《淮南鴻烈解》Vol. 2

Huainan Honglie Jie, Volume Two: Yuandao Xun, Part Two (Vernacular Interpretation)

Recorded by Xu Shen, Libationer to the Grand Commandant.

The myriad things each have their life, yet he alone can guard the root; the hundred affairs each have their origin, yet he alone can guard the crucial gate. Thus where things are exhausted, he does not see exhaustion; where they reach their limit, he does not see an endpoint. He illumines the myriad things without becoming deluded or confused, and he echoes sounds without becoming depleted. This is called “Heavenly Understanding” (Tianjie)—that is, what Heaven unravels: being able to understand Heaven’s intent and accord with the Dao of Heaven.

Therefore the person who obtains the Dao: his aspirations appear weak, yet his handling of affairs is strong (the soft and weak can overcome all); his mind is empty, yet he can respond to and match the myriad affairs (to respond and match means to be adequate to the affair). What is meant by aspirations being soft and weak is being compliant and quiet, hiding within “not daring” and acting within “not being able”; peaceful and without anxious thought, when he moves he does not miss the proper time; he circles and turns with the myriad things, does not rush to speak first, is stirred and then moves, moves and then responds—this is “responding in harmony.”

Therefore the honored must take the lowly and humble as their designation (dukes, kings, marquises, and earls call themselves “the solitary,” “the widowed,” and “the unworthy”; thus it is said they use lowliness as their title); those in high positions must take the low as their foundation (foundation means beginning: in building a high terrace, one starts from below). Entrusting himself to the small to encompass the great, dwelling in the center to control the outside, walking in softness while employing hardness, holding to weakness while manifesting strength, transforming and shifting, he obtains the Dao of the One and uses the few to rectify the many (being able to command the many with the few)—this is called strength in handling affairs: when he encounters change, he responds to emergencies; he removes calamities and wards off difficulties; there is no force he does not overcome, no enemy he does not surmount; responding to transformations and measuring the time, nothing can harm him.

Therefore one who wishes to be hard must guard it with softness; one who wishes to be strong must protect it with weakness. Accumulate in softness and it becomes hardness; accumulate in weakness and it becomes strength. By observing what he accumulates, one can know the direction in which misfortune and blessing lie (xiang means direction, orientation).

The strong can overcome those who are not as good as themselves; but as for those who are equal to themselves, they become locked in mutual stalemate (the strong can only overcome those inferior to themselves; when equal, they cannot win—this shows that “strength” is in fact not great, and is not valued by the Daoists). The soft can overcome those who surpass it; its power cannot be measured (one who can use the utmost softness to overcome himself—his power cannot be limited—this shows that “softness” is great and is valued by the Daoists).

Therefore, when troops are too strong they are destroyed; when wood is too strong it breaks; when leather is too stiff it cracks; when teeth are too hard they snap.

This passage comes from a “jie” (exegetical) commentary in the manner of the Huainanzi, using hardness and softness, earlier and later, and front and rear positions to discuss the principles of conduct in the world and of military strategy.

Tongue and Teeth, Softness and Hardness

Teeth are harder than the tongue, yet they wear away first; the tongue is soft, and so it is preserved. This is like saying: fire that is too fierce flares up first and then wanes, so military affairs can use “fire” as a metaphor—wood that is too hard snaps easily and cannot slowly yield; leather that is too hard cracks, and the same is true of a drumhead. In short, softness and weakness are the root and trunk (fundamental substance) of “life,” while hardness and strength instead belong to the category of “death” (the followers, the side heading toward decline).

First to Initiate and Later to Act

Those who speak first and stick out first often come to a dead end; those who act afterward more easily get through. Why? The former easily fall into danger, so they are called “exhausted”; the latter can plan at leisure, so they are called “successful.”

Qu Boyu’s “Forty-Nine Errors”

Even ordinary people, if they live to seventy, will day by day regret their choices and pursuits until death. When Qu Boyu (Qu Yuan, a grandee of Wei) was fifty, he felt that everything he had done for forty-nine years was wrong—not that he first went wrong this year, but that year after year, looking back, the previous year already seemed wrong; as the saying goes, “each month regret the first day, each day regret yesterday,” regretting layer by layer back to the root. One reason is this: those who walk ahead are hard for others to see through, while those who follow behind easily find a place to start.

“First” as a Target for “Later”

When the former climbs high, the latter can climb up after them; when the former goes down a steep slope, the latter can trample (jue) them; when the former falls into a pitfall, the latter can plot against them; when the former is defeated, the latter can come upon them (to clean up the remnants).

From this we see that those who go first often become bow-and-arrow targets (the aiming sight for archery) for those who go later. It is also like the dun (read like “dun”; the metal socket at the rear end of a spear shaft) and the blade of a spear-halberd: the blade is in front, so it first encounters hardship; the dun is behind, so it rests in the rear position and suffers less harm. This is a common judgment that even ordinary worldly folk can understand, yet the worthy and wise sometimes cannot avoid it either—because their eyes are clouded by profit and desire; it is not that they truly do not understand, but that they cannot bear to retreat to the “rear position.”

