《南華真經註疏》Vol. 7

The Commentarial and Subcommentarial Text on the True Scripture of Southern Florescence, Scroll Seven

Commentary by Guo Xiang of Henan; subcommentary by Master Cheng Xuanying of Xihua, Tang dynasty.

Inner Chapters, Chapter Six: The Great Ancestral Master

(Heaven and earth are vast, and the myriad things are numerous. What do they honor as their ancestral master?)

(The mindless Dao, the Way.)

To understand the natural workings of Heaven and to understand what determines human conduct is to reach the highest attainment.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Understand that the activities of Heaven and human beings each arise naturally, and inwardly you can let go of attachment to yourself, while outwardly you can merge with the myriad things. Together with others, you will penetrate the mysterious principle, letting things run their natural course. Nothing will be beyond your reach.

Cheng Xuanying’s subcommentary: “Heaven” means nature, and “highest” means reaching the utmost. Heaven’s activities include the changing brightness and darkness of the sun, moon, and stars; the growth and decline of the four seasons; the unfurling and gathering of wind and clouds; and changes such as thunder, rain, cold, and warmth. Human activities include taking hold with the hands and walking with the feet, seeing with the eyes and hearing with the ears, thinking in the heart, and every kind of action, from skillful to clumsy. Understand that Heaven’s activities are all natural: they are neither contrived by human beings nor brought about by the intellect. Then inwardly you can let go of attachment to yourself, and outwardly merge with the myriad things. With such clear and open insight, you will join others in penetrating the mysterious principle and fully investigating things and understanding your nature. This is why it is called “the highest.”

One who understands the natural workings of Heaven lives in accord with what arises naturally.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: “Heaven” simply means nature. Those who wish to act cannot produce action by will; what we call action simply happens naturally. Those who wish to know cannot produce knowledge by will; what we call knowledge simply happens naturally. When knowledge arises naturally, it cannot be called deliberate pursuit of understanding; when action arises naturally, it cannot be called deliberate action. Since action arises from non-action, non-action is its root. Since knowledge arises from not-knowing, not-knowing is its root. Thus the True Person—the one who embodies the Dao—sets aside deliberate pursuit of knowledge and understands naturally; acts without deliberate effort and yet acts naturally. They let things arise as they will and, seated in “sitting in oblivion”—the spiritual state of forgetting both self and external things—come to insight. True knowledge, then, goes beyond the deliberate pursuit of understanding, and true action leaves behind contrivance.

To understand human conduct is to use what one already knows to nurture what one has yet to know. To enjoy the full span of one’s life without dying prematurely is to make full use of knowledge.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Though a human being has a body only seven feet tall, that body possesses the Five Constant Virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness, as described in Confucian thought. Thus, though the body seems small, it in fact bears within it the whole of Heaven, earth, and the myriad things…

(The original text ends here unfinished.)

Everything has the conditions it needs to exist, and nothing can do without the others, even for a single day. If any kind of thing is absent, life cannot grow. If a principle cannot be put into practice, a person cannot smoothly reach the end of their natural lifespan.

Some of the body’s capacities are known to us, and some are not. Principles may be present within us, yet at times we do not deliberately act on them. Thus, people know little, while the body has many capacities; people do little by deliberate choice, while principles operate across a wide range. Those in positions of authority cannot treat all these functions as tools to be used, nor can they demand that every capacity be present in full. What people know may differ, yet when acting they dare not be different from one another. Once they deliberately seek to be exceptional, pretense arises. When pretense has taken hold, the true nature can no longer remain unharmed.

Some people enjoy pursuing more and more knowledge, but the result is that their whole body grows weary. They value only one part of the body, yet harm the body as a whole. This is using what one knows to damage what one does not know.

As for truly superior knowledge, it understands that people’s actions each have their limits, and so follows each person’s capacities without forcing them to achieve completeness. It also understands that people’s understanding has its own bounds, and so puts it to use without expanding it arbitrarily. In this way, one does not imprison oneself through the limitless pursuit of knowledge. The functions of knowing and not knowing among the body’s different parts can then work together unobtrusively, preserving the whole. This is using what one knows to nurture what one does not know.

The commentary explains: “People’s actions” refers to the distinct functions of the limbs and the body. “What one knows” means, for example, that one can recognize colors, so colors are what one knows. “What one does not know” means that one can distinguish colors but cannot distinguish sounds, so sounds are what one does not know.

The eyes, ears, hands, and feet each have their own functions: the eyes see, and the hands and feet move. Though they do not deliberately coordinate with one another, they complement one another and carry out their functions. Thus the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and limbs serve one another, each with its own role; the mind’s clarity and lack of clarity also have their limits. Use only the capacities within your own province, and do not demand that you know everything. Then what you know can nurture what you do not know, allowing you to complete your natural lifespan without suffering an untimely death. To achieve this may be called the highest state of knowledge.

Even so, there will still be troubles.

The commentary explains: Even when knowledge reaches its highest state, it is still inferior to setting aside views and following nature. Only then are there no troubles.

The commentary adds: Even the highest knowledge remains a burden. It is better to forget one’s views and follow the natural Way.

Knowledge always relies on something before it can make a sound judgment.

The commentary explains: Knowledge has not yet reached the point where nothing is either acceptable or unacceptable to it, so it must rely on something.

If one can live in accord with one’s nature, one can be at ease wherever one finds oneself, responding appropriately to whatever arises. Yet what one relies upon is not fixed and unchanging.

Commentary: Whatever one relies upon brings limitations; therefore, it cannot remain fixed and unchanging.

Explanation: Human understanding must engage with the world outside it; without external things, there would be nothing to judge. The external world comes into being and passes away, changing and unstable. Things, too, depend on something else and are therefore constrained and subject to change. Only by adapting to circumstances, clinging neither to one’s understanding nor to external things, and neither to the knowing subject nor to the object known, can one reach a state in which nothing is definitively acceptable and nothing is definitively unacceptable. In this way, one avoids bringing misfortune upon oneself.

How do I know that what I call “Heaven” is not “the human,” and that what I call “the human” is not “Heaven”?

Commentary: Human life has a natural limit; that is one’s nature. The human mind wants to prolong life; that is human contrivance. But this is only how humans themselves describe it. There is nothing among the myriad things that is not natural. “Heaven” means what happens of itself. When everyone follows what is natural, then order and disorder, success and failure, encounters and missed encounters are not arranged by human contrivance; they all arise naturally.

Explanation: Whether we consider ourselves or external things, human perception and capacity are both within the natural order. From this we can see that, in the end, the principles of “Heaven” and “the human” are no different: what is called Heaven is also human, and what is called human is also Heaven. How could ordinary people understand this? Here, “I” is Zhuangzi speaking of himself. The point is to dissolve the distinction between humans and Heaven, bringing the myriad things and the self into unity.

