《冲虚至德真经四解(高守元)》

Four Commentaries on the True Scripture of Profound Emptiness and Supreme Virtue (Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing Sijie), by Gao Shouyuan, is an annotated edition of the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing—that is, the Liezi—compiled by the Jin-dynasty Daoist Gao Shouyuan. It was completed around the yiyou year of the Dading era of the Jin (1165), comprises twenty juan, and is included in the Zhonghua Daozang under the Four Masters’ True Scriptures category.

About Liezi

Liezi’s surname was Lie and his personal name was Yukou; he was a native of the state of Zheng. He lived in seclusion at Putian in Zheng for forty years, and no one recognized him. In his early years he took Huqiu Zi as his teacher; later he studied under Lao Shangshi and became friends with Bo Gaozi. Having absorbed the Daoist arts of these two masters, after nine years of practice he was able to ride the wind.

His disciple Yan Hui once asked him, “Do those who study the Dao seek wealth and honor?” Liezi replied, “Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang cared only for profit and made light of righteousness, and so their kingdoms perished.”

The Liezi consists of eight chapters. Liezi was probably a man who had attained the Dao, and Zhuangzi praised him repeatedly. The Liezi Temple in the area of present-day Kaifeng, Zhengzhou, and Putian stands on the old site of his retreat. During the Tang dynasty he was granted the title “True Man of Profound Emptiness and Supreme Virtue” (Chongxu Zhide Zhenren), and the book attributed to him consequently became known as the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing.

Notes on Terms

Dading yiyou: The yiyou year during the Dading reign of Emperor Shizong of Jin, that is, 1165 CE.

Putian: An ancient place name in the present-day Zhengzhou area of Henan.

Huqiu Zi, Lao Shangshi, and Bo Gaozi: Figures whom Liezi studied under or associated with; their biographies are largely unknown.

Zhuangzi: A representative figure of Warring States Daoism; the Zhuangzi mentions Liezi several times.

Chongxu Zhide Zhenren: The honorific title posthumously bestowed on Liezi by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang in the first year of the Tianbao era (742). “Chongxu” means empty stillness; “Zhide” refers to the highest moral virtue.

When Sima Qian described the learning of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, he placed their teachings before the Six Classics, which shows that he esteemed the arts of the Daoist school. Yet he omitted Liezi. Liu Xiang of the Western Han (courtesy name Zizheng, a scholar who collated books) collated and arranged this work. In it are elucidated the principles of inner and outer, the meaning of life and death is verified, and the distinction between things and the self is equalized; on the whole it agrees with Zhuangzi (Meng Zhuang, that is, Zhuang Zhou). The book says, “I do not know whether it is I who ride the wind or the wind that rides me; whether it is Zhuang Zhou who transforms into a butterfly or a butterfly that transforms into Zhuang Zhou.” The two speak as with a single mouth. Yet among those in later ages who annotated and expounded it, most rarely mentioned Liezi. In the Jin dynasty there was Zhang Zhan, and in the Tang dynasty there was Lu Chongxuan. Compared with the commentators on the Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi), Zhang Zhan is equivalent to Guo Xiang, and Lu Chongxuan to Cheng Xuanying.

In the Zhenghe era of Emperor Huizong of Song, Fan Zhixu (courtesy name Qianshu) also produced an exposition. At that time the court established Daoist learning and trained talents together with the Three Halls jinshi of the Imperial University. The Confucian official Wang Li submitted a memorial saying: “The two books Zhuangzi and Liezi support Laozi’s teaching, just as the Confucian school had Yan Hui and Mencius. Their refined and subtle teachings inspire later generations and cause the Dao of the Yellow Emperor to shine forth again; their merit is not below that of Yan Hui and Mencius. An edict should be issued ordering the responsible officials to study them, so that they may be honored and practiced.” The court followed this, and the book therefore circulated widely in the world.

Gao Shouyuan (courtesy name Shanzhang), a native of Pingyang, collected the explanations of the two authorities and, together with the annotated editions of Zhang Zhan and Lu Chongxuan, combined them into a single book. This is truly beneficial to scholars, enabling them to knock at the gate of the mysterious and wondrous and seek the realm of the sage, achieving “reaching the broad and great and exhausting the refined and subtle.” Lu Chongxuan’s preface lamented: “If a worthy man appears but once in a thousand years, he seems to stand shoulder to shoulder with us; if a kindred spirit exists ten thousand generations later, it is as though we meet him morning or evening.” Exegetical scholarship has been difficult since ancient times; this is truly cause for lament.

At the end it is dated to the spring of the jiyou year of the Dading era (the ninth year of Emperor Shizong of Jin, 1169), and the preface is by Mao Hui, a retired Chengwu lang, former co-administrator of the military and prefectural affairs of Qinzhou, Yunqi commandant, and recipient of a fish bag. Its final sentence mentions that the New Book had already been collated and divided into eight chapters.

This is the memorial that Liu Xiang submitted to the emperor at the end of the Western Han after collating the Liezi.

Liu Xiang states that he had collated the Liezi and set it at eight chapters. The palace copy contained five chapters. He and the Changshe Commandant Can compared it with three chapters in the copy held by the Grand Master of Ceremonies, four in the Grand Historian’s copy, six in his own copy, and two in Can’s copy, making twenty chapters in all. Removing twelve duplicate chapters left eight. The palace copy had more chapters, while the popular copies had fewer; chapters and sections were disordered and scattered among the various texts, and there were also scribal errors caused by similar written forms—for example, the character meaning “exhaust” was miswritten as “advance,” and “worthy” as “form”—and such cases were numerous. The collated definitive text had already undergone the shaqing process—drying the bamboo slips over fire to prevent insect damage, that is, the final draft—and was ready to be copied.

Liezi was a man of Zheng, a contemporary of Duke Mu of Zheng, and a man who possessed the Dao. His teachings were rooted in the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, and he was classified as belonging to the Daoist school. The Daoists advocate grasping the fundamental essentials, taking purity, stillness, emptiness, and nonbeing as the foundation, and in conducting oneself and dealing with things they seek above all non-contention; this accords with the spirit of the Six Classics of Confucianism. But the two chapters “King Mu” and “Tang’s Questions” are far-fetched and absurd, not like the words of a gentleman; the “Force and Fate” chapter exalts the notion that fate is determined by Heaven, while the “Yang Zhu” chapter honors only self-indulgence. The two positions contradict each other and do not appear to come from one hand. Nevertheless, each chapter has its own insights and its own merits worth taking.

During the reign of Emperor Xiaojing of Han, Huang-Lao teachings flourished, and this book also circulated for a time. Later it was scattered and lost, fell into private hands among the people, and had no one to transmit it; moreover, it contained many fables and resembled the works of Zhuang Zhou. Therefore the Grand Historian Sima Qian did not write a biography for it but only recorded it cautiously.

Your servant Liu Xiang, risking death, submits the record of the collated Liezi; the memorial was submitted on the ren-yin day of the eighth month in the third year of Yongshi (14 BCE).

“Jin Zhang Zhan’s Annotations and Preface” is a title, referring to the annotations and preface to the Liezi made by Zhang Zhan of the Jin dynasty.

Zhang Zhan said that he had once heard his late father tell how his late father’s father—that is, Zhang Zhan’s grandfather—along with Liu Zhengyu and Fu Yinggen, were all nephews on the maternal side of the Wang family. In their youth they often went to their maternal grandfather’s house and spent time with their maternal uncle Wang Shizhou. Shizhou’s paternal cousins Wang Zhengzong and Wang Fusi—that is, Wang Bi—both loved to collect books and records, and their household once held Wang Zhongxuan’s—that is, Wang Can’s—books, nearly ten thousand volumes. The Fu family, too, had pursued scholarship for generations, and as children the three youths vied with one another in copying rare books.

After they grew up, they encountered the Yongjia Disturbance—the great upheaval that broke out during the Yongjia era of the Western Jin, in 307–313, plunging the north into war. Fu Yinggen and he fled south together. As for the books loaded on the carts, each person packed according to his own strength, but the enemy grew ever more rampant and the road ahead was still long. Zhang Wei said to Fu Yinggen, “The carts can no longer carry all the books. We had better join together in selecting the books that are rare in the world, each preserving some, and not throw them away.” Fu Yinggen therefore took only the collected works of his grandfather Fu Xuan and his father Fu Xian. Among the books Zhang Zhan’s late father had copied were the eight chapters of the Liezi—a Daoist classic traditionally attributed to Lie Yukou of the Warring States period. By the time they reached Jiangnan, only a portion remained: three fascicles, namely Yang Zhu, Shuo Fu, and Mulu (Catalogue).

After the disturbances were pacified, Liu Zhengyu was appointed governor of Yangzhou. Zhang Zhan’s late father crossed the Yangtze to seek refuge with him, stayed again in his home, and obtained four fascicles of the work. Later he also obtained six fascicles from the household of Zhao Jizi, son-in-law of Wang Fusi. By collating them against one another and supplying what each lacked, the text was finally made complete.

The main purport of this book is to take “Ultimate Vacuity” as its foundation and to hold that all things ultimately return to extinction. Spirit and wisdom can remain intact only through concentrated stillness; when thought clings to external things, life is lost; waking and dreaming are fundamentally the same state. Things, whether great or small, are not confined to a single domain; human success and adversity are not controlled by intelligence. In self-cultivation, the most important thing is to let nature take its course. If one follows one’s original nature, one can be at ease wherever one goes; even plunging into boiling water or fire does no harm. If one forgets thought and attachment, even the darkest places can be illuminated. Such is the central teaching of this book.

Yet the principles expounded in the book often resonate with Buddhist scriptures; its fundamental orientation is the same as that of Laozi and Zhuangzi, and its diction and types of metaphor especially resemble those of the Zhuangzi. The Zhuangzi, Shen Dao, Han Fei, Shizi, and Huainanzi mutually corroborate one another’s purport, and the book also quotes them frequently. I therefore composed a commentary on it.

Liu Xiang says: Liezi was a man of Zheng and a contemporary of Duke Mu of Zheng (ruler of Zheng during the Spring and Autumn period); he was probably someone who had attained the Dao. His learning was rooted in Huangdi and Laozi, and for this reason he is called a Daoist. Daoists grasp the essentials and hold fast to the root; they are pure, quiet, empty, and void, accord with nature, and do not act willfully. In self-cultivation and in his dealings with the world, he esteemed non-contention, which is consonant with the Six Classics of Confucianism. However, the two chapters “King Mu” and “The Questions of Tang” are absurd and exaggerated and are not the words of a gentleman. The chapter “Force and Destiny” single-mindedly exalts the fixity of fate, while the chapter “Yangzi” (that is, Yang Zhu, a thinker of the Warring States period) only exalts unrestrained pleasure. These two doctrines diverge from each other and do not look as though they came from one hand. Nevertheless, each chapter has points that it clarifies and is quite worthy of adoption, and it often uses fables, similar to Zhuang Zhou (that is, Zhuangzi). That is why the Grand Historian Sima Qian did not write a biography for him.

Zhang Zhan (an Eastern Jin Daoist who wrote a commentary on the Liezi) says in his preface: This book broadly takes “ultimate emptiness” as its foundation, takes the final extinction of the myriad things as its verification, and holds that when spirit and intelligence are concentrated in stillness they can endure. Thoughts clinging to external things cause one to lose one’s original nature; waking and dreaming, the workings of nature and human affairs, are all circumstances of the same kind, and their scope, great or small, is not confined to any one domain. Success or frustration need not depend on intelligence; in self-cultivation what is valuable is to act according to one’s nature. If one accords with one’s nature, then wherever one goes one can be at ease, and one may even tread through water and fire; if one forgets deliberation, then no dark place remains unilluminated—this is its purport.

Yet the principles expounded in the book often correspond to Buddhist sutras, and its fundamental purport is the same as that of Laozi and Zhuangzi. Chongxuan (Twofold Mystery, a Tang-dynasty Daoist school that held to the mysterious principle of transcending being and nonbeing through double negation) regarded it as the way of Huang-Lao. Discourse on the Dao has lasted a long time, but through the ages there has been no one who truly understood it. Everyone uses emotion and intellect to discriminate its true purport, and so although they say a great deal, in the end they still arrive at non-understanding. Although what they expound is plentiful, they merely examine the dregs in detail; all without exception describe the great Dao as mysterious, remote, and profound, pointing to it from afar within the Great Void. The essence of the Dao is subtle and refined, so wondrous that it cannot be expressed in words, and words are merely tools for interpretation. The result is that the true purport is obscured and unclear and merely circulates in vain in written words; the ultimate principle is originally empty and void, yet only talk about it has been left behind. They fail to realize that it is self-sufficient and at ease in itself, but borrow words to interpret it; they advocate “grasping the meaning and forgetting the words,” yet then depart from words to seek verification, taking these writings alone as the essential task.

The supreme Dao (the Way) is empty and elusive, yet people pay attention only to words about it. They do not realize that the Dao is originally inherent in themselves, and that words are borrowed merely to explain it. Once one has grasped the meaning within, one should forget the words. If one seeks verification apart from words, one can only deliberate with thoughts of right and wrong, birth and extinction, act as one is stirred by emotions, and move according to conventional habits of mind. Those ornate words that boast of the Dao pursue reputation but lose the reality.

I (Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, namely the Kaiyuan Shengwen Shenwu Emperor) hold that the Dao is the root of the ten thousand things, and that the highest De (Virtue/Power) cannot be expressed in words. I therefore widely summoned worthy scholars from the four quarters and searched throughout the realm, hoping that someone might penetrate the mysterious principle within it and thereby succor all living beings. I, this petty minister (referring to the commentator Gao Shouyuan), am dull and ignorant; having by chance admired this Dao, I again received the imperial decree and anew examined and collated its subtle and refined words.

Having respectfully read the Liezi, I then annotated and expounded its essential purport, merely cherishing some shallow views in private. This is not intended to point out the way for others; I only hope to secretly accord with that empty, still, hidden, and subtle realm. It is like the Yellow Emperor in the Zhuangzi losing the Mysterious Pearl (a metaphor for the Dao), which only Xiangwang (the man without mind or image) could find. This is what I hope for, and I dare not presume to seek more.

