Chuzhen — Activating the Genuine俶真訓

There is that which has a beginning. There is that in which a beginning has not yet begun to be. There is that in which the not yet beginning of a beginning has not yet begun to be. There is being. There is nonbeing. There is that in which being and nonbeing have not yet begun to be. There is that in which the not yet beginning of being and nonbeing has not yet begun to be.

What is called that which has a beginning is this. It swells thick and does not yet break out. Sprouts and signs push up, but there is no shape yet, no bound, no edge. It wriggles and stirs, about to be born and rise, but it has not yet made the kinds of things. That in which a beginning has not yet begun to be is this. The breath of heaven first comes down and the breath of earth first goes up. Yin and yang mingle and join, and together they roam at ease and press out and spread through the space of the universe. They are clothed in power and hold harmony within. They are tangled and thick and rich, and they would touch things, but they have not yet made a sign. That in which the not yet beginning of a beginning has not yet begun to be is this. Heaven holds harmony and has not yet let it down. Earth holds breath and has not yet raised it. All is empty and without, still and lonely, bare and vast. There is not even a faint likeness. The breath goes through at last and opens wide into the dark and the dark. That which has being means this. The ten thousand things spread and fall. Roots and stems, branches and leaves are green and thick, bright and shining. Things fly and wriggle, crawl and breathe. They can be touched and followed and held, and they have number and measure. That which has nonbeing means this. Look at it and its shape is not seen. Listen to it and its sound is not heard. Feel for it and it cannot be got. Gaze at it and there is no end to reach. It is wide and free, vast and vast, boundless and boundless. It cannot be secretly measured or reckoned, yet it lets the light through. That in which being and nonbeing have not yet begun to be wraps heaven and earth and molds the ten thousand things. It goes through all and is mixed and dark, deep and wide and great. Nothing can be outside it. Split a hair and cleave the beard of grain, and nothing can be inside it. It has no house of a single wall, and it gives birth to the root of being and nonbeing. That in which the not yet beginning of being and nonbeing has not yet begun to be is this. Heaven and earth are not yet split. Yin and yang are not yet parted. The four seasons are not yet divided. The ten thousand things are not yet born. All is broad and level and quiet, still and clear and clean, and no one sees its shape. It is as if light stood between nonbeing and being, then drew back and lost itself, and said, "I can have nonbeing, but I cannot yet make nonbeing nothing. When it comes to making nonbeing nothing, by what could the utmost subtlety reach this!"

The great clod carries me with a shape, wearies me with life, eases me with old age, and rests me with death. To make my life good is the very way to make my death good. Hide a boat in a ravine and hide a hill in a marsh, and men call it secure. Even so, at midnight a strong man shoulders it and runs off, and the sleeper does not know. There is still somewhere for it to escape to. But hide the world in the world, and its shape has nowhere to escape.

How can it be said that among things there is no great raising and striking? A man's shape is cast once, and even so he is glad of it. One like man changes a thousand times and shifts ten thousand times, and there has never been an end to it. Worn out, he is new again. Can the joy of it ever be counted! It is like dreaming you are a bird and flying in the sky, or dreaming you are a fish and sinking in the deep. While you dream, you do not know it is a dream. Only after waking do you know it was a dream. Now there will be a great waking, and only then will you know that this now is a great dream. When I had not yet been born, how did I know the joy of life? Now that I have not yet died, how do I know that death is not a joy? Long ago the illness of Gongniu Ai turned, and in seven days he changed into a tiger. His elder brother opened the door and went in to peep at him, and the tiger struck him and killed him. So the markings made a beast, claws and teeth shifted and changed, the will changed with the mind, and the spirit changed with the shape. While he was a tiger, he did not know that he had once been a man. While he was a man, he did not know that he was to be a tiger. The two take turns and run apart, and each delights in the shape it has taken. Sly and dull and dark, right and wrong have no end. Who knows where they sprout!