Only with the True Person can there be true understanding.

Commentary: With the True Person, the understanding of all under Heaven can return to what is real and cease to be confused.

Explanation: The sage can accord with the true Dao, forget the self, and cling to no external thing. Only after cultivating this sacred virtue can one attain true understanding. Thus the True Person becomes one with the myriad things and is not entangled in misfortune. The following passage will explain further what true understanding is like.

What is a True Person?

Explanation: This question is posed to make the principle clear.

The True People of antiquity did not reject the few.

Commentary: Those who do not reject the few can also accommodate the many.

Explanation: “Few” means a small number. The True Person draws on antiquity to govern the present, honors what is fundamental and restrains what is secondary, remains open to things, and accommodates all living beings. Even things that are small or few are not rejected or opposed.

They did not claim credit for their achievements,

Commentary: They did not rely on their achievements or use them to place themselves above others.

Explanation: They acted without claiming merit, and held high positions without ruling over others. How could they boast of their achievements and seek to outshine everyone else?

They did not deliberately seek out talented people.

Commentary: The True Person acts in keeping with the heart’s natural disposition. Many worthy people gather around them of their own accord; they are not brought in through planning and recruitment.

Explanation: The True Person is calm and unassuming, so people naturally come to them. They do not scheme or deliberately draw people in.

People like this do not regret what has passed, nor congratulate themselves when they have done what is right.

The realized person follows the moment. Whatever the circumstances, they accept them as they are and do not dwell on gain or loss.

When the moment has passed, they feel neither regret nor sorrow. When their allotted share of life is simply as it is, they do not treat it as something to boast about.

Such a person can climb to great heights without fear, enter water without getting wet, and walk into fire without feeling its heat. This shows that their understanding has reached the realm of the Great Dao, a realm of such profound depth.

A commentator explains: Those who attain the realm of the Great Dao are naturally preserved by its inner principle; they do not do so out of fear of death. The True Person—one who has realized the Dao and follows nature—walks on land without deliberately avoiding dampness, and stays away from fire without trying to escape the heat. They avoid mistakes without relying on careful calculation or arranging everything in advance. So although they do not regard heat as heat, they never actually rush into fire; although they do not regard dampness as dampness, they never actually step into water; and although they do not regard death as death, they do not thereby lose their lives. How could life be obtained only through human effort? How could achievement be brought about only through human contrivance? Those who let things follow their natural course and yet reach everywhere are True Persons. How could they make plans in advance for what they will encounter?

The explanatory commentary says: “Tremble” means to fear; “soaked” means to become wet; “climb” means to ascend; and “arrive” means to reach. True Persons understand that life and death are no different, and regard safety and danger as one. So when they enter water or fire, neither concerns them; when they climb to high places or walk through perilous terrain, they are not alarmed. Those with this understanding can rise to the mysterious realm of the Great Dao, which is why they display such qualities.

The True Persons of ancient times did not dream when they slept.

A commentator says: This is because their minds held no distracting thoughts or delusions.

When awake, they had no worries.

A commentator says: Whatever they encountered, they accepted it calmly.

The explanatory commentary says: Dreams arise from emotions and delusions. True Persons have no attachments and have put an end to delusion, so when asleep they are quiet and still, without dreams. When awake, they are always at ease and free of worry.

They did not find food especially delicious.

A commentator says: They ate only as much as they needed.

The explanatory commentary says: They moved among ordinary people and ate alongside them, but did not become absorbed in flavor. They paid little attention to whether food was especially tasty.

Their breathing was deep. The breath of a True Person seemed to come from the heels.

A commentator says: It was as if their breath arose from the very depths of the body.

The explanatory commentary says: “Heel” means the heel of the foot. True Persons are calm and unhurried in nature, with clear and quiet wisdom, so their breathing is slow and long, as if it issued from the heels. This describes the depth and stillness of their breath.

Ordinary people, by contrast, breathe from the throat, in short, obstructed breaths. Their breath is narrow, as cramped as the furrows between fields.

A commentator says: Their breath cannot flow smoothly and freely.

The explanatory commentary says: “Throat” refers to the throat, and “obstructed” means impeded and uneven. Ordinary people’s minds race after rivalry and contention. Their speech and breathing are hurried and gasping, and they breathe only through the throat. Their emotions are agitated and their breaths are short, so they cannot attain a state of deep, quiet breathing.

People weighed down by desires and absorbed in external things find that their innate clarity and acuity grow shallow and dull. If their wisdom could see deeply and far, how could this happen?

The perfected people of ancient times—those who understood and followed the Great Dao—neither clung to life nor despised death. They became one with change: when Qi gathered, it formed life; when Qi dispersed, it became death. Since they followed change completely, they did not dwell on preferring life or loathing death.

When life came, they did not rejoice; when death arrived, they did not resist or evade it. They accepted it calmly, coming and going with ease. Because they entrusted themselves to the utmost principle, the passage between life and death posed no difficulty for them. “Free and unbound” describes a state without attachments or constraints. They followed change on their own and let nature’s principle take its course, without clinging to life or longing for it to remain.

They did not cling to life’s beginning or seek to discover death’s destination. Here, “beginning” means birth and “ending” means death. They let go of both ends of life and death, without obstruction or fixation. Whatever they encountered, they accepted calmly.

They welcomed whatever came, without asking what, exactly, they were accepting. Once distinctions were forgotten, they returned to the original state—a return that cannot be attained through deliberation.

This is called not harming the Dao with self-interest, and not interfering with nature through deliberate action. Such a person is called a perfected person. Human nature is originally tranquil; desires arise only after we encounter external things. The temptations of external things have no end, while people pursue their desires without restraint, and the natural principle bestowed by Heaven is lost. The perfected person understands that deliberately choosing and rejecting things with the mind leads away from the Dao, and that using human effort to force nature along also harms life. So they do neither.

They have abandoned the open, unobstructed course of naturalness. Instead, they interfere with and try to improve what is already present in nature by imposing human emotions and distinctions. A person who can do this is called a Perfected Person (zhenren): one whose being accords with the Great Dao and follows nature.

Such a person’s resolve is settled. “Resolve” means the direction in which the heart-mind finds stability and to which it holds firm.

Even while acting in the world, their inner being remains tranquil and undisturbed by external things. Their broad forehead is plain and unadorned, and their expression is calm and natural. A Perfected Person is born into the world with an endowment unlike that of ordinary people: not only are their understanding clear and their aspirations expansive, but their appearance is also composed and dignified. The commentaries describe such features with phrases such as “sun-shaped brow and moon-dark temples.”

At times, a Perfected Person may seem solemn like autumn, but not to display authority. At other times, they may seem gentle like spring, but not to make a show of benevolence. Their shifts in joy and anger accord with the seasons. One who embodies the Dao and responds to change may be gentle or stern as naturally as the seasons turn from cold to hot; neither response arises from self-interest. Their expressions simply take different forms—gentleness or severity, nurturing or withering—so they are described in terms of “joy and anger.”

