《冲虚至德真经四解(高守元)》Vol. 2

Vernacular Interpretation

It is utterly extraordinary—this is the place of rest. This is the highest state, the place where a person truly finds rest. Yet the death of the multitude is called “becoming a thing,” while the noble person, though dead, does not perish. Ordinary people, when they die, are like a vessel that breaks and returns to annihilation; but the noble person, even when the body dies, still has spirit, De (Virtue/Power), and achievements that endure and do not vanish. Therefore it is said: the noble person rests in it, while the petty person lies prostrate in it. Thus the noble person finds rest in death, while the petty person merely collapses there and loses vitality. The hardship of life is what is meant by “it labors me with life”; the ease of old age is what is meant by “it eases me with old age”; the rest of death is what is meant by “it rests me with death.” When alive, one toils and labors—this is “laboring me with life”; in old age the body declines and one has nothing to do—this is “easing me with old age”; only after death does one truly rest—this is “resting me with death.” These three lines come from the thought of Zhuangzi’s “The Great and Venerable Teacher,” and they mean that all the toil and ease of a person’s life finally conclude in death.

Fan says (commentary of Fan Yingyuan): Fan Yingyuan cites Laozi’s words, “In pursuit of learning, one increases daily; cut off learning and be without worry.” Zigong once wanted to rest because study was too arduous, which shows that he had not yet achieved daily increase in De. If he could not advance and increase daily, how could he “reduce and reduce again; through Wuwei (non-action), nothing is left undone,” and thereby truly grasp the realm of “cutting off learning”? Confucius told Zigong that in life there is no time of stopping; one should be diligent day by day, and only death brings it to an end. Fan Yingyuan also cites Zhuangzi’s saying, “The Great Clod bears me in form, labors me with life, eases me with old age, and rests me with death,” and holds that one who truly realizes the Great Dao (the Way) no longer makes distinctions between the ease of old age and the rest of death. These words are spoken only with respect to ordinary people still borne by form and labored by livelihood. That is why Confucius used these words to answer Zigong.

Yanzi said: How excellent that the ancients had death! Yanzi sighed, “How excellent was the death of the ancients!” Birth and death are common to ancients and moderns, yet he alone praises the death of the ancients. Birth and death are experienced by ancients and moderns alike, yet Yanzi singles out the death of the ancients for praise. This makes clear that the ancients did not delight in life and hate death. This shows that the ancients did not cling to life and loathe death, but took death as rest. The benevolent rest in it; the unbenevolent lie prostrate in it. Those of benevolence and virtue find rest in death, while the unbenevolent merely lie prostrate and do not rise. The benevolent cultivate themselves and are cautious in conduct, constantly harboring trembling fear—this is what the benevolent worry about; the unbenevolent give free rein to greed and desire, never knowing satisfaction—this is what the unbenevolent suffer; only after death do they rest or lie prostrate. The benevolent cultivate the self and are cautious in conduct, constantly holding fear and trembling—this is what worries them; the unbenevolent indulge greed and desire without restraint, never knowing satisfaction—this is what afflicts them; only after death do the two respectively find rest or lie prostrate. Death is the destination of De. Death is the returning place of De. “De” means “obtaining”; “jiao” means “returning.” It says that each obtains its proper destination. “De” means “obtaining,” and “jiao” means “returning”; it means that each person obtains the destination that should be theirs. The ancients called the dead “returned people.” Since the dead are returned people, the living are travelers. The ancients called the dead “those who have returned.” Since the dead are returners, the living are travelers—still on the road and not yet home. To travel without knowing return is to be one who has lost home. To rush along the road without knowing where to return is to be a person who has lost home. When one person loses home, his generation condemns him; when all under Heaven lose home, no one knows to condemn it. If one person loses home, the world criticizes him; if everyone under Heaven loses home, no one thinks to criticize it.

Note: The source passage contains several quotations (from Laozi and Zhuangzi). Among them, the sentence “The Great Clod bears me ... has not advanced to daily increase ...” appears in the original with textual confusion and repetition; the interpretation here follows its meaning and offers a reasonable reading.

This speaks of the situation in which the many and the few contend and encroach upon one another. Yanzi (Yan Ying, the worthy minister of Qi in the Spring and Autumn period), together with the Confucian and Mohist schools, each established its own gate and school. Those who value bodily existence, without making distinctions, simply believe it to be true; in fact, they have merely borrowed the formulations they cite. When one person loses his root and final home, the whole world criticizes him; yet when everyone in the world loses the root, no one notices that this is wrong.

Lu’s commentary says: The Laozi states that all things returning to the root is called “quietude”; quietude is called “returning to destiny” (returning to original nature); returning to destiny is called “constancy”; and knowing the constant Dao is called “illumination.” Those who do not understand the constant Dao vainly cling to the physical body, seeking only the gains and losses, rewards and retributions of a single lifetime. They lose their original nature, exhaust their spirit and mind, and become utterly weary. Only death can make people return to their true nature, like being released from shackles and setting down a heavy burden. Those who greedily cling to life and fear death grudgingly linger over “existence,” never knowing to return to the root; and the people of the world do not consider this wrong. Those who are deluded are truly many.

Someone leaves his hometown, abandons the six relations (father, mother, elder brothers, younger brothers, wife, and children), neglects the family estate, and wanders everywhere without turning back—what kind of person is this? The world will certainly call him a wild and unrestrained eccentric. Then again, someone displays worthiness, advertises reputation, values bodily survival, boasts of skills and abilities, makes a show in the world yet does not know to return to his original nature—what kind of person is this? The world will certainly regard him as a person of wisdom and strategy. Both kinds of people have lost the root.

Although the practices of these two kinds of people differ slightly, neither can avoid sinking into delusion and losing their original nature.

In their dealings with people and things, worldly people have their acceptances and rejections; only the sage knows whom to draw near to and whom to keep away from. The sage draws near to those who regard life and death as no different from waking and dreaming; he keeps away from those who sink into them and forget to return to the root.

Lu Chongxuan says: When people abandon the root and chase the branches, they exhaust their spirit and strength and labor anxiously at contrivance. To follow emotional desires in seeking fame and to chase cravings in pursuing profit—both courses ultimately come to nothing, and it is hard to rank one above the other. What the world praises, people take as right; what people stubbornly cling to, they take as wrong. Only one who understands the Dao knows what should be discarded and what should be embraced. Hence Zhuangzi says: Zang and Gu herded sheep together, and both lost their sheep. One was playing bo, an ancient gambling game; the other was reading. Their activities differed in good and bad, yet the loss of the sheep was the same. If a person has lost the Dao, then wandering about and devoted study are essentially not very different.

Zhenghe (commentary) says: Death and life accompany each other. One who is good at living—precisely because he is good at living—can be good at facing death; hence the words “How good!” The ancients said that to die without perishing is called “longevity.” Even when the benevolent die, their De endures; when the unbenevolent die, they scatter together with the myriad things. Therefore it is said, “The benevolent rest there; the unbenevolent fall there—Jiao.” “Jiao” refers to the place of final return. Life belongs to Yang and is the radiant manifestation of De; radiance comes from yang Qi. Death belongs to Yin and is the return of De; return comes from yin Qi. Thus to regard life as going out on a journey and death as returning home accords exactly with the principles of Yin-Yang and of movement and rest. The reckless and dissolute lose this; the self-styled clever and scheming also lose it. To reject “that” inwardly and cling to “this” is merely the delusion of the worldly. Only the sage knows what to draw near and what to abandon.