When water turns toward winter it freezes and becomes ice, and when ice meets spring it thaws and becomes water. Ice and water shift and change, before and after, as if they ran round in a circle. Who has the leisure to know which is painful and which is pleasant! Therefore one whose shape is hurt by the cruelty of cold and heat, of dryness and damp, withers in shape while his spirit stays strong. One whose spirit is hurt by the troubles of joy and anger and worry is used up in spirit while his shape has more than enough. So when a worn out horse dies and is skinned, it is like a dry stick. When a sly dog dies and is cut open, it is still moist. Therefore one who dies of a hurt has a restless ghost, and one whose time is done has a quiet spirit. In both, shape and spirit have failed to go out together. Now the sage uses his mind by leaning on his nature and resting on his spirit. The two hold each other up, and so he gets both beginning and end. Therefore he does not dream in his sleep and does not worry when he wakes.

Among the men of old there were those who dwelt in the mixed dark. Their spirit and breath were not shaken abroad. The ten thousand things were calm and still, glad and quiet. The breath of the comet and of the Dipper's handle all faded away and could do no harm. In that time the people were wild as madmen and did not know east from west. They roamed with food in their mouths and drummed their bellies for joy. Together they were clothed in the harmony of heaven and fed on the power of earth. They did not blame one another with crooked schemes and with right and wrong. All was dim and deep, and this is called the great order. Then those in the high seat set them to work this way and that, and did not disturb their nature. They calmed and soothed and held them, and did not shift their power. Therefore benevolence and right were not spread abroad, and the ten thousand things bred and multiplied. Reward and punishment were not handed out, and the world submitted as a guest. Such a way can rise in great beauty, but it is hard to hold up by counting and reckoning. Therefore count it by the day and it falls short. Count it by the year and it has more than enough.

Fish forget one another in the rivers and lakes. Men forget one another in the arts of the Way. The true man of old stood at the root of heaven and earth. Within, he roamed at his utmost ease, holding power in his arms and warming harmony. Though the ten thousand things piled up in confusion, who would willingly untie and knot up the affairs of men, and trouble his nature and destiny with things! Now the Way has its main cords and its ordered threads. Get the Way of the One, and a thousand branches and ten thousand leaves are joined. Therefore in high station there is something to carry out orders with. In low station there is something to forget one's lowness with. In poverty there is something to enjoy one's work with. In hardship there is something to meet danger with. When the great cold comes and frost and snow fall, only then is the thickness of the pine and the cypress known. When a man holds to hardship and treads on danger, and gain and loss are laid out before him, only then is it known that the sage does not lose the Way. Therefore one who can bear the great round treads the great square. One who takes Taiqing for his mirror sees the great brightness. One who sets up the great peace dwells in the great hall. One who can roam in the dark and the dark shares his light with the sun and the moon. Therefore take the Way for a fishing rod and power for a line, ritual and music for a hook and benevolence and right for bait. Cast it in the river and float it on the sea. Though the ten thousand things be tangled, which of them is not his own!

A man may lean on the arts of tiptoeing and leaping, drag at the edges of the human world, shake and stir the customs of the age, and grope and string together the fine subtleties of things, and still he can stretch his will and fill his desire. How much more one who holds a rare and splendid Way in his breast, who forgets liver and gall, who leaves behind ear and eye, who floats alone beyond every direction, who is not worn and torn by things, and who moves within the country of the formless and harmonizes with heaven and earth! Such a one lays his hearing and sight to rest and holds the great plain in his arms. He takes gain and loss for dust and dirt, and death and life for day and night. Therefore his eyes may look on jade carriages and shapes of jade and ivory, and his ears may hear the sounds of Baixue and Qingjiao, and they cannot disorder his spirit. He may climb a gorge of a thousand fathoms and stand on a bank that makes the gibbon dizzy, and it is not enough to ruffle his harmony. It is like the jade of Zhongshan. Fire it with a brazier of charcoal for three days and three nights, and its color and luster do not change. Then utmost power is the essence of heaven and earth. Therefore life is not enough to use him, so how can gain be enough to move him? Death is not enough to stop him, so how can harm be enough to frighten him? Clear about the division of death and life, and through to the changes of gain and loss, he would not care in his will even if he traded the greatness of the world for a single hair on his shin.

High and low station are to the body like the east wind that alights now and then. Blame and praise are to a man like one passing of a mosquito or a gadfly. Now one who holds the white and does not turn black, who acts pure and is not mixed, who dwells in the dark and the dark and is not darkened, who rests on the level of heaven and is not shaken, cannot be stopped by the mountains Mengmen and Zhonglong. Though he makes the Way his body and can go unbeaten, the rapids and the whirling deeps and the depth of Luliang cannot hold him, and the stone ravines of Taihang and the steepness of Feihu and Gouwang cannot trouble him. Therefore his body dwells above the rivers and the sea while his spirit roams below the Weique towers. Who but one who has got the single source could come to this!