The treatise says: Why are people born? Because Shen (spirit) and form come together. Why do people die? Because Shen and form separate. Form has birth and death, but Shen has no birth or death. Therefore Laozi says, “The valley spirit does not die.” To die yet not perish—this is true longevity. However, such birth and death pertain only to form; as for the functioning of Shen, no birth or death can be spoken of at all. Shen is originally empty, numinous, mysterious, and wondrous; what can unite with the true Dao is original nature. Form is inherently substantial and obstructive; what becomes defiled is emotion and desire. The Perfected Person (one who has cultivated the Dao to the highest level) forgets emotion and desire and returns to original nature, and thus draws near the Dao. Ordinary people cling to their nature and are driven by emotion and desire, and thus lose their true nature. Therefore, discarding intelligence and casting off the limbs and body is the constant nature of those who attain the Dao; craving life and fearing death is the common condition of worldly people.

They do not injure life through excessive cherishing, nor discard the supreme treasure through pursuing fame. Therefore the Zhuangzi says: “When doing good, do not draw near to fame; when doing evil, do not draw near to punishment. Follow the natural middle way as your constant rule, and you may nourish life and complete your allotted years.” If someone thinks that because he does not seek fame he may give free rein to his mind and do evil, then he is even more greatly mistaken. Why is this so?

When others laugh, I laugh along; when others wail, I wail along. What others fear, I too cannot but fear—how, then, could I do what is unwholesome?

From this it is clear that Shen (spirit, the governing spirit of human life, namely the original Shen) is the master of life, while form (xing) is the recompense for Shen’s merits. If Shen has the merit of succoring the myriad things, form receives the recompense of honor; if Shen has the effect of harming the myriad things, the recompense is a base and ugly form. Shen’s operation is inexhaustible, whereas form has a lifespan that may be long or short. When the allotted term of recompense arrives, there is death; when merit is manifest, there is another birth. That is to say, the pure are promoted and glorified, while the greedy and cruel are demoted.

If we speak from the standpoint of position (that is, the rank occupied by form), then while form remains unchanged, positions still differ in high and low; if we discern from the standpoint of Shen, Shen remains unchanged, while form can be replaced. The perfected person (zhiren, one whose cultivation has reached the highest level) understands this, and therefore, within the formed, treasures Zhen (true nature, the nature not yet polluted by desire).

The true Shen originally has no form; it functions through mind, and its functions divide into the defiled and the pure. This is precisely where ordinary people and sages differ: those immersed in defilement are ordinary people, while those who abide in purity accord with the Dao (the fundamental order of the cosmos). The Dao originally has no substantial form; one can realize it simply by removing desires—why need seek it in the dark and vast, or analyze it beyond the indistinct and intangible?

Therefore Laozi said: “My Dao is very easy to understand and very easy to practice, yet people cannot understand it and cannot practice it—what is the reason?” People understand life only in terms of form, not knowing that Shen is the master of life; they understand death only in terms of breath, not knowing that Shen is the root of Qi (vital energy). To be bound by form gives rise to desire; to be deluded about Shen is to lose the Dao. Clinging to appearances confuses the root; drowning in them, one forgets to return. The sage sighs that people are so bound and attached, lamenting how rarely one who understands the Dao is encountered.

Hence it is said: “To meet a worthy person a thousand li away is like having him close at hand; if in ten thousand generations there is one who truly knows the Dao, the interval between him and oneself is no more than a morning or an evening.” Such cherishing of the worthy may be called deep and sincere. Is this not so?

If one applies the mind to cultivation according to these principles—removing desires and cunning intelligence in order to return to the source, continually diminishing until “acting through Wuwei (non-action)” (to act without a deliberative mind; from Laozi’s “act through non-action, and nothing is ungoverned”)—and then reads the book Liezi, one will already have grasped most of it.

The Dao (the Way) operates within all things, but each thing is confined to its own corner, so people can see only a part. Ordinary people see concrete things but cannot see the Dao that pervades them; the sage sees that no thing is not a manifestation of the Dao. Only when true and false are clearly distinguished do dream and waking differ; only when being and nonbeing are discerned does the difference between past and present emerge.

Those who attain the Dao do not rely on cleverness, and those who lose the Dao are not so because of dullness; the difference between adversity and success in human life stems from the difference between “force” (human effort) and “fate” (heavenly mandate). Yang Zhu, who advocated “for myself,” discarded benevolence; Mo Di, who advocated “for others,” discarded righteousness; their teachings were both mocked by people of broad understanding.

Liezi, by contrast, erased true and false and caused both to be forgotten; he united being and nonbeing and brought them back to a single whole; with regard to gain and loss, adversity and success, he let them all be as they naturally are. He could make both “for myself” and “universal love” lead toward the realm of Great Harmony, and he deeply pitied the confusion of the world. People see profit and forget their original truth, like those robbers, like the man who snatched gold in the marketplace (a story from the Liezi, “Shuo Fu”), lost and not knowing how to return, rushing onward without turning back.

Therefore Liezi wrote eight chapters, expounding how the Shen (spirit) that subtly animates the myriad things can come and go alone beyond the bounds of heaven and earth, and expounding the principle of holding fast to softness and weakness, of not contending and yet always winning. His doctrines are vast and grand, mostly words beyond words, and he sets up his teachings under the borrowed names of the Yellow Emperor and Confucius. Ultimately, their purport all derives from the essential meaning of the Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Its Virtue). Yet when we examine his words, probe his meaning, and infer the state he reached: when he saw the spirit shaman Jixian (a shaman who could foretell good and ill fortune), his heart was intoxicated and his spirit entranced; when he watched Bohun Wuren (Liezi’s teacher, a skilled archer) demonstrate archery, he was so frightened that he fell prostrate and could not rise. The state he ultimately attained was merely to ride the wind and then return; thus he is very far from the realm of Zhuang Zhou.

The Zhuangzi says: Liezi could ride the wind and travel, but he still had something to rely on.

Alas! To arrive swiftly without hastening, to reach the goal without advancing—only the realm of the utmost Shen (spirit) under heaven is the true embodiment of the Dao spoken of by Laozi.

We (the emperor who wrote this preface, namely Emperor Huizong of Song), amid the press of busy government affairs, have read the five thousand words of the Daodejing and made an explanatory commentary on it; I have also annotated the inner chapters of the Zhuangzi, and the book of Liezi likewise cannot be left without discussion. I therefore venture to set forth what I have heard, to await a sage of later generations who can understand me.

Preface written on the first day of the intercalary ninth month in the Wuxu year of the Zhenghe era (1118).

What the world values is books, but books are no more than language. What language values is meaning, and meaning points in different directions according to the person. Those who can grasp the meaning within may forget the words and still be fine. But if they do not understand the meaning, then not only is there nothing to value; rather, each stands apart and rejects the others—how could they be worthy to converse with one who penetrates the Great Dao?

Liezi (a man of Zheng who attained the Dao during the Warring States period) taught and discoursed on the Dao, elucidating the principles of nature and life. His world-saving words are like good medicine and surpass the Hundred Schools. The purport beyond his words mostly takes Hunyuan (the undifferentiated, primordial unity of the Dao) as its guiding principle, while his prose and metaphors can almost gallop side by side with Zhuangzi.

Yet worldly scholars and teachers, bound by names, things, words, and phrases, cannot transcend their narrow views to seek its gate. Thus they set themselves against one another and shut him out from the ranks of the sage and wise. For example, Sima Qian greatly revered Daoist learning, yet alone failed to establish a biography for Liezi. Liu Xiang, who read widely and collated classical texts, denounced the two chapters “King Mu” and “Tang’s Questions” as absurd and bizarre, not the words of a gentleman—so far did his rejection go. Was this not because they failed to understand the purport within and thus lost what is valuable in it?

I have seen the Zhenghe-era exegesis (the imperial commentary issued under Emperor Huizong of Song) and know that it will be transmitted for ten thousand generations, used to honor Daoism, with the intent of guiding all under Heaven back to the true source of nature and life and returning them to the age of high antiquity; its bestowal of grace is exceedingly generous. Thereupon the court ordered Confucian officials to study Daoist scriptures as well; the books of Laozi and Zhuangzi were elucidated by the great pens of renowned masters and shone brightly like the sun, moon, and stars. Those who observed them and received their transforming instruction had models they could follow, and no one recklessly criticized them anymore.

As for the book Liezi, Zhang Zhan once annotated it, but its errors and confused admixture are especially severe; it neither accords with the norms of establishing words nor preserves the intent of the classic, so scholars have often been troubled by this. It is clear that, in order to grasp the purport of this book, even if one wished to forget the words, how could one do so?

Mr. Fan Taichu, the Left Assistant Director, in the intervals between assisting the ruler and harmonizing the governance of the state, personally made a commentary on this book. He investigated its meaning as though it came forth from Liezi’s own heart; he explored its doctrines sufficiently to dispel the obscurations of scholars. Its subtle words and profound principles, after thousands of years, suddenly became clear in a single morning, as when clouds are parted and the blue sky appears. Readers need not leave their seats to seek instruction; they can gain understanding at the very moment they see it. In this way, above it may assist the ruler in promoting civilizing instruction—how vast are its benefits! Accordingly, it was copied and engraved for circulation so that it might be widely transmitted. Respectfully inscribed at the head of the volume, the preface is as follows: the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month in the first year of Xuanhe (1119).

This passage is the opening title and attribution notice to the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing Sijie (Four Exegeses on the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing), not the main text. The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing is an honorific title for the Liezi used from the Tang dynasty onward, and the Sijie collects four sets of annotations: those of Zhang Zhan of the Jin dynasty, an Eastern Jin scholar and an early commentator on the Liezi; Lu Chongxuan of the Tang dynasty, a Tang Daoist; an instructional commentary from the Zhenghe era of the Song dynasty; and the explanations of Fan Zhixu, Left Assistant Director of the Song dynasty. Gao Shouyuan, known as Heguang Sanren, was the compiler.

“Tianrui” (“Heaven’s Blessings”) is the first chapter of the Liezi. It mainly discusses the generation and transformation of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, as well as questions of life and death and the transformation of bodily form; it belongs to the general outline of the whole book.

Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (The Perfected Scripture of Supreme Emptiness and Ultimate Virtue) is the Liezi, the common title used for it in the Daozang. The following interpretation follows the order of the original text.

Zhang Zhan’s commentary (“Zhang says”): Although heaven and earth are great and the myriad things are many, all revolve between life and death, move back and forth between coming forth and entering, and are linked end to beginning in unceasing transformation. Long life and early death, increase and decrease, completion and destruction—none of these is anything but the pattern of nature. One who embodies the Dao stands beyond the myriad things. Such a person is no longer within the range of the turning of the myriad forms, and also guards the unchanging nature. Therefore the succession of day and night cannot enslave him, and the creative transformations of Yin-Yang cannot alter him. Thus he can master the myriad things without being enslaved by them.

Liezi’s exposition (“Xu says”): All moving living beings take “life” as their root, but they only know how to cherish their own lives and do not understand the principle of “generating life.” “Generation and transformation” refers to the arising and changing of things that have form; “generating life” is the formless and imageless root. Things with form can be perceived and used, and they belong to the domain of Yin-Yang; but when one speaks of their true nature, it surpasses what Yin-Yang can fathom. Therefore the Yijing says, “That which Yin-Yang cannot fathom is called Shen (spirit).” This unfathomable numinosity is precisely the greatest efficacy and auspicious omen between heaven and earth, and so the chapter is titled “Tianrui” (Heavenly Auspices).

Supplementary note on the commentaries: The “Zhenghe Commentary” refers to the annotation from the Zhenghe era of Emperor Huizong of Song. Its general meaning is: the myriad things have generation and transformation, but the Dao has no division into past and present. Only one who has realized the Dao can avoid changing along with change and respond to things without clinging. “Fan says” is the explanation of another commentator, and its general meaning is close to Zhang Zhan’s commentary.

Introductory note at the chapter opening: The following are the opening and title note of this chapter. In “Zi Liezi,” the character zi is placed before the surname, probably because this first chapter may have been recorded by Liezi’s disciples, and so the honorific is placed before the surname.

Main text: Liezi lived in a garden in the state of Zheng, and for forty years the people of Zheng did not know him. This sentence describes Liezi withdrawing from the world and not emerging, not seeking fame, and abiding in the Dao in a state of namelessness.

This passage discusses how a person who truly attains the Dao conducts himself in the world, and why the great Dao is not transmitted through words.

A person of the highest De (Virtue/Power) does not engage with the myriad things by relying on outward form or speech. If others do not know that his De has reached its utmost, they will take him for an ordinary person whom they do not recognize. Even rulers, ministers, and grand officers see him as no different from an ordinary commoner. This is not because he is cut off from external things; rather, when he speaks he does not divide things into right and wrong, and when he acts he leaves no traces, so the world has no way to know him.

Fan’s commentary says: Those in antiquity who were skilled at cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, unfathomably deep. They guarded their original nature and embraced spirit, wandered freely within the world, rose and fell with the affairs of the age, and floated and sank together with the multitude. Why should they deliberately display their wisdom, startle the world and alarm custom, and advertise eccentric conduct that sets them apart from others?

Next comes a parable. A certain state suffered a famine, and Hu Zi prepared to go to the state of Wei. In ancient texts the word jia here means “to go,” indicating leaving home on a journey.

A disciple asked: “This time the Master goes with no fixed time of return. I venture to ask: what will the Master use to instruct me?” The word ye means “to request.”

Has the Master not heard the words of Huqiu Zilin? Huqiu Zilin was Liezi’s teacher; he is Hu Zi.

Liezi said with a laugh: What did Hu Zi say? The four seasons run their course and the myriad things grow—where is there any need to rely on words?

Fan’s commentary says: Hu symbolizes emptiness that is not destroyed; qiu symbolizes stability that is not moved; Zilin means holding fast to the “mother of the Dao” in order to govern the world. The Dao cannot be sought through question and answer; even if one asks, there is no response. One who realizes the great Dao understands it silently with the mind and need not say much. The more one speaks, the more the principle is exhausted, and the farther one is from the great Dao.