“Later” Does Not Mean Backward or Inept

The “later” spoken of here is not a person who is dull, clumsy, and unwilling to strive forward (sluggish and not keen), but ... (The following text should continue to distinguish which kind of “later” is truly good at coming after; this excerpt closes here with a clarification of the definition of “the latter.”)

Classic: Huainan Honglie Jie

When oil congeals, it no longer flows. What is valuable is that it accords with the techniques and numerical correspondences and also with seasonal order—moving when it is time to move and stopping when it is time to stop.

Grasping Dao (the Way) and principle to respond to the ten thousand changes: sometimes it is fitting to take the lead, sometimes fitting to act afterward. Being first can control what comes after, and being after can also control what comes first. Why? Because Dao can prevail over particular circumstances. In responding to change, one need not rigidly insist on “always going before others” or “always following behind others.” When it is fitting to be first, be first; when it is fitting to be behind, be behind. Only then does one not lose the initiative to constrain others, nor become constrained by others. Timing flips and changes, and in between there is not even room to catch one’s breath.

If one rushes to be first, one overshoots; if one falls behind, one cannot catch up. The sun turns and the moon cycles; time never waits for people. Therefore the sage does not value a jade disk a foot wide but treasures an inch of time—timing is hard to get and easy to lose. When Yu the Great raced with time, he did not pick up a fallen shoe, nor turn back when his hat caught on a branch. He was not contending over “who runs ahead” but over “whether one steps exactly on the timely point.” Thus the sage guards the Dao of clarity and stillness, embraces the integrity of supple compliance, follows along and responds to change, and constantly remains behind without striving to be first. He matches softness and weakness with stillness and stability, and gentleness and ease with peace and tranquility. When he goes to attack the firmest and most difficult, no one can contend with him.

Of all things under heaven, none is softer and weaker than water. Yet its greatness cannot be exhausted, and its depth cannot be fathomed. It extends into the infinite and reaches afar without bound; its waxing and waning, increase and decrease, penetrate to what cannot be measured. In heaven it transforms into rain and dew; on earth it transforms into moisture and nourishment. The myriad things cannot but live by it; the hundred affairs cannot but be completed through it. It embraces the myriad living beings without likes or dislikes, and its grace reaches even crawling and tiny insects, yet it seeks no return—it gives but does not claim as its own. It enriches the world without drying up; it bestows De (Virtue/Power) on the common people without consuming its own resources. It flows abroad and cannot be exhausted; it is so fine and subtle that it cannot be grasped in a single handful. Strike it, and you cannot injure it.

(Note: In the text, “qiyao” refers to crawling and tiny insects; “zi” means to measure. The whole passage uses congealed oil, Yu’s journey, and the virtue of water to explain that by responding to time, remaining behind, and being soft and weak in keeping stillness, one can master change without contention.)

Huainan Honglie Jie: A Vernacular Interpretation

Stab it and it is not wounded; chop it and it is not severed; burn it and it does not ignite—such is the nature of water. Water is turbid and overflowing; its disordered currents cross and entangle one another (cuo miu xiang fen: winding around and knotting together), yet it cannot be scattered apart or gathered together.

It can sharply penetrate metal and stone, and it can bear heavy loads and circulate throughout the world (piercing stone is its sharpness; boats carrying heavy loads are its strength; ji means reaching through). It moves within the realm of the formless and soars above the regions of the vague and indistinct (cloud vapor rises upward, reaching everywhere). It twists and turns among river valleys, and surges and floods across the great wilds. It has surplus and deficiency, yet it gives and takes together with Heaven and Earth; it endows the myriad things, yet it does not strive to be first or lag behind (before and after, it is present with them). Thus it is neither without a private side nor biased toward the public (the public and the private are originally one body). Vast and turbulent, it is as vast and interconnected as Heaven and Earth (hongdong: vast and penetrating, pronounced the same as tong). It leans neither left nor right; it coils and turns (panwei cuozhen: bending and turning), and shares beginning and end with the myriad things (zhen means turning). This is called Supreme De (Virtue/Power)—the reason water can accomplish Supreme De in the world is precisely that it is turbid, slippery, and overflowing. Therefore Lao Dan (Laozi) said: The softest thing under Heaven can gallop through the hardest; it issues from Non-being and enters where there is no gap—water is just like this. From this I know that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial to life.

The formless is the great root of the myriad things; the soundless is the great root of sound (the formless produces the formed, and so is the ancestor of things; the soundless produces the sounded, and so is the ancestor of sounds; “ancestor” in both cases means root). Its child is light; its grandchild is water. Do both arise from form? (Light is formless and is valued by the Dao (the Way), so light is said to be the child; water has form but cannot be destroyed, so water is said to be the grandchild.) Light can be seen but not grasped; water can be touched along its course but cannot be destroyed. Therefore, among things that possess image, none is more noble than water. Going out into life and entering death, from footless to footed, from footed to footless—thus it appears to decline and become base (going out into life, entering death, and the like refer to the cycle from non-being to being and from being to non-being).