Therefore if a man lives with the utmost man, the household forgets its poverty, kings and dukes make light of their wealth and rank and delight in the low and mean, the brave let their bluster fade, and the greedy let their desires die. He sits and does not teach, he stands and does not argue, yet those who go to him empty come back full. So without speaking he can give men harmony to drink. Therefore the utmost Way does nothing. Now a dragon, now a snake, it fills and shrinks, rolls up and unrolls, and changes with the times. Outside it follows the wind of the age. Inside it keeps its nature. Ear and eye do not glitter, and thought does not scheme. The place where his spirit dwells is broad and plain, and he roams in Taiqing. He draws the ten thousand things along, and a crowd of beauties sprouts and is born. Therefore when a man makes a business of his spirit, the spirit leaves him. When he lets his spirit rest, the spirit stays with him. The Way comes out of a single source, goes through nine gates, and scatters down six crossroads. It is set in a house without wall or bound, and it is still and empty and without. It does not act upon things. Things act upon themselves. Therefore when an act is raised and follows the Way, it is not what the Way has done, but what the Way has bestowed.

What heaven covers and earth carries, what the six directions wrap and yin and yang breathe upon, what rain and dew wet and the Way and its power hold up, were all born of one father and mother and have passed through one harmony. Therefore the pagoda tree and the elm join with the orange and the pomelo as brothers, and Youmiao and Sanwei are joined into one house. Now the eye looks at the flight of the swan and the goose and the ear hears the sound of the zither and the lute, while the mind is off between the passes of Yanmen. Within one body the spirit is parted and split, and inside the six directions it goes a thousand and ten thousand miles in a single leap. Therefore look at them by their difference, and liver and gall are Hu and Yue. Look at them by their sameness, and the ten thousand things are one pen. The hundred schools have their different sayings, and each has somewhere it came from. But Mo and Yang and Shen and Shang are to the way of government like a canopy missing one rib and a wheel missing one spoke. Have it and the number is complete. Lack it and there is no harm to the use. They take themselves to hold it alone, and so they do not reach the true state of heaven and earth. Now when a smith casts a vessel, the metal leaps in the furnace, and some of it must spill over in waves and be thrown away. When it falls to the ground and sets and hardens, it too takes on the likeness of a thing. Its shape may have some small use, but it cannot be kept beside the nine cauldrons of the house of Zhou. How much less can it be set beside a shape made by the compass? Its distance from the Way is far indeed!

Now the opening and leaping and branching of the ten thousand things, and the stems and leaves and twigs and shoots of the hundred affairs, are all rooted in one root, and the branches follow out by the thousand and ten thousand. If it is so, then there is something they received it from, and it is not the thing that gave. What they received from gives nothing, and yet there is nothing it does not receive. That there is nothing it does not receive is like this. Clouds gather thick all round, spread far and swell up and become rain, and they drown the ten thousand things, yet they do not share in being wet. Now the good archer has his mark and his measure, as the craftsman has the numbers of his compass and square. By these both come to what is subtle. Yet Xizhong could not be Pangmeng and Zaofu could not be Bo Le. This is called understanding one bend and not going through to the meeting of the ten thousand directions. Now dye black cloth with black mud, and it is blacker than the mud. Dye blue with the indigo plant, and it is bluer than the indigo. The mud is not the black cloth, and the blue is not the indigo. So even if these meet their mother again, they can change back no more. Why is this? It shows how, turning on, a thing grows thinner. How much more with the maker and changer, in which black mud and indigo have not yet begun to be! Its changing is such that though you carve it in metal and stone and write it on bamboo and silk, how could that be enough to hold up its number! Seen this way, nothing among things is not born from being, and small and great roam at ease.