The sage has no fixed preconceptions and responds appropriately when something calls forth a response. Authority or kindness, leniency or severity, are applied as circumstances require. The sage is like autumn frost descending, without intending to wither, and like spring nourishing all things, without intending to bestow favors. Thus, in responding to the world and acting within it, the Perfected Person moves like thunder and flowing wind, and is like flourishing plants and opening flowers. Their actions are like the workings of Heaven and Earth, and their shifts in joy and anger accord with the seasons.

In dealing with the myriad things, they always bring matters into accord, yet no one can see any limit to the effects of their actions. They treat the myriad things without self-interest and do not prevent each from finding its proper place. There is nothing they cannot treat appropriately, so their influence seems boundless.

Thus, when a sage wages war, even after destroying a state, they do not lose the people’s support. The commentaries cite Yao’s campaign against Congzhi, Yu’s campaign against Youhu, Tang’s destruction of the Xia, and King Wu of Zhou’s attack on the Yin. They regard these actions as following Heaven’s timing and accord with human affairs, undertaken to save the people and punish the guilty. Though the states were destroyed, the people remained willing to support the sage.

A sage’s kindness and benefits can reach across generations, but this is not because the sage deliberately favors certain people. Rather, the sage follows the people’s wishes and removes the calamities they wish to be rid of, and so does not lose their support.

The sun rises into the sky and shines in all directions across heaven and earth. It does not shine on someone because it favors that person.

In the world, the sage gives people warmth as naturally as the spring sun. Those who receive the sage’s grace need not give thanks. The sage’s severity falls as naturally as the frost of autumn; when plants and trees wither, they need not resent it.

The commentary explains: The sage benefits and nourishes all things, like the spring sun shining everywhere. This is not a favor bestowed for a moment, but something lasting. The sage regards the people as straw dogs used in a ritual and then discarded, with no feelings of favoritism toward anyone. So it is mistaken to treat “delighting in reaching all things” as something unique to the sage.

The note explains: The sage does not deliberately seek to “delight in reaching all things.” There is simply no obstruction, so all things reach their natural fulfillment.

The commentary explains: A mirror hangs high in a hall. When something appears before it, the mirror reflects it. It neither welcomes nor sends anything away. Where is there any feeling in that? The great sage responds to the moment in the same way. The sage simply follows what is happening, rather than deliberately cultivating affection for all things. So anyone whose mind is stirred by external things cannot be called a sage.

To be especially close to one person is not benevolence.

The note explains: The Perfected One, a person of the highest Daoist attainment, has no partial distinctions between those who are near and those who are distant. The Perfected One simply follows the principles of things and rests naturally in them.

The commentary explains: The Perfected One has no private attachments. Anyone who favors particular people cannot be a Perfected One.

To act in accordance with the seasons is not wisdom.

The note explains: Those who only adapt to circumstances are inferior to those who forget their calculations about timing and bring themselves into accord with nature. That is what it means to be wise.

The commentary explains: Observing the waxing and waning of the heavens and calculating the ebb and flow of circumstances are merely small cleverness, not great wisdom.

If you cannot see through gain and loss, you cannot be a noble person.

The note explains: If you cannot regard right and wrong as a single path, and instead pursue what benefits you and avoid what harms you, you will damage your De and neglect your proper place.

The commentary explains: If you cannot take poverty and eminence lightly and regard gain and loss equally, but cling to personal feelings, honor and disgrace, and right and wrong, you cannot even find your own way through life. How, then, could you become a noble person and teach others?

To act for the sake of reputation, until you lose your true nature, is not the way of a true scholar.

The note explains: Those skilled in the way of the scholar cast aside empty fame and preserve themselves. Only when a reputation matches the reality will its blessings come to the person.

The commentary explains: Deliberately behaving in a certain way to win a reputation, and thereby losing your true nature, is the way of worldly people, not of those who seek the Dao.

If you lose your own true nature, you cannot command others.

The note explains: Having lost their nature, people force themselves to accommodate external things and are already often driven by others. How could they then command anyone?

The commentary explains: Those who act contrivedly, lose their true nature, and forget themselves in pursuit of fame can only be driven by others. How could they ever drive others?

Hu Bu Xie, Wu Guang, Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Ji Zi, Xu Yu, Ji Ta, and Shentu Di were all driven by others and accommodated other people’s wishes, rather than resting in their own nature and following their own hearts.

The note explains: These people all abandoned themselves to imitate others. By submitting to others, they harmed themselves.

Hu Buqie, whose personal name was Zi (the text gives only “Zi” and does not record his full personal name), was a worthy man of antiquity. Some say he lived in the time of Yao, refused Yao’s offer to abdicate in his favor, and threw himself into a river and drowned.

Wuguang lived in the time of the Yellow Emperor and was seven feet tall. Others say he lived in the Xia dynasty, cultivated his nature by taking medicinal drugs, and enjoyed playing the zither. When Tang of Shang offered him the realm, he refused. He then tied a stone to his back and sank into the Lu River.

Boy i and Shuqi were the two sons of the Lord of Guzhu in Liaoxi. They were descendants of Shennong and had the surname Jiang. After their father died, the brothers deferred to each other, neither willing to inherit the lordship. Hearing that the Earl of the West, King Wen of Zhou, was virtuous, they set out to see him. On the way, they learned that King Wen had died and King Wu was attacking Zhou. Boyi and Shuqi seized the reins of King Wu’s horse and tried to dissuade him. When King Wu refused to listen, they withdrew to Mount Shouyang, east of the Yellow River. They refused to eat the grain of the Zhou dynasty and eventually starved to death.

Jizi was a worthy minister of King Zhou of Shang. He remonstrated with the king, but his advice was ignored; later, he was enslaved and put to death. Zixu and Yujita are also said to have been names for Jizi. Another account says that Zixu was the son of Wu She, a minister of Chu. His given name was Yuan and his courtesy name was Zixu. He served King Fuchai of Wu, offering loyal remonstrances that went unheeded. In the end, his eyes were gouged out and his body was sunk in the river. Jita, whose surname was Ji and given name was Ta, was a recluse in the time of Tang of Shang. Hearing that Tang intended to offer the realm to Wuguang, he feared that the offer might next be made to him, so he took his disciples and threw himself into the Kuan River. Shentu Di heard of this and also drowned himself in a river.

All these men deliberately distorted their natures and put on false appearances, pursuing fame through unyielding resolve. They indulged themselves to excess and ultimately came to this: some starved themselves, others drowned, cutting short their lives and dying young, while their reputations were handed down in the historical record. In truth, they were driven by external things such as fame. How could they control others? How could they win the willing support of the people and satisfy their eyes and ears? How could they make their own natures truly at ease?