(Dao (the Way) means removing distracting thoughts and returning to purity and tranquility; the way of entering death and emerging into life means purifying the mind and diminishing desires. Zhi means “to proceed”: to proceed from the formless into the formed is to leave the root; to proceed from the formed back into the formless…)

(Since one cannot return again to the state treasured by the Daoists, it is said to tend toward decline and baseness.) Therefore, purity and tranquility are the highest realm of De (Virtue/Power), and softness and weakness are the key to the Dao. (“Key” means the essential point, the gist.) Emptiness, stillness, and tranquil joy are the path by which the myriad things are put to use by people. (Only through it can the myriad things be used by people.) Reverently responding to stimuli and earnestly returning to the root, one then sinks into the realm of the formless. The so-called formless is the name of the One. (The One is the root of the Dao.) The so-called One is without peer and harmonizes with all under Heaven: it stands alone, solitary, penetrates upward to the Nine Heavens and downward through the Nine Fields. (The Nine Heavens are the eight directions plus the center; the Nine Fields are likewise.) Round yet not fitting the compass, square yet not fitting the square, the Great Undifferentiated becomes One, layered and accumulated yet without root. (Without root means subtle and unfathomable.) It embraces and bags Heaven and Earth and is the gate of the Dao. (The gate is the gate of the Dao.) Mumin and Yinmin—both belonging to the formless—are where pure De alone remains. (Mumin and Yinmin both belong to the formless category; pure means unmixed.) It bestows without exhausting, and is used without toil. (Ji means exhaust; qin means toil.) Therefore, looking at it one does not see its form; listening one does not hear its sound; following it one does not find its body—the formless, yet the formed is born from it. (The formless is the Dao; the formed are the myriad things.) It is soundless, yet the five notes resound from it. (Sound is born from soundlessness.) It is flavorless, yet the five flavors take shape from it. (Xing is in some versions “he.”) It is colorless, yet the five colors are completed from it. Thus being is born from nonbeing, and the substantial emerges from emptiness. (The formed is born from the formless, as with human beings; “substantial” refers to goods and property, etc.) When all under Heaven is made its enclosure, name and substance dwell together. (Quan is the same as zou, meaning scope or range; “name” is a title of rank, “substance” is like coins and silks; another interpretation is rewards for benevolence and righteousness.) The number of notes does not exceed five (gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu), yet the changes of the five notes cannot be fully heard. (Change means alternation and mutual generation.) The harmonies of flavor do not exceed five (sweet, sour, salty, bitter, pungent).

And the transformations of the five flavors cannot be tasted one by one; the categories of color are no more than five (blue-green, red, white, black, and yellow), yet the transformations of the five colors cannot be fully observed one by one. (Ordinary matters are called “seeing,” while extraordinary matters are called “observing,” as when the Spring and Autumn Annals records Duke Yin of Lu observing fishing at Tang—this is such a case.)

Thus, in pitch, the gong note is the foundation, and the five notes are given form from it (the gong note occupies the center and is the ruler of sounds; “form” means “correct”); in flavor, sweetness is the foundation, and the five flavors are harmonized from it (“ting” means “balanced”; sweetness occupies the center and is the ruler of flavors); in color, white is the foundation, and the five colors are completed from it (white is the root of dyeing, and so the five colors can be completed); the Dao takes the “One” as its foundation, and the myriad things are generated from it.

Therefore, the principle of the “One” is applied throughout the four seas (“principle” means “Dao”); the understanding of the “One” penetrates heaven and earth (“jie” means “penetrating,” “ji” means “juncture,” and “jie” means “understanding,” hence “its understanding”).

When the Dao is whole, it is pure and genuine like uncut jade (uncut jade is jade not yet split open); when the Dao is dispersed, it is mixed and murky like turbid water—turbid yet gradually clearing, empty yet gradually filling, tranquil and deep like an abyss (“chong” means empty, “ying” means full, “dan” means calm and unmoving); drifting like floating clouds, seeming to exist yet as if not, seeming to be gone yet still present.

The convergence of the myriad things all returns to a single aperture (“zong” means gathering together); the root of the hundred affairs all issues from one gate (the gate of the Dao). It moves without form and changes like a spirit; its traces leave no mark, and it constantly dwells behind yet issues forth first (the priority of the Dao).

Therefore, when the person of utmost Dao governs a state, he conceals his intelligence and acuity, extinguishes his embellishment, follows the Dao and discards wisdom, and with the people alike proceeds from fairness and justice (“gong” means fairness and justice); he removes enticements and covetous admiration (“youmu” refers to greed for glory and power, so it is removed), clears away cravings and desires (“shiyu” refers to passions and desires, so they are eliminated), diminishes his thoughts and cares (constantly maintaining vast tranquility), restrains what he holds to and thus is clear-sighted (without causing disturbance), and reduces what he seeks and thus obtains of himself (being easy to satisfy, he is able to obtain).

