Yin and Yang; the Spring and Autumn fixes praise and blame through commendation and censure and thereby establishes proper naming.

These institutional principles and meanings spread through the realm and circulated in the central lands; the teachings of the hundred schools sometimes cited and expounded them as well.

【Note】Yet they were all merely repeating the old traces of the ancients—and even that they could not always sustain.

【Commentary】What the Six Classics record is scattered across the land, but the reach of their teaching does not extend beyond the civilized heartland. The hundred philosophers each imitated earlier doctrines and often spoke of these matters, yet they could not arrive at a single consistent view.

The realm fell into great disorder.

【Note】This was because people only applied those outward old traces and had nothing to unify their root.

【Commentary】Clinging to the old traces of the ancients, they therefore could not attain great peace.

Sages and worthies did not show themselves plainly.

【Note】Even if one could explain those outward traces, it was still not easy.

【Commentary】Sages and worthies drew in their light and hid their tracks.

Dao and De thus ceased to be one…

Each school of thought pieced together and forced its own reading onto the classics, so methods of teaching and transformation also diverged widely.

People everywhere grasped a fragment of truth yet each trusted their own partial view, unable to set forth the Way in full. Scholars clung to what they upheld and gained only one method—how could they integrate and penetrate the whole?

When they observed things, they did so only to satisfy their own preferences. The sage embraced the shared patterns of human feeling and fashioned institutions accordingly. When the people entrusted their hearts to the order the sage had embraced, they could forget private likes and dislikes and, together with others, remain plain and still. In troubled times, people returned to personal preferences and let private taste rule: every household had its own codes, so states differed in policy and families in custom.

They could not be calm, empty, and still, or set aside fixed views; instead they always strained their minds and shaped methods of teaching to suit their own likes.

It is like the ear, eye, nose, and mouth: each has its function, yet they cannot fully communicate with one another. The eye sees color but cannot hear sound; the nose smells fragrance but cannot tell flavors apart. Each has its office, so none can replace the others.

The hundred schools and the various crafts are the same: each has strengths and each fits certain occasions. Their excellences differ and none can suit every time and place.

The Six Classics, the Five Virtues, and the writings of the hundred schools each had strengths for saving the world and aiding the people, yet none reached the central Way; therefore each was set aside at times, just as nose and mouth each have what they cannot reach.

Even so, these people were still not thorough and could not pervade all affairs—they were scholars biased toward one side, not fit to bear full responsibility. Though each had a specialty, none could combine and extend everywhere; they were narrow minds fixed on one corner, not those who could round out the whole and respond flexibly to change.

Relying on their one-sided views, they judged the beauty of Heaven and Earth and dissected the rationale of the myriad things. Those who clung to one corner each guarded their own opinion; even if they mastered one method, they could not unite with the great Dao, and so they split apart the harmonious beauty of Heaven and Earth and broke up the unobstructed rationale of the myriad things.

Looking at the fully accomplished persons of old, few could fully embody the beauty by which Heaven and Earth nurture the myriad things or match the bearing of the spirits—how much less those who were fixed on one corner?

Therefore the ideal of inner sagehood and outer kingship (neisheng waiwang) lay dark and unmanifest, blocked and unable to unfold, because it was hard to meet one whose virtue was complete. Profound sage virtue and the capacity for kingship without the title were inward; the flying dragon in heaven and occupying the “nine-five” position were outward. Yet… (the original text ends here)

world.

13. Using the “carpenter’s line” (shengmo—the tool for making things straight) to restrain and sharpen oneself.

14. “To correct and sharpen” (jiao) means to grind and encourage. Taking benevolence and righteousness as the measuring line, one steels one’s aspirations and conduct.

15. And preparing for the world’s urgent difficulties.

16. Through diligence, thrift, and saving, goods are stored up, so that when urgent difficulty arises one can respond.

17. The urgent difficulties of the world spoken of here mean disasters such as famine, flood, and fire. Thrift, economy, and storing goods are for meeting calamity and crisis.

18. Among the teachings of the ancient arts of the Dao there was this position. Mo Di (Mozi) and Qin Guli heard it and were very pleased; when they put it into practice they went too far and demanded too much of themselves.

19. “Measuring what the multitude can bear” means gauging to what extent ordinary people can comply. The point is that Mo Di and Qin Guli did not consider whether the people could endure it, and therefore pushed the practice to excess.

Schools each clung to their own views, so right and wrong blurred together and quarrels never ceased. In the end the “Way of engagement and withdrawal”—how to advance, retreat, act, and rest—was blocked and could no longer be seen clearly.

People everywhere followed their own desires and treated that as the rule. A sad state: the hundred schools chased outward and never returned to the root, so in the end they could not agree.

Whatever the heart wanted, they seized on it and turned it into a method; they ran after externals and never came home, yet still hoped for a result that fit reason. That cannot work. It goes against how things really are, and it is hard not to sigh over it.

Later scholars are unlucky: they neither see Heaven and Earth in their plain simplicity nor grasp the ancients’ great, unified Way.

“Great wholeness” means each thing returns to its root and holds to oneness—that is the plain truth of Heaven and Earth.

“Fortunate” (xing) means to meet or to catch a time. Heavenly-Earthly simplicity is wuwei (non-action); the ancients’ great wholeness is plain, unadorned substance. The text means that people of later ages live in a thin age: they do not see the Way of wuwei and cannot recover an era of thick simplicity.

The arts of the Dao were about to be torn apart under Heaven.

“Torn apart” (lie) means split apart. Once the arts of the Dao were handed down, faults appeared; each school spun out its own method. Some tried to master outer things, and things turned from their nature to obey the master, so their original nature-and-life (xingming) were harmed.

“Torn apart” is separation. Confucians, Mohists, name theorists, and legalists each hurried about, fixed on private views, all acting from personal bent. The arts of the Dao grew tangled; schools contradicted and deceived one another, and common people no longer knew how to settle body and mind. All things had been one whole; now they were split—the root lies here.

Do not flaunt luxury to later generations, do not drive all things toward splendor, and do not display oneself through thick ritual and institutions.

“Extravagance” (chi) is luxury; “splendor” (mi) is ornate display; “brilliance” (hui) is conspicuous show. Diligence and thrift alone can still grind people down, so one must not parade dense ritual as glory.

Teach later people not to be extravagant and do not let persons and things chase extreme thrift or finery. Such teaching fights the nature of things and is hard to carry out, so the former kings’ canonical rites could not shine in the world.

Use the carpenter’s line (shengmo—the straightedge) to bind and sharpen oneself.

“Correct and sharpen” (jiao) means to grind and encourage. Take benevolence and righteousness as the line and steel aspiration and conduct.

And prepare for the world’s sudden crises.

Diligence, thrift, and saving build stores, so when crisis comes one can answer it.

Those crises are famine, flood, fire, and the like. Thrift, economy, and stored goods exist to meet disaster and urgency.

The ancient arts of the Dao included this teaching. Mo Di (Mozi) and Qin Guli heard it and delighted in it; in practice they went too far and were harsh on themselves.

“Measuring what the multitude can bear” means asking how far ordinary people can go. Mo Di and Qin Guli did not weigh that and pushed the practice past what people could stand.

This passage discusses the philosophical tenets of Mo Di (known as Mozi), founder of the Mohist school, and his disciple Qin Guli. While deeply influenced by the diligent and frugal approach of the ancient sage-king Yu the Great during flood control, Mozi took these principles to extreme lengths.

Mozi advocated "fei yue" (rejection of musical enjoyment) and "jie yong" (extreme frugality). He believed people shouldn't sing or play music during their lives, nor wear mourning garments or use proper coffins at death—proposing instead simple three-inch-thick paulownia wood coffins without outer shells. These radical measures stemmed from his philosophy of austerity and opposition to waste.

His doctrine of "jian ai" (universal love) and mutual benefit opposed conflict, maintaining that sufficient resources through universal diligence would eliminate strife. This demanding philosophy required severe self-discipline to prevent resentment toward material things.

Though exceptionally learned, Mozi rigidly insisted everyone adopt his ascetic standards. He rejected the ritual-music systems of ancient sage-kings, condemning ceremonial bells, drums, and feathered ornaments as extravagant luxuries.