The True People of antiquity—the ones who had attained the Dao and could follow nature—acted appropriately in the world without forming factions.

Note: Their conduct accorded with external things, but they did not form cliques.

Commentary: Here, “form” means conduct, and “accord” means appropriateness. The True People appeared in the world and responded appropriately to the circumstances of things. Open-minded and even-tempered, they never took sides or formed factions.

They seemed to lack something, yet did not take in external things.

Note: They were harmonious, open, and still, as though they had nothing to spare. Even in a lowly position, they were not constrained by external things. They seemed to lack something, yet did not take in external things.

Commentary: They kept their sharpness in check and remained still and open. They seemed almost to lack wisdom, yet acted in accordance with their nature, freely and contentedly. Thus they were neither endowed with nor governed by external things.

Among the myriad things, they seemed solitary and apart, yet were not rigid.

Note: They were often in a state of solitary wandering and transformation, yet did not cling to that state.

Commentary: “Solitary” means being alone; “rigid” means being fixed in one way. They moved at ease and followed their nature, contentedly roaming in the realm of spontaneous transformation, where all things change of themselves, without clinging to it.

Their heart is open, spacious, and quiet, yet never showy. “Zhang” means broad and open. Their state of mind is calm and expansive, like empty space, while their wisdom and Virtue (De) are genuine and firmly grounded. They are therefore never boastful.

Their expression is bright, almost as if they were happy. The Perfected Person—one of the highest moral cultivation—does not cling to happiness inwardly; they are simply at ease and peaceful, so they appear joyful. “Bingbing” describes the look of happiness. The Real Person follows change and adapts peacefully to whatever arises. In truth, they have forgotten both joy and anger, so one can only say that they seem happy.

Their actions appear to arise from necessity. “Cui” means to act, and “yi” means to stop. The Real Person is inwardly still, yet responds to circumstances and things without a fixed method. They act only when events move them, rather than setting out deliberately beforehand; hence they respond as though compelled.

Their heart is full, as though my appearance had been nourished. “Chu” means to gather, and “jin” means to increase. They do not let external things harm them. Their heart is like still water, able to hold all things. They meet all things without emotional agitation, and give kindness without depleting themselves. Their spirit and appearance are therefore not diminished; they seem, instead, to have been nourished.

They are composed and unhurried, as though settled in my Virtue. “Yu” means composed, and “zhi” means settled. Though they respond to the world and engage with external things, they remain at ease and practice Wuwei (non-action), allowing their true Virtue to appear naturally. Their body is active, while their heart remains still.

When circumstances grow difficult, they seem to share the peril of ordinary people. The Real Person is not truly subject to peril; they simply walk alongside others, and so appear to be in danger as well. “Li” means peril or hardship. The Real Person regards safety and danger, fortune and misfortune, alike, and lives in harmony with the world. Just as Confucius was besieged at Kuang and King Wen of Zhou was imprisoned at Youli, they do not abandon the Dao of Wuwei even when faced with danger.

They are lofty and self-possessed, beyond restraint. “Ao” describes a lofty, free-ranging manner. The sage’s Virtue is vast and exalted, rising above the ordinary world, and so cannot be restrained.

Their reach is long and deep, as though they preferred to remain hidden. “Lian” means long-lasting and unbroken. The sage’s Virtue is profound and enduring, beyond measure. Their state of mind seems to have no way in; they are silent and mysterious, as though behind closed doors, unseen and unheard.

They are wholly without self-consciousness, as though they had forgotten words. “Men” means without self-consciousness. They let things take their natural course and remain empty and free of contrivance. It is as though they had found the Dark Pearl by the Red River—a Daoist parable’s jewel symbolizing profound truth—and so forgotten words. All the descriptions above refer to the Real Person.

From “benefiting oneself and benefiting others” onward, the text explains how a perfected person—one who embodies the Dao and acts in accord with it—handles affairs of government in ways that benefit all things.

Make punishment the foundation

Commentary: Penal law is the foundation of governance, but I was not the one who established it.

Make ritual its wings

Commentary: Ritual is what people use to restrain and regulate their own conduct. I am not the one who created it.

Explanatory note: Make penal law the foundation for governing affairs, and ritual the aid for governing all things. It is like a bird that flies with the help of its wings.

Make wisdom respond to the times

Commentary: What is called “wisdom” arises in response to the circumstances of the time; I am not the one who advocates it.

Make De the path to follow

Commentary: What is called “De” is what all things naturally follow; I am not the one who brings it about.

Explanatory note: “Follow” means to act in accord with. Use insight to discern how circumstances are unfolding and do not miss the moment; use De to meet all things, adapting to their conditions. The preceding lines stated the main points in outline; from here, the text explains them in detail.

“Make punishment the foundation: then its killing is restrained.”

Commentary: Let the way of governance carry out punishment on its own, so that even when penalties are imposed, they can be applied with restraint.

Explanatory note: “Restrained” means lenient. To make penal law the foundation of governance is to use punishment to prevent killing. Punishing one person can serve as a warning to many; thus, although penalties are imposed, they can be applied with restraint and economy. For this reason, those who speak only of leniency and have no standards become enemies of the people. Those who govern according to law are the people’s parents.

“Make ritual its wings, so that one can move through the world.”

Commentary: Govern in accord with the rituals people practice, and there will be no place where the way cannot be followed.

Explanatory note: Though ritual became a particularly prominent standard only after loyalty and trust had declined, it is an important guide for governing worldly affairs. One cannot establish oneself without learning ritual. Do not do what is contrary to ritual, and do not say what is contrary to ritual. If a person does not observe ritual, why do they not hurry up and die? This shows how important ritual is to governance: it supports the order of human relationships and enables teaching and transformation to spread throughout the world.

“Make wisdom respond to the times: affairs leave no choice.”

Commentary: High and low support one another like the flow of water, which cannot be reversed; great and small each have their place. This is a situation that cannot be otherwise. The vast and impartial expanse of Heaven and Earth is where many forms of wisdom converge. When one receives the meeting of all streams and occupies the position of teacher to all, what is there to do? Simply respond to the wisdom bestowed by the times, and leave what must happen to the world to handle.

Explanatory note: Respond to the unfolding of events in receiving all things, and use wisdom to meet the demands of the time. In principle, the Dao has no fixed form that can be seen or sound that can be heard. Concrete affairs, however, have circumstances that leave no choice. Therefore, as the teacher of all, one should be open-hearted and impartial, entrust matters to the wisdom of the people, and follow the moment where things must converge.

“Make De the path to follow: this means going with those who have feet as far as the hill.”

Commentary: “Hill” means the root. In speaking of one’s nature, it refers to the root of that nature.

Each thing finds fulfillment in what suits it, and this fulfillment comes from its own nature. Let each thing follow its own nature: this is De, the Virtue of responding to all things. One who can respond to the nature of all things can reach the root; once the root is reached, the principles of things are fully understood.