Relying on the ears and eyes to see and hear, he tires his body without clarity; governing by clever deliberation, he strains his mind without achievement. Therefore, the sage is one…

A Vernacular Reading of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Act according to laws and measures, follow the proper course; do not alter what is fitting, do not exchange the constant Dao (the Way). Set out the plumb line and use the straightedge and compass, so that each thing rests in its proper place.

Joy and anger are crooked deviations from the Dao (the Way) (the Dao values peace and harmony, so joy and anger count as deviation); worry and grief are the loss of De (Virtue/Power) (De values tranquil harmony and regards worry and grief as loss—as the Analects says, “the virtuous are broad-minded and at ease”); likes and dislikes are faults of the heart (the heart should be single-minded and guard inward; if it turns outward in liking and disliking, that is a fault); cravings are a burden on one’s nature (nature should be clear and still, upholding heavenly simplicity; if one instead pursues cravings, one is burdened by them).

When people fly into a rage, they injure and break Yin Qi (vital energy); when they are overjoyed, they make Yang Qi fall (anger belongs to Yin; Yin is hard like ice; when Yin accumulates and presses against itself, it breaks Yin. Joy belongs to Yang; Yang rises upward; when Yang accumulates and presses against itself, it is called falling Yang). When Qi is constricted, one becomes mute; fright and terror cause madness; when worry, grief, rage, and resentment become excessive, they turn into accumulated illness; when likes and dislikes multiply, misfortune follows.

Therefore: when the heart is neither worried nor joyful, this is the utmost of De; to be penetrating and unobstructed without reckless change is the utmost of stillness; when cravings are not loaded onto one’s nature, this is the utmost of emptiness; to have no likes or dislikes is the utmost of equanimity; not to be scattered by external things is the utmost of purity. One who can keep these five states connects with Shenming (spirit illumination); to connect with Shenming is to attain inner rectitude. Thus use the “inner” to control the “outer,” and all affairs are not neglected (the “inner” refers to the heart-mind; the “outer” refers to emotions and desires; only when the inner is cultivated can the outer be held in check). When there is attainment within the heart, the five viscera are peaceful and thought is balanced and upright (each of the five viscera finds its place; thought should fundamentally not be given over to reckless anger or joy); the sinews and strength are vigorous, the ears and eyes are keen, one is open and penetrating without perversity, firm and strong without breaking, without great excess yet able to reach everywhere; in small circumstances one can be small, in great circumstances one can be great, neither cramped nor hollow (the term “tiao” means overly spacious and out of measure). The Hun-soul is not restless, the Shen (spirit) is not disturbed (restless, cunning, and harassed all mean disturbance; this says the spirit is already settled). Deep, cool, clear, and still, solitary and Wuwei (non-action), one becomes for the world a model of vast openness (“qiu liao” means clear and cool; “jimo” means not being disturbed by the outside).

Explanation: This chapter belongs to the commentary tradition of the Huainanzi. Its core is “using the inner to control the outer”—using inner equilibrium to moderate emotions and desires—and it lists how anger and joy, likes and dislikes, and cravings harm Yin-Yang and damage De and nature. The final line says that “these five” connect with spirit, continuing the same vein as Daoist theories of cultivation.

This passage comes from the Huainan Honglie Jie; its general meaning is as follows.

Qiuliao means clear and tranquil; Jimo means quiet, detached, and still; Xiaoxiong here carries the sense of being heroic and resolute, not drifting with vulgar conventions. When a person is constrained by circumstances, he can respond appropriately; when he has a responsive communion with external things, he can act. His transformations are deep and inexhaustible (Mu has the sense of the beautiful and the profound/subtle), yet in form he shows no fixed trace—this speaks of being able to transform and nurture the myriad things. In action he is relaxed and unhurried, like an echo answering a sound or a shadow following a form; whether climbing high and looking down or treading danger and passing through difficulty, he never loses what he upholds; he does not forget Xuanzhang (the mysterious support, i.e., the Great Dao (the Way), the fundamental reliance). If one can maintain this, one’s De (Virtue/Power) is not diminished; though the myriad things are tangled and intermingled, one can transform together with them, letting the affairs of the world take their course, as light and swift as racing with the wind—this is called supreme De. Supreme De brings joy.

In ancient times there were those who lived in rocky caves and yet did not lose their spirit; in later ages there are those who rely on the power of ten thousand chariots and yet grieve daily. From this we see: the sage does not lie in governing others but in attaining the Dao; joy does not lie in wealth and honor but in the harmony of De. To make much of one’s own person and little of the world is close to the Dao (Ji means close; Xu You and Wu Guang are figures in ancient legend who made light of the throne and valued attaining the Dao).