The text contrasts Mozi's views with traditional rites: the ancient musical compositions like Huangdi's "Xianchi," Yao's "Dazhang," and Shun's "Da Shao," along with burial hierarchies specifying seven coffin layers for emperors, five for lords, three for ministers, and two for scholars. Mozi shattered these conventions with his minimalist funerary prescriptions.

Ultimately, Mozi's extreme frugality represented an exaggerated application of Yu the Great's emergency flood-control austerity—a philosophy suited to extraordinary circumstances but impractical as universal practice.

Taking this practice as a standard to teach others is probably not truly caring for people; applying it to oneself likewise cannot be called caring for oneself.

Note: The “caring” spoken of here means aligning with human capacities and what is reasonable in human affairs. To treat strenuous thrift and austerity as the standard and push it to excess—even if the intention is to make all under heaven prosperous—is still not a way of caring for them.

Commentary: Mozi took the deeds of Great Yu in controlling floods as his model and was frugal to the point of excess: above, he went against the way of the Three Kings in governing; below, he did not fit the feelings and reason of the myriad people. He toiled his whole life in poverty and could not use external things to nurture his body; in the end he was gaunt and withered—this too cannot be called caring for oneself.

Mozi’s way was ultimately ruined; what he advocated was not true virtue and the Way.

Note: This only means that what Mozi advocated was not the way of virtue and the Dao.

Commentary: “末” here means “not” or “without.” Zhai is Mozi’s personal name; Yin and Lao refer to Yin Xi and Laozi—meaning each held his own doctrine.

Though one sings, it is not like singing; though one weeps, it is not like weeping; joy too is not like joy—is this really in accord with human feeling?

Note: Though Mozi formed a school of his own, it did not accord with the natural reason of the myriad things.

Commentary: When alive one sings; when dead one mourns with weeping—this is the constant pattern of human relations. In misfortune one grieves; in joy one rejoices—this too is universal feeling in the world. Mozi’s teaching runs counter to these things, so it is not merely “not the usual feeling” but something more.

In life he makes people toil; after death his funeral rites are extremely spare—such a principle is far too dry and without moisture.

Note: “觳” means dry, without moisture or richness.

Commentary: In life he wears body and mind with labor; after death burial is excessively austere. Such a principle is parched and flavorless, utterly without richness.

It fills people with worry and grief, and in practice it is very hard—hardly fit to serve as the sage’s way of ordering the world.

Note: The sage’s way should make the people glad and let them follow their nature in enjoying life. When the people are glad, nothing under heaven is hard to carry out.

Commentary: The sage’s way wins the people’s hearts. Mozi’s teaching makes people worried and sad, hard to sustain for long, and lacking richness—therefore it cannot be used to transform the world.

To go against the mind of all under heaven is something they cannot bear. Even if Mozi alone could hold to it, what could he do with everyone else? Departing from the reason of the world, he was far from the kingly way.

Note: A true king must follow the hearts of all under heaven and advance together with the myriad things.

Commentary: One who governs all under heaven must empty the self and forget self-interest, following living beings. Mozi now casts aside the institutions of the ancient kings and goes against the people’s nature—this is vastly distant from the way of governing the myriad things.

Mozi described his own teaching thus: “In antiquity Great Yu dammed the floodwaters, opened the rivers and channels, and made the waters flow to the four quarters and the nine provinces. There were three hundred famous streams, three thousand branches, and smaller waterways beyond counting.”

Commentary: “湮” means to dam or block. In antiquity, in Yao’s time, there was a great flood; Yao ordered Great Yu to control the waters, building dikes and blocking the disaster…

Yu the Great cleared waterways and opened river channels, relieving the people of floods and sowing the nine kinds of grain.

Yu the Great took up a basket for carrying earth and a plow for turning the soil, and personally managed the rivers throughout the realm.

The commentary says: A tuo was a container for carrying earth, and a si was a tool for digging. Yu the Great dug with the si and carried earth on his back in the tuo. He took on the hard labor himself and cleared the waterways. As a result, boats could travel among the nine regions. There are also interpretations of “jiu za”: some say za means “to clear,” and chuan refers to the sources of rivers; “jiu za” would then mean that he managed nine places. Another version writes the word as jiu, meaning to gather and clear river valleys, guiding the rivers into the sea.

Yu the Great had no flesh on his calves and no hair below his knees. He washed his hair in downpours and combed it in fierce winds, bringing peace to the myriad states. Yu was a great sage, yet he exhausted himself on behalf of the realm to such an extent.

The note says: The followers of Mozi saw only the physical hardship Yu the Great endured; they did not see the ease and satisfaction he felt within.

The commentary says: Yu the Great cleared the many rivers and brought peace to the myriad states. Even when he heard that his son Qi was crying, he had no time to go and see him. He passed his own gate three times without being able to go in and see the child. He washed his hair in sudden downpours and combed it in fierce winds, laboring tirelessly until his body grew thin and haggard, with no flesh on his calves and no hair below his knees. If even a virtuous sage like Yu the Great labored so hard, how much more should ordinary people like us work diligently?

Most later followers of Mozi wore coarse clothes and wooden clogs or straw sandals. They labored without pause, day and night, and made self-imposed hardship their highest principle.

The note says: They regarded making themselves suffer as a way to probe matters to their depths and attain the highest state.

The commentary says: Qiuhe means coarse, rough clothing. Wooden shoes were called qi, and straw-woven shoes were called qiao. The later followers of Mozi were disciples of Mo Di. They wore coarse clothes and crude footwear to practice frugality, and labored without pause, day and night, to do their utmost. They regarded this self-imposed hardship as the highest method of governing the realm.

Some said: “Anyone who cannot work this hard does not follow the way of Yu the Great and cannot be called a Mohist.”

The note says: They were not living in Yu the Great’s time, yet insisted on copying his practices. That is why they were called Mohists.

The commentary says: The Mohists followed the old practices handed down by Yu the Great. Therefore, anyone who could not labor diligently and went against Yu’s way could not be called a Mohist.

The disciples of Xiangli Qin, the school of the Five Lords, and southern Mohist scholars such as Ku Huo, Ji Chi, and Deng Lingzi all recited the Mozi Canons, yet their views differed and did not agree with one another. They therefore called one another “Separate Mohists.”

The note says: Each group clung to its own views, and they could not reconcile them. As a result, the Mohists split into different schools.

The commentary says: Xiangli is a surname, and Qin is a given name; he was a teacher among the southern Mohists. Ku Huo, the Five Lords, and the others also studied Mohism. Jue means different or divergent. They all recited the Mozi Canons, yet… (The original text ends here.)

The various factions among later Mohists (disciples of the Mohist school) differed greatly in opinion and called one another “bie Mo” (“other Mohists”).

They argued over issues such as “hard and white” and “sameness and difference,” accusing one another; they answered each other with ill-formed rhetoric and each took the “juzi” (grand master) they revered as a sage. The commentators say the juzi was best at distinguishing right from wrong and used that to guide action. The sub-commentary explains that “zi” means to slander, “ji” means to assert a position on one’s own, “ou” means debate between two sides, and “wu” means proper order. Followers of the Dengling line clung to Mohist doctrine and fixated on debates like “hard and white,” each boasting of their skill: sometimes they treated different things as the same, sometimes they split what was the same into different things; sometimes one side spoke alone with few to respond, sometimes they debated back and forth like host and guest. They used arguments about being and non-being and right and wrong to tear one another down, and answered with disorderly, incoherent words; among them, the most frugal and diligent were even called sages.

Everyone wanted to become the leader of their own group. The commentators explain that “shi” means the one in charge, the leader. The sub-commentary says they all wished to be teachers and heads, hoping to pass their doctrines to posterity; yet the factions disputed victory and defeat and never reached a settled conclusion. The commentators add that this was because they wanted to continue the work of the juzi.

The original intentions of Mo Di (Mozi) and Qin Guli were right: they opposed extravagance and wanted to prepare for the world’s urgent needs. The commentators hold that their doctrines were well meant but wrongly carried out in practice; the sub-commentary also says their hearts were set on helping the world, so the intention is admirable—only they took frugality and diligence too far, and thus their conduct went astray.

