ChineseStudy

The Way of Heaven

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The Way of Heaven moves without accumulating anywhere, and therefore the myriad things come to completion. The way of the sovereign moves without accumulating anywhere, and therefore all under Heaven gives allegiance. The way of the sage moves without accumulating anywhere, and therefore all within the seas submits. One who is illumined concerning Heaven, has insight into sagehood, and ranges freely through the six directions while opening into the four quarters in the virtue of emperors and kings acts of himself: obscure and without display, there is nothing in him that is not still.

The stillness of the sage does not arise because he declares stillness good and therefore becomes still. He is still because none of the myriad things is sufficient to disturb his heart. When water is still, it clearly reflects beard and eyebrows; its levelness accords with the leveling line, and the master craftsman takes it as a standard. Still water can be so luminous—how much more the vital spirit! How still is the sage's heart! It is the looking glass of Heaven and Earth, the mirror of the myriad things.

Emptiness, stillness, serenity, detachment, quietude, and nonaction are the equilibrium of Heaven and Earth and the highest reach of the Way and virtue. Therefore emperors, kings, and sages rest in them. By resting, one becomes empty; being empty, one becomes full; in fullness there is order. Being empty, one becomes still; being still, one moves; in movement, one attains. Being still, one does not act; with nonaction, those entrusted with affairs bear the responsibility. Through nonaction one is easy and unhurried; in one who is easy and unhurried, worries and troubles can find no lodging, and the years of life are long.

Emptiness, stillness, serenity, detachment, quietude, and nonaction are the root of the myriad things. To understand this and face south is how Yao was a ruler; to understand this and face north is how Shun was a minister. To occupy the higher position by means of this is the virtue of emperors, kings, and Sons of Heaven; to occupy the lower position by means of this is the Way of the profound sage and the unenthroned king.

With this, one may withdraw into seclusion and wander at ease among rivers and seas, winning the allegiance of those who dwell in mountains and forests; with this, one may step forward to act and bring peace to the world, whereupon one’s achievement will be great, one’s name renowned, and all under heaven made one. At rest, one is a sage; in action, a king. One does nothing, yet is honored; plain and unadorned, one has no rival in beauty under heaven.

Whoever clearly understands the virtue of heaven and earth possesses what is called the great root and the great source, and is in harmony with Heaven. This is the means by which one balances and regulates all under heaven and comes into harmony with human beings. Harmony with human beings is called human joy; harmony with Heaven is called heavenly joy. Zhuangzi said, “My teacher! My teacher!”

It grinds the myriad things together without being violent; its beneficence reaches ten thousand generations without being benevolent; it is older than highest antiquity without being long-lived; it covers and bears up heaven and earth, carving the multitude of forms, without being skillful. This is called the joy of Heaven. Thus it is said: “One who knows the joy of Heaven moves with Heaven while alive and transforms with things in death. At rest, such a one shares the potency of yin; in motion, such a one surges in the same current as yang.”

Therefore, one who knows the joy of Heaven incurs no resentment from Heaven, no blame from human beings, no encumbrance from things, and no reproach from ghosts. Thus it is said: “In movement, such a one is Heaven; in stillness, Earth. With the one mind settled, such a one reigns over all under Heaven. Ghosts bring no harm, the soul suffers no weariness; with the one mind settled, the myriad things submit.”

“To extend emptiness and stillness through heaven and earth, reaching into the myriad things—this is called the joy of Heaven. The joy of Heaven is the sage’s mind, by which he nurtures all under heaven.”

The virtue of emperors and kings takes heaven and earth as its source, the Way and its potency as its guide, and nonaction as its constant rule. With nonaction, one can make use of all under heaven and still have capacity to spare; with deliberate action, one is put to use by all under heaven and proves unequal to the demand. Therefore, the people of old prized nonaction.

If those above practice nonaction and those below also practice nonaction, then those below share the same virtue as those above; sharing the same virtue as those above, they cannot stand as subjects. If those below act and those above also act, then those above follow the same way as those below; following the same way as those below, they cannot stand as rulers. Those above must practice nonaction and employ all under heaven; those below must act and be employed by all under heaven. This is the unchanging Way.

Thus the ancient kings who ruled all under heaven, though their understanding encompassed heaven and earth, did not deliberate on their own; though their powers of distinction could carve out the myriad things, they did not expound on their own; though their abilities reached throughout the lands within the seas, they did not act on their own. Heaven does not deliberately produce, yet the myriad things transform; earth does not deliberately rear them, yet the myriad things grow; emperors and kings practice nonaction, yet achievements arise throughout the world. Thus it is said: nothing is more numinous than heaven, nothing richer than earth, and nothing greater than emperors and kings. Thus it is said: the virtue of emperors and kings matches heaven and earth.

This is the Way that rides Heaven and Earth, sets the myriad things in motion, and makes use of the human multitude.