After the word “although,” Liezi turns to say: The Master once told Bohun Maoren—Liezi’s friend and a fellow student of Hu Zi—some words, which I overheard privately; now I shall try to tell them to you. That Bohun received Hu Zi’s teaching naturally without asking questions is an expression of Liezi’s modesty.

The final sentence, according to the Zhenghe commentary, says that “the Dao cannot be spoken of”; this means that the great Dao itself cannot be directly conveyed through language.

Bohun was a friend of Liezi, and both had studied under Huzi. Without relying on words, Bohun naturally received instruction from Huzi; he was a humble and yielding man whom Liezi admired.

The commentator Zhenghe says: The Dao (the Way) is originally ineffable; as soon as it is spoken, the Dao is lost. Then what did Huzi ever say? He spoke only because he had no choice, so that the other person could gain some understanding upon hearing it.

The commentator Fan further says: The Dao cannot be spoken; if spoken, it is not the Dao. But in the end one still cannot avoid speech, because that “wordless word” has never truly been uttered; therefore one can only give you a rough outline. Bohun Maoren (a personal name) realized the Dao and became one with the myriad things; for a long time he concealed his light and did not display his intelligence, and so he was called “Wuren” (No-Man). From his perspective—transcending ordinary people and roaming with Heaven—the Dao transmitted by Huqiu Zilin cannot be heard and cannot be told. Therefore when someone asked him about it, he only said, “I heard it from the side”; when telling others, he only said, “Let me try to tell you.”

Huzi’s words were: Living things do not derive their life from themselves; changing things do not derive their transformation from themselves.

This lumpish bodily form before us can give life to the myriad things, yet it cannot give life to itself; the present process of existence and extinction, change and alteration can transform and nurture the myriad things, yet it cannot transform itself.

The commentator Lu says: It is born without depending on external things and is not transformed by external things; therefore it can be born amid all living beings and transform amid the ten thousand transformations.

“That which is not born can cause birth and growth”: the Dao that is not born is the very root that gives life and nourishes the myriad things. “That which does not transform can cause transformation”: the Dao that does not transform is the master that transforms and nurtures the myriad things.

“Those that are born cannot but be born; those that transform cannot but transform”: those that are born cannot but be born, and those that transform cannot but transform. This is not because they can actively generate or actively transform; it is simply natural, and they cannot but be born and cannot but transform. Commentator Lu adds: Whatever is born must die; things that are transformed by others are constantly shifting, so how could they not be born and die, not transform and shift?

Therefore it is said, “Thus they constantly give birth and constantly transform”: birth and transformation are constant. For anything that partakes of the domain of movement, generation and transformation never cease for a moment. “That which constantly gives birth and constantly transforms is always giving birth and always transforming”—that is to say, generation and transformation are occurring at every moment.

The Jing (scripture) says that the generation and transformation of the ten thousand things are mutually dependent; there is existence and extinction, going and returning. This principle cannot be heard with the ears or seen with the eyes.

Master Fan holds that the wondrous pivot and the source of Qi (vital energy) transformation cause the ten thousand things to emerge or enter, rise or descend. From tiny wriggling creatures to small flying insects, none escapes the scope of generation and transformation. Only that which is not constrained by external things and yet can transform and nurture the ten thousand things can keep life continuing without interruption while itself not being bound by “birth”; it keeps transformation ceaseless while itself not falling into “transformation.” The ten thousand things that are generated must rely on this source in order to be born; they cannot but be born, and therefore they can constantly be born and are being born at every moment. The ten thousand things that are transformed must rely on it in order to change; they cannot but change, and therefore they can constantly transform and are transforming at every moment. If a person wishes to transcend the realm of generation and transformation in bodily form, how could that be possible? Only one who is neither born nor transformed and is as mysterious as the Dao (the Way; the source of all things and the principle of nature) is called a Zhenren (True Person; one who has cultivated the Dao to the highest level).

The Jing continues: Yin-Yang and the four seasons are all merely things of change. Whatever belongs to the realm of the generated is fashioned by the movement of Yin-Yang Qi. The four seasons alternate without ever stopping; the ten thousand things change and generate without cease.

Master Lu explains that those drawn along by Yin-Yang and shifted with the seasons are all things with form. They shift and transform from moment to moment; birth and death are endless, and therefore they constantly generate and constantly transform.

“That which is not born seems solitary” means that the unborn Dao appears to exist independently. Its generative mystery cannot be verified through actual experience; one can only infer that it is mysteriously one, without beginning or end. Master Lu further says that the wondrous has no fixed place, and so it is called “solitary”; Laozi’s statement “It stands alone and does not change” expresses exactly this meaning. The word “seems” is used here because one dare not make a definitive assertion, and in this way the profundity of the Dao is expressed.

“That which does not transform goes and returns; its limits cannot be exhausted” means that the unchanging Dao comes and goes in cycles, and its limits cannot be exhausted. The ten thousand things ceaselessly replace one another; form and Qi continue without interruption; and for this reason the Dao is without end or beginning.

“It seems solitary; its Dao cannot be exhausted” means: by what means can we know whether the Dao has limits or not? We can only infer from the fact that “it stands alone and does not change, and circulates without peril” (existing alone and unchanged, moving ceaselessly without decay).

Lu’s commentary says: The four seasons alternate and change without ever coming to an end; their wondrous workings and manifold transformations are likewise inexhaustible.

Zhenghe (one of the commentators) says: All things come forth from nonbeing and become being, then return from being to nonbeing. Whatever has birth and transformation is a “thing”; what is neither born nor transformed is the Dao. Things are constrained by “number” (the limited patterns of qi and temporal sequence), so what can be born is necessarily born, and what can transform necessarily transforms. The Dao operates within the myriad things, and so it constantly generates and transforms, never ceasing for a moment to generate and transform. Yet the Dao also transcends “number” and stands alone above the myriad things; therefore it is itself unborn, yet it can respond broadly to the myriad things without exhaustion. It does not transform, yet it is within the cycle of return. The limits of this return cannot be exhausted, because people do not know its beginning or end. The subtle essence of the Dao cannot be measured or fathomed. Among the myriad things there is nothing that can match it; could anyone truly understand why it is as it is? At most one can only remain in doubt.

Fan (one of the commentators) says: Yin-Yang mutually reflect, cover, and constrain one another; the four seasons alternate, bring growth, and bring withering. Who is it that governs? Who maintains the order? Perhaps some inner mechanism is ceaselessly turning and cannot stop itself. Yin-Yang never departs from Qi, and the four seasons never go beyond number; thus the myriad things still cannot escape the scope of generation and transformation. The true substance of the Dao stands alone and does not change; because it does not generate itself, it can endure forever. The subtle workings of the Dao circulate and flow without ever resting. It changes with the myriad things, yet itself does not change; it governs the transformations of the myriad things, yet alone guards its own root. In the boundless, beginning and end both return to no beginning; who can know its end? It gives birth to the myriad things while itself is not born; even though it exists before Heaven and Earth, it does not claim long duration for itself. Therefore it has no visible form, and no counterpart can be found between this and that; who can know its exhaustion?

The Book of the Yellow Emperor (a Daoist scripture attributed to the Yellow Emperor) says: The Valley Spirit does not die. The Valley Spirit is a metaphor for the empty yet ceaselessly generative Dao, drawing on the sense of being empty yet able to generate, and generating without exhaustion.

In ancient times this book existed, but it is now lost. The valley is empty, and only thus can it contain the myriad things; this is like what Zhuangzi calls the “center of the ring” (the hollow center of a ring, empty yet able to respond to circumstances). It is utterly empty and void, possessing nothing at all, and so it is called the “Valley Spirit” (Gushen, the wondrous Dao-body that is empty like a valley). It was never generated in the first place, and so it is said to “not die.”

What the scripture calls “Xuanpin” (the dark and deep yet fertile mother, a metaphor for the Dao’s virtue of generating and transforming) comes from Laozi, chapter six. Wang Bi’s commentary says: It has no form and no shadow; it neither opposes nor violates; it dwells in lowliness without moving; it keeps to emptiness and stillness without decaying. The valley can bring the myriad things to completion, yet it itself has no visible form; this is the highest “thing.” Because it abides in lowliness, no name can be given to it, and so it is called “Xuanpin.”

“The gate of Xuanpin—this is called the root of Heaven and Earth” means that the gate of Xuanpin is the root of Heaven and Earth. “Continuous and as if existing, yet used without toil” means that it seems to exist and yet not exist, continuous and unbroken, yet inexhaustible when used. Wang Bi explains further: What is called the “gate” is the pathway through which Xuanpin generates the myriad things. Tracing it back to its source, it shares one body with Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the original source before the cosmos divided), and so it is said to be the root of Heaven and Earth. If one wishes to say it exists, no form can be seen; if one wishes to say it does not exist, the myriad things nonetheless arise from it—hence “continuous and as if existing.” It brings the myriad things to completion without effort, and so it is said to be “without moving.”

Master Lu says: The valley is empty, and so Qi (vital energy) is present within it; the body is empty, and so Shen (spirit) dwells inside it. “Xuan” is subtle and without fixed form; “pin” responds to things and changes without any fixed direction. From birth to death, the myriad things all depend on it, and so it is called the “gate”; it is the root of things that have form, and so it is called the “root”; it cannot be seen, yet its use is inexhaustible, and so it is said to be “as if existing.”

Master Fan says: Both the Yellow Emperor and Laozi realized Shenming (spirit illumination) and comprehended the Dao (the Way). The Dao is one; how could their words differ? Therefore the principles of the “Valley Spirit” and “Xuanpin” are found in Laozi’s book, while Liezi…

Vernacular Interpretation

The Yellow Emperor and Laozi both personally realized the wondrous Dao (the Way) and understood its principles. Since the Dao is one, how could their words differ? Thus the expressions “Valley Spirit” (Gushen) and “Mysterious Female” (Xuanpin) appear in the Laozi, while Liezi holds that they also come from the Huangdi Shu (Book of the Yellow Emperor).

The function of “valley” is empty and formless; the substance of Shen (spirit) is omnipresent. All things receive life and destiny from it. “Mysterious” is the color of Heaven, and “female” is the category of Earth; all things rely on them to receive form. Though the names differ, in reality they are the same thing. Heaven and Earth are the upper and lower extremities of the myriad things, and the “gate of the Mysterious Female” is again the passage through which Heaven and Earth come and go.

It is its own root and origin, firmly existing since ancient times, like a fire seed transmitted from generation to generation and never exhausted. If one regards “generation” as generation, it is on the contrary non-generating; if one regards “transformation” as transformation, it is on the contrary non-transforming. It moves ceaselessly and emerges ceaselessly—what need is there for any toilsome effort?

Therefore, that which enables the myriad things to grow does not itself “generate”; that which enables the myriad things to transform does not itself “transform.”

The Zhuangzi also contains such statements. Xiang Xiu’s commentary says: My “generation” is not something I can generate myself; rather, “generation” occurs spontaneously. As for that which can generate other things, could there still be a concrete thing that does so? Therefore it itself does not generate. My “transformation” is not transformation by external things; rather, “transformation” occurs spontaneously. As for that which can transform other things, could there also be a concrete thing that does so? Because there is no such thing, it itself does not transform. If that which can generate the myriad things were also to have “generation,” and that which can transform the myriad things were also to have “transformation,” then it would change together with the myriad things—how would it differ from ordinary things? Only by understanding the principle of non-generation and non-transformation can one become the root of the generation and transformation of the myriad things.

Lu Chongxuan explains: This Shen (spirit) is the master of growth; it can generate and transform the myriad things, yet no thing can generate or transform it.

The myriad things generate themselves and transform themselves, form themselves and display their colors themselves, possess their own wisdom and their own strength, and perish and live by themselves.

All this is simply so of itself; where is there a ruler controlling things from behind?

If one says that “generation and transformation,” “form and color,” “wisdom and strength,” and “waxing and waning” are the work of some ruler, then one is mistaken.

If it deliberately set out to arrange generation and transformation and form and color, how could it “make Heaven and Earth its officials and the myriad things its storehouse”—that is, both govern Heaven and Earth and gather the myriad things, while caring for all beings without omission?

Master Lu says: The independent operation of Shen (spirit) is not something that external things can drive. If Shen is dragged and stalled by passions and desires and, like the myriad things, arises and transforms accordingly, then it is not the Dao.

The Zhenghe commentator says: The movement of Yin-Yang, the alternation of the four seasons, and the principles of the myriad things sometimes suddenly emerge as being and sometimes suddenly change into nonbeing. Formed things are concrete and real; colors become visible; and from this intelligence and power arise. The waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness of things have beginning and end. There is never a moment without change, never a time without shift. Although all this is entrusted to the Dao, their ceaseless operation is simply naturally so.

Master Fan says: Things under heaven are born from “being,” and “being” is born from “nonbeing”; therefore no thing is not born. The hidden transforms into the manifest, and the manifest changes without cease—all is naturally so.

Master Fan also says: Things under heaven are born from being, and being is born from nonbeing, so no thing is not born; the hidden transforms into the manifest, and the manifest again transforms into the hidden, so no thing is not transformed. Only that which is neither born nor transformed can generate and transform all generation and transformation. Therefore between heaven and earth life is everywhere: the living naturally grow, and the transforming naturally succeed one another. Forms differentiate from Taishi (the primal state at the beginning of the formation of heaven and earth), colors become manifest from Taisu (likewise denoting the original plain and simple state), wisdom has great and small, power has strong and weak; when some diminish they truly diminish, and when some cease they truly cease—all is naturally so. Then who governs all this? If from the outset there were a mind to dominate, then it would not be the Dao.

Liezi (that is, Lie Yukou, a Daoist figure of the Warring States period) says: In former times the sage governed heaven and earth by means of Yin-Yang.