The tip of an autumn hair sinks into the spaceless and comes back to the great. The thickness of a reed's husk goes through the thickness that is not and returns to the thick and heavy. As for that which has neither the smallness of an autumn hair nor the thickness of a reed's husk, which reaches out four ways without a bound and goes through the endless, and which no one blocks or breaks or cuts off, it takes up the fine and doubles the subtle, it shakes the ten thousand things and molds their changes. How could the space between heaven and earth be enough to speak of it! A swift wind snaps trees, yet it cannot pull out a hair. A man who falls from the height of Yuntai breaks his spine and shatters his brain, yet the mosquito and the small insect are just light enough to soar. Now man rides the springs of heaven together with the crawling grubs. Even those that take their shape in one pen, that fly and are light and small, are still enough to slip their fate. How much more that which has no kind at all? Seen this way, it is clear that the formless gives birth to the formed. Therefore the sage trusts his spirit to the numinous storehouse and returns to the beginning of the ten thousand things. He sees in the dark and the dark and hears in the soundless. In the dark and the dark he alone sees the dawn. In the still and silent he alone has light. He uses by not using, and only after not using can he use. His knowing is a not knowing, and only after not knowing can he know.

If heaven is not fixed, sun and moon have nothing to be carried on. If earth is not fixed, grass and trees have nothing to be planted in. If what stands in the body is not at peace, right and wrong have nothing to take shape in. Therefore there is the true man, and only then is there true knowing. If what he holds is not clear, how is it known that what is called knowing is not a not knowing? Now to heap up kindness and pile up generosity, to stack love and string on favor, to soothe and cover the people and the hundred families with sound and splendor, so that they know it and are glad and men delight in their nature, is benevolence. To raise great deeds and set up a shining name, to make ruler and minister a body, to set high and low right, to make clear the close and the distant, to rank the noble and the mean, to keep a state in danger standing, to carry on a line that has been cut off, to settle tangles and order confusion, to raise up a ruined clan and set up an heir for one who has none, is right. To close the nine openings and hide the heart and the will, to throw away hearing and sight and turn back to no knowledge, to wander dimly beyond the dust and roam free in the work that has no work, to hold yin in the mouth and breathe out yang, so that the ten thousand things are harmonized and made one, is power. Therefore the Way scattered and became power, power overflowed and became benevolence and right, and once benevolence and right were set up, the Way and its power were cast aside.

A tree of a hundred armspans is cut down and made into a sacrificial wine vessel, carved with the graver, mixed with green and yellow, its patterns fine and bright, with dragon and snake and tiger and leopard curving into a design. But the piece cut off from it lies in a ditch. Set the sacrificial vessel and the cut piece in the ditch side by side, and there is a gap between ugly and fair. Yet in losing the nature of the wood they are the same. Therefore one whose spirit runs over has flowery words, and one whose power is shaken has false conduct. The utmost essence is gone from within, and words and conduct are shown outside. Such a man cannot escape making his body the servant of things. Now those who take up and lay down and act falsely are seeking the essence outside. The essence has an end and can be drained, while conduct has no limit. Then they muddy the mind and cloud the spirit and lead their own root astray into confusion. What they keep is not fixed, and outside they are drowned in the customs of the age. By what they cut short and stumble over, they cloud their own clearness and brightness within. Therefore they hesitate to the end and never get a moment of calm and quiet.

Therefore the sage cultivates the arts of the Way within and does not dress himself in benevolence and right without. He does not attend to the spreading of ear and eye, but roams in the harmony of spirit. Such a one sounds the three springs below and searches the nine heavens above, cuts across the six directions and widens them, and counts and threads the ten thousand things. This is the roaming of the sage. As for the true man, he moves and melts into the utmost emptiness and roams in the field of vanishing. He rides Feilian and follows Dunyu, gallops beyond all directions and rests within the universe. He lights ten suns and sets wind and rain to work. He makes Leigong his minister and Kuafu his servant, Fufei his concubine and Zhinü his wife. How could the space between heaven and earth be enough to hold his will! Therefore the empty and the nothing are the house of the Way, and the level and the easy are the plain stuff of the Way.