Commentary: “Root” means the foundation. The sage meets external things with his own De and acts in accordance with their natures. Each thing has its own bounds, and when it remains within them, it is fulfilled. By acting in accordance with its nature, it reaches the root.

Yet people mistakenly believe that the sage achieves all this by diligently carrying out tasks.

Annotation: All these things come about through external things; their accomplishment does not depend on oneself. Thus, even when the sage occupies the highest position amid many affairs, he remains at ease. He suddenly does not feel that affairs pass through him, and is unaware that words come from him. Yet ordinary people foolishly believe that the Perfected Person—the one who has reached the highest state—achieves this through diligent action.

Commentary: The Perfected Person moves with the ease of drifting clouds and rests in the stillness of a deep valley. His state and wisdom are all-encompassing, free of distinctions; his empty, still mind responds naturally to all things. How could he cling to purposeful action, or be bound by the thought of saving all things? Ordinary people, however, cling to things at every turn. They believe that the sage guides the multitude and nourishes all things through tireless effort. How could they know of the sage’s serene detachment and profound stillness on the banks of the Fen River? That is why the text says, “Who would be willing to make external things his own affairs?”

Thus, to love it is one stance; not to love it is another.

Annotation: The sage is ordinarily without fixed intention and responds to the circumstances at hand. So whether he loves or does not love, approves or disapproves, makes no difference to what he responds to.

Commentary: The sage has forgotten both beauty and ugliness, and dissolved both love and aversion. Love and aversion arise from ordinary human feelings; the sage’s wisdom is empty, still, and perfectly integrated, never departing from the One.

To regard all things as the same is the standpoint of Heaven; to regard them as different is the standpoint of the human world. The True Person embraces both Heaven and the human world, regarding other and self as equal, and clinging to no bias about whether things are the same or different.

Annotation: Nothing fails to belong to the One; this is the standpoint of Heaven. Each person takes the other to be the other and the self to be the self; this is the standpoint of the human world.

Commentary: To regard all things as the same belongs to the sage’s wisdom; to regard them as different belongs to ordinary human feeling. Since ordinary people and sages have no fundamental distinction between them, even the view that things are different can be brought back to the One.

To regard all things as the same is to be of the same kind as Heaven.

Annotation: Heaven is what brings all things together as the One.

To regard all things as different is to be of the same kind as ordinary people.

Annotation: To see the other as the other and oneself as oneself is the standpoint of ordinary people.

Commentary: The sage is at one with both Heaven and ordinary people, and regards all things as equal. He is of the same kind as the hidden, profound Dao of Heaven, yet also understands how ordinary people distinguish between other and self.

Heaven and the human world do not contend for supremacy. This is called being a True Person.

Annotation: The True Person affirms both Heaven and the human world, regards all things as equal, and lets them remain free of mutual opposition. Heaven and the human world, too, do not contend for supremacy. Thus the True Person is open and unobstructed, with nothing that cannot be brought into unity; profound and all-pervading, with nowhere that is not within him.

“Making self and other mysteriously one” means bringing self and other together as one through the Dao’s profound principles.

Commentary: On the surface, Heaven has no distinctions between one and another, while people do make distinctions. But at the root, all things return to emptiness and stillness. If we say that Heaven is higher than humanity or prevails over it, how can we claim that self and other are equal? The point is to unite Heaven and humanity, dissolving distinctions of superiority and inferiority in profound mystery. Someone who reaches this state may be called a True Person.

“Death and life are matters of fate, like the regular alternation of night and day in Heaven” means that death and life are arranged by fate, just as night and day alternate as part of nature’s regular order.

Note: The alternation of day and night is a constant principle of Heaven’s Dao. From this we can understand that death and life mark the extremes of change ordained by fate; they do not occur without cause. They are simply like night and day, so why should we be troubled by them?

Commentary: Day is bright and night is dark: this is the regular course of Heaven’s Dao. Dying and being born are part of each person’s allotted fate. Heaven cannot be without day and night; how, then, could a person be without death and life? So, as changes unfold, what is there for me to worry about?

“There are things people cannot take part in or control; this is the nature of things” means that some matters lie beyond people’s participation or influence, and this is simply how all things naturally are.

Note: The True Person is at ease in the day when it is day, and at ease in the night when it is night. If death and life are seen as an alternation like night and day, what is there that cannot be accepted? Today, when people encounter things that do not go their way, they keep sorrow or joy in their hearts. This is merely worldly feeling, not in accord with reason.

Commentary: Death and life are like night and day: both follow the constant course of Heaven and humanity, and neither has ever been apart from me. What, then, is there to worry about? Ordinary people resist the natural course of change. They cannot accept their circumstances or adapt as things change, so they love life and loathe death, their hearts filled with sorrow and joy. This is merely the constraint of common, worldly feelings, not the penetrating wisdom of the True Person.

“People take Heaven to be their father and still cherish their own bodies; how much more so that which stands above Heaven” means that people already regard Heaven as their father and cherish their own bodies; how much more should they accept the state that transcends Heaven?

Note: “Standing above” refers to independent transformation: all things arise and change of themselves, without depending on anything outside them. No reciprocal interaction surpasses this supreme state of independent transformation. People rely on Heaven, while Heaven’s generative power comes from independent transformation. Everyone takes Heaven to be their father, so they do not dare resist the changes of day and night or the turning of cold and heat. They can only follow Heaven’s Dao and accept them calmly. How much more, then, should they yield to independent transformation, which stands beyond and apart, leading into profound mystery? Once they yield to it, the changes of death and life are left to fate.

Commentary: People receive the Qi of Heaven and Earth and come into being. They regard only Heaven as their father, yet still cherish and respect their own bodies; nor can they resist the changes from day to night or from warmth to cold. How much more should they accept and follow the profound, mysterious state of the highest Dao and the natural state of independent transformation—the source from which Heaven and Earth come into being and Yin and Yang unfold? How could anyone refuse to accept and follow it?

People think only that a ruler is superior to them. Even when they die for their ruler, they still dare not flee. How much more so must this be true of the natural order embodied in the mysterious Dao?

Note: “The Real” refers to a state that depends on nothing external and unfolds spontaneously. Since the natural order cannot be escaped, why should this apply only to a ruler’s commands?

Commentary: “Surpass” means to be superior to. Here, “the Real” refers to the natural state in which all things change independently. People believe that a ruler is superior and more exalted than they are; they are even willing to give up their lives for him and dare not flee. How, then, could they fail to follow the natural principle embodied in the mysterious Dao? Accepting what is arranged and allowing change to take its course is fitting in itself.

After the spring dries up, fish are stranded on land. They breathe moisture on one another and wet one another with their saliva. Better for them to forget one another in rivers and lakes.