Does the so-called joy necessarily require dwelling in Jingtai and Zhanghua (names of great terraces in Chu), roaming in Yunmeng (a marsh in Chu, in the area of Huarong in Nanjun), or Shaqiu (a terrace built by King Zhou [of Shang], in Julu), listening to the Nine Shao and Six Ying (names of the music of Shun and Zhuanxu), tasting boiled and grilled fragrant delicacies, galloping in the hunt along level roads, and shooting the sushuang (some say a bird like a wild goose, others an alias of the phoenix)—only then counting as joy? The joy I speak of is each person obtaining what he ought to obtain—one who obtains what is proper for him to obtain does not take extravagance as joy nor frugality as sorrow (Lian means frugal). With Yin one closes and stores; with Yang one opens and manifests. Thus Zixia (Bu Shang, a disciple of Confucius) struggled inwardly between wealth and honor and righteousness, and so grew thin; after attaining the Dao his mind settled, and his body grew plump (when he entered school and saw the way of the former kings, he rejoiced; when he went out and saw the pleasures of wealth and honor, he admired them; the two contended, and so he was thin; when the way of the former kings prevailed and he had nothing further to long for, and so he was fat).

The sage does not enslave his person to external things, does not regard wealth and honor as true joy, but takes union with the Dao and harmony of De as peace.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Not Enslaved by Things, Not Disturbing Harmony with Desire

He is not enslaved by external things, nor does he let emotion and desire disrupt the Dao (the Way) of centered harmony.

Thus, When Joyful He Is Not Excessively Elated; When Sad He Does Not Deeply Wound His Nature

Thus, when he is joyful he does not become excessively elated; when he is sad he does not excessively wound his nature.

The Myriad Directions and Hundred Transformations Wander Without Fixity; I Alone, with Generous Resolve, Set Things Aside and Emerge Together with the Dao

All the myriad affairs of the world undergo a hundred transformations, restless and unsettled; I alone, with generous resolve, set external things aside and emerge together with the Dao.

Thus One Has a Means to Attain One’s Own Nature

In this way one can attain one’s own innate nature.

Beneath a Tall Tree or Within an Empty Cave, There Is Enough to Suit One’s Disposition

Beneath a tall, sparse tree or within a rock cave, there is enough to suit one’s nature and delight one’s emotions.

If One Cannot Attain This Self-Possession, Then Even If One Takes the Whole World as One’s Home and All the People as One’s Servants and Concubines, It Is Still Not Enough to Nourish Life

If one cannot attain this self-possession, then even if one takes the whole world as one’s home and all the people as one’s servants and concubines, it is still not enough to nourish life.

One Who Can Reach the State of No Joy Will Be Without Any Lack of Joy; Being Without Any Lack of Joy, One Reaches Supreme Joy

One who can reach the state of “no joy”—not relying on external joy—will be without any lack of joy; being without any lack of joy, one reaches supreme joy, the joy of the highest De (Virtue/Power) and the realm of the utmost.

They Set Up Bells and Drums, Arrange Pipes and Strings, Spread Felt Mats, and Adorn with Yak-Tail Banners and Ivory

They set up bells and drums, arrange pipes and strings—qin and se and the like—spread felt mats, and adorn with yak-tail banners and ivory ornaments.

The Ear Listens to the Decadent Music of Zhaoge and Beibi

The ear listens to the decadent music of Zhaoge and Beibi. Zhaoge was the capital of King Zhou of the Shang; Beibi was a border town. King Zhou had Shi Juan compose licentious music; Shi Yan played it for Duke Ping of Jin, and Shi Kuang called it “the sound of a ruined state.”

They Line Up Gorgeous Beauties, Set Out Wine and Pass the Cups, Continuing Through the Night into the Day

They line up gorgeous beauties, set out wine and pass the cups, continuing through the night into the day.

Strong Crossbows Shoot High-Flying Birds, Running Hounds Chase Cunning Hares

Strong crossbows shoot high-flying birds, running hounds chase cunning hares.

Such Pleasures Are Blazing and Splendid, Yet the Heart Is Startled as If Enticed and Enamored

Such pleasures are blazing and splendid, yet within the heart one is startled as if something entices and attracts him, as if he is covetous.

When the Carriages Are Unhitched and the Horses Rested, the Wine Stopped and the Music Removed, the Heart Suddenly Feels as If It Has Lost Something, Disconsolate as If Something Has Perished

When the carriages are unhitched and the horses rested, the wine stopped and the music removed, the heart suddenly feels as if it has lost something, disconsolate as if something has perished.

This Is Because They Do Not Apply Inner Joy to External Things; Instead They Treat External Joy as Inner Joy

This is because they do not apply inner joy to external things; instead they take external joy as inner joy.

When the Music Begins They Rejoice; When the Tune Ends They Grieve; Grief and Joy Alternate and Generate One Another

When the music begins they rejoice; when the tune ends they grieve. Grief and joy alternate and generate one another.