They would make later Mohists insist on such austerity that there was no hair on the calves and none on the shins, each striving only to outdo the others. The sub-commentary explains that “jin” means to surpass; later students, bound to old Mohist formulas, disciplined themselves harshly and thought only of beating their rivals.

This practice is the worst extreme within disorder. The commentators say the greatest disorder is none other than going against the nature of things and harming human nature.

This way of governing is also the lowest. The commentators say that letting everyone obtain their own nature is superior governance; the Mohists instead violated that, so theirs is inferior. The sub-commentary says the Mohist path goes against the nature of things, injures human nature, is the worst kind of governing principle, and is the root of disorder.

Even so, Mozi was truly among the world’s genuine lovers of goodness. The commentators say he sincerely loved the way of the sages and did not wish to violate nature—only this method was unfit for teaching the multitude.

Even if one sought someone like him, none could be found. The commentators say there was no one of the same kind in the world.

Though worn and afflicted, he would not give up. The commentators say this shows his love was sincere. The sub-commentary holds that in the world only Mozi loved frugality; to seek someone resembling him was ultimately impossible. Though so haggard, he never ceased—because this sincerity came from nature, not from deliberate pose.

Truly a man of talent and virtue!

They sighed with admiration: although Song Xing and Yin Wen could hardly be called lofty in virtue, they detested what went against human affairs and harmed innate character; they were truly people of frugal diligence who worked to save the world and possessed real ability.

They were not burdened by worldly entanglements, did not dress up their relation to external things, did not treat others with false compliance, and did not resent the multitude. Here “zhi” (忮) means to go against or to bear resentment. They did not fret over worldly troubles, did not ornament themselves with outward things, did not deal with people in a merely accommodating way, and did not harbor hatred toward the crowd. They stood on name-and-teaching and moral conduct and used these to nourish the people.

They hoped to settle the realm so the common people could live; for themselves and for others, having enough food and clothing was sufficient—they dared not ask for more. With this program they declared their intent. In the ancient arts of the Dao—the transmitted ways of ordering society and cultivating the person—there was also teaching that ran in the same direction.

Song Xing and Yin Wen heard of this spirit and were deeply pleased. Both lived under King Xuan of Qi and studied together at Jixia, the academic center at the Ji gate in the Qi capital Linzi. Song Xing wrote one treatise and Yin Wen two; both took instructing the people as their charge and became known for it. Their natures and aims aligned, and when they encountered this current of thought they gladly embraced it. They also made the Huashan cap to show their resolve. The Huashan cap was flat above and below; Mount Hua’s silhouette is like a face cut smooth. Song Xing and Yin Wen aspired so high that they wore this cap to display a virtue set apart from the ordinary.

They took “discrimination and demarcation” as the starting point of government and were unwilling to let the myriad things clash with one another. Here “you” (宥) means to distinguish and to set off regions or bounds. To establish titles and teaching and to meet human affairs, they made the sorting out of things fundamental.

When they spoke, they let the heart take all things into itself; this inclusive heart they called the “movement of the heart.” “Ming” here means to name. In speech they always let the inner mind embrace the myriad things, and they named that embrace the heart’s action.

They wanted this teaching to unite the multitude and bring peace to the world. The commentary says they strained to harmonize people and foster unity according to their doctrine. They asked that such persons be made masters of all under heaven, so that things would blend, people throughout the four seas would share one heart, and joy would prevail.

When insulted, they did not feel shamed, because they regarded nourishing the people as the most pressing matter. They sought to rescue the people from contention, halt attacks, stop warfare, and thereby pull the world back from chaos. The commentary takes this as exactly what they meant by “harmonization.”

Rest here means cessation—stopping aggressive attack and letting warfare subside, with the aim of harmonizing conflict.

They do not make contention their business; even when deceived or insulted, they do not take it as shame, because their intention is to rescue the world.

For this reason they travel everywhere with this teaching: above, they persuade rulers; below, they instruct the common people. Even when the world refuses to listen, they still press their advice, talking on and on, and will not give up.

Commentary: This is how the way of harmony appears in practice.

Expanded commentary: They apply this teaching and spread their doctrine through the nine regions; above they counsel kings, below they teach the people. Even when people do not accept it, they still urge persuasion by force of words, repeating themselves, and refuse to stop. Hence they are wearisome wherever they go, yet still demand that others obey.

“Not taking it as shame” means that even when everyone dislikes and despises them, they still thrust themselves forward to persuade; even when treated with contempt and abuse, they feel no humiliation.

“Though they do much for others, they do little for themselves” means they worry over others far too much and think of themselves far too little.

Commentary: They do not wait for others to be moved naturally; they force themselves to comfort and counsel, and so expend effort in excess.

Expanded commentary: Sages who penetrate the Way usually respond only when there is genuine resonance; they cultivate themselves first, then help others. These men, by contrast, wear themselves out coercing persuasion, continue though hated, and grow haggard in body and mind—is this not caring too little for oneself?

Someone said: “I only want to set aside five sheng of rice—enough to eat is enough.”

Commentary: This shows how little they plan for themselves.

They fear the “teacher” may not have enough to eat; disciples, though hungry themselves, cannot forget the world.

Commentary: Song Xing and Yin Wen called the people of the world “teacher” (xiansheng) and called themselves “disciples” (dizi).

Expanded commentary: Song Xing and Yin Wen called the common people “teacher” and themselves “disciple” because they put others first and themselves last. They appeared open and plain; their mind was thrift: they prepared only five sheng of rice for a day’s food, fearing the people might starve, heedless of whether they themselves would go hungry. With this as their resolve they lived frugally, wishing to sustain the people; acting on this principle, they toiled without rest day and night.

Day and night without pause they said: “We must make everyone live.”

Commentary: They held that the people ought in turn to repay them for this.

“How lofty—like world-saving gentlemen!” means they truly resemble men of great bearing who save the world.

Commentary: “Huichi” describes a manner high, vast, and grand.

Expanded commentary: “Tu’ao” describes greatness of stature. The point is that they endured humiliation to the limit in order to relieve the people; though this may not accord with the great Way, they may still be called men who rescue the world.

Someone said: “The gentleman does not engage in harsh, minute scrutiny.”

Commentary: The gentleman should treat others with breadth and forbearance.

Expanded commentary: Worthy gentlemen and noble persons can extend themselves to others and be tolerant; in the end they do not insist on rigid discrimination of right and wrong…

The mind simply observes external things at ease, without resting itself upon them; in every matter one must personally apply one’s own effort.

In standing and living in the world, one should rely on oneself and need not borrow external things to build a reputation.

When one clearly knows that something brings no benefit to the world, one should see that it is better to stop. Those called world-saving scholars who exhaust mind and heart and weary the body, yet act against principle and run counter to the nature of things—since this does no good for the world, it is better not to act at all.

Taking the forbidding of aggression and the cessation of warfare as outward conduct serves to benefit others; reducing and softening desire is inward cultivation and serves oneself.

Whether affairs are great or small, fine or coarse, what these ways can reach goes no further than this.

Commentary holds that inner cultivation and outward benefit to others, though they differ in scale and refinement, share the same direction and guiding thread and stop at this point—they have not yet attained “jing xu she kuang” (transcending concrete affairs and penetrating the open, empty realm).

One handles affairs fairly without forming factions, remains even without partiality, decides resolutely according to principle, and does not cling to a predetermined master. That is to say, each person bears his own responsibility and acts in accord with the law.

The intention follows the reason of things without leaning to either side; it lets the myriad things each find their place and thereby return to unity. In applying the law according to principle, one does not weigh gain and loss before and after, nor plot with personal cleverness; facing affairs without picking and choosing, one advances together under the same standard—strict and without favoritism.

In ancient techniques of the Way there was such a practice. From the time of the Five Emperors onward, some took legal norms as the method of governance, and so left deeds worth praise that are still known in the world today.

Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao were all recluses of Qi who studied together at Jixia (the academic center of Qi). When they heard this teaching they were greatly pleased. Their temperaments matched the doctrine of governing by law, so they wholeheartedly embraced it.