Note: Rather than pitying and loving one another amid scarcity, how much better to forget one another when there is abundance and freedom?

Commentary: This is a parable. The waters of rivers and lakes are broad, and fish can swim freely, each with water in abundance. They have no need to seek one another out and so no longer think of one another. But when the spring dries up and the fish are stranded on land, their lips crack and their gills are exposed. They can only moisten one another with saliva and shelter one another with their breath. They then come and go to rescue one another, growing close and dependent. This is far removed from their freedom in rivers and lakes, where they forget one another.

So it was in an age when the Dao prevailed: all things enjoyed their own freedom. The calls of chickens and dogs could be heard, yet people had no dealings with one another. Once the simple way of life faded, shallow customs gradually arose. People stopped acting in accord with what was natural, and the teachings of sages and all manner of rites and rules appeared. They forced themselves to perform benevolence, treating halting, laborious conduct as benevolent; they treated deliberate efforts to get ahead as righteousness. Fathers and sons, brothers among themselves, harbored affection yet deceived one another. Zhuangzi was right to say that the sages would be ashamed of this. From this we can see that fish breathe on one another and moisten one another only after losing the water; people rely on affection and mutual aid to sustain their relationships only after losing the Dao.

Rather than praise Yao and condemn Jie, forget them both and follow the transformations of the Dao.

Note: Praise and condemnation both arise from a sense of lack. Those who are truly fulfilled forget good and evil, transcend life and death, and merge with transformation. Their minds are open, and they are at ease wherever they go. How, then, could they care about the difference between Yao and Jie?

Commentary: This follows from the parable above. Tang Yao was a wise and enlightened ruler, while Xia Jie was an ordinary, unrighteous ruler. People therefore praise Yao’s goodness and condemn Jie’s evil, holding Yao and Shun up as models to encourage later generations. The rise of benevolence and righteousness also has its roots here. But how could this compare with neither clinging to goodness nor clinging to evil, forgetting both sides and no longer fixating on right and wrong? In this way, one can move freely in and out of life and death, roam at ease amid transformation, and have neither a place to go nor a place to return to, finding joy in practicing the mysterious Dao. How could this state be compared with fish stranded on land and rescuing one another, or with a life confined by the rites and rules of the sages?

Nature gave me my body, making me toil through life, then granting me ease in old age, and finally giving me rest through death.

Note: The body, birth, old age, and death are all changes that “I” experience. The body carries me; life makes me labor; old age brings me ease; death gives me rest. Though these four states keep changing, they have never been separate from me. What, then, is there for me to cling to?

Commentary: “The Great Block” refers to nature. The body is made up of various factors; birth is the beginning of life; old age comes as the years pass; and death is when the breath disperses. Once we have a body, life inevitably brings hardship. In old age, when movement becomes difficult, we gain a brief respite. After death, the body disperses and all things come to rest. These four states change, yet they have always been part of “my” experience. Since this is so, why not accept them calmly? What is there to regret?

Therefore, if we regard life as good, we should also regard death as good.

Note: Death and life are both part of one’s fate. If we regard life as good, we cannot regard only being alive as good; death, too, may be seen as good.

Commentary: The body, birth, old age, and death are all part of “my” experience. Thus, if we regard life as good, we may also regard death as good.

People hide a boat in a ravine and a mountain in a deep marsh, thinking they have made them secure.

Note: The point here is that the changes of life and death cannot be escaped. The author first gives examples of ways of hiding things that seem especially safe and difficult to disturb. Then he explains that all things must eventually change, urging people to go along with change instead of clinging to things.

But in the middle of the night, a force carries them off, and the foolish do not know it.

Note: This unseen, intangible force is change. It drives Heaven and Earth to welcome what is new and carry away what is old. It never pauses for an instant, and in the blink of an eye things enter a new state. Thus, everything under Heaven is constantly shifting. In truth, all things in the world have already become new, yet people still think of them as old. The boat changes every day, yet people see it as the same boat as before; the mountain, too, is always changing, yet people think it is still the mountain they once knew. The moment we turn away, things have already vanished into a darkness beyond our sight. The person I was in the past is no longer the person I am now. I, along with everything in the present, am continually passing away. How could anything remain unchanged forever? Yet people do not notice this. They think they can grasp and preserve the things before them. Is that not foolish?

Commentary: “The middle of the night” is a time of darkness and obscurity, used here as a metaphor for truth that is profound and subtle. “The one with strength” refers to the transforming power of nature, which drives all things to change. Hiding a boat in a sea ravine is already a suitable way to conceal it; people think that hiding a mountain in a deep marsh will make it secure. Yet the transforming power of nature still carries them off… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Things continually tend toward change, so they are called “new”; they pass swiftly, like flowing water. Those who are deluded and dull of mind always assume that mountains and boats are firm and unmoving, as solid as rock. How could they know that, in the unseen depths, these things are changing without pause, not for a single moment at rest? The “I” of yesterday and the “I” of today are the same.

Hide something, whether large or small, and although each thing is placed in a fitting spot, it may still be lost.

[Commentary] Not knowing that we ourselves are one with change, we try to hide things so they will not change. However deeply or securely they are concealed, however carefully each is placed, we cannot stop them from changing day by day. Those who possess hidden things cannot prevent them from vanishing; those who possess nothing and let change run its course, by contrast, cannot be altered by change.

[Exegesis] “Escape” means change and disappearance. Hiding a boat in a valley and a mountain in a marsh is hiding large things; hiding a person in a house and an object in a vessel is hiding small things. Though the things differ in size and the places where they are hidden are suitable, thoughts still shift from moment to moment, and all things continually renew and change. From this we can see that change has nowhere to escape.

If the whole world were hidden within the whole world, there would be no place for it to escape to. This is the fundamental truth of what endures.

[Commentary] Rather than hiding things in some particular place, let them be as they are. Then we can be in communion with all things and become one with change. There is no distinction between inside and outside, or between life and death. Following Heaven and Earth and merging with change, one can search for a place to escape and find none. This is the fundamental truth of what endures, not the narrow view of someone confined to a single corner.

[Exegesis] “Endures” means “is constant.” Hiding the whole world within the whole world does not mean finding another place to store it; it means that there is nowhere to store it at all. Only then can one see death and life as one, be in communion with change, roam freely between Heaven and Earth, and follow the workings of creation. This is what it means to hide the whole world within the whole world. Since change itself cannot alter such a person, what is there to escape? This expresses the state of one who is still and undisturbed, and the true feeling of one who has penetrated the Dao. How could those deluded by worldly concerns attain it through the petty cleverness of ordinary life?

A person happens to receive human form and takes this as a reason for joy. Yet forms like the human form have never been exhausted amid the myriad transformations.

[Commentary] Human form is merely one chance encounter among the transformations of all things; there is no reason to rejoice in it alone. Amid endless change, one may encounter forms as varied as the human form. Is human form the only one worth celebrating? Are the other forms not worth delighting in?