When people die, this is called a “ghost.” “Ghost” (gui) means “return” (gui), that is, to return to one’s true home. Once a person has received this limited life and is lodged between heaven and earth where there is no escape, they collide and grind against the myriad things, moving like a galloping horse that cannot stop—is this not sad? To toil all one’s life without seeing any accomplishment, to weary oneself rushing about without knowing where to return—is this not pitiable? Such a person loses their original nature and does not know to return; even if they do not die, what benefit is there?

There are people who leave their homeland, abandon their relatives, neglect their property, and wander everywhere without knowing to return—what sort of people are these? They are merely passersby in the transformations of creation (zaohua: the generation and transformation of all things in heaven and earth), travelers within Yin-Yang (in ancient philosophy, the two basic forces that are both opposed and interdependent), wearied and rushing without knowing where to return. There is another kind of person who displays their worthiness, boasts of their talents, adorns their reputation, and single-mindedly seeks to shine in the world, yet does not understand their own nature—what sort of person is this? Such a person merely uses cleverness to startle the foolish and self-cultivation to expose the impurity of others; they are only peddling their reputation throughout the world. Although these two kinds of people act differently, they are the same in being sunk and lost and not knowing to return.

People in the world do not accord with these principles. Some regard themselves as unrestrained madmen; some regard themselves as wise strategists. In sum, only the sage can know what to draw near and what to abandon.

Original text: “Someone said to Master Liezi, ‘Why do you value emptiness?’ Liezi said, ‘Emptiness is that in which there is no noble or base.’”

Someone asked Liezi, “Why do you value emptiness?” Liezi replied, “Emptiness means there is no distinction between noble and base.”

The names “noble” and “base” arise only because there is the discrimination of “rejecting that and choosing this,” taking the self as right and external things as wrong. Now if both being and nonbeing can be forgotten, and the thousand differences and myriad distinctions return to a single unity, this is called “emptiness.” When emptiness reaches its utmost, from where could the names “noble” and “base” arise?

Fan’s commentary: “The valley responds because it is empty; the mirror reflects because it is empty.” The valley, because it is empty, can echo sounds; the mirror, because it is empty and clear, can reflect the myriad things.

Vernacular Interpretation

Whenever the name “noble” arises, it is invariably because one has rejected one side and chosen the other, taking “self” as right and “things” as wrong. Now, if both being and non-being can be forgotten and all differences return to a single unity, this is called “emptiness.” Once emptiness has reached the state of emptiness, from where could the names of noble and base arise?

Fan Yingyuan said: Valleys, because they are empty, can echo sounds; mirrors, because they are empty and bright, can reflect the myriad things; the hole in a door bolt, because it is empty, can admit sound; the ears, because they are empty, can hear; the eyes, because they are empty, can see; the nose, because it is empty, can smell odors. If the mind holds to substantial existence and attachment, then these functions will be obstructed; thus emptiness is indeed very valuable. Yet people value this and despise that, and the distinction between noble and base is still not both forgotten. If one can merge into the Dao (the Way), why should one still take emptiness as noble?

Ziliezi said: This name “noble” is not the true appearance of things.

Things have their actual existence, and it is not something that can be obtained only after resorting to names.

There is nothing better than quietude, nothing better than emptiness. Quietude and emptiness enable the mind and spirit to rest in their proper place; if one pursues acquisition and giving, the mind and spirit will lose their dwelling place.

The principle of emptiness and quietude is not within the scope of mental deliberation, nor is it to be sought outside the physical body; it is simply my original nature. If one lets it settle inwardly within oneself, then the original nature will naturally be preserved. Therefore, the reason the myriad things can be preserved is all because of emptiness and quietude, and thus they can rest in their proper place; the reason they are spoiled is all because of reckless movement and pursuit, and thus they lose their proper place.

Lu Chongxuan said: Someone asked me why I value emptiness, and I replied that there is nothing to value. My fondness for emptiness is not for the sake of reputation. Emptiness is like white light arising within a room, and auspiciousness naturally abides there. Only through quietude and emptiness can the mind and spirit rest in their proper place. If one greedily seeks acquisition and giving, the mind and spirit lose their peace; then fame and profit, right and wrong, chaotic disputes and struggles surge in and intermingle—how could one bear it? Therefore I say that emptiness is not what I value.

Fan (Fan Yingyuan) says: When one’s original nature is undivided and unchanging, this is the utmost of stillness; not colliding with external things is the utmost of emptiness. For one who can hold to stillness firmly and bring emptiness to its extreme, how could such a person still busy the mind with trifles like reputation?

Within everyone’s original nature there is a true dwelling place (zhenzhai). Once there is physical form (shi), there is burden (the character in the original text is damaged; following the sense, it is read as “burden”); once there is burden, there is something to which one clings. Stillness is inherently sufficient to respond to the myriad tangled changes; emptiness is inherently sufficient to contain all actual circumstances. Both stillness and emptiness are within this true dwelling. As long as one is not disturbed by external things, the true dwelling is in oneself, and dwelling securely therein brings stability.

If there is taking, there will be seeking; if there is giving, there will be responding. Thus people indulge their physical form and disposition and drown among the myriad things. Gazing afar at the old capital, they feel melancholy; pointing to their former home, they weep. They wish to return to the original mind but cannot find the gate, like exiles who have left their homeland. Wanting not to lose their place, how can they succeed? This is precisely why the people of the world lose their home, and why the perfected person laments.

The Yi (referring to the Zhouyi) takes the Jing hexagram as “dwelling in its place” (settling securely in one’s proper position) and the Gen hexagram as “stopping in its place” (knowing when to stop and keeping to one’s proper station). Jing is the source of original nature; Gen is where original nature comes to rest. Only in this way can one avoid losing one’s original place.

Once a thing has been broken and destroyed, even if someone afterwards glosses it over with benevolence and righteousness, it cannot be restored to its original state.

Therefore one should act before the matter has arisen and govern before disorder has appeared. If one waits until original nature has been damaged and has withered and decayed, and only then tries to promote benevolence and righteousness in order to seek a return to the ultimate principle of nature and life, that cannot be done. (The character “xu” is pronounced “hui”; “wu” should be “shi.”)

Lu (Lu Chongxuan) says: What I call “emptiness” is cultivating before disorder arises. If the true nature has already been broken and destroyed, and the mind and spirit are confused, then to go on playing with the words and dogmas of benevolence and righteousness will only stir the emotions further, and so it can no longer be restored.

When there is honor, there is corresponding lowliness; when there are names, there are realities that match them. If one can attain emptiness, these oppositions no longer exist. The Laozi says: “Attain the utmost emptiness; hold fast to stillness with sincerity.” When the mind is empty to the utmost and stillness is guarded to the extreme, it can contain the true conditions of the myriad things, and the still, settled mind is sufficient to respond to myriad changes. Therefore nothing is better than stillness, and nothing is better than emptiness. To regard emptiness and stillness as attaining a place of peaceful dwelling means that all changes and actual conditions cannot obstruct it. To regard taking and giving up as losing one’s proper station means that in rejecting one side and taking the other, attachment still remains in the mind. Only after the Great Dao (the Way) declined did doctrines of benevolence and righteousness arise. Only after affairs were already ruined did people begin to advocate benevolence and righteousness—how could this lead back again to the Dao?