They put first “equalizing the myriad things” (holding that each thing has its own principle and that one must not force a single standard on all): Heaven can cover the myriad things but cannot bear them; Earth can bear the myriad things but cannot cover them; the great Dao can embrace the myriad things but cannot for each thing separately mark out what is clear. One must understand that every thing has what suits it and what does not. Therefore, wherever there is selection, one cannot be complete in every respect. Exegetes explain that only by employing all together in full measure can one be thorough.

Heaven covers the earth and bears all things; each has its own capacity. The Great Dao can embrace all things yet never contends. Therefore, each thing has what suits it and what does not; one should follow each thing’s native disposition and let it develop naturally. If one tries to pick and arrange everything one by one, completeness will be impossible.

Acting only according to commands and regulations can never reach the ultimate Dao; following each thing’s original nature is what avoids leaving anything out. Things differ in endowed nature and in kind; teaching everything with a single method is indeed not the most complete approach. If one can follow the profound and abstruse Great Dao, all things can each find their place and nothing will be lost.

For this reason, Shen Dao (a Warring States thinker) discarded cleverness and forgot the self, followed what circumstances made unavoidable, let the mind-spirit change with things, and took this as the principle of living in the world. The commentary says that “lingtai” (泠汰) means to let go and not hold on; the sub-commentary also explains it as sifting and refining. What is meant is: stilling thought, abandoning cleverness, forgetting the self, and not acting with deliberate purpose; only when unavoidable circumstances arise does one respond. Shen Dao used this to distinguish right from wrong and decide according to law, and made it his standard of conduct.

What is called “knowing that one does not know” only reduces cleverness to a shallow level; after doing so, one still comes close to harming the natural order of things. The commentary says that when intelligence is limited and one does not know how to let all things develop naturally, cleverness is therefore weakened; the sub-commentary explains that “lin” (邻) means “close to”: where there is knowing, there is also not-knowing. Even when cleverness has been reduced, it is not yet fully forgotten, so one still comes close to damaging the Dao.

“Xike” (謑髁) refers to not being fixed in form and having no set posture. Such a person does not take on a fixed role and mocks the world’s esteem for the worthy. The commentary says that if one does not let a few people hold specialized duties but lets everyone act according to their own ability, there is no need to promote worthy people by force. The sub-commentary holds that by following the tendency of things and not fixing uses in advance, letting all things each find their place, one does not exalt the worthy.

Indulging freely and not binding oneself to convention, not presenting oneself as embodying benevolence, righteousness, and virtue—therefore such a person is seen as going against what the world calls the great sage. The commentary explains that this is meant to break through outward traces so that things no longer chase these surface norms.

Using the rod to punish and applying penalties, then changing along with things. The commentary says that even when Legalist methods are refined, they still involve punitive measures, so they are not yet fully aligned with the Great Dao. The sub-commentary explains that “chuipai” (椎拍) is flogging, “wanduan” (輐断) is imposing punishment, and “wanzhuan” (宛转) is turning with the situation. That is, even when punishment and execution are used, if one can follow the changes of the age and not cling to one side, one can still turn with things.

Setting aside dispute over right and wrong, seeking only to escape present difficulty; not taking clever thought as one’s teacher, and not deliberately tracing causes and effects to their roots.

Note: Unable to distinguish right from wrong, past from future; with eyes closed one acts on whim alone, seeking only to dodge immediate calamity.

Commentary: One does not take one’s own preconceptions as standards, nor employs the mind for plotting; one does not look ahead or behind. One does not adorn one’s nature or artificially craft one’s demeanor—one only spreads a great net and goes along with external things.

“Wei ran” (majestic and unmoving)—that is all.

Note: Acting on whim while standing alone.

Commentary: “Wei ran” means resting secure and unmoving. Even when dwelling in the world among the crowd, one still stands apart in tranquil independence.

Pushed, one moves; pulled, one goes.

Note: This is what is meant by complying with what circumstances make unavoidable.

Commentary: Being pushed or pulled happens because the situation demands it; one responds only after being stirred—one does not take the lead.

Like a whirlwind wheeling, like a feather circling, like a millstone turning—complete and without bias; whether in motion or at rest, there is no fault, and one never incurs blame.

Commentary: “Wei” is the millstone; “sui” is rotation. Like a whirlwind’s spin, a falling feather’s drift, a millstone’s turn—these three have no subjective intent, and so can preserve themselves. Thus for them there is no question of right and wrong, no guilt or error. They have no private attachment; they only follow external things, and that is why they are so.

Why is this?

Commentary: Here a question is posed in order to show why they can be this way.

Things without perception have no anxiety from insisting on a self, and no burden from using the mind. Their movement and stillness do not violate the natural order, so through life they win no reputation.

Note: Anxiety arises from reputation, and reputation arises from insisting on a self.

Commentary: Things in general cling to themselves, erect fame, and employ the mind, drowning in immediate circumstances. The millstone and the like, in going and stopping, simply yield to external things; movement and rest are without deliberate mind, always dwelling in profound principle—so anxiety and entanglement vanish. Hence they reach their natural span without disaster, and still less any reputation.

Therefore it is said: even to reach the level of things without perception is only this much; why must one employ the worthy and the sage?

Note: Only the sage can strip away craft and clever knowing and follow heaven’s pattern. Fool and sage each fit their place; noble and base each keep their station; worthy and unworthy each follow their nature. To say now “do not use the worthy and sage” shows failure to understand the Dao (the Way).

Commentary: To prize lack of knowing is to be no different from tile and stone; not to employ the worthy and the sage is to grope like walking at night—yet one still compares oneself to a lump of earth and calls that attaining the Dao. Shen Dao’s error is roughly of this kind.

Heroes and champions mocked one another, saying, “Shen Dao’s Dao is not what the living ought to follow…”

Dao (the fundamental principle that is omnipresent and encompasses all things) does not mean turning oneself into a lump of clay. Sages who have attained the Dao can penetrate all things because they shed fixed opinions and follow their innate nature—not because they are as insensate as clay. To say that a lump of clay has not “lost” the Dao, then, is no different from speaking of a dead thing. Such a view has neither the functioning of spirit (shen) nor the conduct of the living; thus learned and penetrating scholars and heroes all knew the claim was unreasonable and mocked it.

Their doctrine, in turn, became a mere oddity—because it did not accord with the ultimate Dao.

Tian Pian was much the same. He studied under Peng Meng but received Peng Meng’s doctrine of “no teaching”—namely, acting on impulse and unrestrained freedom.

Peng Meng’s teacher said: “The ancients who attained the Dao sought only not to treat anything as absolutely right or absolutely wrong.”

That spirit swept past like a gust of wind—how could it be pinned down in words or fixed as a lasting teaching? The ancients who attained the Dao emptied themselves and forgot self, holding that heaven and earth need not be clung to in terms of right and wrong; their transforming influence passed with the moment, leaving no saintly traces to be bound by.

They often ran counter to ordinary opinion, so no one gathered to look up to them. They did not meet popular expectations, frequently went against what people wanted, and could not win uniform praise and reverence from the masses.

Yet they still could not avoid seeming slick and without sharp edges. This means that even when they set up laws and carried out teaching, they had not yet truly equalized all things.

The “Dao” they spoke of was not the true Dao; what they called correct could not escape being wrong. Here “韪” (wěi) means “correct.” The “Dao” that Shen Dao spoke of was not the right path, and what he held to be correct was not necessarily correct—so error could not be avoided.

Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao did not understand the true Dao. The Dao is everywhere, yet they said even a lump of clay had not lost the Dao—hence their failure to understand Dao. Even though they valued emptiness and stillness and took non-mind as Dao, they had still not grasped the complete Dao.

Therefore, one still cannot say that they truly understood this teaching. Even so, these views are, in broad outline, what they had once heard.

[Note] They had simply not yet reached the level of genuine comprehension.

[Commentary] People like Peng Meng had not awakened to the true Dao, yet their aim was to seek knowledge and they had some limited insight. They honored teachers and transmitted teachings to one another; all had lineages of instruction and did not rely solely on private speculation—so they had indeed heard these teachings before.

They took the “root” (ben) as what is essential and “things” (wu) as what is coarse.