The Spirit Becomes Confused and Restless, Unable to Be Calm for Even a Moment

The spirit becomes confused and bewildered, unable to be peaceful for even a moment.

Examining the Cause, They Do Not Obtain the True Form of Joy, and Day by Day They Harm Life

Examining the cause, they do not obtain the true form of joy; instead, day by day they harm life.

Vernacular Interpretation of the Huainan Honglie Jie

Losing what one has obtained: This is why it is said, "to lose what one ought to have obtained."

Therefore, when inwardly one is not settled in the zhong, and receives from outside in order to adorn oneself: Thus, when the heart-mind finds no settlement in the "zhong" (the original heart), one merely takes things heard from outside and uses them as cultivation to decorate one's appearance.

Not soaking into the skin and flesh, not penetrating into the bone marrow: (Jin means soaking and moistening; jia means penetrating through.) It has not soaked into the skin and flesh, nor penetrated into the bone marrow.

Not remaining in the heart-mind and will, not stagnating in the five viscera: It does not remain in the heart-mind and will, nor stagnate in the five viscera (heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys).

Therefore what enters from outside has no sovereign in the center; what merely issues from within, without responding outside, does not proceed: Thus learning and principles that come from outside cannot become the master within; and what merely issues from within but cannot respond to and be put into practice in external affairs is likewise not truly carried out.

Therefore, on hearing good words and expedient plans, even the foolish know to delight in them; when supreme De and lofty conduct are praised, even the unworthy know to admire them: Thus, on hearing good words and expedient plans, even the dullest person knows to rejoice in them; when supreme De and lofty conduct are praised, even the most unworthy person knows to admire them.

Many delight in them but few use them; many admire them but few practice them: Those who speak approvingly are many, but those who truly follow through are few; those who admire are many, but those who truly practice are few.

Why is this so? Because they cannot return to their own nature: Why does this happen? Because they cannot return to their own nature.

When the inside is not opened in the center and one forcibly seeks learning, it does not enter the ear and does not adhere to the heart: When the heart is not opened in the "zhong," yet one insists on seeking learning outside, the words can enter the ear but cannot be engraved in the heart.

How is this different from the singing of a deaf person? He imitates others and does it, but has no way to enjoy it himself; the sound leaves the mouth and then dissipates: (Yue means dissipating. A deaf person's ears cannot hear, so as soon as the sound leaves the mouth it scatters.) How is this different from a deaf person learning to sing? He imitates others singing but gets no joy from it himself; as soon as the sound leaves his mouth it dissipates, because he cannot hear it at all.

The heart is the master of the five viscera; it controls and commands the four limbs, circulates the blood and Qi, gallops through the realm of right and wrong, and goes in and out through the gates of the hundred affairs: The heart is the master of the five viscera; it directs the four limbs, promotes the movement of blood and Qi, runs about in the realm of right and wrong, and enters and exits the gateways of all affairs.

Thus, not obtaining it in the heart yet having the Qi to regulate the world is like having no ears yet wishing to tune bells and drums, or having no eyes yet wishing to delight in ornate patterns; one will surely be unable to bear the responsibility: (Jing means to govern and regulate.) Therefore, if one has not truly obtained it in the heart yet has the Qi to regulate the world, this is like wanting to tune bells and drums without ears, or wanting to enjoy fine patterns without eyes; one will certainly be unequal to the task.

Therefore the world, a numinous vessel, cannot be acted upon: (Qi means vessel or function; wei means to govern or forcibly fabricate.) The authority of the world is like a numinous vessel; one must not recklessly fabricate or force it.

Those who act upon it ruin it; those who grasp it lose it: Those who insist on "doing" will botch it; those who cling to it will lose it.

Xu You made the world small and would not exchange himself for Yao; his aspiration was left behind beyond the world: (Xu You was a man of Yangcheng and a recluse of Mount Ji. Yao, because of his worthy virtue, invited him and wished to cede the world to him; he refused, hence it is said "his aspiration was left behind beyond the world.") Xu You did not regard the world as great, nor was he willing to exchange his own position for Yao's; his aspiration had already been left behind beyond the world.

Why was this so? He acted for the world by following the world: Why? He followed the tendencies of the world and acted for the world, not forcing things by private intention.

The key to the world is not entrusted to the other but lies in me: (Bi refers to Yao; wo refers to people like Xu You who guard their nature.) The key to the world does not lie in placing the heavy responsibility on the "other" (the sage king), but in whether my own body and heart are properly ordered.

It does not lie in others but in my own person; when the person is obtained, the myriad things are complete: It does not depend on outsiders but on whether this body and this heart are set right; when body and heart are set right, the principles of the myriad things are all complete.

Penetrating the discourse of the arts of the mind, desires and likes and dislikes become external: (Wai means not in the heart.) When one thoroughly understands the principles of xinshu (heart-nature cultivation), cravings, desires, likes, and dislikes no longer drag one around.