Fan Yingyuan, a Southern Song Daoist commentator, says: The Zhuangzi states that if Dao and De (Virtue/Power) were not abandoned, where would there be any need to take up benevolence and righteousness? It is presumably that only when Dao is lost does De appear; only when De is lost does benevolence appear; only when benevolence is lost does righteousness appear. Benevolence is used to establish others, and righteousness to restrain oneself, yet one drifts ever farther from the Dao. Only after affairs are already ruined do people begin to force themselves to practice benevolence and strain to perform righteousness, hoping thereby to soothe the hearts of all under Heaven. As a result, everyone under Heaven rushes along the road of benevolence and righteousness, and instead cannot return to original nature and true feelings, or return to primal simplicity. That the ancient perfected persons—those who cultivated the Dao to the highest level—wanted to discard these things is indeed reasonable.

Yuxiong, the commentator, says: The myriad things move and turn without cease; Heaven and Earth secretly and silently change—who can perceive it?

This is expounding the Zhuangzi’s idea of “hiding the boat in the ravine.” Confucius said: “Day and night without cease, time flows on without a moment’s rest.” The myriad things form one body with transformation, and bodily forms shift along with transformation. Transformation never pauses—how can the myriad things preserve their old appearance? Thus the form that came into being earlier is already not the form of today; between a bow and a raising of the head, countless changes have already occurred. The scattering of Qi (vital energy) and the decay of form do not arrive all at once suddenly, yet foolish people grasp objects that are certain to change, entrust their bodies to ceaseless motion, and still believe that change can be escaped—is this not deeply lamentable?

Master Fan said: Yin and Yang reflect, cover, and constrain one another; the four seasons alternate, and in succession things grow and in succession they are cut down. The myriad things in their profusion press toward their end each day, not pausing even for the time of a single breath. In the turn of an eye they come to be, and in the turn of an eye they decay; the old is discarded, the new arises; from flourishing they pass to decline, suddenly surpassing, suddenly vanishing. The things hidden in valleys and marshes are today no longer as they were yesterday; in the space between stretching out an arm and joining hands, they have already become traces of the past. This Great Transformation (the natural transformative changes of heaven and earth) secretly shifts in the dark, and the benighted (those who do not understand things) do not know it. If one does not understand the principle of the changes of day and night, who can perceive it?

Therefore, when one thing diminishes there, it increases here; when it is generated here, it is diminished there.

This is what is meant by: when the river dries up, the valley becomes empty; when hills are leveled, the abyss is filled.

Diminution and increase, generation and loss, arise with the changes of worldly affairs and die with the changes of worldly affairs. The “world” here should also be called a single “birth.” Coming and going, they continuously join one another, with not the slightest gap between; who can perceive it?

What is growing has just thought itself to be growing, yet it is already diminishing elsewhere; what is being born has just thought itself to be living, yet it is already secretly moving toward death.

Master Fan said: When hills are leveled and the abyss is filled, then what is diminished there may not fail to be increased here; when trees are cultivated and grow and their timber decays, then nothing generated here fails to be diminished there. Diminution and increase, growth and destruction, circulate mutually in endless change and transform mutually in a ceaseless pivot. Between day and night there is no gap, and the interstice is too small for a comb to pass through. If not for one greatly enlightened about the principle of beginning and end, who can perceive the reason within?

Each breath does not advance suddenly, nor does each bodily form diminish suddenly; thus people neither perceive its growth nor perceive its diminution. All this quietly transforms in the dark, and was never something the ears and eyes can see.

Master Fan says: What is called “waning” is the breath coming to rest moment by moment; it is not something completed all at once. What is called “fullness” is the bodily form being depleted moment by moment; it too is not something diminished all at once. When things grow, each day they create what did not exist before and delight in new transformations; when things decline, each day they subtract from what was originally there, wearing away what has already taken form. Even if one tries to seize and hold it, it has already slipped away unnoticed. Zhuangzi uses the image of hiding a boat in a ravine and a mountain in a marsh, thinking them secure, while a strong man carries them off in the middle of the night—probably precisely to illustrate this principle and make this point.

From birth to old age, a person’s appearance, complexion, intelligence, and bearing do not go a day without changing; skin, nails, and hair grow and fall away with the years. It is not that at some moment in infancy they stopped and thereafter ceased to change.

These relatively coarse and manifest aspects—bodily form, countenance, hair, and skin—are continually replaced, old by new, and are still difficult to perceive; how much more so the changes subtler than these?

Such changes are not easily noticed as they occur; one knows them only afterward.

Master Lu says: Mind-consciousness operates in secret, and the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang surge and stir into activity. Thus bodily form is constantly transformed and heaven and earth quietly shift; as things increase and decrease, wax and wane, who can perceive and awaken to it? Therefore those who cherish Dao (the Way) understand the root and so do not grieve over loss.

The Zhenghe commentator says: Shen (spirit) is the source that makes the myriad things wondrous and capable of being spoken of. It is so subtle that it cannot be known. For those who cling to bodily form, are bound by the allotments of Qi, and confined within heaven and earth, the two Qi revolve without cease and the myriad things come and go without end. If they seek to obtain the root that governs and impels all this, they cannot obtain it; how then could they know it? Only the sage understands the generation of things, perceives the principle within them, and is mystically united with it. Those who know only after the fact are probably among the “late-awakened” who have not awakened at all.

Master Fan said: Human beings live between heaven and earth. As soon as they are born, they possess a fixed bodily form, but that form will ultimately perish and change with time, and the mind changes along with it. The human mind, however, is like a galloping horse, running faster and faster, completely unaware and never waking up—how then can it still preserve a heart as pure as an infant’s? Those in antiquity who attained the Dao used spirit to govern the body. They followed the transformations of the myriad things without being trapped by those transformations. In their eyes, the four limbs and hundred bones were no more than dust and dirt. Although life and death are great matters in human life, their minds did not change because of them. Since the transformations of the myriad things are endless and inexhaustible, how could they therefore stop the mind’s pursuit? Thus those who harbor deep De (Virtue) are pure like infants. Above, they commune with the Lord of Creation (the Creator); below, they transcend beyond life and death, regarding beginning and end, life and death, as one. Only such a person can be called a friend.

There was a man of Qǐ who worried that heaven and earth would collapse and fall, leaving him with no place to take shelter, so much so that he forgot to eat and sleep. Someone else was troubled by his worrying and went to enlighten him.

The meaning of this passage is: the worried man was already confused, while the one who enlightened him, with his own “freedom from confusion,” worried on his behalf—this was not a true understanding of what the man feared. This shows that the more confusion accumulates, the harder it is for people to enlighten one another.

The enlightener said: Heaven is nothing but accumulated Qi (vital energy); where is there no Qi? It is like a person’s breathing, bending and stretching. You walk and pause within heaven all day long—why still worry that it will collapse and fall?

The sky is a vast blue expanse, not a hard solid. What is called heaven—is it merely something endlessly distant? From the ground upward, all is heaven. Therefore, when people look up and down and breathe, they never leave heaven.

The man asked again: If heaven is truly accumulated Qi, will the sun, moon, and stars not fall? The enlightener replied: The sun, moon, and stars are likewise the luminous parts of accumulated Qi. Even if they truly fell, they would merely cease to shine. What is there that Qi cannot support? Even heaven and earth, vast as they are, rest securely within the boundless Great Void (Taixu); how much more so a thing that is merely Qi supporting and lifting one another?