How could the joys to be found among them ever be counted?

[Commentary] One was not originally human, but later transformed into a human being and lost the original form. Though the former form was lost, one rejoices in the form encountered now. Change is endless: what form could one not encounter? If any form one meets can bring joy, how could the joys ever be counted?

Could pleasure ever come to an end?

“Alone” means happening by chance to encounter something on one’s own; “fault” means an error. The great smelting furnace that shapes and casts the myriad things happened, by chance, to produce the human form. People take joy in this form. But human shapes and appearances are limitless: encountering one kind, we delight in it; encountering another, we delight in that. Where could such joy ever end? Thus, forms and the joys that arise from them are beyond counting.

Therefore, the sage will roam in a realm from which the myriad things cannot escape, where all things exist naturally.

The sage roams along the Way of transformation, letting the myriad things flow on and renew themselves without cease. As all things continually change, the sage changes with them. Transformation has no end, and the sage, together with it, has no end either. Who can escape change? What we call life may be called passing away, and what we call death may be called existence. When, then, are we ever outside existence?

The myriad things cannot escape change because change arises naturally. Who can escape the natural Way? Thus the sage lets the spirit roam along the Way of transformation, following the realm in which all things continually renew themselves. Since there is no change that does not concern me, where could I ever be absent?

He can be at ease with an early death, and at ease with a long life; at ease with beginnings, and at ease with endings. People of the world can still take him as their model.

This means that some people can remain calm throughout a life of a hundred years, neither taking pride in youth nor becoming dejected in old age. They have not yet truly experienced the Way of transformation or reached a state of detachment from life and death. Still, their calm and pure manner is enough to offer others an example.

How much more so the sage, to whom the myriad things turn for refuge, and upon whom their transformations depend as their foundation!

The sage is wholly one with the myriad things and takes transformation as his own foundation. Thus he becomes one whom all under Heaven revere. Is this not entirely natural?

“Belong” means to be attached to or depend upon. People’s understanding and inborn nature may be clear or clouded. Some, even within a single lifetime, can remain composed and untroubled, paying no heed to the joys and sorrows of the many, to their own longevity or early death, or to youth or old age. Though they have not yet forgotten life and death, neither do they resent them. They are therefore still fit to teach others and serve as models. How much more so the sage, who is wholly one with the myriad things and knows deeply that transformation is one and indivisible: the myriad things belong to him, and through his wisdom and clarity he becomes their master. Is this not entirely natural?

The Dao has genuine feeling and a trustworthy foundation, yet it acts without action and has no form.

The Dao has a kind of genuine feeling that does not involve desire, and so it is Wuwei (non-action). The Dao has a constant, trustworthy foundation, and so it has no form.

The Dao reflects the myriad things everywhere, like a bright mirror; this is its “feeling.” It responds to the transformations of all things as an echo answers a sound; this is its “trustworthiness.” It is tranquil and still, which is non-action; it cannot be seen, which is formlessness.

The Dao can be spoken of, but it cannot be handed to another like an object. It can be experienced, but it cannot be seen with the eyes.

All things dwell at ease within the Great Dao, yet no one can see its form.

[Commentary] Reason can be clarified through words and passed on, but the substance of the Great Dao cannot be measured in quantities or grasped by the senses. It can be experienced through inward understanding alone. Since it is beyond form and color, it cannot be seen.

The Great Dao is its own foundation. It existed before Heaven and Earth came into being and has remained so since ancient times.

[Note] The point is that “nonbeing” is not incapable of bringing “being” to completion; yet it remains “nonbeing” itself.

[Commentary] “From” means to arise from, and “exists” means to be present. The open and unobstructed Dao of utmost subtlety has neither beginning nor end. At the root of things, the Dao was already present before Heaven and Earth appeared, while the Five Qi—the five kinds of vital energy that make up Heaven, Earth, and all things—had not yet separated from it. Thus the Laozi says, “There was something formed in a state of wholeness, existing before Heaven and Earth.” It also says, “Look toward it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see what comes after.”

The Great Dao brings the spirits to manifest their powers and the heavenly emperors to display their numinous might; it gives rise to Heaven and Earth.

[Note] The Great Dao itself is “nonbeing,” so how can one say that it brings forth spirits? It does not make the spirits and heavenly emperors manifest their powers; rather, they manifest them spontaneously. This is “not being numinous, yet being numinous”: it exerts no numinous power of its own, yet numinous beings appear of themselves. The Great Dao does not generate Heaven and Earth; they form spontaneously. This is “not generating, yet generating”: it exerts no power of generation, yet all things come into being of themselves. To attribute numinous power to some particular “spirit” therefore fails to explain what is truly subtle and wondrous. The wondrous lies in exerting no deliberate numinous power. Why claim credit? Why make things depend on it?

[Commentary] Here, the text says that the Great Dao brings the spirits to manifest their powers and the heavenly emperors to display their numinous might, opens up the Three Luminaries of the sun, moon, and stars, and generates the Two Modes of Heaven and Earth. The Dao of utmost nonbeing has this effect: numinous beings manifest without any exertion of numinous power, and all things arise without deliberate generation. It is not that some numinous power first makes them manifest, nor that some force first generates all things. Thus the Laozi says, “When Heaven attains the One, it becomes clear; when the spirits attain the One, they become efficacious.”

The Great Dao is above Taiji—the undivided state of primordial Qi before Heaven and Earth separate—yet this does not make it seem lofty. It is below the Six Extremes, the six directions of Heaven and Earth, yet this does not make it seem deep. It came into being before Heaven and Earth, yet this does not make it seem long-lived. It is older than remote antiquity, yet this does not make it seem aged.

[Note] This means that the Great Dao is everywhere. Though it is in a high place, there is no such thing as height; though it is in a deep place, there is no such thing as depth. Though it has existed for a long time, there is no such thing as duration; though it predates remote antiquity, there is no such thing as age. It is everywhere, yet nowhere can it be defined by a fixed form. It runs through above and below and cannot be described as high or low; it reaches everywhere within and without and cannot be divided into inner and outer. It changes along with all things, so it cannot be said to endure unchanged; it remains forever without form or trace, so it cannot be said to grow old.

[Commentary] Taiji refers to the Five Qi, and the Six Extremes to the six directions of Heaven and Earth. The Great Dao is above the Five Qi, yet this does not make it lofty; it is below the six directions, yet this does not make it deep. It came into being before Heaven and Earth, yet this does not make it long-lived; it has endured since the most distant antiquity, yet this does not make it aged. What is being said here is …

The Dao has no defining qualities of height, depth, antiquity, or age, so there is nowhere it is absent. Yet wherever the Dao exists, it has no fixed form.

After attaining the Dao, Xiwei (a title for an ancient ruler) was able to uphold and support Heaven and Earth.