When a man makes a business of his spirit and troubles his essence, when he schemes and is clever and seeks outside, in all this he loses his spirit's brightness and leaves its dwelling. Therefore the frozen man borrows a double coat in spring and the sunstruck man longs for a cold wind in autumn. One who has a sickness within must have a color outside. Now the ash tree has a green and shadowed color, the snail heals and the river snail clears. All of these are medicines for treating the eyes. A man who seeks these things for no reason must have something clouding his sight. What the sage uses to startle the world, the true man has never gone in for. What the worthy uses to set customs straight, the sage has never looked at. There is no foot long carp in a puddle in an ox's hoofprint, and no timber of a fathom on a hill that is a clod of earth. Why is this so? Because their compass is narrow and small and cannot hold what is huge. How much more with that which wraps things in nothing! Its distance from the force of mountain and deep is far indeed. When a man is penned in by the age, his shape must be tied and his spirit must leak away, and so he cannot escape emptiness. If I can be tied and bridled, it must be that my fate lies outside me.

In the age of utmost power men slept sweetly in the muddy and wide country and leaned and moved in the vast and boundless house. They took up heaven and earth and left the ten thousand things to themselves. They made Hongmeng their shadow post and floated up beyond every ridge and cliff. Therefore the sage breathed in and out the breath of yin and yang, and all living things looked up, every one of them, and looked up to his power and were harmonious and compliant. In that time no one led or ordered them. What was parted and hidden was settled of itself. All was mixed and blue green. Plain simplicity had not yet scattered. It pressed out on all sides and was one, and the ten thousand things were greatly at ease. Therefore even the cleverness of Yi had nowhere to be used.

When the age declined and came to Fuxi, his Way was dim and dim and vague and vague. He hummed his power and held harmony in his breast, and what he spread was rather fierce. But knowing then first grew dim and began to brighten, and all wanted to leave their childish minds and to wake and look out on the space between heaven and earth. Therefore his power grew troubled and could not be one. Then came Shennong and the Yellow Emperor. They split the great ancestor apart, bored through heaven and earth and took the lead of them, joined the nine openings and doubled the nine hollows, took up yin and yang, and worked hard and soft smooth. They loosened the branches and threaded the leaves, so that the ten thousand things and the hundred tribes each had their main cords and ordered threads. At this the people stared wide eyed and looked up, and every one of them stood up straight to listen and to look. Therefore there was order, but the low could not be brought into harmony. Lingering on to the ages of Kunwu and the house of Xia, appetite and desire were tied to things, hearing and sight were lured outside, and nature and destiny lost what they had. Coming down to the decline of the house of Zhou, they thinned what was pure and scattered what was plain, mixed the Way with falsehood and cut power down to mere conduct, and cunning schemes sprouted. When the house of Zhou declined and the kingly Way was cast aside, the Confucians and the Mohists then first laid out doctrines and argued, split into parties and went to law. Then they learned widely in order to doubt the sages and used gaudy deceit to overawe the crowd, and with strings and singing and drums and dancing they decked out the Odes and the Documents and bought a name for themselves in the world. They made the rites of going up and coming down many, and dressed up the robes of sash and cap. Gather a crowd and it was not enough to work through all their changes. Pile up wealth and it was not enough to meet their cost. At this the people then first went crooked and split apart, each wanting to work his own cleverness and falsehood, seeking to fit tenon to mortise in the world, and choosing name and gain wrongly. Therefore the hundred families spread out over the slope of excess and waste and lost the root of their great ancestor. Now the reason the age loses its nature and destiny is that a decline came on it little by little, and what it came from is long ago.

Therefore the learning of the sage is a wish to turn his nature back to the beginning and to let his mind roam in emptiness. The learning of the man who has got through is a wish to open his nature to the wide and the vast and to wake in the still and silent. But the learning of the common world is not so. It grips power and shakes nature, it worries the five organs within and wearies ear and eye without. Then it first shakes and rattles the hairs and the beards of grain on things, and jangles and hacks away at benevolence and right and ritual and music, and spreads violent conduct and overreaching cleverness through the world in order to call up a name and a sound for itself in the age. This I am ashamed of and do not do.