This passage comes from the story of “the man of Qi who worried that the sky would fall” in the Tianrui chapter of the Liezi, followed by comments from commentators of successive ages.

Someone worried that the sky would collapse, and another person urged him: even if the sky fell, it would only be a mass of Qi (vital energy) and would not hurt anyone. The man then worried that the earth would sink and split. A person who understood the principle answered: the earth is merely accumulated soil and stone, filling the void in all four directions; there is no place that is not soil and stone. You tread and walk, stepping on the ground, moving about and going to and fro on the earth all day long—why worry that the earth will be destroyed? Only then did the man feel relieved and greatly rejoice. (The character she should be read as shi; in the annotations in this book it is sometimes written she, with the same meaning.)

The commentary continues: these two men—one worrying about inevitable ruin, the other rejoicing because of certain safety—both failed to understand where worry and joy come from. The two merely comforted each other and let each resolve his own doubts; in the end they had still not escaped from great confusion.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang-dynasty Daoist and commentator) says: Heaven is accumulated Qi—where is there no Qi? Earth is accumulated clods—where is there no clod? Clods are everywhere, so there is no place where the earth can sink; Qi is everywhere, so there is no place where it can collapse. The sun and moon are merely luminous things within Qi—why should you worry that they will fall?

Mr. Fan (a commentator) says: The heaven high above is probably in motion; it is only accumulated Qi, and through Wuwei (non-action) it is naturally clear and bright. If it were not so, it would perhaps split apart. The earth lying low below is probably settled and motionless; it is only accumulated clods, and through Wuwei it is naturally peaceful. If it were not so, it would perhaps begin to stir. Mount Kunlun, towering and massive, stands within the Great Void; to worry that it will collapse is already confusion, and to worry on behalf of another about what he worries about is confusion all the more serious. To be able not to be confused is already a very high attainment.

When Master Changlu (Changluzi, a figure fictitiously attributed in the book) heard this, he laughed and said: Rainbows, clouds and mist, wind and rain, the four seasons—these are the phenomena formed in heaven by accumulated Qi; mountains and peaks, rivers and seas, metal and stone, grass and trees—these are the myriad things formed on earth by accumulated forms. Since we know that heaven is accumulated Qi and earth is accumulated clods, how can we say that they will not be destroyed?

The conclusion says: When chaos had not yet divided, heaven and earth were the same Qi, and the myriad things were the same form. After division they became heaven and earth; after dispersal they transformed into the myriad things. This is probably the difference between gathering and scattering, and the distinction between the substantial and the insubstantial in form and Qi.

Heaven and Earth are a tiny particle within space, and yet they are the largest of all things with form. They are difficult to exhaust and difficult to bring to an end—this is the principle of nature; they are difficult to fathom and difficult to know—this too is the principle of nature. To worry that they will perish is far beside the point; to say that they will never perish is also incorrect. Heaven and Earth ultimately cannot avoid perishing; in the end they will all return to destruction. When the day of their destruction comes, how could it not cause anxiety? This likewise is the principle of nature.

This passage says: People only know that whatever has a beginning must have an end, and whatever has form must decay, but they do not understand that the fortunes and misfortunes of Heaven and Earth, the ascent and descent of Yin-Yang, and the manifestation and concealment of objects and of Heaven and Earth all have their own patterns.

Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says: Qi (vital energy) gathers and solid masses accumulate, and only then are Heaven and Earth formed. Since there is accumulation and formation, how could they not perish? It is only that the scale of Heaven and Earth is exceedingly great and difficult to exhaust, so one cannot directly see their end. But if the time of their destruction truly arrives, how could one not be anxious?

Zhang Zhan’s commentary says: The Jing (scripture) says, “How do we know that in the dissolution of Heaven and Earth there will not be something greater than Heaven and Earth?” This is to view things from within space: Heaven and Earth are then tiny things. It also says that Heaven and Earth are the greatest among things with form—this is to view things from within the realm of form: Heaven and Earth are then the most enormous things. Because they are difficult to exhaust, they are difficult to investigate; because they are difficult to fathom, they are difficult to know. To worry that they will perish is originally far beside the point; to say that they will not perish is also incorrect. Yet it further says that Heaven and Earth cannot but perish, and when destruction comes how could one not be anxious? Then these words of Lu Chongxuan fall into a ridiculous position.

After hearing this discussion, Liezi laughed and said: To say that Heaven and Earth will perish is certainly wrong, and to say that Heaven and Earth will not perish is also wrong. Whether they perish or do not perish, I cannot know. Even so, that and this are in fact the same.

All things have completion and destruction, but from the perspective of the Dao (the Way), there is no such thing as completion or destruction. This passage discusses this principle and why Liezi was unmoved by matters of completion and destruction.

The Original Meaning of the Scripture

The scripture first distinguishes two views: one holds that things are “not destroyed,” and the other holds that things “are destroyed.” If things truly are not destroyed, then they endure together with people; if they are destroyed, then they perish together with people. That being so, why be moved in heart by the joy, anger, sorrow, and delight within them?

While alive, people do not know what it is like after death; after death, they do not know the circumstances before life. When coming, they do not know where they are going; when going, they do not know where they came from. Then whether all things are destroyed or not, why should I trouble my mind to care?

Living people do not know death, just as dead people do not know life. Therefore when a thing is completed, it does not thereby perish. When a thing is destroyed, people also do not know its former completion. Birth and death, coming and going, success and failure, gain and loss—these are all principles that can be seen. I accept them all in accordance with nature, and in my mind there is no distinction between this and that; how then could there be room for a clinging mind?

Lu Chongxuan’s Commentary

Lu Chongxuan was a Tang dynasty Daoist and a commentator on the Liezi. He says: Heaven and earth are the greatest among things, while bodily form is the most minute among things. Both the great and the minute are things; wherever there is a thing, there must be destruction—why bother to distinguish? Moreover, while alive people do not know death, and after death they do not know life; they cannot know their own coming and going, nor can they understand completion and destruction. If even matters concerning oneself cannot be fully known, why use the mind within heaven and earth to argue about principles beyond things?

Zhenghe’s Commentary

Zhenghe was another commentator. He says: From the perspective of vessels (things with form), there is completion and destruction; from the perspective of Dao, there is neither completion nor destruction. Those confined to vessels believe that things having form and Qi (vital energy) will necessarily be destroyed; those who penetrate Dao know that it neither sinks nor falls, and therefore has no way to be destroyed. Only the penetrating understand this; this is precisely why Liezi did not take matters of completion and destruction to heart.

Fan shi said: Heaven and Earth exist within the void, like a bubble existing in water. Water has its own bounds, and the bubble too is made of water; when it disperses, it still returns to water. No sooner has it formed than it disperses, and after dispersing it forms again. The man of Qi who worried that Heaven and Earth would be destroyed was like a person mourning the dead—his anxiety was superfluous. One who can understand the man of Qi’s worry understands that such worry can be seen through, just as one grieves again for a person who is already grieving. When Changluzi (a figure in the Liezi) heard the man of Qi’s worry and laughed at him, this was in turn like grieving for those who grieve for others. Going further still, not to fixate in the mind on either destruction or nondestruction—this is the highest insight. Seen in this way, the transformations of life and death and the pivot of coming and going are not worth reckoning against one another. As for destruction and nondestruction, how could they ever give rise to joy or sorrow?