“Heaven and earth” is said with respect to formed bodies; “Yin-Yang” explains their measure and order. Master Lu says: Every formed thing has the source from which it is born and on which it relies to operate. The greatest among them are heaven and earth, and what turns heaven and earth is Yin-Yang. Yin-Yang is the transformation of Qi (vital energy), without substance or form; heaven and earth rely on it to manifest birth and killing. Yin-Yang is easy to recognize, but Shen-consciousness is difficult to understand clearly; therefore one uses the former to analogize the latter, as an example. From this it is clear that Shen is what governs the body; the body itself cannot make itself live.

Vernacular Interpretation

Fan says: The expression “unifying things” means binding the myriad things into a single body and governing them; “being unified” means that all things are fully incorporated within it. Heaven moves above, Earth rests below, and the sage stands between heaven and earth. By what, then, can one govern heaven and earth? There is a Way here: upward it can connect with heaven; downward it can coil into earth; in measuring and regulating, completing, assisting, and harmonizing, there is nothing it cannot do. Therefore, if one governs by means of the principle of Yin-Yang, then although heaven and earth are vast, they will not exceed my standards and measures. Yangzi says: “For lofty heaven and broad earth, distinguishing the ten thousand kinds and coordinating the myriad things so that they do not lose their unity, nothing surpasses ‘pi’—the principle of the opening and closing of Yin-Yang, of the closing and opening of Qian and Kun.”

“That which has form is born from the formless” means: things with form are produced from the formless.

The passage “What is called generated is therefore not nonbeing; if it is nonbeing, it is not generated” discusses the relation between “being” and “nonbeing”: to speak of “generation” means that it cannot be “nonbeing”; if it were “nonbeing,” there would be no “generation.” Thus being and nonbeing cannot generate one another. Since this is so, from what are formed things generated? The answer is: they suddenly generate themselves.

Suddenly self-generating, yet we do not know why they can be generated; not knowing why they can be generated, once generated their essence is again the same as “nonbeing.” It is the same in essence as “nonbeing,” and yet it is not truly “nonbeing.” This shows that formed things present their own forms, and that the presentation of form depends on the formless.

“Then from where are heaven and earth generated?” From where are heaven and earth born?

“Examining heaven and earth closely, there is no place from which they are generated; they generate naturally.” This means that heaven and earth have no particular source; they are generated naturally and spontaneously.

Lu says: Heaven and earth are the greatest among things with form. Yin-Yang is not sentient consciousness—a conscious spiritual subject. If things with form are generated from the formless, then do heaven and earth possess sentient consciousness and mind-nature? If heaven and earth are generated from “nonbeing,” then from what are they generated? This is a hypothetical question by which the questioner wishes to explain that the myriad things are generated.

Fan says: Heaven and earth are subtle things within space, and yet they are the greatest among “being.” Therefore, like the myriad things, they too are confined within form. If we trace their beginning, there must be something generated before heaven and earth; what the Yijing calls the “Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)” is precisely this idea. Zhuangzi says: “The luminous is born from the obscure; the ordered is born from the formless.”

“Therefore it is said: There is Taiyi (Great Change), there is Taichu (Great Beginning), there is Taishi (Great Commencement), and there is Taisu (Great Simplicity).” This explains that the myriad things gradually become manifest from the extremely subtle, and that each stage follows and inherits the transformation of the preceding stage.

Note: In the original, the passage beginning “Suddenly self-generated, yet not knowing…” contains repeated text, suspected to be a copying or textual error. Here it is translated according to the sense, without further alteration. In addition, the character pi is interchangeable with the graph meaning “to open,” referring to the principle of Yin-Yang opening and closing; it is a concept in the lineage of Yangzi’s (Yang Xiong’s) Taixuan (Supreme Mystery).

Taiyi (Great Change) is the stage in which qi has not yet become visible. (“Yi” means change, in the sense of not falling into stagnation. At this time it is silently and quiescently concentrated in the realm of the Great Void; there is nothing that can be called a visible object. It is like the “Taiji” spoken of in the Xici of the Yijing, or the “undifferentiated wholeness” (huncheng) spoken of by Laozi: chaotic and undivided, a single harmonious whole.) (Fan’s annotation: At this stage the harmonious qi of Yin-Yang has not yet manifested, let alone anything with form and substance.)

Taichu is the beginning of qi. (“Taichu” refers to the moment when qi first begins to appear. Yin and Yang have not yet separated; this is the “hunlun” mentioned below, the state of a chaotic, undifferentiated mass.) (Fan’s annotation: At this time being and nonbeing are not yet clearly distinguished; there is no name and no form. It is intermingled in a vast, dim, and indistinct blur, and only after transformation does qi arise. Therefore Taichu is said to be “the beginning of qi.”)

Taishi is the beginning of form. (Once Yin and Yang have separated, the myriad things begin to take on bodily form; this is what is meant by “the various things flow into form” (pinwu liuxing).)

Fan Yingyuan says: The Yijing says, “Qian knows the Great Beginning.” The existence of a “beginning” shows that before the “beginning” there was still a state of “not yet beginning”; once a beginning has appeared, it can be called the “Great Beginning” (Taishi). Before the “beginning” had yet manifested, all things possessing form began from here.

“Taishu” (the Great Plainness) is the beginning of essential substance.

“Zhi” means “nature.” Once things have taken form, they possess their own natures and dispositions—square or round, hard or soft, moving or still, sinking or floating—and all of these derive from Taishu.

Fan Yingyuan says: Once there is qi and once there is form, “zhi” (the actual substance of things) is fully present; the colors and appearances of the myriad things also become manifest from this.

When qi, form, and zhi are all present, they have not yet separated from one another.

This passage speaks directly of qi, form, and zhi; it no longer discusses Taiyi. Taiyi is the root of these three, and it will be explained separately later.

Fan Yingyuan says: The primal qi of Taiji contains the three and unites them into one body, so qi, form, and zhi are present but not yet separated; this is called “Hunlun” (the state of undifferentiated unity). What Laozi calls “undifferentiated and complete” refers to this. The myriad differences of shape and appearance, sound and color, are all contained within this mass of chaos.

“Hunlun” means that the myriad things are mixed together and have not yet separated.

Although it is undifferentiated qi without dispersal, the principles of the Three Powers (Sancai: heaven, earth, and humanity) are already concealed within it. The word “lun” is merely a particle.

It cannot be seen, heard, or touched, and so it is called “Yi.” “Yi” has no shape and no boundary. Laozi says, “Looked at but not seen, it is named Xi”; here it is called Yi, and Yi is another way of speaking of Xi (the subtle and formless).

Such is roughly the meaning of Taiyi. Therefore it can serve as the root of the ten thousand transformations, profound and undifferentiated, never changing.

Four Commentaries on the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing, Annotated by Gao Shouyuan · A Vernacular Interpretation

Fan (Fan Yingyuan) says: Before primordial chaos had divided, the three—“looked at but not seen, listened for but not heard, followed but not grasped”—could not be pursued to the end. Colors can be seen because formed color has already become manifest; but the root that makes color color has never appeared, and so it cannot be seen with the eyes. Sounds can be heard because sounding tones have already been emitted; but the root that makes sound sound has never been emitted, and so it cannot be heard with the ears. Bodies have form because substantial entities already exist; but the root that makes body body has never had shape, and so even when one follows it, it cannot be found. For something like this, I do not know what name to give it, and so I simply call it Yi (Change).

Yi changes and becomes the One: What is called Yi is a state that is deep, indistinct, elusive, unfathomable, and unmeasurable; it itself does not change. A mass of primal Qi relies on it to transform and generate the ten thousand things, and therefore the name “change” is borrowed to refer to it.

One change and it becomes seven; seven changes and it becomes nine. The ninth change is exhaustion: “Exhaustion” means reaching the end. The “seven” and “nine” here are spoken in terms of yang numbers. They are not counted one by one in sequence; rather, they summarize and select the principal nodes of the yang numbers, thereby governing the overall pattern of the ten thousand things.

Then it again changes and becomes the One. The One is the beginning of transformation into form. Since it has already entered the realm of form, principle and number mutually extend, from one all the way to nine. When the number nine is finished, it returns again to the One. Returning to the One is returning to the starting point of the transformations of form. This shows that change proceeds in cycles, back and forth, without end.

Note: In the original text, the annotation to the passage “one change and it becomes seven/nine” contains repetitions and broken sentence divisions; here it has been arranged according to the sense. “Seven” and “nine” are yang numbers, so their summarizing meaning has been adopted.

The great image is formless (the greatest “image” has no concrete shape; here it refers to the Dao)—how can superior and inferior be distinguished? Once it descends to the level of “number,” transformation arises from this. Hence it is said, “it changes and becomes one,” which is what Laozi means by “the Dao produces one.” When the “one” has just arisen, it still has no concrete form; although it has entered the domain of number, it is not yet far from the Dao. But since it is already “one,” can it still undergo change? Since it is already called “one,” can it be without change? Therefore numbers such as seven and nine again divide and evolve from the “one,” and transformation becomes endless. Seven is the number of lesser yang, and nine is the number of old yang. When number reaches nine it reaches its limit, so it is said, “Nine transformations constitute reaching the limit.” At exhaustion there is transformation, and only through transformation can there be penetration; thus nine returns to one. The “one” is the starting point of the transformation of things with form. Beginning and end cycle back and forth like a ring without head or tail; from this point on, even the most refined calendrical calculation cannot compute it.

The clear and light rises to become Heaven, the turbid and heavy sinks to become Earth. Why are Heaven and Earth like this? It is simply that empty and solid, clear and turbid naturally separate and are distinguished. The content of this entire chapter is derived from the Zhouyi Qian Zao Du (a Han-dynasty work expounding the Zhouyi).

Once Hundun (the primal Qi before differentiation) has been divided, the three powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—begin to take shape. Heaven is high and distant and covers above; Earth is thick and solid and supports below; Humanity, dim and undifferentiated, stands between Heaven and Earth. Heaven is merely accumulated Qi, clear and light and belonging to yang; Earth is merely accumulated mass, turbid and heavy and belonging to yin. Humanity receives the central Qi of Heaven and Earth and is born, and so “it carries yin and embraces yang, and through the Qi of harmony achieves harmony”—that is, it bears yin on its back and embraces yang in its bosom, harmonizing them with the Qi of harmony.

The “Qi of harmony” condenses to form humanity; Heaven and Earth therefore contain Jing (essence) and Qi, and from this the ten thousand things are transformed and born. By extension, the Qi of yin and yang universally intersect and attain harmony, and the Qi of harmony gives rise to human life; when a person is born in this way, there is something on which to rely and thereby establish oneself.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang-dynasty Daoist and the commentator on this book) says: One, three, five, seven, and nine are all yang numbers. When numbers reach their extreme, they return to “one”; thus they cycle back and forth and move without cease. The Yijing says: What originates from Heaven attaches upward; what originates from Earth attaches downward. Those that attach downward are the class of plants and trees; those that attach upward are living beings with perception and the capacity to respond. Therefore animals possess spiritual awareness, while plants lack a conscious spirit. Those without a conscious spirit are governed by the transformations of Qi; those with spiritual awareness are drawn along and shifted by mental consciousness. Hence when it speaks of “Taiyi,” “Taichu,” and on through “Hunlun” (the stages of cosmic formation described in the “Tianrui” chapter of the Liezi, referring in order to the state before Qi existed, the first stirring of Qi, and Qi mixed with form and substance but not yet differentiated), it is describing the process by which Qi gradually evolves. The pure and refined portion within it is called “Shen”; those whose Shen and Qi are refined and subtle become worthies and sages; those whose Shen and Qi are turbid become ordinary people and the ignorant. As for all living beings, their categories are even more numerous.

Yin-Yang are the great categories of Qi (vital energy), while heaven and earth are the great categories of form. As soon as Qi changes, it forms bodies; only after Yin-Yang exists do heaven and earth come into being. Dao (the Way) is the common root of the myriad things, and the sage is one who grasps Dao; therefore the sage follows the principles of Yin-Yang to govern heaven and earth.

The Yijing (Classic of Changes) says, “In the Changes there is Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), which generates the two modes.” Taiji is the original source of the cosmos; the two modes refer to the two sides of Yin-Yang. What Zhuangzi calls “Dao lies before Taiji” expresses the same principle. Thus Taiyi (Great Change) is the state in which Qi has not yet appeared: chaotic and undifferentiated, as if present and as if absent. When Qi first begins to move, this is Taichu (Great Inception), the beginning of Qi. When form first begins to appear, this is Taishi (Great Beginning), the beginning of form. When form acquires substance, this is Taisu (Great Simplicity), the beginning of substance. When Qi, form, and substance are all present but have not yet separated, the whole content of Dao is within them. Therefore it is called Hunlun (the undifferentiated whole, without distinction), which is what Laozi calls “something confusedly formed.”

Looked at, it cannot be seen, because it emits no light; listened to, it cannot be heard, because it has no sound; grasped at, it cannot be touched, because there is nowhere to apply force. These three cannot be pursued to the utmost, and so they merge into one. Since it has already been called “one,” speech has already arisen; hence one is forced to name it “Yi.” “Yi” has no shape or boundary; that is, it has no form.

“Yi” contains Yang Qi; “one” is the place from which it arises, and so it changes into one. Numbers begin with “one”; when they change to “seven,” this is still an unexpanded state; “seven” changes again to “nine,” and Yin and Yang intermingle to produce change; when the number reaches “nine,” it has reached its limit and returns again to “one.” “One” is the beginning of the transformation of form; heaven, earth, and humans all arise from it. The clear and light rises to become heaven; the turbid and heavy sinks to become earth; the harmonious Qi transforms into humans. Jing (essence) is precisely “one.” One generates two, two generates three, and three generates the myriad things. Heaven and earth contain Jing and Qi, and on this account the myriad things are able to transform and be born.

Fan’s commentary says: The Jing Qi of Yin-Yang condenses and forms Heaven and Earth; when the Jing Qi disperses, it transforms into the myriad things. Heaven and Earth are the upper and lower spaces in which the myriad things exist. Originally, the myriad things and Heaven and Earth have no distinction of prior and later. If one must explain the sequence of the Great Dao’s operation, then Heaven and Earth come first, and only afterward are the myriad things born. Therefore the Yi Jing says, “Heaven and Earth interact with each other, and the myriad things are thereby transformed, nurtured, and born.”