The root lies with those above, and the branches with those below; what is essential lies with the ruler, and the particulars with the ministers. The deployment of the three armies and the five weapons is but an outer branch of virtue. Rewards and punishments, benefits and harms, and the statutes of the five penalties are but an outer branch of instruction. Rites and laws, measures and numbers, matching forms with names, and making detailed comparisons are but an outer branch of government. The sounds of bells and drums and the display of feathered standards are but an outer branch of music. Weeping, coarse mourning garments and hempen bands, and robes graded according to greater or lesser mourning are but an outer branch of grief.

These five peripheral matters depend on the circulation of vital spirit and the activity of the heart-mind; only afterward may they be followed and put into practice. The ancients did have learning concerned with such secondary matters, but they did not place it first. The ruler precedes and the minister follows; the father precedes and the son follows; the elder brother precedes and the younger follows; the senior precedes and the junior follows; the man precedes and the woman follows; the husband precedes and the wife follows. Distinctions of higher and lower, earlier and later, belong to the course of Heaven and Earth; therefore the sage takes them as a pattern.

Heaven is exalted and Earth is lowly: such are the stations of the numinous and luminous. Spring and summer come first, autumn and winter afterward: such is the sequence of the four seasons. The myriad things transform and arise, sprouting, differentiating, and taking on form; the diminution from flourishing to decline is the current of change. Heaven and Earth are supremely wondrous, yet they have an order of high and low, before and after—how much more so the human Way! In the ancestral temple, kinship is honored; at court, rank is honored; in the local community, age is honored; in the conduct of affairs, worthiness is honored. This is the ordering of the Great Way.

To speak of the Way without following its proper sequence is not to speak of the Way. If one speaks of the Way yet what one speaks of is not the Way, where could the Way be found?

Therefore, those in ancient times who understood the Great Way first understood Heaven, and after that the Way and its potency. Once the Way and its potency were clear, humaneness and rightness came next; once humaneness and rightness were clear, allotted offices and responsibilities came next; once these were clear, forms and names came next; once forms and names were clear, appointment according to capacity came next; once such appointment was clear, tracing matters back to their source and examining them came next; once this tracing and examination were clear, right and wrong came next; and once right and wrong were clear, rewards and punishments came next.

Once rewards and punishments have been made clear, the foolish and the wise each find their fitting place; the exalted and the lowly each occupy their station; and the benevolent, the worthy, and the unworthy each follow their actual disposition. Abilities must be distinguished, and the corresponding names must be followed. By this one serves those above, nurtures those below, orders things, and cultivates oneself. Cleverness and schemes go unused, and all must return to what is natural to it. This is called Great Peace, the utmost reach of government. Thus the old text says, “There are forms, and there are names.”

Forms and names existed among the ancients, but they were not what the ancients placed first. In ancient discourse on the Great Way, only after five transformations could forms and names be raised, and only after nine transformations could rewards and punishments be discussed. To rush at once into speaking of forms and names is not to know their root; to rush at once into speaking of rewards and punishments is not to know their beginning. Those who turn the Way upside down in speaking and run counter to the Way in their explanations are people for others to govern—how could they govern others?

To rush into speaking of forms and names, rewards and punishments—these are knowing the instruments of governance, not the Way of governance. They may be put to use in the world, but are not sufficient for governing the world. Such a person is called a disputant, a person versed in only one corner. Rites and laws, rules and measures, and the detailed matching of forms and names—all these existed among the ancients. They are means by which those below serve those above, not means by which those above nurture those below.

Long ago, Shun asked Yao, “How does the Heavenly King apply his mind?”

Yao said, “I do not disdain those who have no one to whom they can appeal, nor do I abandon people in destitution. I grieve for the dead, cherish young children, and feel compassion for women. This is where I have directed my concern.”

Shun said, “Admirable it may be, but it is not yet great.”

Yao asked, “If that is so, then what is to be done?”

Shun said, “Heavenly virtue comes forth as tranquility: the sun and moon shine, and the four seasons proceed; day and night each have their constant course; clouds move, and rain is bestowed.”

Yao said, “How entangled and restless it all is! You are in accord with Heaven; I am in accord with humankind.”

Heaven and Earth were what the ancients held to be great, and what the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun alike esteemed as beautiful. So what did those who ruled all under Heaven in antiquity do? Nothing more than follow Heaven and Earth.

Confucius went west to store books at the Zhou royal house. Zilu proposed, “I have heard that the Zhou court had an archivist named Lao Dan, who had been relieved of office and returned to live at home. If you wish to have the books preserved, Master, you might try going to seek his assistance.”

Confucius said, “Good.”

He went to see Lao Dan, but Lao Dan declined his request. He then unfolded the Twelve Classics by way of explanation. Lao Dan found some merit in what he said and said, “This is far too sprawling. I would like to hear its essential point.”

Confucius said, “The essential point lies in benevolence and righteousness.”

Lao Dan said, “May I ask: are benevolence and righteousness human nature?”

Confucius said, “Yes. Without benevolence, a noble person cannot become fully what he is; without righteousness, he cannot sustain his life. Benevolence and righteousness are the true nature of human beings—what else could one do?”

Lao Dan said, “May I ask what is meant by humaneness and righteousness?”

Confucius said, “To be inwardly kind and harmonious toward all things, loving all without partiality—this is the essential character of humaneness and righteousness.”