Shun asked Zheng for instruction: “Can the Dao (the Way) be possessed?” Shun wished to show that all things in the world are the same as “nonbeing,” and so he framed his question in terms of the Dao.

Zheng answered: “Even your body is not something you possess—how could you possess the Dao?”

Guo Xiang (a Western Jin scholar who annotated the Zhuangzi) comments: The body is not something you can possess; it merely exists as an undifferentiated whole, spontaneously. If even one’s own self is not a possession, how much less is “nonbeing”?

Lu (referring to the Tang dynasty Daoist Lu Chongxuan) comments: “You” and “I” are merely terms for self and other; they do not refer to a divine spirit. Worldly people take their own physical form as “I” and others as “you.” If they wish to possess the Dao, how could that be possible? Thus it says that the body is not yours—how then could you possess the Dao?

Shun said: “If my body is not mine, then who possesses it?” He still clung to this body, and so asked again. Zheng answered: “The body is a form entrusted by Heaven and Earth, formed from the partial coalescence of a single Qi (vital energy). Life is not yours; it is the harmonious Qi entrusted by Heaven and Earth, and life is accomplished only when harmonious Qi gathers. Nature and destiny are not yours either; they are the compliance entrusted by Heaven and Earth—that is, compliance with the natural principle.”

Accumulation and compliance—so there is existence and extinction, and that is all.

Guo Xiang (a Western Jin Xuanxue scholar who wrote a commentary on the Zhuangzi) says: If the body were truly yours, then beauty and ugliness, life and death would have to be governed by you. Yet when Qi (vital energy) gathers, life arises, and you cannot stop it; when Qi disperses, death arrives, and you cannot retain it. From this it is clear that life and death are simply the results of Qi naturally gathering and naturally dispersing; they are not something you can possess.

Life is not yours; it is the harmonious blending and accumulation of the Qi between heaven and earth. Life and destiny are not yours either; they are the compliance and arrangement of heaven and earth. Descendants, too, are not yours; they are merely the shedding and transformation of the Qi of heaven and earth, like a cicada casting off its shell.

If everything were truly yours, then the number of sons and daughters should also be decided by you. That is why, when people walk, they do not know where they are going; when they dwell, they do not know what they depend on; and when they eat and drink, they do not know the reason within it. All these occur spontaneously and naturally; they are not things you do with conscious intention.

That strong yang Qi between heaven and earth is Qi. Since this is so, how can one say that it belongs to you? Heaven and earth themselves are no more than the largest mass in the gathering of Qi.

Now walking, dwelling, eating and drinking, and breathing are all movements of the strong yang Qi; how could one know their causes? “Strong yang” is like something hard and full. But if one cannot push this principle of hardness and fullness to its utmost and instead returns to the utmost of empty harmony, then there is no form and no life, no death and no end. In that case, what would life and destiny comply with? From what would descendants shed and transform? Where would movement and rest come to rest? On what would eating and drinking depend for existence?

Lu Chongxuan said: Since people do not understand that the luminous Shen (spirit) is the root of the Dao (the Way), the text borrows heaven and earth to explain it. Heaven governs the wondrous operation, while earth governs the formed myriad things. Entering the formed world refers to the lodging of the physical form; the physical form’s union with Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) refers to the generation of human nature; complying with external things refers to following what is natural; the growth and transformation of emotions refers to the body’s change like a cicada shedding its shell. Now when you walk, rest, eat, and sleep, you only know that yang Qi within the body is driving you, but you do not know that Shen (spirit) is the true master. Can such a person still be said to understand the Dao?

Someone asked: Yu Shun was a sage—how could he not understand the Dao? The reply: When one sets up a host-guest dialogue to clarify confusion, how could one merely remain silent? The Zhuangzi says: “Shang Liangyi had the talent of a sage but not the Dao of a sage; I have the Dao of a sage but not the talent of a sage.” From this we know that one who has the talent to save the world and occupies the highest position may not necessarily understand the Dao; one who dwells in the mountains and forests and has the reputation of perfecting himself alone may not necessarily be able to govern the people. Therefore, only after thirty years on the throne did the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) travel in a dream to the land of Huaxu (a legendary ideal realm); only after Emperor Yao (named Fangxun) met four worthies did he suddenly awaken north of the Fen River. That Shun had not yet awakened—what is there to find strange?

The Zhenghe Commentary says: In emptiness and nonbeing it cannot be possessed; as concrete being it can be possessed. Whatever can be obtained and possessed can be grasped and held in the hand. The Dao is mysterious and formless, profound and unfathomable. Since it cannot be obtained or possessed, yet a person’s whole body—form and nature and life (xing and ming)—is precisely encompassed and preserved by it.

The commentator holds that empty things will ultimately perish, while only substantial things can endure. Whatever can be owned or grasped has form and trace. The Dao is subtle and formless, profound and difficult to know. Since it cannot be possessed by humans, then although a person’s bodily form and nature-life temporarily rely on Heaven and Earth for their existence, in an instant they will perish again—how can they be said to be one’s own?

The bodily form is the vehicle of the body, and so it is said that the body is the form entrusted by Heaven and Earth (weixing); harmonious Qi is breath, and so it is said that life is the harmonious Qi entrusted by Heaven and Earth (weihe); the growth of the myriad things merely follows the principle of nature and life, and so it is said that nature and life are the compliance entrusted by Heaven and Earth (weishun); the body is the physical frame left by one’s parents, and so it is said that descendants are the molting transformation entrusted by Heaven and Earth (weitui). Seen in this way, none of these are things I can possess.

Therefore, when people walk they do not know where they are going; when they dwell they do not know what they hold; when they eat they do not know its flavor. This is because something is governing and driving them—it is merely the strong yang Qi of Heaven and Earth (the power of Yin-Yang creation and transformation in the natural world) operating and changing. How then could one say that one possesses the Dao?

Even so, the Dao is what all people commonly follow. Therefore the scripture says, “The Dao will make its dwelling in you.” Could it be that the Dao is in the end never obtainable or possessable? To insist that one possesses it is instead to obtain nothing; only the sage possesses it, yet does not presume to possess it, and thus can truly obtain it.

Fan’s commentary: The Dao originally has no substantial entity, and your body too is empty. Being empty and not substantially existent, where will the Dao lodge? Therefore, when you survey all things under Heaven, what you believe you can grasp is nothing more than the body; what the body relies on to continue is nothing more than life; the root of life is nothing more than nature and life; what is closest to the body is nothing more than descendants. None of these can you truly possess. Seeing your own self clearly, you then know that originally there is no such thing as “knowing”: when walking you do not know where you go, when dwelling you do not know what you hold, when eating and drinking you do not know their flavor—all this is merely the strong yang Qi of Heaven and Earth at work. As for the so-called Dao, how can you possess it?