Liezi says: Heaven and Earth cannot simultaneously possess every function (“no complete function”), the sage cannot be proficient in everything (“no complete ability”), and the myriad things cannot each bring every function into play (“no complete use”). The “complete” here means “fully equipped.”

Fan’s commentary says: The complete De of the Great Dao divides and disperses, distributing itself above and below; this is the position that Heaven and Earth respectively occupy. Those who can complete the work of Heaven and Earth are the sages; what fills the space between Heaven and Earth is the myriad things. Heaven and Earth’s sheltering, nurturing, and bearing; the sages’ assisting governance; and the myriad things’ respective functions all depend on one another. How could each by itself be complete with respect to the entire whole?

Therefore Heaven’s duty lies in covering and nurturing life, Earth’s duty in supporting and giving form, the sage’s duty in teaching and transforming, and the myriad things’ duty in each resting in what is fitting for them.

“Zhi” means “to preside over,” that is, to be in charge and to have a defined duty. Each kind of thing is born with its own nature and has its proper place, suitability, and function.

Fan’s commentary says: Those who have duties should follow the arrangements of those above them. Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—the Three Powers (san cai, that is, Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, the root of the myriad things)—each establish their positions; the myriad things are scattered and differentiated, each with a fixed duty. As for those who transcend physical form, look upward to observe Heaven and Earth and downward upon the myriad things, yet do not share the sage’s anxiety over worldly affairs—those whom sound cannot encompass and who do not follow this either—what duty would they receive?

Therefore Heaven has its deficiencies and Earth has its strengths; the sage has things he does not penetrate, and the myriad things have things they do penetrate.

One whose constitution is suited only to one particular place will be obstructed when going elsewhere. Wang Bi (a Yi scholar of the Three Kingdoms period) says: Form necessarily has its distinctions, and sound necessarily has its affiliations. For example, warm Qi cannot be cool, and the gong tone cannot be the shang tone.

Fan’s commentary says: When the Three Powers are fully present, the myriad things each have their distinctions. Their functions rely on and support one another, and therefore where there is something short there must be something long; where there is something penetrated there must be something not penetrated.

Why is this said? That which can generate and nourish the myriad things cannot at the same time give them form; that which can give the myriad things form cannot carry out transformative teaching; that which can carry out transformative teaching cannot violate what is naturally suitable to each thing. If one acts in accord with this principle, one will pass through without obstruction. What is suited and settled to each will not exceed its own position.

All things have their original limits, and this cannot be reversed.

Master Fan explains: The sky is high and distant, firm and strong, covering all without exception, yet it may not be able to give the myriad things form; the earth is yielding and still, supporting all without exception, yet it may not be able to carry out transformative teaching. The sage stands between Heaven and Earth, looks up to observe the celestial patterns and down to examine the terrestrial order, and stands alongside Heaven and Earth as one of the Three Powers. He establishes transformative teaching himself and initiates change himself; only thus can he assist Heaven and Earth in their work of transformative nurturing. Yet in the application of transformative teaching, how could one violate what is suitable to things? Things have no fixed and unchanging suitability; suitability lies in changing with the times. I simply follow the natural disposition of things, do not disturb their original order, and only enable the growth of the myriad things each to receive suitable conditions. Thus transformative teaching arises in wordlessness, and creation is completed without a controlling agent. It does not violate the suitability of things; this is probably precisely the way to assist Heaven and Earth and enable all things to attain their proper suitability.

Therefore the Dao of Heaven and Earth is either Yin or Yang; the teaching of the sage is either benevolence or righteousness; the suitability of the myriad things is either softness or hardness. All these are applied according to what is appropriate in each case and cannot exceed their respective positions.

Squareness and roundness, stillness and restlessness, cannot, in terms of principle, be possessed simultaneously; but as for particular things, each has its own name and role, and they cannot interfere with one another. If one observes them comprehensively from the standpoint of principle, squareness and roundness do not contradict each other. Therefore the De of Heaven and Earth—the Two Modes, namely Heaven and Earth—and the Dao of the sage shelter and nurture all beings and extend grace to all things, yet they simply preserve their purity, tranquility, truth, and simplicity. Thus different paths are brought into mutual penetration, and movement and stillness become clear and unified. This is because the sage does not go against the nature of the myriad things, and the myriad things do not offend against the sage’s teaching. Whoever is confined to a one-sided view is blocked by divisions of traces and forms. The operation of the Dao is always mysteriously interconnected and without dependence.

Lu's commentary says: The workings of Shen (spirit) must have a beginning and an end. Form, sound, color, and taste cannot manifest themselves; that power operating hiddenly is the most wondrous among the functions of Shen. This is what is meant by “Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing is left undone.”

Zhenghe's commentary says: The arising of form, sound, color, and taste all comes from the transformations of things; hence what is hidden appears and what has departed returns. This alternation of concealment and manifestation, of going and returning, causes that which ceaselessly generates life, that which gives shape to forms, sound to sounds, color to colors, and taste to tastes—all to be the wondrous functioning of the Dao (the Way). Who can trace its beginning? Who can encompass its end? The reason the Dao is constantly Wuwei yet nothing is left undone lies precisely here.

Fan's commentary says: Something that stands alone, fixed and unmoving, does not generate; yet that which does not generate can cause the myriad things to live and regenerate without cease. Therefore form, sound, color, and taste all depend on conditions before they can arise. Within Taixu (the Great Void)—the formless and imageless source-space of the cosmos—once the myriad things possess the principle of growth, things with form naturally become manifest. Mount Tai and the tip of an autumn hair—by what do they achieve their forms? Only “the great image has no form” (the Dao's substance has no concrete shape) can bring all forms to completion. In “blowing on the ten thousand things so that they differ” (from Zhuangzi's “Qiwulun,” referring to the wind passing through ten thousand apertures, each producing its own sound), sound is a spontaneous resonance. The crash of thunder and the flying hum of mosquitoes and gnats—by what, then, do they produce sound?

The highest order of sound is “xisheng” (the almost inaudible sound): precisely because it is soundless can it give rise to all sounds. Color must rely on vibration and stirring to become visible, and color itself cannot color itself; what is called “color” is entirely produced through youwei (human contrivance). Things have flavor only after they take form, and flavor cannot produce itself either; therefore blandness and tastelessness are the root of all flavors—and this likewise arises from youwei.

The bright mirror is itself without form, and so it can reflect beauty and ugliness as they are; the valley is itself empty and soundless, and so all sounds that enter it can echo. If the mirror and the valley had forms and sounds of their own, they could not contain the ten thousand things in this way.

Color can manifest because it has already been seen. If one seeks its root, traces its branches, works backward through its principles, and exhausts its utmost limits, one will find that although colors differ in ten thousand ways, the root that enables the ten thousand colors to manifest has never itself been revealed. Flavor is the same: saltiness, sourness, bitterness, sweetness, and pungency each have their own sensation, and though flavors differ, the root that produces flavor has likewise never been revealed.

Then could the subtle principle of ceaseless generation end together with the things it generates? If it were not the body of Dao (the Way)—Wuwei (non-action) that leaves nothing undone—who could preside over all this? Hence it is said that these are all the responsibilities of wuwei.

The body of Dao can be Yin and can be Yang, can be soft and can be hard, can be round and can be square, can generate and can kill, can float and can sink; yet it has neither fixed knowledge nor fixed capacity, and nonetheless it knows all and can do all.

When knowledge reaches its end, it is no-knowledge; when capacity reaches its utmost, it is no-capacity. Therefore it can know all and can do all. He Yan’s Daolun says: “It has being, and yet there is nothing it cannot do.”

When the boundaries of knowledge are exhausted, there is no fixation on “knowing”; when capacity reaches its utmost, there is no clinging to “ability.” Thus there is nothing not known and nothing not possible. He Yan, a Wei-dynasty xuanxue philosopher of the Three Kingdoms period, says in the Daolun (Discourse on the Dao): “That by which ‘being’ can be being is that it relies on ‘non-being’ and is born; acting without leaving traces is because ‘non-being’ alone enables affairs to be completed.”

As for Dao (the Way), when one speaks of it in words, nothing can be said; when one names it, it has no fixed name; when one looks at it with the eyes, it has no form; when one listens to it with the ears, it has no sound—only then is the whole of Dao brought forth. Therefore it causes sounds to echo, causes Qi (vital energy) and the myriad things to appear, encompasses form and spirit, and makes light and shadow manifest. The dark hue is black because of it; the plain hue is white because of it; the square is square because of it; the circle is round because of it. The reason square and circle can take shape is precisely that Dao itself is formless; the reason black and white have names is precisely that Dao itself is nameless.

Lu—referring to the Tang-dynasty Daoist Lu Chongxuan, one of the commentators on the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (True Scripture of Complete Emptiness and Ultimate Virtue)—says: The Laozi states, “I do not know whose child it is; it appears before the Lord (Di),” and this is speaking of the same principle. Dao is wondrous and unfathomable; it exists before heaven and earth and transcends all things such as spirits, ghosts, and lords. No one can completely know it, and no one can completely realize and attain it. If one can embody and realize this Dao, then with respect to all between heaven and earth, there will be nothing one does not know and nothing one cannot do.

Fan's commentary states: What is dark, formless, deep, and unfathomable is called “Yin”; what is bright, luminous, and clear, illuminating Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, is called “Yang.” Since Dao (the Way) can be both Yin and Yang, even the principles of Yin and Yang cannot be fully measured.

The bent and the straight can be used to establish a foundation; to bend and comply with the times is called “soft”; to be solid and firm in forming one’s body, decisive and regulating in bringing one’s function into play, is called “hard.” Since Dao can be both soft and hard, even the distinction between soft and hard cannot delimit it.

Long and short set each other off and are measured by dimensions; Dao can be both short and long. Square and circle are compared with each other and measured by compass and square; Dao can be both square and round. It can give life and can bring death, and so does not fall under the constraints of fate; it can be hot and can be cool, and so is not limited by the four seasons.

Among the myriad things in water, what sinks cannot float and what floats cannot sink; yet Dao can both sink and float, like sunlight reflected in water, not restricted by the nature of water. When the myriad things produce sound, strike the gong note and the gong note vibrates; strike the shang note and the shang note responds; Dao can be both gong and shang, like tianlai (the spontaneous sounds of nature) resounding of itself.

It emerges from the contrivance of purposeful action (ji) and in an instant returns to contrivance; it emerges from dark obscurity (ming, the dim realm of the unillumined) and in an instant returns to obscurity. Only what is not pulled and turned by contrivance and obscurity can freely enter and exit between them.

The dark color belongs to Heaven; among the colors of Heaven it ranks as minor, yet it is the manifestation of the subtle Dao. Yellow belongs to Earth; dwelling at the center of Earth and displaying radiance, it is the color and luster of Dao. Only what is not confined by the boundaries of Heaven and Earth can be both dark and yellow.

It can be sweet and can be bitter because it is bland and without flavor; it can be rank and can be fragrant because it is indifferent and without odor. This is the manifestation of Dao’s wuwei (non-action) yet nothing left undone; therefore it is said to be “without knowledge.” It pervades the myriad things without omission—this is truly “nothing it does not know and nothing it cannot do”; it carves the forms of the myriad things without regarding it as cleverness—this is truly “nothing it cannot do.”

Zhenghe Commentary on the Four Commentaries on the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing: Those who have something they know and something they can do are merely skilled in one aspect of the Dao and have not fully grasped the Dao. If one could be all-knowing and all-capable, then one would encompass all and pervade everywhere; what could not be done? Yin-Yang are Qi; softness and hardness are material substance; shortness and length are form; roundness and squareness are the styles of vessels; life and death are fate; heat and coolness are seasons; floating and sinking are circumstances; gong and shang are sounds; appearing and disappearing are traces of movement; dark and yellow are colors; sweet and bitter are flavors; rank and fragrant are odors. The transformations and actions of the ten thousand things are all contained within these.

Original text: Is such a person perhaps complete? The six penetrations (unobstructed in the six directions—above, below, east, west, south, and north), the four openings (the four directions being opened through), small and great, fine and coarse—his application is everywhere; where can he not go, and where is there any idle place?

Scroll Two, “Tianrui”: The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing is the Liezi, and “Tianrui” is one of its chapters; it mainly discusses the principles of the generation and transformation of heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things.

Main text: Liezi was going to Wei and ate by the roadside. A follower saw a hundred-year-old skull, parted the fleabane, and pointed it out to him. Turning to his disciple Baifeng, he said, “Only I and it know: it has never been born, and I have never died.”

Commentary: If viewed from the process of bodily transformation, I am alive and it is dead; if one pushes to the utmost point of principle, then there is neither anything called life nor anything called death.

Lu Chongxuan’s Commentary: The body has life and death, but Shen (spirit) has neither life nor death. My Shen is still present; its Shen has already departed. The skull and I differ in life and death, but if one can awaken to its Shen, then one may say there has never been life or death.

Main text: Is this a fault in nurturing? Is this a fault in enjoying?

Commentary: Once one has a body, one cannot but nurture it; when one encounters life, one cannot but feel joy. To regard these as faults is the talk of those who mislead people and does not accord with the reality of principle.

Lu Chongxuan’s Commentary: Since one has received a Bodily form, if nurturing and enjoyment lose their proper measure, they will lead to death.

Main text: The phrase “zhong you ji hu” continues the preceding rhetorical question; its general meaning is to ask how many kinds there are of the root of life and the subtle beginnings of transformation. This sentence in the original text is rather brief, so the commentary merely repeats the understanding given above.

Lu Chongxuan says: Once a person has received this bodily form, if in delighting in and caring for it he loses due measure, the body will be damaged and in the end will move toward death.

“How many kinds are there?” This first raises the question of how many kinds of transformation there are; the following passages explain them one by one.

One kind of transformation appears in what the Mozi records as “on meeting water it becomes zhi”: at the boundary where water meets earth, it turns into the “garments” of frogs and mussels—that is, the moss and film-like growths at the water’s edge. These garment-like things spread over and grow upon high ground (lingtun, meaning high and dry terrain) and become lingxi (a kind of herb).