Therefore there is no partial joy and no partial anger, no partial delight and no partial suffering; the myriad things are mysteriously the same: (Xuan means heaven, the profound principle of nature.) Thus one has no biased joy, no biased anger, no biased delight, no biased suffering, and is deeply equal with the myriad things.

There is no fixed wrong and no fixed right; one transforms and nurtures the myriad things: Not clinging to "wrong," not clinging to "right," one follows the transformation and nurturing of the myriad things.

Vernacular Interpretation

Xuan Yao (mysterious and obscure, with light held within) is born of this, yet is like the dead, without desire—only such a person truly understands what “having the world” means.

The so-called world is mine, and I am also part of the world; between the world and me, where could there be any barrier? (This means that the two are one body, inseparable.)

Then must one who possesses the world necessarily grasp power and rely on force, hold the power of life and death, and issue orders? What I mean by “having the world” is not this, but self-attainment—living in accord with one’s own nature (another reading: not losing one’s true, original person).

Once there is self-attainment, the world too will “attain” me; when I and the world attain each other, we will always preserve each other—how could there be room for any separation?

What is called self-attainment is simply preserving one’s person; when the person is preserved, one becomes one with the Dao (the Way). Therefore, even if one travels by riversides and sea margins (xun, pronounced like tan, means waterside; yi means border), drives a fine horse like Yaoniao (a legendary weak-looking horse that travels ten thousand li a day), has a carriage canopy decorated with kingfisher feathers, watches Diaoyu and Wuxiang (the music and dance of King Wu of Zhou), listens to tunes such as Taolang, Qili, Ji, and Zhen, indulges in the decadent sounds of Zheng and Wei and the lingering airs of Jichu (the popular music of Zheng and Wei; “Jieji Qingchu” refers to entertaining tunes; “yifeng” is lingering resonance), shoots high-flying birds by ponds and watersides, and chases running beasts in parks and enclosures—these are all ways in which qimin (commoners, people like ordinary folk) give free rein to indulgence and immerse themselves in pleasure.

The sage placed amid them will not let such things disturb his spirit or confuse his resolve (ying means to delude or confuse), nor will he let his heart be startled (alarmed or shaken) and lose his original nature.

Conversely, living in a poor and remote district, beside streams and valleys, hidden among zhenbo (clustered trees are zhen, deep grass is bo), in a small house with huandu (walls of earth on four sides), its roof covered with living grass (ci means to cover with grass)—

Vernacular Interpretation

Some people live in thatched huts, weave doors from fleabane, use a broken jar as a window, and twist mulberry branches into door pivots—this describes the crudest of dwellings. Rain leaks through the roof, the ground is damp, and the northern room (the cool, shaded main hall) is constantly soaked by rain, snow, and frost. Amid broad marshes and mountain gorges, plants and trees in the cold damp produce wild vegetables and fruits such as gu and jiang. If ordinary people were in such circumstances, they would often become physically haggard, anxious at heart, and frustrated in their aspirations.

The sage, placed in the same circumstances, is not sorrowful, bitter, or resentful, nor does he lose his inner ease and joy. Why? Because inwardly he is connected with the “Heavenly Mechanism” (tianji—the spontaneous dynamism and spiritual nature endowed by Heaven), and he does not alter his aspiration because of noble or base status, poverty or wealth, toil or leisure. One who has attained the Dao is already settled; he does not wait to see how external things keep changing before deciding how he himself should be. The “attainment” spoken of here means that the true condition of nature and life rests in the place where it ought to rest.

Nature and life emerge from the same root as the bodily form; when the form is complete, nature and life are established, and once nature and life are established, likes and dislikes arise. Thus scholars have settled views (those of like aspiration and shared Dao, close in virtue—even if they meet only occasionally, public judgment is already settled, hence “a settled opinion”), and chaste women guard their chastity (single-minded without a divided heart; even if widowed, they do not remarry, hence “unchanging conduct”). But compass and square, hook and line cannot draw or measure this peace of nature and life—it is the square and round, the crooked and straight, beyond the reach of compass, square, hook, and line.

Heaven and Earth endure long… (This passage continues below, discussing the eternity of Heaven and Earth and the constancy of those who attain the Dao.)

Classic: Huainan Honglie Jie

Climbing a mound cannot make one tall; dwelling low cannot make one short. Therefore, one who attains the Dao is not terrified in poverty and hardship, nor smug in prominence and success; when placed high, he does not tread into danger; when holding fullness, he does not overturn; he is constantly renewed without becoming dim, and endures long without changing his brightness. He enters fire without being scorched and enters water without getting wet. Thus he need not rely on power and position to be honored, need not hoard goods to be wealthy, and need not rely on brute strength to be strong; with a calm mind and harmonious Qi (vital energy), empty, still, humble, and lowly, he rises and falls together with creation. Such people hide gold in deep mountains and sink pearls in deep pools—Shun once hid gold in the mountains of Jinyan and pearls in the depths of the Five Lakes, using this to restrain greedy and excessive desires. They do not covet goods and wealth, nor crave rank and fame. Therefore they do not take comfort as joy, frugality as grief, prominence as security, or lowliness as danger; form, Shen (spirit), Qi, and will each keep their place, following what Heaven and Earth do.