In the state of Qi there was a man of the Guo clan who was very wealthy. In the state of Song (a feudal state during the Spring and Autumn period) there was a man of the Xiang clan who was extremely poor. Mr. Xiang came from Song to Qi and asked Mr. Guo to teach him the way to wealth. Mr. Guo said, “I am good at being a thief. When I first began to steal, within one year I had enough for food and clothing; within two years I was well off; within three years I was greatly wealthy. After that, my bounty even extended to my neighbors.” Mr. Xiang was delighted. He understood the words “being a thief” but did not grasp the way of being a thief. So he climbed over walls and broke through houses; whatever his eyes saw and his hands could reach, he seized without exception. Before the time was ripe, he was caught with stolen goods and punished, and even his original property was confiscated. Mr. Xiang thought Mr. Guo had deceived him and went to reproach him. Mr. Guo asked, “How did you go about being a thief?” Mr. Xiang described what he had done. Mr. Guo sighed and said, “Alas, you have lost the way of being a thief to such an extent! Now I will tell you. I have heard that Heaven has the seasons of the four times, and Earth has the products of the various regions.”

(Note: “Heaven’s seasons” here refers to the changes of spring, summer, autumn, and winter; “Earth’s benefits” refers to the products yielded by the soil and water of various places.)

Mr. Guo continued, “I steal the seasonal benefits of Heaven and Earth. By means of the moisture of clouds and rain and the productivity of mountains and marshes, I grow my grain seedlings, plant my crops, build my walls, and construct my houses. On land I steal birds and beasts; in water I steal fish and turtles—there is nothing that I do not steal. Grain seedlings, earth and wood, birds and beasts, fish and turtles are all produced and nurtured by Heaven. How could they be mine to possess?

“Heaven itself cannot give birth to the myriad things, so how could it produce and nourish anything else? People cannot possess anything themselves, so how could they possess other things? This shows that the myriad things are originally self-generated and self-possessed.

“Yet when I steal from Heaven, no disaster comes. Heaven does not begrudge its giving, and I too exert myself to the utmost in return. Wherever I go, what is there to resent?

“Gold, jade, precious treasures, grain, silk, and goods are what people accumulate—are they bestowed by Heaven? If Heaven cannot bestow them, how could people accumulate them? This too shows that goods and wealth gather of themselves. If one steals them and is punished, whom can one blame?”

If someone steals and is punished, whom can he blame? Another person possesses his own goods, yet you encroach upon what is privately his; thus disaster is invited.

Mr. Lu said: Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs (objects made of straw and discarded after sacrifice). They are not partial in giving birth to the myriad things—how could they have any intention to take or give? The large swallow the small, the clever enslave the stupid, people profit by circumstances and seek private gain through force. The taking and giving in these actions can all be called “theft.” People’s goods are not, in origin, guarded by their owners themselves; if one goes to take them and thereby incurs punishment, whom else can one blame?

Mr. Fan said: A thief has a greedy mind and takes what does not belong to him. Theft has “public theft” and “private theft.” Grain, earth and wood, birds and beasts, fish and turtles are produced by Heaven and Earth; Mr. Guo stole them yet met no calamity. Gold and jade, precious treasures, grain, silk, goods, and wealth are accumulated by people; Mr. Xiang stole them and was punished. The two cases differ in circumstance, but taking what is not one’s own is essentially the same.

Mr. Xiang was deeply perplexed. He thought that Mr. Guo’s case had been an even greater deception of him, so he went to consult Mr. Dongguo. Mr. Dongguo said: Are you not yourself also engaged in “theft”? You steal the harmony of Yin-Yang and only then take form, live, and bear your body. How much more is this so for things outside the body—how could they not be theft?

If one says there is “theft,” then my body is also one thing within Heaven and Earth, and one cannot but privately possess it. If one says there is no “theft,” then there is no distinction between inner and outer.

Heaven and Earth and the myriad things are originally not separate. To regard them as private possessions is delusion.

Heaven and Earth is the collective name for the myriad things; the myriad things are the individual designations of Heaven and Earth. Though each has its own body, in principle they are not separate. To think that they can be privately possessed is delusion. From this we know that Heaven and Earth entrust bodily form, and the myriad things are not separate; to regard them as private possessions is delusion.

Heaven and Earth are the collective designation of the myriad things, while the myriad things are the individual designations of Heaven and Earth. Although each of the myriad things has its own body, in principle they depend on one another and cannot be separated. To regard them as one’s private possession is delusion. From this we know that the bodily form bestowed by Heaven and Earth is not mine; yet to adorn one’s appearance, cherish one’s complexion, and boast of intelligence and skill—this is already delusion. More seriously, some forcibly take things outside the body as their own, flaunt titles and names to set themselves apart, rely on kin to secure themselves, wear splendid clothing to show off before others, use fame and rank to impress the crowd, accumulate goods and wealth, and establish private factions, drowning in these for a lifetime without being able to awaken themselves. Therefore the Laozi says: “The reason I have great trouble is that I have a body.” The Zhuangzi says: “The hundred bones of the body (the joints of the whole body) and the six viscera (the internal organs)—which of them is closer to me?” Having grasped this meaning, the mind becomes as empty and luminous as the original void, and the bodily frame, like the myriad things, returns together to Nature.

Master Fan said: Stealing, whether great or small, is delusion. Mr. Xiang understood only the words of “stealing” but not the principle of “stealing,” and so he erred in the pursuit of goods and wealth. Then the square inch [the mind] is equally empty with original emptiness, and the bodily frame has its being together with the myriad things.

Master Fan further said: Stealing, whether great or small, is delusion. Mr. Xiang understood only the words of “stealing” but not the principle of “stealing,” and so he erred in the pursuit of goods and wealth. Mr. Guo understood the principle of “stealing” but not the fundamental reason why “stealing” is stealing, and so he erred in being entangled by external things. If one truly attains the Dao (the Way), then even this body within cannot be arbitrarily claimed as private possession—how much less the bustling, tangled things of the outside world! Why is this? In human life, the hundred bones, the nine apertures (the nine orifices of the body), and the six viscera are all present within it; with whom am I intimate? To cling to them as one’s own is great delusion. Only by not letting profit-desires burden the body, and not letting the body burden the mind and spirit, can one regard the myriad things and oneself as impossible to divide into self and other, with no basis for grasping. Since this body is already gone, what misfortune have I?

The stealing practiced by Mr. Guo came from a public Dao, and so he suffered no calamity; the stealing by the person indicated in the original came from a private mind, and so he incurred guilt.

Public and private are established in mutual opposition; if there were no private, the name “public” would disappear. Now to call offending the Dao of Heaven “public” and offending others “private” is not yet fully penetrating in principle.

The commentator Lu Chongxuan (a Tang-dynasty Daoist) says: Heaven and Earth have no selfish mind; they let the myriad things take and use without hindrance, and so they do not bring calamity upon themselves. If the human mind harbors selfish thoughts, then in taking things it carries selfish feeling along with it—this is theft. To take private things with a selfish mind means that people contend and resist one another and thereby incur guilt; what is there to doubt in this? Therefore the function of law is to prohibit human selfish desire. Once selfishness is eliminated, mutually opposed struggles will not arise, and there will be no need for prohibition.

Those who distinguish between public and private are also thieves; only the object of their transgression is different, and one cannot say it is not theft. Those who completely erase the distinction between public and private are likewise thieves. The human body cannot but exist, and goods cannot but accumulate; if one wishes to dispel all of these at once, it is impossible to reach a mind free of any thought.

The commentator further says: When the sage establishes laws and standards and carries out moral transformation, not harming others and not disturbing the multitude—none of this is theft. To abide by the laws is the public way; to violate the laws is the private way. Even if one does not break the law but exclusively appropriates things for oneself, this too is theft—how much more so when one breaks the law and appropriates them for oneself?