When lingxi encounters yuxi (a plant or fungus), it becomes wuzu. This is a transformation in which two substances combine and generate one another.

The root of wuzu becomes the qicao (the larva of a scarab-type beetle), while its leaves scatter and transform into butterflies. “Root” is the base and “leaf” the tip: this means that wuzu is the root of the qicao, while its tip scatters and becomes butterflies. “Xu” means “all,” indicating that all things are undergoing transformation. The butterfly changes into an adult insect, born beneath the stove; its outward form resembles a shed shell, and it is called i-duo (the graph is corrupt, and the name is unknown).

This is a mutation within one and the same bodily form.

The i-duo lives for a full thousand days; after a thousand days it dies and transforms again into a crow called Qian Yugu. The saliva-like secretions on Qian Yugu become Simi. “Mo” means what is produced from essence; Simi in turn becomes Shixi Yilu, Shixi Yilu produces Shixi Huangkuang, Shixi Huangkuang produces Jiuyou, Jiuyou produces Maorui, and Maorui produces Fuquan.

All these are cases of rebirth after death into another bodily form.

Sheep’s liver becomes digao, horse’s blood becomes zhuanlin, and human blood becomes wildfire; all these are spontaneous changes within the same bodily form.

There are also the harrier changing into the hawk, the hawk into the cuckoo, and the cuckoo after a long time changing back into a harrier; the swallow becomes a clam; the field mouse becomes a quail; a rotten melon becomes fish; old chives become amaranth; an old ram (yu) becomes a yuan; and fish roe become insects.

All these are cases in which transformation occurs naturally, without external influence or stimulus.

Rotten melons turn into fish; old chives turn into amaranth; old rams (yu, meaning male sheep) turn into beautiful women; and fish roe turns into insects.

In Mount Danyuan there is a wild animal shaped like a leopard cat and covered with hair, called the lei. It does not need to mate male with female; it can conceive offspring by itself. (Danyuan is the name of a mountain, recorded in the Classic of Mountains and Seas.)

In the rivers and marshes there is a bird called the yi. These birds can reproduce simply by gazing at one another. The Zhuangzi says, “When white yi look at each other, their pupils do not move, yet through the transforming influence of wind they conceive.” Two white yi face each other, their eyes motionless, and through the influence of wind and qi they propagate.

Creatures that are purely female are called Da Yao, and purely male ones Zhi Feng. Da Yao belongs to the turtle and soft-shelled turtle kind; zhi means “small,” and zhi feng are small bees. These creatures have no male-female distinction and reproduce through self-transformation. What precedes explains the principle among insects and beasts; what follows shows that similar cases exist among human beings.

The Classic of the Great Wilderness records a country called Siyou, where men have no wives and women no husbands; their essence and qi secretly respond to each other, and without intercourse they bear children. This too is a case similar to the white yi.

Hou Ji was born from a giant footprint. Legend says that the consort of Gaoxin (the ancient Emperor Ku), named Jiang Yuan, saw a giant’s footprint, liked it, and stepped on it. Her body seemed to respond as if someone had joined with her, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Hou Ji. When Hou Ji grew up, he was worthy and capable and became an assistant to Emperor Yao; he was the founder of the Zhou dynasty.

Yi Yin (a worthy minister of Tang of Shang) is said to have been born inside a hollow mulberry tree.

A Story from the Biographies: Yi Yin’s mother lived by the banks of the Yi River. After she became pregnant, she dreamed that a divine person told her, “When the mortar-water gushes forth, flee east and on no account look back.” The next day she indeed saw the mortar-water gushing out, so she told her neighbors, and together they ran east for ten li. When she looked back, her town had been completely submerged by the flood, and she herself had turned into a hollow mulberry tree. Later, a woman of the Youxin clan (an ancient state) came to pick mulberry leaves by the hollow mulberry and found an infant in the tree hollow. She named him Yi Yin and presented him to the ruler. The ruler ordered a cook to raise him. When Yi Yin grew up, he was exceptionally worthy and capable; later he assisted Tang of Shang and became a renowned minister of his age.

On the Generation and Transformation of All Things: Some creatures are not born from the mating of parents but arise naturally from the environment and climate. In damp places, flies and insects are generated, because the steaming, moist Qi brings life into being; in vinegar, vinegar gnats (a kind of small flying insect) are produced, because the sour Qi causes them to breed; creatures such as yangxi and the plant buxun cling to one another, as things of different kinds draw close and depend on each other. When old bamboo decays among the woods and grasses, it transforms into qingning (a kind of insect); qingning in turn transforms into cheng.

These living things—snakes, birds, insects, beasts, and the like—are constantly changing. Some change in bodily form; some, after death, are born again, cycling back and forth without end. Cheng in turn transforms into a horse; the horse transforms into a human; when the human dies, it returns to “Ji.” All things arise from Ji and all return to Ji.

On Life, Death, and “Ji”: Who among humans can fathom the transformations of life and death? To be born here may be to die there; to die there may be to be born here. Yet the root that enables all things to be generated has never rested for a moment. Thus the sage understands: life is not a permanent enduring, nor is death an eternal annihilation; rather, the same original Qi constantly changes and takes on various forms. Amid a thousand changes and ten thousand transformations, there is something unchanging; it returns to the unchanging, and this is called “Ji.” Ji is the starting point of all things and the root of movement; therefore all things emerge from non-being and return from being to non-being, and none of this comes about except through it.

Lu Chongxuan believes that this passage asks whether the “kinds” of the myriad things truly have boundaries, and whether they can transform into one another. The question is raised in order to explain the principle of life and death. Where the spirit arrives is life; where the spirit departs is death. The bodily form has no fixed master, and the spirit has no fixed shape. Spirit originally has no determinate term; when the bodily form coalesces into shape and once receives formed material, it is as if bound by a mechanism. Thus birth is coming forth, and death is going in.

Zhenghe (the commentator) cites the Zhouyi—“By tracing things to their beginning and returning them to their end, one therefore knows the doctrine of life and death”—as his basis. Whatever is born must die, but what dies here may not fail to be born again elsewhere. Only “self” and “other” can understand this principle. Fundamentally speaking, there is no true birth and no true death: at the very moment of growth, decay is already underway; at the very moment of decay, new life is already arising. Therefore one need only nurture the bodily form and peacefully enjoy life. What exists now is precisely what was passed through before. Hence it is said, “Is this a passing on and nurturing? Is this a passing on and rejoicing?” (Is this life not the continuation and nurturing of that past life?)

The myriad things replace one another through different bodily forms, and the transformations of life and death are too numerous to count. That is why the Liezi asks, “How many kinds are there?” What is enumerated below is only the portion perceptible to ears and eyes. As for “the frog becomes a quail,” this shows that the transformations of the myriad things are not limited by land and water. Creatures such as mussels, frogs, and pearl oysters belong to the same kind. Some, obtaining water and soil, are born in water; others, obtaining hills and mounds, are born in high places. This means that the transformations of the myriad things vary according to the environment encountered by form and qi (vital energy).

Lingxi (a kind of grass), upon meeting Yuqi (a kind of grass), transforms into Wuzu: this is borrowing another thing as its own body. The root of Wuzu becomes the qicao (the grub of the scarab beetle), and its leaves become butterflies: this is dispersing one and the same body into various things. The butterfly transforms into an insect that is born under the stove; its outer form resembles a sloughed-off skin or shell, and it is called Duo. In this way, flying creatures transform into crawling creatures. After a thousand days, Duo transforms into a bird called Qian Yugui. In this way, burrowing creatures transform into tree-dwelling creatures. Some change because of their bodily form, as when Simi becomes Yilu; some are produced from decayed matter, as when Huangkuang is born from the rotting Guanquan, a case similar to creatures such as Tiandigao, Zhuanlin, and Yehua. Some repeatedly transform according to their nature, as when the sparrowhawk becomes the zhan (a bird of prey), the zhan becomes the cuckoo, and the cuckoo turns back into the sparrowhawk.

Swallows turn into clams, field mice into quails, decayed claws and nails into fish, old chives into amaranth, old rams into apes, and fish eggs into insects. Some of these transformations occur when like kinds succeed or follow one another; others occur when things of different kinds transform into one another and become the same kind.

Danyuan (a legendary beast) does not need male and female to mate; it can conceive and give birth by itself. This is spontaneous transformation without any external stimulus. A bird in the rivers and marshes called yi can reproduce simply by gazing at one another; this is transformation without mating. Insects that are female only are called Dayao, and insects that are male only are called Zhifeng; they possess Yin and Yang within themselves and can generate and transform on their own. Human beings have similar cases: a man in longing, though not yet married, may have a response, and a woman in longing, though not yet married, may conceive. This shows that in human beings too there are phenomena that go beyond the ordinary principles of Yin-Yang and communicate in hidden ways.

Again, Hou Ji (ancestor of the Zhou, said in legend to have been born after his mother stepped on a giant’s footprint) was born from a giant footprint, and Yi Yin (a worthy minister of the early Shang, said in legend to have been conceived in a hollow mulberry) was born in a hollow mulberry. Although their causes are hard to trace, they need not be thought strange. Juezhao (a creature in ancient books) is born from damp vapor and is transformed by Qi; Xiji (the vinegar fly) is born in wine and is transformed by flavor; Yangxi (a grass named in ancient books, on which interpretations differ) is born by association with something that is not casual, and is transformed through habit; old bamboo produces Qingning (a kind of insect), so an insentient thing produces a sentient one. Qingning produces Cheng (which ancient books describe as leopard-like), so a non-knowing thing produces a knowing one. The Shizi regards Cheng as a kind of leopard; Cheng produces horses, which is same-kind generation; horses produce humans, which is different-kind generation.

Then, as insects come and go and plants live and die, their transformations are without constancy and without end; how can one know where life and death come first or last? The arising of the myriad things has its beginning, and death has its destination. The sage understands that an inner mechanism is propelling it, and this mechanism itself cannot stop.

The commentator Master Fan says: The Dao has no beginning and no end, while the myriad things have life and death. The myriad things are molded and cast in the great forge of transformation (a metaphor for Heaven and Earth’s transforming and nurturing of the myriad things). When Qi happens to undergo change, gathers, and takes form, it is provisionally called “life”; when in the workings of creation it happens to suffer a loss, so that Qi disperses and form decays, it is provisionally called “death.” Qi gathers and disperses like floating clouds coming and going; form persists and perishes like bubbles rising and bursting.

“Death” and “life” are names set up in opposition to each other. At the very moment of death, life begins; at the very moment of birth, death begins. It is like having just woken from a dream and in an instant entering another dream; just awakening, and in an instant returning to a dream. Who can know the principle in this? Only one who can trace back to the source of life and investigate its end (tracing the beginning and returning to the end) understands that he has never truly died, nor has he ever truly been born. When external things come, there is no way to receive them; when they go, there is nowhere to pursue them. Such a person is probably about to enter the realm of neither birth nor death.

What can a skull after a hundred years, merely the leftover bones of decay, still know? Yet the Zhuangzi records Zhuangzi’s words: “How could I abandon the joy of facing south as a king and again undergo the toil of the human world?” It is clear that Zhuangzi did not cling to life or hate death. The ignorant people of the world take their own persons too seriously, cling to themselves, and are entangled by the transformations of the myriad things. When someone dies, they grieve and recoil, because they fear death too much; when the dead return to life, they rejoice, because they love life too much. What is there in death that should be feared? What is there in life that should be rejoiced in? This is merely the endless, ceaseless transformation of the myriad things.

Moreover, the myriad things pass on from one to another, and their species and names differ. For example, jie (a kind of aquatic microorganism), the “garments of frogs and mussels” (moss-like micro-organisms growing by water), and lingxi (a kind of grass) are actually the same thing: some receive water, some receive the boundary between water and soil, and some receive hills and high ground, so their forms of growth differ. Wuzu (a kind of grass), the grub (the larva of the scarab beetle), the butterfly, and lingxi are also the same thing: some attach to yuxi (a kind of grass), some to leaves, and some to roots, so their transformed appearances differ.

This passage discusses the generation and transformation of the myriad things, which do not follow fixed boundaries between species.

Some creatures are derived from decaying matter. For example, “shixi yilu” is born from shixi; shixi is born from huangkuang; huangkuang is born from jiuyou; jiuyou is born from maorui; and maorui is born from rotting matter. Tracing this back, one can no longer distinguish their kinds; they are simply generated spontaneously.

Things also transform into one another: sheep’s liver becomes digao (a kind of fungus), horse’s blood becomes zhuanlin, human blood becomes wildfire (that is, phosphorescence), the sparrowhawk becomes the zhan, and the zhan becomes the cuckoo; the swallow becomes a clam, the field mouse becomes a quail, rotten fingernails become fish, old chives become amaranth, the old ewe becomes an ape, and fish roe becomes insects. These too cannot be traced back to their original kinds; they belong to spontaneous transformation.

Modes of reproduction also differ. Some are conceived and born from themselves, such as the beast of Danyuan; some are born through mutual gazing, such as certain birds in the rivers and marshes; the large-waisted kind has only females and no males, while the young-bee kind has only males and no females. Some, merely by thinking of a male, can conceive by sympathetic response without a mate; others, merely by thinking of a female, can become pregnant without a husband. Some require certain causes and conditions in order to be generated, while others transform spontaneously without any support.

From this we can see that among the myriad things, some are generated from sentient beings, some from insentient things; some produce the insentient from the sentient, and some produce the sentient from the insentient; some are born without support, and some are born without any sympathetic response. The countless forms and myriad transformations have no limit or end.

From this one may infer that all this is probably driven in secret by some inner mechanism, causing the myriad things to be necessarily so. They appear in accord with their respective conditions and flourish vigorously; there is not one that is not born from this “mechanism.”

Entering therein through various causes and conditions, some unfold naturally and some are utterly still and pure; there is no one who does not enter it—all enter into the “mechanism” (ji). The myriad things are vastly different, and from birth to death people do not know the cause. Yet when that wondrous mechanism opens and Qi (vital energy) moves, there must be some force mediating and governing within it. Liezi (that is, the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing) is discussing the function of Wuwei (non-action) and then raises this point; there is indeed good reason for it.