[Commentary] “Root” refers to non-being (wu); “things” refers to being (you). Taking non-being as function and embodying the subtle Dao is called essential; taking being as function and fixing on concrete things is called coarse.

They regarded amassing visible possessions as insufficient.

[Note] When one entrusts oneself to the world at large, one paradoxically has abundance.

Dwelling in quiet simplicity and keeping only to the spirit-like (shen), in the ancient arts of the Dao there were indeed those who upheld such a principle.

[Commentary] Those who crave accumulation always feel they lack enough; those who know contentment and hold to their place can be pure, empty, and tranquil, standing alone without depending on externals. In this way, spirit and the Dao are present everywhere. This principle has existed from antiquity.

Guan Yin (Yin Xi, the legendary keeper of Hangu Pass) and Old Dan (Laozi, personal name Er, clan name Li) heard this style of teaching and were both delighted.

[Commentary] Yin Xi’s surname was Yin, given name Xi, style name Gongdu; in the reign of King Ping of Zhou he served as keeper of Hangu Pass, hence the title Guan Yin. Old Dan’s surname was Li, given name Er, style name Boyang; he was Yin Xi’s teacher. Master and disciple echoed one another; their words matched the principle—therefore when they heard the teaching of Wuwei (non-action), they rejoiced in it.

They established their doctrine through the constant pairing of “non-being” and “being.”

[Note] Non-being and being in themselves have nothing by which to be “constructed.” To say one establishes doctrine through constant non-being and being is precisely to show that the myriad things each arise according to their own nature.

They took the Great One (Taiyi)—the vast, undivided whole of the Dao—as the root.

[Note] From Heaven and Earth down to the myriad things, each is simply completed according to its own nature, without reliance on added ornament. Is this not taking Taiyi as the root?

[Commentary] “Great” means vast; “one” means not split in two. The great Dao is boundless; it embraces and governs all things and makes them penetrate as one—hence it is called Taiyi. In setting up teaching, one should take constant non-being and Wuwei as the root; in grasping its ultimate aim, one should take the open, penetrating Taiyi as the master. This approach only esteems simplicity and does not weary the bodily form; it is not suited to instruct everyone, and one need not thereby harm the art of the Dao.

They took softness, yielding, and humility as their outward expression, and emptiness and non-harming of things as their inner substance.

[Commentary] “Expression” is the outer show. Softness, yielding, and humility are expedient wisdom in outward practice; open clarity and completeness are the inner, authentic wisdom and De (virtue/power).

Guan Yin said: “The body is within the self, yet one does not fix on oneself as master.”

[Note] When a thing arrives, one accords with it; after according with it one does not hoard it in the mind—so efficacy passes with the thing and does not linger or abide.

It accomplishes its work yet does not claim the credit, and instead lets all things share in the merit. This is the way of keeping merit within oneself and cultivating the self.

Each thing manifests in its own way.

The commentary says: Not insisting on one’s own view, but letting every thing follow its own nature, so that each can display itself.

The exposition says: By not boasting of one’s own merit and simply allowing things to be, the forms and natures of all things can each appear on their own.

In action, like water; at rest, like a mirror; in response, like an echo.

The commentary says: This means being always without private intent and without fixed preconceptions.

The exposition says: In movement, like flowing water that goes with the current; at rest, like a clear mirror hanging in stillness; when something from outside stirs you, like an echo answering a sound—prompt and fitting. Whether moving or still, there is no deliberate scheming, so the spirit’s effect is quick and natural.

Vague and indistinct, as if there and not there; in silence, clear and empty. Those who align with it can harmonize all things; those who think they have gained something are the ones who lose it.

The commentary says: Those who always preserve the Dao do not even know what they have “obtained.”

The exposition says: “Hu” means dim and uncertain; “wang” means non-being. The Dao is neither fully “there” nor fully “not there”; neither purely clear nor purely muddy. Hence it is subtle and hard to pin down—seemingly without form, yet not nothing; quiet and luminous, as if transparent, yet not mere transparency. People who rely on shallow views and chase quietude, emptiness, and Wuwei (non-action) as “virtue” end up losing the Dao.

Never pushing ahead of others, yet always coming behind them.

The exposition says: Living in harmony with others and not taking the lead.

Laozi said: “Know what is strong, yet keep to what is soft, and you can be the stream of the world; know what is bright and white, yet keep to obscurity and lowliness, and you can be the valley of the world.”

The commentary says: When each thing keeps to its proper place, all return to stillness; there is no need to contend or to show off.

Are “strength” and “brightness” not precisely the love of winning and displaying oneself? To compete for victory and put oneself forward—is that not pursuing excessive cleverness and thereby harming one’s own life? So the ancients did not follow cleverness without limit; they only held to their own proper station. Only then could they preserve their inborn nature. When that nature is preserved, one can benefit the world; when the world is benefited, people turn to one as water gathers in streams and valleys.

The exposition says: Bold heroes who rush to be first often shorten their lives; yielding, retiring, and staying quiet tend to last longer. Therefore one should give up dazzling glory and choose to dim one’s light and accept a low place—that is the crux of learning the Dao, and then one can become the valley of the world. “Stream” and “valley” are both channels water runs through; a stream is smaller, a valley larger—hence the double phrase “stream and valley.”

Everyone struggles to be first; only he is willing to be last.

The commentary says: By not competing with things for precedence, the people of the world gladly put him forward and do not grow tired of him. That is why he places himself behind.

The exposition says: Ordinary people honor winning and being ahead; the sage is humble and low, content to follow. So the Daodejing says: “Put yourself last, and you end up in front.”

People attribute all the world's humiliation to him. The “stains” (gou) spoken of here include situations of being shamed and placed in lowly positions: he steps back and lets others go ahead, and therefore willingly bears disgrace.

Everyone else pursues what is substantial and real; only he pursues emptiness and stillness. “Substance” (shi) refers to tangible benefits such as wealth; commentaries hold that people know only that possession brings advantage, and do not know that emptiness, stillness, and wuwei (non-action) have their own efficacy. He abides in purity and detachment, and thereby accommodates the many concrete things of the world.

He does not hoard goods, and so is often left with surplus. Commentaries say that “hoarding” means amassing; when one is content and keeps within one's place, without gathering and scraping, one need not worry about lack of wealth. He is self-sufficient and appears at ease with margin to spare. A person who guards purity, holds to detachment, and is without ulterior motive is rare in the world; what is called “standing firm and lofty” (kuiran) is the manner of standing alone in excellence.

In how he deals with the world and nurtures life, his actions are unhurried and he does not wear himself down. He follows what benefits the people, accords with the changes of the four seasons in accomplishing affairs, and often aligns with the Way (Dao), so he is neither rash nor strained. Commentaries add that one who has penetrated the Great Way does not live on petty favors of the moment, nor insist on abundant fields; he is leisurely and at ease, and does not deplete himself for external things.

He follows nature and does not deliberately deploy craft, and for that reason mocks those who are crafty and artificial. Deliberate cleverness obstructs the natural growth of things; one who practices wuwei accords with the innate nature of things and lets them grow and each attain completion on their own. Spiders still spin webs, and every person has their own capacity—not everyone need exalt Gongshu (the legendary artisan skilled at making implements). Commentaries say he acts according to innate nature, keeps to simplicity and wuwei, and ridicules the worldly mind's scheming and falsity.

Everyone else seeks blessing; only he, by following the natural course, preserves himself. When one accords with the inherent pattern of things, life is often preserved, so there is no need to seek blessing separately—blessing is already sufficient. He seeks only to escape calamity: by going along with things, things do not turn blame upon him. Commentaries say the world pursues blessing but does not know to guard against calamity; the sage, empty-hearted and yielding to things, preserves life and the Dao, and thereby avoids disaster.

He takes profundity and mystery as his root, and simplicity and restraint as his standard. “Profound” means the root is hidden deep in the Way of the primordial beginning—it cannot be called shallow; “restraint” (yue) means casting off excessive luxury. Commentaries summarize: take deep mystery as the root of virtue, and frugal simplicity as the guiding principle of conduct.

When hardness is pushed to an extreme, it is destroyed.