To be public when it should be public and private when it should be private—this is the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth. Human life is part of the principle of Heaven and Earth; the body is one thing within Heaven and Earth. What people now cherish and begrudge is merely caring for this body that they have obtained between Heaven and Earth. In affairs there is originally no distinction between public and private, and in principle there is no question of stinginess.

For one who understands the De of Heaven and Earth, who counts as a thief and who does not?

Then what is the De of Heaven and Earth? It is simply naturalness and nothing more; how could one still speak of the names of public and private? Once the names of public and private have been abolished, there is no difference in principle between theft and non-theft.

Lu’s commentary says: To understand the public and also to understand the private, yet not cling to a selfish mind, and to treat all things alike without finding it strange—this is the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth. If one can understand the virtue of Heaven and Earth and take and use the myriad things without selfish intent, this is not to deceive Heaven. The manner of taking and using is no different from that of ordinary people; if in obtaining there is no selfish intent, then it does not count as theft. In such a case, who is a thief and who is not? Only one who comprehends the wondrous and awakens to the Great Dao (the Way) can understand this.

The Zhenghe commentary says: To take what does not belong to oneself is theft. Some follow the public way and may be without disaster; some act from private intent and so incur guilt. The crucial point is whether one is entangled by “having” and whether one regards it as one’s own. Yet those who distinguish public and private still cannot reach the point of having nothing to envy, and so it is said, “Those who distinguish public and private are also thieves.” And those who forget public and private still cannot avoid being concerned, and so it is said, “Those who forget public and private are also thieves.” To let what is public return to the public and what is private return to the private, to allow them to be natural, and to keep no accommodating mind in the heart—this is to encompass all things, which is the virtue of Heaven and Earth. One who understands this principle is undifferentiatedly one with the Great Dao; though things are uneven, he is in accord with Heaven and Earth. How could I distinguish the differences among them? Therefore the chapter “Tian Rui” (a chapter title in the Liezi) ends here.

Fan’s commentary says: To manage and seek for oneself is called private; to turn away from selfishness is called public. The public originally has no name; it becomes manifest only because private exists. Heaven follows and accords with Heavenly principle, and therefore is broad and impartial; thus what the Guo clan stole were things produced by Heaven, and it became the public way. When people indulge their emotions and desires, they become narrow and selfish; thus what the Xiang clan stole were things owned by others, and it became private selfishness. From the perspective of the Great Dao, these are both merely one-sided. Those who distinguish public and private are thieves; those who do not distinguish public and private are also thieves. To let what is public return to the public and what is private return to the private is precisely the virtue of Heaven and Earth. The sage rejects neither. If one can awaken to this and merge indistinguishably with the Dao, then how can theft and non-theft still be distinguished?

This passage comprises the concluding remarks of the preceding volume of the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing Sijie (Four Commentaries on the True Scripture of Chongxu and Ultimate De), along with the title and prefatory remarks of Volume Four.

Concluding Remarks of the Preceding Volume: To fail to distinguish between public and private is likewise tantamount to theft. Only when the public is returned to the public and the private to the private does this accord with the great De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth. The sage neglects neither the public nor the private. If one can realize this and let the mind return to stillness, then the boundary between “stealing” and “not stealing” is inherently difficult to discern.

Title of Volume Four: The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing is the Liezi. This volume consists of annotations to the “Yellow Emperor” (Huangdi) chapter, compiled by the Yuan-dynasty Daoist Gao Shouyuan.

Main Text:

The essential nature endowed before Heaven is called “nature” (xing); bringing this nature to its fullest is called “harmony” (he). Thus, when one accords with the patterns of things and acts with ease, one becomes unobstructed everywhere; when one indulges private feelings and turns against the Great Dao (the Way), one is obstructed by whatever one encounters.

Master Lu—the Tang-dynasty Daoist Lu Chongxuan, a commentator on the Liezi—says: What is discussed here is forgetting the bodily form and nurturing the spirit, so that true wisdom arises from profound silence. At the beginning of cultivation, one must forget all things and keep the mind clear; once wisdom is brought into play, one can transform and nourish all things and respond to external matters. Therefore, at first one must purify the mind, guard stillness, and preserve the body, without inquiring into worldly affairs; by the concluding section, however, Confucius and Mozi are praised in order to relieve the world. This is the main purport of this chapter.

Master Fan—a commentator cited here—says: For one who is empty, nonbeing, and natural, there is no place that is not penetrated; for one who clings to “being” and takes things as real, there is no place that is not obstructed. Then how difficult it must be to carry out “purposeful action” (youwei)! One must eliminate the mind that distinguishes right and wrong, benefit and harm; blunt the sharp edges of cleverness and boldness; give rise to no suspicion or worry; and cause all things to obtain their proper place. One must not harm one’s own nature, not take precedence over others, value the conduct of modesty, yielding, and self-restraint, and uphold the constant Way of overcoming hardness with softness. In this way, the calamities of the human world can likely be pacified. Could the land of Huaxu—where the Yellow Emperor dreamed he traveled, a country governed by Wuwei (non-action)—and Mount Gushe—the immortal mountain inhabited by divine persons, as seen in the Zhuangzi—really be distant and unreachable? This is the main purport of this chapter.

If the Yellow Emperor himself wished to surpass his predecessors, he should abandon the conduct of presuming himself worthy, not cling to the political arts of constant victory, and apply these principles to the human world; then the calamities of the human world might perhaps be quelled. The land of Huaxu (a legendary ideal realm free of desire and contention, naturally peaceful and happy) and Mount Gushe (a legendary immortal mountain where divine beings dwell)—how could they be remote and unattainable? This is the main purport of this chapter.

In the fifteenth year after the Yellow Emperor ascended the throne, he delighted that the people of the world supported him; this was merely the joy of going along with worldly custom. He wished to nurture the proper life-nature (the rightful nature of life), yet he indulged in the pleasures of sound and color for the ears and eyes and in the delicacies of food and drink for the mouth and nose, so that his complexion became haggard and his spirit confused, and the five emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, delight, and the like) were thrown into disorder. It is clear that enslaving the mind and intellect is not sufficient to nourish nature and life; it only causes the physical form to wither.

Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says: People of the world all use sound, color, food, and drink to nourish the body, and only the wealthy are regarded as rich and noble. The sage, however, knows that such pursuits are enough to injure life, and so is haggard and joyless. The first part explains that Shen (spirit) is the master of life; the second part intends to clarify the principle of cultivating the Dao (the Way) and nourishing the body. Thus it first displays what the multitude indulges in and then gradually guides them toward the Dao.

Another fifteen years passed. The Yellow Emperor worried that the world was not being governed well, so he exhausted his cleverness, increased his intellectual power, and managed the common people. The result was likewise a haggard complexion and a confused spirit. It is clear that employing cleverness is not sufficient to govern the world well; it only disturbs the Shen (spirit).

Lu’s commentary says: The word dai here refers to the noblemen and scholars who govern the people. They all labor their minds and weary their bodies, sacrifice themselves to external things, and pursue fame and profit, yet they do not know that enslaving the Shen (spirit) causes them to lose their true reality and become ever more distant from the Dao.

The Yellow Emperor then sighed and said: My fault is indeed grave. In nurturing my own person it has been like this; in governing the myriad things it is likewise so. Harm arises from this alone. Only by letting things follow their nature without deliberately nourishing them, and by giving free rein without forcing governance, can nature and life be naturally preserved and the world naturally settled.