The Yellow Emperor’s Book (a Daoist text attributed to the Yellow Emperor) says: When a form moves, it does not produce a form but produces a shadow; when a sound is issued, it does not produce a sound but produces an echo.

Whatever has form necessarily has a shadow, and whatever has sound necessarily has an echo; these naturally arise and vanish simultaneously, so how could there be any distinction of before and after? Guo Xiang (a Jin-dynasty scholar who annotated the Zhuangzi) discussed this in great detail. Yet people in the world who discuss it suppose that as soon as the form moves the shadow follows, and as soon as a sound comes forth the echo responds. The sage uses this phenomenon as an analogy to explain that once things move they lose their root, and only in stillness can they return to the source; there is no need to take a roundabout route to make coherent the principle of shadow and echo.

“When non-being moves, it does not produce non-being but produces being.”

The reason “being” becomes “being” is that it relies on “non-being” and is generated; when we speak of “generation,” it must come from “non-being,” yet “non-being” does not itself generate “being.” This operative and penetrating function must depend on “non-being”; therefore names such as “generation” and “movement” are merely established in accordance with things.

Lu shi says: Things with form can produce a shadow, but they cannot produce being from non-being; shadow and echo are examples. That which is wondrous and formless, once it moves, produces “being”; the myriad categories and ten thousand things are like this.

Fan shi says: As a shadow, it seems to depend on the form, but in fact it does not depend on the form; when the form moves, the shadow naturally follows, and the shadow does not seek anything from the form. As an echo, it seems to depend on the sound, but in fact it does not depend on the sound; when the sound moves, the echo naturally responds, and the echo does not seek anything from the sound. “Being” is produced from “non-being”; such is the principle.

Whatever has form must end. Will heaven and earth end? They end together with me.

Everything that has physical form will necessarily come to an end. Will heaven and earth also end? They come to an end together with me.

If one measures their size, great or small, and reckons their duration, long or short, then heaven and earth are naturally different from me; but when it comes to all ultimately returning to an end, in principle there is certainly no difference.

Lu says: Though large and small differ, they all return alike to extinction.

Fan says: “Xi” means the end of the count of things; “wintertime” means the end of the count of time. When there are no things and no time, who knows where their end lies? Heaven and earth are the largest among forms. Since they are already confined within form, even if they wished not to end, how could they?

Does it end there, or does it go further? I do not know.

(The original text here is a damaged sentence; the relation between “end” and “advance” must be understood in light of what follows, and commentators hold that “advance” should be “exhaust.”)

The word “advance” should be “exhaust.” In this book, the word for “exhaust” is often written as the word for “advance.” When things gather, they form bodies; when they scatter, they become an end. This is what the world calls end and beginning. Thus, for what gathers, substantial form is the beginning and dispersal is the end; for what scatters, empty silence is the beginning and substantial form is the end. Therefore they alternately serve as each other’s end and beginning, while in principle there is truly neither end nor beginning.

Lu says: “Advance” should be “exhaust.” This is a hypothetical questioner asking whether heaven and earth have an end and are exhausted, or whether one does not know. What follows is the author’s own answer.

Does the Dao end? Fundamentally it has no beginning. Does it advance? It is not long-lasting. “Long-lasting” should be “having being.” Because it has no beginning, it does not end; because it has no being, it is not exhausted.

Fan says: With no things and no time, who makes end and beginning? This is the direct answer to the preceding question.

Does the Dao end? Fundamentally it has no beginning. Does it advance? It is not long-lasting. “Long-lasting” should be “having being.” Because it has no beginning, it does not end; because it has no being, it is not exhausted.

Fan says: With no things and no time, who makes end and beginning? With no days, there are no years; who makes long and short duration? If one says of the Dao that it can end—can it?

This is merely unknowable. It is fundamentally without beginning—what Zhuangzi calls “never yet having a beginning of a beginning.” If one says the Dao can be exhausted, this too is merely unknowable. It is fundamentally not long-lasting—what Zhuangzi calls “born before heaven and earth, yet not long-lasting.”

What has life returns to no-life; what has form returns to no-form.

The living return to an end; the formed returns to emptiness—this is the natural order.

Lu Chongxuan says: All things that have a beginning and an end originally arise from the beginningless and ultimately return to nonexistence. Now, speaking from Taichu (the Great Beginning, the first state of the cosmos) and Hunlun (the undifferentiated chaotic state), since a beginning has already occurred, how could there be no end? How could they not perish?

The meaning of the original text’s statement “That which does not generate is not originally non-generating”: The “non-generation” spoken of here means that generation comes first, and only afterward does one move toward death and extinction; it does not mean that generation never occurred at all. “Originally non-generating” means that from the very beginning there is neither generation nor extinction.

The meaning of “That which is formless is not originally formless”: Likewise, the “formless” here means that form comes first, and only afterward does it disperse; it does not mean that it was formless from the outset. “Originally formless” means that from the very beginning there is neither gathering nor dispersal. That which gives birth to the myriad things is itself unborn, and that which shapes the forms of the myriad things is itself formless; therefore it can produce all kinds of forms without any change to my original substance. Some now say that once generation and form have arisen, they will return to non-generation and formlessness; but this is merely the alternation of existence and extinction, not the principle of what remains unchanging from beginning to end.

Lu Chongxuan further says: When it is said that Shen (spirit) is unborn, it does not mean that it has never been born. The reason the myriad things are born and the various kinds of things take form is that Shen operates and impels them. Because Shen can generate and transform, generation is its very substance; therefore there is no distinction of birth and extinction. This does not mean that all things are generated formlessly; rather, it is identical with the Qi of the Great Void.

Fan Yingyuan says (note: “Fan” refers to Fan Yingyuan, a Song-dynasty commentator on the Liezi): Things generated through generation, after death, return again to the state of non-generation; things formed through form, after dispersal, return again to the state of formlessness. The so-called “non-generation” is not originally non-generation, but rather the state to which they return after generation has occurred. Does this mean that the generator itself does not generate? The so-called “formless” is not originally formless, but rather the state to which they return after form has occurred. Does this mean that the shaper itself is formless?

Human life, in the nature of things, must inevitably come to an end; and ending too cannot but occur, just as birth cannot but occur.

Life does not arise from one’s own will but is born spontaneously. Thus, although people live, they do not know why they are able to live. Since one does not know the cause of birth, life cannot truly be cut off; likewise, not knowing the cause of death, one cannot master death.

Those who wish to preserve life forever and keep it from reaching its end are deluded by “number” (the natural fixed allotment, the pattern of fate). “End” means perishing, termination.

The commentator Lu explains: All living things must have an endpoint, just as the warm spring Qi causes plants to sprout, and they cannot but grow. Those who seek long life and no death are lost with respect to the number governing the movement of the Heavenly Dao (the Way of Heaven).

The commentator Fan explains: Birth has its beginning in sprouting, death has its place of return; beginning and end transform into each other, cycling without end, and no one knows its limit—presumably a fixed number exists within it. Those who wish to intervene and stop life from moving toward its end will only cling and become trapped in the cycle of birth and death, neither perceiving nor awakening—are they not muddled?

The spirit belongs to Heaven, the physical body to Earth. The part belonging to Heaven is light, pure, and drifting; the part belonging to Earth is heavy, turbid, and congealing. After the spirit leaves the physical form, each returns to its source: the Heavenly part returns to Heaven, the Earthly part returns to Earth, each returning to its root.

Therefore it is called “gui.” “Gui” means “return,” that is, to return to its true dwelling. This true dwelling is Taixu (the Great Void—the vast, boundless emptiness, the realm of the Dao).

The commentator Lu explains: When the spirit leaves the physical form, this is called death. “Returning to the True Abode” means returning to Taiqing (the Heaven of Clarity and Emptiness in Daoism). To take Taiqing as the true dwelling and understand this is to know that the physical body is merely a temporary lodging, something illusory.

The commentator Fan explains: Jing belongs to Water, Shen belongs to Fire; when Water and Fire combine, Earth is generated. Thus the formation of the human being…

Jing (essence) is water; Shen (spirit) is fire. Water and fire combine and produce earth. Thus human birth occurs because Jing gathers Shen, and only then do the hundred bones, nine orifices, six viscera, and five organs become complete and continue to exist. Jing and Shen belong to the heavenly aspect; because their movement is ceaseless and inexhaustible, they are clear and light and easily disperse. The bones belong to the earthly aspect; because they are constant and unchanging, they are heavy and turbid and coalesce. When Jing and Shen disperse and separate, each returns to its original truth—this is what people call gui (ghost).

To put it more deeply: when a person has just been born, Jing, Shen, Hun (ethereal soul), and Po (corporeal soul) are all present, and only then does the physical form take shape. The Hun is like a cloud: relying on Shen, it goes wherever it will. The Po is like a white substance: it greedily cleaves to external things and has somewhere it stops. The sage uses the Hun to restrain the Po, so Shen is not enslaved by the body and does not perish with it. Ordinary people, however, have their Hun led away by the Po, so that they cannot command the body. If Shen is not enslaved by the body, then even when the body dies, there is no difference from being alive; if Shen cannot command the body, then even while alive, there is no difference from being dead. When worthy people die and become gui, they have fulfilled the human way in dying. Although their ghost does not manifest numinous powers, they are fundamentally very different from those who sink into the dark Yin realm and transform into other kinds. Liezi’s statement, even if it is not the ultimate truth, is made provisionally with respect to the place where one returns to one’s original truth; therefore it is called “gui” and that is all. The Erya says: “Gui means return.”

The Yellow Emperor said: “When Jing and Shen enter their gate and the bones return to their root, what is there of me that remains?”

(The meaning of the Yellow Emperor’s question is: since Jing and Shen have already returned to the gate of life, and the bones have already returned to the earth, what is left of “me”?)

This sentence means: whether it is physical form or the Qi of life, traced back to its source, all arises from the formless, Qi-less, and spiritless original void. Therefore mind and body are merely a temporary formation within the field of Yin-Yang, a limited thing formed by a partial accumulation of one Qi. When it leaves the body and returns to the original root, it returns to its true dwelling; at that point there is no longer any entity called “I.”

Lu (Lu Chongxuan) said: Ordinary people take the physical body as “I”; because they cling to “I,” they give rise to desires. Those with many desires are deeply sunk in attachment and indulgence; those with few desires have weak cravings and appetites. Only the perfected person can be without “I” and clearly recognize their own spiritual nature. Ordinary people do not understand this principle; their clinging grows ever deeper, so that when Shen must return to the true and the form must return to the earth, where after all is the “I” that was previously spoken of?

In stillness, one’s original nature can return; once stirred, it departs from the root. This is inevitable in the order of things. When the body moves, what emerges is not the body but its shadow; when a sound is made, what emerges is not the sound but its echo; when non-being stirs, being is generated from non-being. If this is so, people go farther and farther, departing from the root and returning to the source of heaven and earth. Where, then, is the former “I”?

Since being is generated from non-being, being must inevitably return to non-being; therefore the body must have an end. Heaven and earth arose together with me, and when the end comes they will perish together with me. Who can know their limit? Those who believe there is an end hold views that already exceed the range of ordinary understanding.

Things have ends and beginnings, long duration and brevity; all are things that change with circumstance. Those who take “having a beginning” as the ultimate Dao (the Way) and “no beginning” as the highest realm are returning to the root; those who pursue “lasting long” and take “not lasting” as the ultimate Dao are transcending the root. Why, then, must the born return to the unborn, and the formed return to the formless? The so-called “unborn” is not an eternal non-birth, and the so-called “formless” is not originally formless; it is only from the perspective of the born and formed that it appears so. The living are inevitably brought to an end by principle; the ending cannot but end, just as the living cannot but live. To wish for life to endure forever while taking ending as the boundary—how could one understand the infinity of the “center of the ring” (the center of the Great Dao, without beginning or end, like the center of a circle)? Such people are deluded by numerology and techniques.

Life is the coalescence of harmonious Qi (vital energy) between heaven and earth. The spirit belongs to the heavenly portion, and so it is clear and empty and easily disperses; the bones belong to the earthly portion, and so they are heavy and turbid and easily gather. When the spirit scatters and each part returns to its truth, what “I” is left to remain? This, however, is said of ordinary people. Hence it is said: “When the spirit enters its gate and the bones return to their root, what existence do I still have?” As for the sage, above he roams with the Creator, below he returns with the Dao that has neither beginning nor end; thus his bodily form never decays, and yet the “I” alone endures forever.

Master Fan says: All things have a source, yet one cannot see the gate from which they emerge; all things have a root by which they grow, yet one cannot see where that root lies. If the spirit can return to the gate from which it issued, and the bones can return to their root, then one has returned to the place from which one originally arose. In this way one returns to the true dwelling place; what then of this “I” remains to be kept?

The sage uses Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) to concentrate the spirit, uses Shen (spirit) to govern the body, and uses the body to preserve Shen, so that Jing and Qi are complete without loss, Shen is employed without exhaustion, and the body grows without decay. Close that gate, and external things have no way to peer in or intrude; deepen and secure its root, and external things cannot shake it. This indestructible state has existed since ancient times; this is what is meant by the Dao (the Way) of “long life and enduring vision” (the cultivation principle of living long and preserving vitality forever). When the ancients cultivated themselves and could live to twelve hundred years without their bodies aging, they had, in all likelihood, reached this realm.

Master Lu says: In an infant’s heart, thoughts of right and wrong have not yet arisen; therefore its De (Virtue/Power) is deep and its will is undivided. By the time desires and deliberations gradually fill and arise, the things that injure body and mind likewise increase; then the person ages and Qi becomes soft and weak—and yet this is all the closer to the Dao. When life reaches its end, it simply stops there.

From birth to the end of life, there are four major stages of transformation: infancy, youth and maturity, old age and senility (decrepit old age), and death. The transitions in between never cease for a moment; these four stages are only a rough division.