Lao Dan said, “Ah, I fear these words come too late! Is not universal love far too roundabout? To insist on having no private interest is itself a private interest. If you, sir, wish to keep the people of the world from losing the care that lets them follow their own nature, heaven and earth already have their constancy, the sun and moon already have their light, the stars already have their ordered ranks, birds and beasts already have their herds and flocks, and trees already stand in their own places.”

“You, sir, need only let your conduct follow virtue and hasten along the Way, and you will have arrived. Why, then, do you bustle about holding benevolence and righteousness aloft, like someone beating a drum while searching for a runaway child? Ah, sir, you are throwing human nature into disorder!”

Shicheng Qi went to see Laozi and questioned him: “I had heard that you, Master, were a sage. So I did not shrink from the long road but came in hopes of seeing you; I passed a hundred lodging places, my feet thick with callus, not daring to rest. Now that I have observed you, you are no sage. Even the earth from rat holes holds leftover grains, yet you cast aside those of little learning who need guidance—this is not benevolent. Raw and cooked food lies before you in more than you can eat, while you hoard without limit.”

Laozi remained impassive and gave no reply.

The next day, Shicheng Qi came to see him again and said, “Yesterday I directed barbs at you. Now my mind has settled and drawn back. Why is that?”

Laozi said, “As for being a person of clever intelligence and numinous sageliness, I consider myself to have shed that. Earlier, when you called me an ox, I answered to ‘ox’; when you called me a horse, I answered to ‘horse.’ If the reality is indeed there and others give it a name, refusing to accept it only brings the trouble upon one a second time. My yielding is a constant yielding; I do not yield by making ‘yielding’ into something to be done.”

Shi Chengqi moved obliquely, like a goose in formation, so as to keep out of Laozi’s shadow. Following his steps, he then came forward and asked, “How should one cultivate oneself?”

Laozi said, “Your face has a lofty, forbidding look; your eyes are sharp and intent; your forehead stands broad and prominent; your mouth gapes fiercely; and your bearing makes a show of rectitude. You resemble a horse that stops only because it is tethered. In motion you hold yourself in check; when you spring forth, you are like a triggered mechanism. You scrutinize closely and judge minutely; your cleverness shows itself as arrogance. Taken together, none of this rings true. In the borderlands there is a man whose name is Thief.”

The Master said, “The Way has no end in what is great and leaves nothing out in what is small; thus all the myriad things are complete within it. Vast, vastly open, it contains everything; deep as an abyss, it cannot be fathomed. Form, virtue, benevolence, and righteousness are but the outermost expressions of spirit—who but the consummate person could set them in their proper place? Even when the consummate person possesses the world, is that not an immense charge? Yet it is not enough to burden him.”

“All under heaven strive to seize the handle of power, but he does not go along with them. He sees clearly what depends on nothing borrowed and does not shift with advantage; he reaches the utmost reality of things and can preserve their root. Thus he places heaven and earth outside himself and leaves the myriad things behind, while his spirit has never been trapped by anything. He penetrates the Way, accords with virtue, sets benevolence and righteousness to the rear, and treats rites and music as guests. The mind of the consummate person thereby finds its settled ground.”

What the world prizes as the Way is found in books. Yet books are no more than words, and words have something in them that is valuable. What is valuable in words is their meaning, and meaning has something that it follows. What meaning follows cannot be conveyed through language; nevertheless, because the world prizes words, it preserves and transmits books. Though the world values them, I still do not consider them worthy of such esteem, because what people prize in them is not what is truly precious in them.

Thus, what sight can perceive is only form and color, and what hearing can perceive is only names and sounds. How lamentable that people in the world suppose form, color, names, and sounds sufficient to grasp the true condition of that! If form, color, names, and sounds are indeed insufficient to grasp its true condition, then those who know do not speak, and those who speak do not know. But how could the world recognize this?

Duke Huan was reading a book in the hall. Below the hall, Wheelwright Bian was hewing a wheel. He set down his mallet and chisel, went up, and asked Duke Huan, “May I venture to ask what words Your Grace is reading?”

The duke said, “They are the words of the sages.”

He asked, “Is the sage still alive?”

Duke Huan said, “He is dead.”

He said, “If that is so, then what my lord is reading is nothing more than the dregs and husks left by the ancients!”

Duke Huan said, “I am reading a book—how dare a wheelwright pass judgment on it! If you can explain yourself, so be it; if you cannot, you will die.”

Wheelwright Bian said, “I look at it in light of my own craft. When cutting a wheel, if I go too slowly, the work comes easily but does not hold firm; if I go too fast, it becomes strained and the blade will not enter. Going neither slowly nor quickly, I find it in my hand and it answers in my mind, yet my mouth cannot put it into words. There is a certain measure residing between the two. I cannot explain it so that my son understands, and my son cannot receive it from me. That is why, at the age of seventy, I am still cutting wheels in my old age.”

“The people of old have died together with what they could not transmit. If so, what you are reading, my lord, is nothing more than the lees and residue of the ancients!”

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