Note: When compliance goes all the way, even metal and stone no longer seem hard; when resistance goes all the way, even water and vapor no longer seem soft. Compliance preserves; resistance destroys—that is the constant principle.

Sharpness is blunted.

Note: Rash advance without limit—that is sharpness.

Commentary: He sets aside conduct that is rigidly hard and checks the mind’s greed for a cutting edge. Hence the Classic of the Dao says, “Blunt the sharp.”

He is always generous toward all things.

Note: When each keeps to its own portion, there is naturally room to spare.

He does not harm others.

Note: That is how one preserves one’s own nature.

Commentary: By yielding and treating others with modesty, he can be generous toward all things; by knowing what is enough and holding to one’s place, he does not encroach on others.

Guan Yin and Old Dan may truly be called those who reached the utmost height—authentic realized persons of antiquity, vast and true!

Commentary: Guan Yin and Laozi were great sages of old who penetrated the obscure and attained the abstruse, merging in silent union with the true Dao. Their teaching was vast and sweeping; their reason broad and far-reaching. Zhuangzi, having inwardly tasted this, gave voice to such praise.

Still and empty, without form; in change, without fixed pattern.

Note: Changing along with things.

Commentary: The root of the mysterious has no form, hence stillness and emptiness; outward traces follow the myriad things, hence no fixed constancy.

Whether in death or in life, he stands with Heaven and Earth and moves with the spirits.

Note: Leaving change to itself.

Commentary: Treating death and life as the alternation of day and night, he therefore proceeds in parallel with Heaven and Earth; turning with creation and transformation, he therefore operates together with the spirits.

Vast and dim—where would he go? Suddenly here—where would he depart?

Note: Without deliberate intent.

Commentary: He lets natural change take its course and roams as the heart leads. He does not cling to choosing or rejecting, but entrusts himself to fate and rests content wherever he lands.

All things are fully encompassed within; nothing can make it belong to any one place.

Note: Therefore he simply lets each be as it is.

Commentary: Embracing the myriad things and enclosing the cosmos, he has never left the great Dao—what place could serve as a final home?

In the Daoist ways of antiquity, some upheld such an attainment. Zhuang Zhou heard of this ethos, rejoiced in it, and with far-reaching discourse, broad unbounded speech, and words without limit or thread, often gave free rein to his expression—yet he did not merely follow the crowd, nor did he parade one-sided views.

Note: He was not eager to let others see his intent.

Commentary: “Miaoyou” means remote and insubstantial; “huangtang” means vast and unrestrained; “zizong” is to let oneself go in expression; “qi” is skewed, not paired. Zhuangzi was born to meet the world yet secretly accorded with the mysterious great Dao, and so could offer discourse remote and deep, vast, without border or guiding thread.

He followed the times, letting all things develop naturally without favoring any side; he mingled with the world without standing out as different.

He considered everyone sunk in dullness, unable to discuss weighty, far-reaching truths with them. Commentators explain that people cling to form and names, treat solemn deep speech as wild talk, and refuse belief—so one cannot reason with them.

The sub-commentary says “grand speech” (zhuangyu) means expansive discourse. The people are lost in obscurity, trapped in petty disputation, and therefore cannot yet be addressed with great principles.

He used “goblet words” (zhiyan)—speech that tilts like a cup with fullness and emptiness—to convey continuous change and mindless non-fixity; he used “weighty words” (zhongyan)—speech borrowed from respected elders—to win trust; he used “allegorical words” (yuyan)—meaning lodged in others or stories—to spread doctrine widely. A full cup tips, an empty one rights itself, so the cup images truth that follows change without clinging to one pole. Words on the lips of the aged often carry lived insight; meaning entrusted to tales runs deep and wide, as in stories of Hun Dun, the Cloud General, or the Sea God.

He alone communed with the spirit of heaven and earth, yet showed no arrogance toward the myriad things. His speech penetrated ultimate principle and accorded with each thing’s nature and life. “No arrogance” means he held genuine wisdom, employed unfathomable spiritual power, lodged in the world, passed through birth and death, yet remained humble and compliant with things, never self-aggrandizing.

He did not condemn right and wrong. Commentators say that because he did not fix on right and wrong, he let the myriad things run their course.

He also dwelt with the vulgar world. Commentators say he shared bodily form with other beings. The sub-commentary explains: “reproach” is blame; right and wrong have no fixed master and cannot be exhausted, so he could follow the world like ripples merging with the dust of the age.

Though his writings are grand and strange, their expression could still meet the vulgar world, so they did not clash with people. Commentators say he could return to union with things and therefore was not harmed. The sub-commentary says “grand and splendid” (guiwei) means vast beauty; “smoothly blended” (lianpai) means harmonious mixture. Zhuangzi’s aim is lofty, yet his words stay near the vulgar—hence union with things without conflict.

Though his phrasing is uneven, it is marvelously witty and worth viewing. Commentators say his writing does not target only present affairs, so expression is sometimes empty, sometimes full, not uniformly neat. The sub-commentary says “uneven” means varied wording; “zhuogui” nears comic wit. Though meaning is entrusted to allegory and touches different eras, the strangeness and wit make it very much worth reading.

His compositions are full inside, rich without end. Commentators say he contains much. The sub-commentary says “cease” means stop; his text is clear, his principles deep, his inner content ample and inexhaustible—hence it never runs out.

Above, he wandered with the Creator; below, he befriended those who transcend life and death and have no beginning or end.

By accommodating the changes of things and roaming freely, and taking the natural Dao as a friend, one can treat life and death as a single matter and fuse beginning and end into one. The subtle principle is what is fundamental; outward expression is comparatively coarse, hence it is called “lower.” Yet in its root it is vast, far-reaching, broad, and open; in its aim it may be said to harmonize and adapt, penetrating the superior mysterious Dao.

“Pi” means to open; “hong” means vast; “hong” (闳) also means vast; “si” means to unfold; “sui” means to penetrate. The point is this: what Zhuangzi investigates at the root is deep, vast, and wide, capable of being unfolded and opened; what he sets forth as the true teaching harmonizes and adapts, penetrating the mysterious Dao.

Even so, among books that accommodate change and explain the rationale of things, none can match Zhuangzi. Its principles are inexhaustible; when the moment comes and one is moved by them, one does not turn away or cast them off.

“Obscure and dim—what has not yet been fully grasped”: Zhuangzi’s discourse is deep and subtle, and to this day it has not been completely fathomed.

Note: In his book Zhuangzi often speaks of himself in an even tone, much as he speaks of others, without making a special distinction. Read his words and his vast intent is plainly visible. When the Great Yu heard upright counsel he would bow in thanks—what is there to find fault with in such a saying?

Commentary: “Obscure and dim” is close in meaning to “dark and hidden”; it describes Zhuangzi’s book as deep, subtle, hazy and hard to pin down, as if one cannot see clearly or hear distinctly. If one seeks only by words and surface appearances, one still cannot exhaust its purport.

Hui Shi had many branches of learning and books enough to fill five cartloads, but his doctrines were mixed and impure and his statements often missed what mattered.

“The intent of traversing things” means that Hui Shi’s mind ranged through the myriad things, examining each in turn and debating them.

He said: “What has no outer boundary and embraces all that is beyond inclusion is called the ‘Great One’; what is so small that it has no inner space is called the ‘Small One.’” Commentary: What is so large that it embraces everything and has nothing outside it is called great; what is so small that it admits no gap within is called small. Though the names for large and small differ, the principle returns to nonduality, so both are called “one.”

He said: “What has no thickness cannot be piled up, yet its extent can reach a thousand li.” Commentary: The principle is subtle and cannot be touched by hand; it is marvelous beyond form and color—where would thickness be? Therefore it cannot be stacked layer upon layer. It is not simply nonbeing, nor simply being; being and nonbeing generate each other, so one may also say it extends a thousand li.

He said: “Heaven and earth are equally low; mountains and marshes are equally level.” Commentary: This is spoken from the way things appear when viewed: people usually think heaven is high and earth low, mountains high and marshes low…

From the standpoint of the Dao, mountains are as level as marshes, and Heaven and Earth are not divided. The Qiwu Lun (Discourse on Making All Things Equal) says: “Nothing is larger than the down on an animal in autumn, yet Mount Tai is regarded as small.” That is exactly the point.