Master Fan said: Viewed from the perspective of non-being, the true reality of things is eternally clear and limpid, utterly still and unmoving, unchanging since ancient times; hence, though rivers flow without cease, the water has in fact never truly flowed away. Viewed from the perspective of being, creation quietly advances without our awareness, and before we can blink it has already slipped past. This is like hiding a boat in a valley or hiding a mountain in a marsh: it appears secure, yet in the end something is still lost.

Once one enters the pivot of Yin-Yang transformation and roams along the path of creation, everything possessed of form is genuinely in the midst of change. There is no moment without motion, no instant without shifting. Looking into a mirror, the person in the mirror is no longer the former self; placing a lamp before a vat, the flame is not the same cluster as before. With their limited bodies, people lodge themselves within infinite time and space; their appearance, expression, bearing, and state of mind seem never to change, and so they presume they can escape change—how could that be possible?

Thus a person grows from infant to prime of life, and from old age moves toward death; creation advances daily, never resting for a moment. It is precisely because day and night leave no gap that one can comprehend the principle of day and night; precisely because one understands that past and present do not displace one another, one can be joined with ten thousand years. Things cycle back and forth, ending and beginning again, and uphold heaven and earth as they return to stillness and stability. This is what is called “transforming and transforming yet not transformed by transformation”—that is, changing in ten thousand ways yet not being constrained by change.

In the infant stage, Qi (vital energy) is undivided and the mind is single and pure; this is harmony at its height. External things cannot harm the child, and De (Virtue/Power) need not be added from without. Laozi says, “One who contains De in fullness may be compared to a newborn child.” (This means: one whose contained De is deep and full is like a newborn infant.)

Fan’s commentary: The infant in ordinary life acts without contrivance, and in movement and rest does not know where it is going; therefore, when Qi is undivided it is not scattered, and when the mind is unified it is not distracted. The harmonious Qi is firmly established within the body; external things cannot injure it, worries cannot enter, and pathogenic Qi cannot attack it. Thus De is complete and the bodily form remains unharmed. This is precisely the meaning of what Laozi calls “containing De in fullness.”

When young and strong, blood and Qi surge and fill; desires and thoughts rise vigorously; external things then attack, and De declines accordingly. In an environment of rivalry and combat, external things clash with him, and he is no longer harmonious.

Fan’s commentary: This is exactly what Confucius called “blood and Qi at their strongest” (a saying of Confucius in the Analects, referring to the abundance of blood and Qi in youth and early adulthood).

In old age, desires and thoughts gradually soften; the body is about to rest, and external things no longer come to encroach first.

"Rest" means that the mind and spirit are at peace. When no thought of contention remains in the heart, external things will not contend with the person either.

Although this still cannot compare with the wholeness of an infant, compared with the agitation of prime adulthood it is already very far removed.

Master Fan says: This is exactly what Zhuangzi meant by "ease me in old age"—that is, allowing me to find comfort in decline.

When a person reaches death, he returns to cessation and goes back to the source of life.

Master Lu says: To draw near one's original nature is to realize the great Dao; to be deluded by emotions and desires is to lose one's true nature. Therefore one whose De is deep is like an infant; not acting rashly when weary is already a grade lower. Compared with rushing about and contending, the difference in level is very clear.

The Zhenghe commentary (the Song-dynasty Zhenghe annotated edition) says: In infancy, a person's qi is concentrated and the mind is undivided; this is the most harmonious state, precisely what Laozi calls "containing the thickness of De." In prime adulthood, blood and qi are full and overflow, and desires and thoughts surge up in confusion—this is what Zhuangzi calls "forming entanglements through contact" (coming into contact with external things and thereby generating entanglement). In old age, blood and qi decline, desires and thoughts become calm, and the body gradually comes to rest, until it returns to its true dwelling—this is cessation, and a return to the source of life. Zhuangzi says: "The Great Clod carries me in bodily form, labors me with life, eases me in old age, and rests me in death." This is what he means. From infancy to death, all is a gradual passing on in this way, and so it is called "transformation" (hua).

Master Fan further says: Zigong's statement "the gentleman rests therein" means this. The bodily transformations of the four stages above are a process common to all living beings. Ordinary people's bodies change accordingly, and their minds change along with them; but the sage's outer form changes accordingly, while his inner mind does not change with it.

Confucius was touring Mount Tai when he saw Rong Qiqi walking in the wilds of Cheng (a small state in the Spring and Autumn period, in present-day Ningyang, Shandong), wearing a deerhide coat, girded with a rope, playing the qin and singing. Confucius asked him, "Why, sir, are you so happy?" Rong Qiqi replied, "I have many joys. Heaven and Earth give birth to and nurture the myriad things, and among them only the human being is most precious. I have been able to be born a human—this is my first joy."

Rong Qiji (a recluse of the Spring and Autumn period and a figure in the “Tianrui” chapter of the Liezi)—from this it can be known that the spirit and Qi (vital energy) of humans are originally no different from those of other living beings; only the circumstances they encounter differ, and therefore their forms and appearances also vary. Rong Qiji profoundly fathomed the causes by which misfortune and blessing lean upon and lie hidden within each other, and saw through the proofs of the hidden and the manifest. Thus his joy at having obtained a human form and at the same time a male body was not rash talk.

In ancient times men were honored and women subordinated, and the male was considered noble. He said that he was already a man—this was his second joy. When a person is about to be born, there is originally no fixed allotment of male or female; therefore he also rejoiced at having obtained a male body.

Some people never see the light of the sun and moon and die before leaving their swaddling clothes. Rong Qiji said that he had already reached ninety—this was his third joy. Poverty is the ordinary condition of scholars, and death is the end of life. To be at peace with the ordinary and to obtain a good end—what is there left to worry about? Confucius praised him, saying, “Excellent! He is truly someone who can console himself.” This does not mean that he could completely forget sorrow and joy, but rather praises his ability to investigate principle and console himself.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang dynasty Daoist and commentator on the Liezi) said: When the great smelter casts metal, it relies on the mold to take shape; so too is spirit the mold of form, and the many forms are completed through it. The long and short spans of men and women and the fixed allotments of Yin-Yang were determined long ago. Why? Spirit operates its function, and form is merely the recompense of that function. Since form cannot understand itself, spirit—before it had yet taken form—already knew that Rong Qiji would only begin to rejoice in his later years. This shows that his awakening to the Dao (the Way) came too late, and his feelings lingered on the bodily form. Confucius merely praised his ability to console himself; he did not affirm that Rong Qiji had deeply penetrated the ultimate Dao.

Lin Lei (a recluse in the Liezi) was nearly a hundred years old. The historical records do not record his deeds; he was probably an ancient recluse. It was spring, and wearing a fur robe, he was picking up fallen grain ears in an old field after the harvest.

Confucius was on his way to Wei when, in the fields, he saw from afar an old man gathering wheat ears while singing. Confucius said to his disciples, “That old man is worth speaking with; go and ask him.” Zigong then went forward, met him at the end of the field ridge, and said with a sigh, “Sir, do you never regret? In youth you were not diligent in self-cultivation, in your prime you did not strive for fame and merit, and now you are old, without wife or children, with death approaching—what joy is there that makes you gather wheat ears and sing?”

The old man, Lin Lei (a recluse of the Spring and Autumn period), did not turn his head but kept walking, and his singing did not stop. Only after Zigong questioned him repeatedly did he raise his head and reply, “What should I regret?”

Zigong said again, “Sir, in youth you did not exert yourself, in maturity you did not contend, and in old age you have no wife or children; death is near—what joy can you speak of?” Lin Lei laughed and said, “The joy I have is something everyone possesses, but people instead turn it into sorrow.”

He then explained: my joy is the same as others’; it is only that when things happen, others cannot remain peaceful and at ease, and so they never have a moment’s joy.

The commentator Lu Chongxuan (the “Lu says” in the text refers to his annotations) elaborates further: the benevolent are not anxious and the wise are not fearful because they are not enslaved by the physical form, and so they find peace in the distinction between life and death. Thus the gentleman is not sorrowful over poverty and low status, nor restless over wealth and honor. If people cannot understand this and instead worry about it, then why should you find me strange?

The old man said that in youth he did not diligently seek external fame and merit, and in his prime he did not contend for timely profit, and for this reason he was able to live so long. Lu Chongxuan comments: if one does not exert force over fame and profit, one has no mind that chases fame and profit; if one does not contend for opportunities beyond one’s fate, one has no entanglement with desire for gain. If these two are not stored in the breast, a hundred-year lifespan need not be sought and will come naturally.

Another note: to force things where one should not act, to contend for timing beyond what is fated, to pursue without cease and injure the mind and spirit—this damages one’s lifespan. I am at peace with the Way of Heaven and know the Mandate of Heaven, and so I can enjoy such longevity.

As for being old without wife or children and with death near, yet still being so happy—this is because he could rejoice in Heaven and know destiny, and so his heart was without worry.

Lu Chongxuan said: Wife and children only make one toil for a lifetime and labor anxiously in managing them—how could they prolong life? Calmly awaiting the end day by day, with no sorrow or grief in the heart, one can therefore be happy, as Lin Lei was.

Zigong asked: Long life is the common human desire, and death is what people detest. Yet you regard death as a joy—why is that? Lin Lei replied: Death and life are like departing and returning, cycling over and over. So how do we know that one who dies here is not born there? Thus I know that life and death are not the same. And how do I know that desperately seeking life is not a delusion? How do I know that my present death is not better than my former life?

Investigating this principle, one will understand that existence and extinction, departure and return, are endless transformations.

Lu Chongxuan said: One should understand that the physical body undergoes replacement and dissolution, but the spirit has neither birth nor death; one departure and one arrival are like the alternation of morning and evening. Why rush and scheme, clinging to this place and fearing the other?

When Zigong heard this, he did not understand its meaning, so he went back and told Confucius. Confucius said: I knew that Lin Lei could be spoken with about the Great Dao, and indeed it is so. But he has only attained one part of the Dao and has not fully penetrated it.

Zigong, upon suddenly hearing Lin Lei’s words, thought he had already reached the ultimate, but Confucius said it was not yet complete. The so-called “complete” means that nothing is not exhausted, and yet there is no “exhausted” to speak of; only thus is the principle completely transparent. Now Lin Lei still uses “nonbeing” to confront “being,” rejecting the other and choosing this, so he cannot avoid perceiving a distinction between inner and outer. Yet what is incomplete is only a tiny bit. As for the myriad transformations returning to the mysterious One, with both self and other forgotten, the principle is naturally equalized; in fact there is no need to dispel anything. With the mind inwardly dark and still and outward traces wandering in the world, mingling with ordinary people, where then is there any distinction between complete and incomplete?

Lu Chongxuan concluded: Dying here and being born there is an inevitable principle. Lin Lei’s “how do we know” is merely a tentative and uncertain expression, and that is why it is said that he was not complete.

The Zhenghe Commentary, citing the Zhouyi, says: “Rejoice in Heaven and know destiny; therefore one has no worry.” If a person rests content in the constant Dao and from beginning to end accords with nature, so that life and death cannot disturb the inner mind, this is to find joy in oneself. When one cultivates oneself well, whether in hardship or success, one understands that coming and going are not within one’s control; the mind is no longer thrown into disorder on that account, and naturally there is nothing to worry about. Yet to understand joy and to understand sorrow is still not true joy. Confucius held that “no joy” is true joy. Rong Qiqi was able to console himself, while Lin Lei attained only a part of it.

The Fan Commentary says: The living will in the end die, and the dead are precisely the beginning of new life. The transformations of the myriad things are inexhaustible; only by tracing back to the root and returning to the end can one understand the principle of death and life. If one looks only from the perspective of “not rejoicing in life and not loathing death,” then those who spend all day scurrying about seeking to live may be called deluded. But how do we know that this view is not itself delusion? If one looks from the perspective that “life is toil and death is rest,” then the dead now are indeed better off than when they were alive before. But how do we know they are better off than before? Observing Lin Lei’s words, if one can regard things in this way, one may discuss the Dao with him. Yet judged by the joy he considers to be joy, he still cannot avoid setting “nothing” against “something,” abandoning this and choosing that; therefore Confucius said that he had attained the principle in it but had not fully comprehended it.

Zi Gong grew weary of learning and said to Zhongni: “I wish there were a time for rest.” Learning is originally for recovering one’s original natural disposition; if one reaches the point of weariness, then the natural principle suffers harm.

Zhongni said: “In human life there is no rest.” (Taxing the mind and spirit and enslaving the body—these are matters of the living. The Zhuangzi says: “Life is service.”)

Zi Gong asked: “Then after I die, will there be no place to rest?” Zhongni said: “There is.” Look at the grave—rising high and lofty, the mound standing tall—and one knows that after death rest may be obtained.

Zigong asked, "If that is so, do we have no place of rest?" Confucius said, "There is. Look at the grave: in the middle it is flat like a platform, around it rises like an embankment, the mound is piled high, and the grave pit sinks deep. In this way one knows there is a place of rest after death."

Seeing how the grave earth rises and falls in different ways, one knows that within death there is a place of rest. The Zhuangzi says, "Death is rest."

Zigong sighed, "How great death is! The noble person finds rest after death, while the petty person can only hide away and disappear."

Those who can joyfully accord with the Dao of Heaven and peacefully understand life and destiny will calmly await the end of life—this is why the noble person finds rest; those bound by sorrow and suffering die in confusion—this is why the petty person can only hide away.

Confucius said, "Ci, you have understood it. People all know the joy of living, but do not know the pain of living; they know the weariness of old age, but do not know the ease of old age; they know only the hatefulness of death, but do not know the rest that death brings."

The Zhuangzi says, "The great earth gives me form, makes me labor in life, gives me ease in old age, and gives me rest in death."

The commentator Master Lu says, "Human life is originally a substance of movement and action; only death can bring it to rest. It is like the sun giving forth light: the myriad things are all in motion. The noble person seeks fame, the petty person pursues profit, and never for a moment stop."

Zhenghe says, "If those who study the Dao cannot understand the principle of death, what meaning does studying the Dao have? Zigong grew weary of learning and wanted rest—this precisely shows that he did not yet understand the principle of death. Therefore Confucius told him that in life there is no place of rest."