Therefore rather than have the world, it is better to have gladness. Rather than have gladness, it is better to roam in the beginning and the end of things and to reach with clear order the meeting of being and nonbeing. Therefore though the whole age praises him he is not urged on, and though the whole age blames him he is not cast down. He is fixed in the country of death and life and goes through to the reason of glory and shame. Though burning fire and a great flood spread over the world, his spirit has no chip or gap within his breast. Such a one looks on the space of the world as a flying feather or a floating mote. Who would willingly bustle about and make a business of things! The nature of water is truly clear, and earth muddies it. The nature of man is calm and still, and appetite and desire disorder it. Now what man receives from heaven, the ear and eye toward sound and color, the mouth and nose toward fragrance and stench, the skin toward cold and warmth, is one and the same state in all. Yet some go through to the brightness of spirit and some cannot escape being foolish and mad. Why? Because what governs them is different. Therefore the spirit is the deep pool of knowing. When the pool is clear, knowing is bright. Knowing is the storehouse of the mind. When knowing is fair, the mind is at peace.

No man sees himself in running foam but sees himself in still water, because it is quiet. No man peers at his shape in raw iron but peers at it in a bright mirror, because he sees how level it is. Only the level and the quiet are the nature of shapes and things. Seen this way, use must always be borrowed from not using. Therefore the empty room gives birth to white light, and good omens come to rest there. Now dust and dirt cannot bury one whose mirror is bright, and appetite and desire cannot disorder one whose spirit is clear. When the spirit has already gone out beyond, and affairs try to bring it back again, that is losing it at the root and seeking it at the tip. To have no tally between outside and inside and still wish to meet with things, to cover one's dark light and seek knowledge in ear and eye, is to let go of what shines bright and follow what is dark and dark. This is called losing the Way. When the mind has somewhere it reaches, the spirit is suddenly there. Turn it back to emptiness, and it melts and dies away and rests. This is the roaming of the sage. So in ruling the world of old, men always got through to the true state of nature and destiny. What they took up and set down was not always the same, but their fitting with the Way was one.

That men do not wear furs on a summer day is not that they are sparing of them. It is that there is warmth to spare in the body. That they do not use a fan on a winter day is not that they make light of it. It is that there is coolness to spare for comfort. Now the sage measures his belly and eats, measures his shape and clothes himself, and keeps within his own bounds, and that is all. Where would a greedy and filthy mind be born from! So one who can have the world must never make a business of the world, and one who can have a name and fame must never run after it and seek it. The sage has something he has got through to, and once through, the mind of appetite and desire is outside him. The disciples of Confucius and Mozi all taught and led the age with the arts of benevolence and right, and yet they could not escape wearing themselves out. They could not even carry it out in their own bodies. How much less what they taught? Why is this? Because their Way was outside. Now to seek to turn back to the root by way of the tip, not even Xu You could do. How much less the common people! Truly get through to the state of nature and destiny, and benevolence and right stick to it of themselves. How could taking up and setting down be enough to trouble the mind!

As for one whose spirit has nothing covering it and whose mind carries nothing, who is open and clear and ordered and through, calm and still and without business, with nothing set and stuck, empty and quiet and waiting, power and profit cannot lure him, debaters cannot persuade him, sound and color cannot make him wanton, beauty cannot make him spill over, the clever cannot move him, the brave cannot frighten him. This is the Way of the true man. Such a one molds the ten thousand things and is a friend to the maker of changes. In the space between heaven and earth and within the universe none can block or break him. Now the one who gives birth to change does not die, and the one who changes things does not change. His spirit passes Lishan and Taihang and they cannot trouble it. It enters the four seas and the nine rivers and they cannot wet it. It dwells in a small and narrow place and is not blocked. It bars the space between heaven and earth crosswise and is not loose. One who does not go through to this may count with his eyes a flock of a thousand sheep, may part with his ears the tunes of the eight winds, may tread the Yang'a dance with his feet and keep the measure of Lushui with his hands, may have knowing that ends heaven and earth and brightness that lights sun and moon, may untie linked rings with his arguing and wet jade and stone with his favor, and still be of no use for ruling the world. Stillness and calm are the way to nourish nature. Harmony and gladness and empty nothing are the way to nourish power. When the outside does not disorder the inside, nature gets what suits it. When nature does not stir harmony, power is at ease in its place. Nourish life in order to order the age, hold power in your arms to the end of your years, and you may be said to make the Way your body. Such a one has no clogging in blood and vein and no smothered breath in his five organs. Fortune and misfortune cannot shake or disorder him, blame and praise cannot soil him with dust, and so he can reach his utmost. But without the right age, who can carry it through? Even when there is such a man, if he does not meet his time he cannot free even his own body. How much less when there is no Way at all? Besides, in man's own state the ear and eye answer to what stirs them, the mind and the will know worry and joy, and the hands and feet scratch an itch and shun cold and heat. These are the ways he meets with things. When a bee or a scorpion stings the finger, the spirit cannot be calm. When a mosquito or a gadfly bites the skin, knowing cannot be at peace. Now when worry and trouble come and seize a man's mind, it is not merely the sting of a bee or a scorpion or the smart of a mosquito or a gadfly. Then what is to be done about wanting to be still and calm and empty and without!