Commentary: Xiwei was an ancient ruler from before the invention of writing. He attained the numinous and responsive Dao, and so could govern the myriad things and uphold Heaven and Earth. “Uphold and support” may also be written with a character meaning “to unite”; it means that he could merge with the myriad things and accord with Heaven and Earth.

After attaining the Dao, Fuxi (one of the legendary Three Sovereigns) was able to receive and unite with the mother of primordial Qi.

Commentary: Fuxi was one of the Three Sovereigns. The word “receive” means to take in and unite with. The “mother of Qi” refers to the source of primordial Qi, the foundation that accords with the Dao. Having attained the highest Dao, Fuxi was able to draw the Eight Trigrams and derive the six lines, harmonizing Yin-Yang and bringing primordial Qi into accord.

After attaining the Dao, Weidou (the Northern Dipper) remained free of error through all ages.

Commentary: The Northern Dipper is the guiding framework of the stars, hence its name, “Weidou.” “Error” means a deviation, and “ages” refers to the beginning of time. Having attained the Dao, Weidou could sustain Heaven and Earth from beginning to end, without ever deviating.

After attaining the Dao, the sun and moon continued without cease through all ages.

Commentary: The radiance of the sun and moon reveals the same principle. From beginning to end, they illuminate Heaven and Earth without resting.

After attaining the Dao, Kanhui entered Kunlun.

Commentary: Kunlun is the name of a mountain, said to lie north of the Northern Sea. Kanhui is the name of Kunlun’s mountain spirit. The word “enter” means to go into. Kanhui had a human face and the body of a beast. After attaining the Dao, he entered Kunlun and became its mountain spirit.

After attaining the Dao, Fengyi was able to roam through the great river.

Commentary: Fengyi’s surname was Feng and his given name was Yi. He was from Dishou Hamlet, Tong Township, Huayin, Hongnong. He consumed the Eight Stones and became a water immortal. The great river refers to the Yellow River. The Heavenly Emperor appointed Fengyi its Lord of the River, so he roamed the Yellow River around Mengjin.

After attaining the Dao, Jianwu dwelt on Mount Tai.

Commentary: Jianwu is the name of a spirit. After attaining the Dao, he dwelt on the Eastern Peak and became the spirit of Mount Tai.

After attaining the Dao, the Yellow Emperor ascended into the clouds.

Commentary: The Yellow Emperor was Xuanyuan. At the foot of Mount Jing, he mined copper from Mount Shou to cast a tripod. When it was finished, a dragon descended to welcome him. The Yellow Emperor then took his ministers and seventy-two members of his palace retinue, rode the clouds and dragon into the sky in broad daylight, and departed as an immortal.

After attaining the Dao, Zhuanxu dwelt in the Dark Palace.

Commentary: Zhuanxu was the grandson of the Yellow Emperor, also known as Gaoyang. He was also called “Xuan…” The original text breaks off here.

The Emperor (referring here to an ancient ruler) underwent the capping ceremony at twelve, assisted Shaohao at fifteen, and ascended the throne at twenty. He took copper from Mount Yushan and cast it into a ritual vessel. He could summon the spirits of the Four Seas, and wondrous phenomena appeared. He died at ninety-seven. After attaining the Dao, he became the ruler of the north. Dark is the color of the north, so he dwells in the Dark Palace.

After attaining the Dao, Yuqiang took his place at the North Pole.

The commentary says: Yuqiang is the name of a water deity, also called Yujing. He has a human face and a bird’s body, and travels riding a dragon. He belongs to the same lineage as Zhuanxu and Xuanyuan. Though he attained the Dao, he did not take the throne as emperor; instead, he became a water deity. In the Five Phases, Water corresponds to the north, so his direction and title are those of the North Pole.

After attaining the Dao, the Queen Mother of the West dwelt on Mount Shaoguang. No one knows when her story began or when it will end.

The commentary says: Shaoguang is a mountain at the westernmost edge. The Queen Mother is the essence of Great Yin. It is said that she had a leopard’s tail and tiger’s teeth, and loved to laugh. In the time of Emperor Shun, she sent an envoy with a gift of jade rings; in the time of Emperor Wu of Han, she sent peaches from the immortals. She looked like a young woman of sixteen or seventeen, dignified and beautiful. She dwelt constantly on Mount Shaoguang in the west and no longer experienced birth and death, so no one knows her beginning or end.

After attaining the Dao, Pengzu remained among the living from the time of Youyu through the era of the Five Hegemons.

The commentary says: Pengzu was a great-grandson of Emperor Zhuanxu and was enfeoffed at Pengcheng. Because he cultivated the Dao successfully, he was called Pengzu. He was skilled in nourishing life and was one who had attained the Dao. The Five Hegemons were Kunwu of the Xia dynasty; Dapeng and Shiwei of the Shang; and Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin in the Zhou dynasty. After attaining the Dao, Pengzu lived for a very long time, from the era of Youyu through the transition between the Yin and Zhou dynasties. Tradition says he lived for a total of eight hundred years.

After attaining the Dao, Fu Yue assisted King Wuding in governing the realm. Later he ascended to Heaven, driving the eastern span of the sky and riding the stars Ji and Wei, taking his place among the constellations.

The commentary says: The Dao itself cannot accomplish anything on a person’s behalf. When these people are said to have “attained the Dao,” this means that each understood it and attained it for himself; it does not mean that the Dao made them attain it. Before someone has attained the Dao, the Dao cannot attain it for him either. Thus, those who attain the Dao do not depend on the Dao to bring about their achievements in the world, nor do they attain it inwardly through deliberate cultivation. Rather, they understand it naturally, without intending to, and transform on their own. The coming into being of life is inherently difficult to explain, yet it also happens spontaneously. Since life is already received naturally, why worry that it will not turn out as one wishes, and try deliberately to control it? Deliberately managing life is, on the contrary, not enough to preserve it. Life does not arise through deliberate arrangement; to force such an arrangement is to damage life’s original nature.

Commentary: Wu Ding was the name of a king of Yin, whose posthumous title was Gaozong. Gaozong once dreamed of Fu Yue, so he sent people to search throughout the realm. They later found him at the place where he was building a wall at Fu Rock in Hebei County, Shanzhou. Fu Yue assisted Wu Ding, and the realm became peaceful and well governed.

Fu Yue was formed from the vital essence of the stars. In the sky there is a star named Fu Yue, located above the Ji and Wei lunar mansions. The Ji and Wei mansions are among the Twenty-Eight Mansions and together anchor the eastern region of the sky. Thus, “riding the eastern framework, astride Ji and Wei” means that the star Fu Yue lies between the Ji and Wei mansions in the eastern sky. It also stands alongside stars such as Jiao and Kang, which is why the text says “ranked among the arrayed stars.”

Here, “mansion” refers to one of the star regions into which the sky was divided in ancient times.