Form is the dwelling of life, Qi is life’s fullness, and Shen is life’s master. Once any one of the three is misplaced, the other two will suffer. Therefore the sage makes each dwell in its place and keep its function, so that none encroaches on another. Form is not originally a dwelling in which one may remain long secure; if one forcibly occupies it improperly, form will decay. Qi is not meant to be used recklessly; if used recklessly, it will leak away and scatter. Shen is not a realm to be exercised carelessly; if exercised carelessly, it will become dim and unclear. These three must be cautiously guarded.

Consider all the myriad things under Heaven—creatures that crawl and wriggle, the slender-waisted kind, and all the small insects that crawl, wriggle, and move—all know what they like and dislike and where benefit and harm lie. Why? Because their inherent nature resides in their bodies and does not leave them. If they suddenly go against their nature, bone and flesh lose their proper order and have nothing to rely on. What makes people today different from them lies precisely here: people often turn away from their original nature and proper function.

Why are people able to see and hear, to move their bodies and bend and stretch their joints, to distinguish black from white and beauty from ugliness, and to tell difference from sameness and right from wrong? It is because Qi (vital energy) fills the body and Shen (spirit) governs action.

How do we know this is so? Each person’s mind has something on which it focuses, and the Shen also attaches to something. When walking, one foot trips over the other and the head droops, as insensate as a piece of wood; someone waves but is not seen, someone shouts but is not heard—because the ears and eyes have already departed from their proper function. And why can the body not respond? Because the Shen has lost its rightful place.

When Shen is focused on small things, it forgets the larger picture; focused inward, it forgets the outside; focused above, it forgets below; focused left, it forgets right. For example, when Bai Gong Sheng of Chu planned rebellion, he stood in court with his staff held upside down; the tip of the staff pierced the top of his head and blood flowed to the ground, yet he was completely unaware. This is that sort of case. When Shen fills all things without exception, it is present everywhere. Therefore those who value emptiness and stillness take the subtle and refined as their home.

As for mad and disordered people, they cannot avoid the hazards of water and fire or cross the dangers of ditches and channels—is it that they lack body, Shen, Qi, and intention? It is merely that their manner of use differs from others. They have lost the proper place of Shen and departed from the proper abodes of inner and outer; hence their actions are inappropriate and their movement and stillness are unfit. For their whole lives they drag their sickly, weak bodies along crooked gateways and stumble and fall into filthy ditches.

Vernacular Interpretation

Falling into defilement (xian means falling into defilement or pollution; for characters such as “Great Ravine,” there are phonetic and semantic notes)—although one is born the same as others, one cannot avoid being mocked. Why? Because form and Shen (spirit) lose each other: body and mind are disconnected, and the spirit is not present in the body.

Therefore: if Shen (spirit) is made the master, the physical form will benefit accordingly; if the form controls the spirit, the spirit instead suffers harm. (When the spirit is clear and quiet, the form gains advantage; when the form is full of passions and desires, the spirit is harmed.)

People who are gluttonous and full of desires are dull and numb toward power and profit (mo-men, that is, dun-men, a kind of insatiability). They are lured by fame and profit and cling to reputation and position (you means greedy seeking and pursuit; mu means drowning or indulging). They vainly imagine that by surpassing intelligence they can establish a great name in the world; as a result, their spirit is depleted day by day, and they drift farther and farther from the right Dao (the Way) (hao means thinning or loss; miyuan means even farther). Long indulging without turning back (yin means excess; huanbu means not returning), their form becomes closed within and blocked off—the body closes inward and rejects outer things—so the spirit has no way to enter again (here shen means spirit or divine brightness; the pure and quiet nature has no way to return).

Thus the world often suffers the calamity of blind delusion and self-loss. This is like a tallow candle (a candle made of fat): the more fiercely the fire burns, the faster it is consumed (yu means more; ji means urgent or rapid).

Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) together with the will: what is quiet and daily replenished becomes strong; what is restless and daily depleted grows old.

Therefore the sage nourishes the spirit, harmonizes and softens his Qi, and levels and calms his form, sinking and floating, rising and lowering together with the Dao (the Way) (shenfu means flourishing and decline; fuyang means rising and descending). When it is calm and peaceful, he lets it go; when it is pressing and tight, he uses it. When letting it go, it is like taking off clothes and setting them down; when using it, it is like pulling the trigger and releasing a crossbow (ji means the crossbow trigger, describing speed). In this way, there is no transformation or nurturing of the myriad things that does not meet its time (yu means encountering the time), and no change in the hundred affairs that does not respond appropriately (ying means fitting and proper).