When the eye looks close at the tip of an autumn hair, the ear does not hear the sound of thunder. When the ear tunes the sound of jade and stone, the eye does not see the height of Taishan. Why? Because where there is a will toward the small there is a forgetting of the great. Now the coming of the ten thousand things pulls out my nature and snatches away my state, like a spring at its source. Though I would not take it in, could I manage it! Now one who plants a tree may water it with flooding water and bank it with rich soil, but if one man rears it and ten men pull it up, there will surely be no shoot left. How much more when a whole state joins in cutting it down? Though he would live long, how could he manage it! Now a basin of water stands in the courtyard. Let it clear all day, and still you cannot see your eyebrows and lashes in it. To muddy it takes no more than a single stir, and then you cannot make out square from round. The spirit of man is easy to muddy and hard to clear, just like a basin of water. How much more when a whole age stirs and disorders it! How could it be at peace for even a moment!

In the age of utmost power in old times, the merchant was content in his shop, the farmer delighted in his work, the officer was at ease in his post, and the man who stayed at home cultivated his Way. In that time wind and rain did not break and ruin, grass and trees did not die young, the nine cauldrons were heavy with savor, pearl and jade were rich and glossy, a red writing came out of the Luo and a green chart came out of the He. So Xu You and Fang Hui, Shan Juan and Pi Yi could get through to their Way. Why? The lords of the age had a mind to profit the world, and so men could delight in themselves among them. It is not that the talents of those four were wholly good. There are their like in the present age too, and yet none can share their light, because those four met the time of Tang and Yu. Coming down to Jie of Xia and Zhou of Yin, they burned living men and punished those who remonstrated. They made the roasting beam and cast the metal pillar. They cut open the heart of a worthy man and split the shins of a man of talent. They made mince of the daughter of the Marquis of Gui and pickled the bones of Mei Bo. In that time Yaoshan fell down, the three rivers ran dry, flying birds had their wings broken, and running beasts had their legs snapped. In that time, was it only that there were no sages? They could not open their Way, because they did not meet their age. Now a bird flies a thousand fathoms up and a beast runs in the thickets, and disaster still reaches them. How much more the common people on the registers? Seen this way, making the Way one's body does not rest in oneself alone. There is also something tied to the age.

The city of Liyang turned over in a single evening and became a lake, and courage and strength and sagehood and cleverness shared one fate with the worn out and the timid and the worthless. On Wushan they let fire go with the wind, and the gaoxia and the purple zhi died together with the mugwort and the wormwood. So the fish of the He cannot get clear eyes, and the young grain cannot get its season for growing, because what they were born into is so. So when an age is ordered, the fool cannot disorder it alone. When an age is disordered, the wise man cannot order it alone. To tread in the middle of a muddy age and then blame the Way for not being carried out is like hobbling both feet of a fine steed and asking it to cover a thousand miles. Put a gibbon in a cage and it is the same as a pig. It is not that it is not nimble and quick. It has nowhere to stretch its power. When Shun plowed and made pots he could not profit his own village, but when he faced south and was king, his power was spread to the four seas. His benevolence had not grown. His place was convenient and his position favorable. In the sages of old, the harmony and gladness and calm and quiet were nature. The getting of their will and the carrying out of the Way were fate. Therefore nature meets fate, and only then can it act. Fate gets nature, and only then can it be bright. The bow of Wuhao and the crossbow of Xizi cannot shoot without a string. The boats of Yue and the skiffs of Shu cannot float without water. Now the corded arrow and the trigger are above and the net is spread below. Though one would soar, how could the force of things allow it? So the Odes says, "Gathering, gathering the juan'er, and the tilted basket is not filled. Ah, the man I long for, I set him on that great road." This speaks of longing for a far off age.