The sun has only just reached the meridian when it already begins to slant; all things have barely come into being when they are already moving toward extinction.

“Nì” means to look sideways. Someone west of the sun calls it “directly overhead,” while someone to the east says it is already oblique—so “meridian” and “slant” have no absolute boundary. Birth and death are the same: the living take death as an end, while in another sense the dead take life as an end. If the sun’s “center” and “slant” are not fundamentally different, then birth and death in all things are not absolutely distinct either.

When great sameness is folded into small sameness, differences appear—this is called “small sameness-and-difference.” “Sameness and difference” means same and not-same.

When you distinguish things from each of their own situations, you naturally see what is alike and unlike among them—that is “small sameness-and-difference.” When all things are wholly the same and wholly not the same, that is “great sameness-and-difference.”

Life and death alternate, cold and heat succeed each other; form and nature differ in countless ways, yet from the root principle there is no difference—that is “great sameness-and-difference.”

The south has no limit, and yet it also has a limit.

Knowing that the four directions have no end, you also know that within them there are still the myriad things; forms change without end and colors change without end, yet form and color may each reach their own limit. Knowing has no limit, what is known has no limit, and knowing and the known may also limit each other. This is because the Dao has no thickness, so it cannot be piled up. Only the south is taken as an example here, using one corner to illustrate the other three.

Setting out today for the land of Yue can also be said to mean one had already arrived in thepast.

Looking back from today gives “today”; looking back from the past gives “the past.” Without today, how could there be a past? Without the past, how could there be today? Since today and the past have no fixed, unchanging boundary, it is also admissible to say that “going to Yue today is already having arrived in the past.”

Interlocked rings can be taken apart.

Rings linked together actually engage the empty space in each other, not the solid body of the ring. Thus each ring can turn on its own without obstructing the other, and they can be separated.

I know the center of the world: it is north of Yan and south of Yue.

Yan and Yue are far apart; people often cling to the belief that their own position is the true center, so “north of Yan” and “south of Yue” can both be called the center of the world.

Cherish the myriad things broadly, because Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are one body with me.

The myriad things and I are originally one body, so they should be cherished broadly; Heaven and Earth exist together with me, and can therefore be said to form one whole.

Hui Shi (a Warring States period disputant) took these doctrines as his lofty way of viewing the world and used them to instruct other debaters.

People throughout the world who delight in disputation, sharing similar aspirations and resonating in temperament, thus take pleasure in exploring these paradoxical arguments.

An egg has hair.

The claims “has” and “has not” ultimately return to emptiness and stillness. Ordinary people cling to their own views and insist that an egg has no hair; yet if one recognizes that such assertions themselves are empty, then saying an egg has hair is equally permissible.

A chicken has three feet.

Number arises from the void: from non-being to being, the designation “three” is only then established. From this it follows that neither two nor three possess fixed, unchanging substance; hence a chicken’s two feet may equally be called three feet. This holds for chicken feet and for all visible things alike.

Ying [the capital] is the whole world.

Ying was the capital of Chu, seventy li north of Jiangling. Wherever a thing stands, it has its four directions; thus the northern border of Yan may be called “the north of the world,” and the southern border of Yue may be called “the south of the world.” The Chu capital Ying sprawled for a thousand li—why then may it not be said to be “the world” itself?

A dog may be called a sheep.

Names have no power to fix what things are; things likewise bear no inherent obligation to match a particular name. The bond between name and reality is unsettled, so a dog may be called a sheep. The people of Zheng called unworked jade pu; the people of Zhou likewise called uncured rat meat pu. Form belongs to the thing, but the name is conferred by human beings.

A horse lays eggs.

Bearing live young, laying eggs, generating in moisture, transforming through metamorphosis—these are divisions imposed by human judgment; from the perspective of the Dao they were never different in the first place. If a bird’s egg may have hair, why should a mammal’s womb not be termed an “egg”?

The tadpole has a tail.

Chu folk called tadpoles dingzi. That tadpoles have no tails is something everyone knows. This speaks only to ordinary views of things and does not touch the root principle. From the perspective of the Dao, things have no fixed, unchanging substance; since even “non-being” may be spoken of as nothing, why may “not-having” not equally be called having a tail?

Fire is not hot.

People rely on everyday sensation and deem fire hot and water cold; examined from the nature of things themselves, neither is absolutely cold or hot. In the south there are creatures that feed on fire, and sages can enter water without being wet. Thus fire and water possess no fixed, unchanging qualities of cold or heat. Moreover, when a staff strikes a person, the pain occurs in the human body—it is not that the staff itself feels pain. By the same token, when fire touches the body, the sensation of heat arises in the person; one may likewise say it is not fire itself that is “hot.”

The mountain opens its mouth and speaks.

A mountain originally has no name; its name is spoken by people. If this is so for mountains, the names of all things are generated in the same way.

The wheel never rolls upon the ground.

As the carriage advances unceasingly, the wheel turns without pause; the track left behind has already passed, and the road surface ahead…

Before the journey reaches its end, there is likewise no fixed moment at which to pause between before and after. Thus, though the wheel keeps turning, it never truly comes to rest on the ground. As the Zhaolun (Treatise on the Profound Meaning) says: “A violent whirlwind can topple mountains, yet remains utterly still; rivers race in rivalry, yet do not flow; dust swirls like wild horses, yet does not stir; sun and moon course through the sky, yet do not cycle round and round.” What is strange about that? What is strange about that?

The eyes do not see.

[Commentary] For the eyes to see things, they must rely on certain conditions. Since those conditions themselves have no fixed substance, one may know that the eyes cannot see things on their own.

The finger does not reach; reaching is not severed.

[Commentary] When the finger points at a thing, what is pointed at is not the finger itself—so the finger does not truly reach the thing. Yet if neither eyes nor finger can grasp the thing, then “reaching” is not cut off either.

The tortoise is longer than the snake.

[Commentary] Long and short exist only by comparison; there is no absolute long or short. To say the snake is long and the tortoise short is a view trapped in surface appearances. Here the aim is to dispel that confusion, hence “the tortoise is longer than the snake.”

The carpenter’s square cannot fix what is square; the compass cannot fix what is round.

[Commentary] Squaring with the square and circling with the compass are practices as old as tradition; yet names and definitions are not fixed, and square and round have no independent, unchanging substance—so one cannot say they truly determine square and round.

The chisel-hole cannot enwrap the tenon.

[Commentary] “Chisel” here means the hole; “tenon” (rui) is the wooden peg fitted into it. The tenon enters the hole and the wood passes through the empty space—they cannot literally wrap around each other. This is like interlocking rings that can be undone.

The shadow of a flying bird has never moved.

[Commentary] The past has already vanished; the future has not yet arrived; apart from past and future there is no moment of “flying now.” Only bird and shadow seem frozen in place. From this one knows that, in the deepest sense, all things in the world are still. The Zhaolun says: “The four seasons run like the wind; the armillary sphere turns like lightning; even if the finest things shift, in root they do not migrate.” This is what is meant by “things do not move” (wu qian).

An arrow shot with great speed also has moments when it neither advances nor stops.

[Commentary] “Arrowhead” (zu) is the point of the arrow. Even when the arrow flies swiftly, it cannot escape the three times—past, present, and future; the principle is the same as the turning wheel. Since the wheel does not truly halt and the bird’s shadow does not truly move, how could the arrow have absolute stopping or advancing? It is like a sharp knife cutting three threads—each cut still involves past, future, and present.

A dog is not a hound.

[Commentary] “Dog” (gou) and “hound” (quan) are two names for the same animal. Since names themselves have no fixed substance, one may say “a dog is not a hound.” Dog and hound are the same in fact, differing only in name: from the angle of name matching thing, here one says “dog,” there “hound”; if name and thing are separated, one will say dog is not hound. Mozi said: “A dog is a hound—yet a dog is not a hound.”

A yellow horse and a black ox together make three.

Explanation: A body is not a color, and a color is not a body. A horse and an ox therefore count as two kinds. Add the horse’s color, and they can be said to make three: the yellow horse, the black ox, and “yellow-black color.” Body and color thus make three together. It is like “one” joined with “word” making “two,” and then adding “one” to “two” to make “three.”

A white dog is black.

Explanation: A name is not the same as the thing itself, and both form and color are empty. It is only by clinging to subjective impressions that one turns things around and says white is black.

A lonely colt has never had a mother; a one-foot staff, if you take away half of it each day, will never be used up, even in ten thousand generations.

Explanation: “Chui” means a staff, and “take” means to break off a piece. Someone asks: If you break half of a one-foot staff this morning, by evening only five inches will remain. In two days the staff should be used up. This is plainly visible, so how can one say it will never be exhausted?

The answer is: Names are used to refer to things, and things correspond to names. So if you pursue a thing by following its name, the thing has nowhere to hide. If you cling to the name “one-foot staff” and each time take away a portion from that one foot, when will you ever finish? If you break off another piece from the five inches, you violate the principle contained in the name. And if you call five inches “half a foot,” how can that still fit the meaning of “one-foot”?

The disputers answered Hui Shi with this argument and debated it without end for the rest of their lives. Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long were both figures of the disputers’ school.

Explanation: Huan was Huan Tuan’s family name, and Tuan his given name; Gongsun was Gongsun Long’s family name, and Long his given name. Both were from the state of Zhao and were skilled debaters. They had once stayed as guests in Lord Pingyuan’s household. Gongsun Long wrote the Treatise on Upholding the White, which was widely circulated at the time. They echoed one another with the preceding argument about the one-foot staff, and debated it into old age without reaching an end.

Polish people’s thoughts and change their minds.

Explanation: Even these abstruse arguments do no more than use clever words to polish people’s minds and elegant phrases to change their thinking.

Debate can overwhelm another person’s words, but it cannot make that person willingly accept them. This is the limit of the disputers’ school.

Explanation: By defeating another person in debate, one can overwhelm their words. But because one’s arguments have not hit upon what is right, they cannot win the other person’s conviction. The disputers’ school takes this as its own domain. Another interpretation is that “limit” means scope: Hui Shi’s arguments do not accord with what is right, and the scope of what he can argue does not extend beyond this.

Hui Shi said, “Using one’s own power of discernment to debate with others, standing alone to dispute with the debaters of all under Heaven, and treating this as something extraordinary—this is the root.”

Explanation: “Te” means standing alone, “strange” means extraordinary, and “root” means foundation. Hui Shi said that one uses the cleverness of distinguishing things to discuss them together with others, while standing alone… (The original text ends here.)

Although Huizi differed from heaven, earth, and the myriad things in countless ways—even his cleverness and sophistry were beyond counting—in the end his nature still did not go beyond what is proper to a human being.

Yet Huizi was skilled at speech and considered himself wiser than everyone else.

The commentary explains: “Ran” means “still” or “thus.” Huizi’s grasp of principle was almost on a par with Zhuangzi’s; add to that his eloquence and disputation, and he thought himself superior to the crowd—nothing like those who merely quarrel for quarreling’s sake.

Huizi said: “How vast heaven and earth are! And I still hold marvelous Daoist arts.”

The commentary explains: “Zhuang” means powerful; “shu” means arts or techniques. Huizi held that heaven and earth were generated together with him, so they were not enough to count as great; he took his own mind to be bold and above the world, yet without humility or softness, so he had not truly attained the Dao. What he called “vast” was only his own sense of standing alone in strength.

In the south there was an unconventional man named Huang Liao. He asked why heaven and earth do not fall or collapse, and how wind, rain, thunder, and lightning come about.

The commentary explains: Huang Liao lived in the south; his surname was Huang and his given name Liao. He did not follow custom and acted unlike ordinary people—a worthy who had stepped outside the world. Hearing that Huizi was clever and disputatious, he came to ask him: What is the reason heaven and earth endure so long? From what beginning do the movements of wind, rain, and thunder arise?

Huizi did not decline but answered at once; he did not pause to think but replied immediately.

The commentary explains: Huizi’s spirit was bold and his words ranged freely, so before he could even make polite excuses he was already responding; without reflection he answered straight away.

He went through the principles of all things, talking without end; the content seemed inexhaustible, yet he still found it insufficient and piled on yet more bizarre claims.

The commentary explains: Huizi discoursed on the roots of the myriad things and argued about how heaven, earth, and thunder and lightning take shape, not knowing when to stop. He still thought he had spoken too briefly, so he added strange and outlandish doctrines to show off his talent.

He treated violations of common sense as truth and tried to win fame by outdoing others, so he could not live in harmony with people.

The commentary explains: Huizi took what goes against human feeling and ordinary reason to be real, always wanted to surpass the crowd and stand out, and set his heart on reputation—therefore he could not blend with the world.

His cultivation of virtue was thin, while his drive to dominate external things was strong; the path he walked was truly obscure and remote.

The commentary explains: “Tu” means path or way. Huizi’s virtue and mastery of the Dao were insufficient, yet he was fiercely competitive toward external things and imagined his own doctrines especially deep.

Seen from the perspective of how heaven and earth operate and generate the myriad things, Huizi’s power to sway things through words was like a mosquito or gadfly beating its wings in the air and making a fuss. For the myriad things, what use was that?

The commentary explains: “You” means “from”; “yong” means “use.” From the standpoint of heaven and earth giving rise to the myriad things, Huizi’s ability to affect things through language was no more than insects humming and flapping in the void—what could that do for the myriad things?

It amounts to nothing but wasted effort—how can such talk be said to benefit the myriad things? In the end, it is nothing but useless discourse.

If one can devote oneself to a single aspect, that may still count as some gain; but if one then takes oneself to be lofty and pursues the Dao in that spirit, one has only moved farther from the Dao.

Commentary: “Ji” (几) means “to approach.” Huizi’s disputations were many, yet he could not broadly clarify matters among the myriad things—at most he could focus on one side alone. If he still wished to pursue the Dao with a sharp mind, polishing his words so as to seem close to what is genuine and sincere, then on close inspection his approach was truly inadvisable.

Huizi could not settle himself by such talk; instead he scattered his spirit among the myriad things and was still not satisfied, ending up known only for skill in disputation.

Commentary: “Zu” (卒) means “in the end.” He could not use the profound Dao to bring himself peace; he dissipated his spirit, discoursing loftily on the myriad things, so that the Dao never appeared in his sight—he gained nothing but the name of a disputer.

It is a pity that Huizi’s talent was abundant yet he could not follow the myriad things back to the root. This is like trying to silence an echo with sound, or racing one’s own shadow—a thing truly lamentable.

Note: In the past, before I had read the Zhuangzi, I heard people dispute the meaning of “chi chui lianhuan” (尺捶连环, the problem of the short staff and interlocking rings), and they all said it was Zhuangzi’s doctrine—so Zhuangzi was classed among the disputers. When I read this chapter and saw Zhuangzi appraise the various schools, especially where this chapter shows those doctrines to be tangled in principle and wrong in wording, I understood that taking hearsay for real doctrine truly harms the facts.

I also hold that these doctrines lack fundamental principles for governing the state and cannot bring a person to authenticity—they are indeed what is called useless talk. Still, sons of wealthy houses must find pastimes in their leisure; some who tire of canonical discourse can, by analyzing names and principles, ease the mind and lodge their thoughts, and pass these doctrines to later ages so that the heart is not led into perversity and dissipation—is that not better than addiction to gambling and chess? Therefore these words are preserved without further judgment, for those who care to read them.

Commentary: “Tai” (駘) means to indulge or let run wild. Huizi had talent but no Dao; he let disputation run wild and could not seek the true root, chasing only the tips of the myriad things and unable to return to the subtle foundation. To grasp the principle, nothing is better than forgetting cleverness and returning to the root; nothing is more fitting than ceasing dispute. Now Huizi labored in mind seeking the Dao; even if he poured out everything like a rushing river, he still could not keep his authentic state—how is that different from trying to escape an echo by making sound, or trying to outrun one’s shadow by running fast? With talent so outstanding, to end thus is truly sad.

Commentary and Subcommentary on the Nanhua Zhenjing, fascicle 35