Lu’s commentary says: The word yin (“excess”) means losing the proper Dao. All living beings know how to care for themselves and selfishly seek to survive, yet they do not know that seeking life in this way leads instead toward death. It is precisely from this that harm arises.

Simply letting things follow their own nature without deliberately nurturing them, and allowing them to develop without governing them, will naturally preserve people’s nature and life and naturally bring peace to the world.

Lu Chongxuan, a Tang dynasty commentator, holds that “yin” means departing from the natural Dao. All beings know how to care for themselves and take selfishness as the way to seek life, yet they do not realize that such attachment leads precisely to death. Those who practice benevolence and righteousness mostly pursue benefit for the sake of reputation and regard selfishness as ability; they likewise do not understand that this depletes the spirit and harms life, ultimately leading to death. Those who plan only for themselves are petty persons; those who consider the myriad things and plan selflessly on behalf of others are called noble persons. Externally, the two are distinguished as good and evil, but if one single-mindedly seeks fame and loses the substance, then inwardly both are in fact lost. This passage denies both at once in order to make the great Dao manifest.

Master Fan’s commentary states: that which can inspire and animate the myriad things yet does not share the sage’s anxieties is “Dao”; that which follows good and bad fortune and shares calamity with the people is “affairs.” One who realizes the great Dao has no anxieties; one who becomes involved in concrete affairs will encounter calamity. The sage governs the world only when he has no choice—is it that he willingly does so? If one merely cares for oneself, preserving one’s proper destiny and satisfying the desires of the ears, eyes, mouth, and nose, the harm this brings is already like this; if one turns outward to govern the myriad things, exhausts cleverness, employs intellectual power, and manages the common people, the harm is even greater. Are those light arts and the affairs that weary the body and agitate the mind inherently so full of worry? The reason it is so is that the sage takes the hearts of the people as his own heart; what others fear, he cannot but fear together with them.

Thereupon the sage sets aside complicated government affairs, abandons palace chambers and sleeping quarters, withdraws his attendants, removes the racks of bells and chimes, reduces the meals of the kitchens, and retreats to dwell at leisure in the lodge of the ancient Dating clan. He fasts his heart-mind and harmonizes his body; with no desires within, his body is naturally peaceful and harmonious. For three months he does not personally attend to government affairs.

Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says that one who can handle the myriad strands of government affairs does not simply do nothing. When affairs arise, he responds to them, just as the four seasons naturally succeed one another. Thus the Laozi says, “What does Heaven say? The four seasons run their course, and the hundred things grow.” Heaven does not speak, yet the four seasons proceed as usual and the myriad things grow as usual. Such a person does not exert effort or anxiety in pursuit of empty fame, nor does he wish, a thousand years hence, to have his good name written on bamboo and silk (ancient writing materials, by extension historical records). He merely quietly accords with things and acts only when he has no choice. He does not add to his own burden because of rank and power, does not indulge his desires, does not seek rich and delicate flavors, and does not wallow in decadent music. He fasts and quiets his mind, restraining his body from reckless movement. “Three months” refers to one season. Confucius said, “Yan Hui for three months did not depart from benevolence,” meaning that he maintained benevolence for a long time without deviating from it. Selecting worthy talents, assessing them according to their duties, and rewarding and punishing fairly and impartially—this is precisely

The commentator Fan says: When the sage governs the world, every day he must handle thousands upon thousands of governmental affairs. Now when it says “setting aside the myriad affairs,” it means that he no longer exhausts his mind on trivial matters. He gave up palace chambers and sleeping quarters, not because he craved the ease of a dwelling; he dismissed attendants and servants, not because he loved the display of being waited upon. When the music of suspended bells was removed, his ears were not deluded by sounds; when the meals prepared in the kitchen were reduced, his mouth and tongue did not crave fine flavors. He withdrew to live alone in the Great Court Hall, fasted and purified his mind, and his bodily form was accordingly regulated and set upright. For three months he did not inquire into government affairs, and the practice of pure fasting reached its culmination. It was in this state of mind that he dreamed of the land of Huaxu (a legendary ideal state governed by Wuwei (non-action) and marked by natural harmony and joy; see the Liezi).

The Jing (scripture) says: “When the bodily form comes into contact and acts, and when the spirit meets it, dreams are formed.” What a person does by day will necessarily appear in dreams, so sleep in which the hun and po souls interact is not necessarily illusory; what is dreamed at night will necessarily correspond to the day, so the awareness of the waking bodily form is not necessarily real. Only one who understands the way of day and night can merge dream and waking into one, and regard worldly gain and loss, right and wrong, noble and base, life and death, all equally as dream illusions. Thus those who dwell in the Palace of Transformations (a wondrous palace produced by illusion, from the Liezi) travel in dreams; the man who served as a laborer for the Yin family sought pleasure in dreams; the man who captured the Zheng man’s deer litigated in dreams. One who can be at peace in whatever circumstances knows that all is illusory and unreal—why, then, should he doubt only dreams?

Yet the true persons of antiquity did not dream while sleeping. Liezi said these things to make clear that the ultimate Dao cannot be sought through emotion and ordinary consciousness; therefore he temporarily used dreams to convey this principle.

The land of the Huaxu clan lies west of Yanzhou (one of the nine provinces of ancient legend, located due west) and north of Taizhou (the northwest). The commentator explains that this country need not really exist; it is only borrowed to show that the ultimate principle is necessarily so. The Huainanzi says: due west is Yanzhou; the northwest is Taizhou. This country is tens of millions of li from the Central Plains, and it cannot be reached by boat, cart, or on foot; one can go there only by a journey of the spirit.

Gist of the original text: Carts, boats, and feet are tools on which the physical form relies for movement. When the spirit wanders in the realm of huanghu, the indistinct and vague, it arrives without needing to walk.

Master Fan's commentary: A flower, after opening, leaves the root; grasses and trees put forth branches and leaves and thus see one another. The principle has an extremely subtle aspect; one need not seek it in dark, dim, silent places. Although it has left the root of the Dao, it can still connect with the ten thousand things. This is what is called "returning to the root and recovering the mandate" (gui gen fu ming), that is, returning to the source and returning to the heavenly mandate, with its original nature always constant. Yanzhou due west and Taizhou due north, and west of Yanzhou and north of Taizhou, are again places of returning to the root and recovering the mandate. The Dao rests within the Mean; anyone with feet can reach Qiu. But people do not realize that this state of Qi is tens of millions of li away, already far from the human world; it cannot be reached by cart, boat, or feet, but only by the spirit's wandering. The spirit is not hurried yet is swift; without walking it arrives. Therefore it can pass in and out of heaven, earth, and the four directions and roam in the realm of non-being; where could it not go?

Gist of the latter part of the scripture: That country has no ruler or chief; everything is so of itself. Its people have no addictions or desires; this too is so of itself. What is called ziran, or so-of-itself, means not depending on external things. They do not know to cling to life, nor do they know to loathe death, so they have no suffering of early death. They do not know to draw close to themselves, nor do they know to keep others at a distance, so they have no love or hatred. They do not know to oppose, nor do they know to comply, so they have no benefit or harm.

Gist of the commentary: In the principle there is no birth or death, so there is no joy or aversion; in the principle there is no love or hatred, so there is no closeness or distance; in the principle there is no opposition or compliance, so there is no benefit or harm.

These people are not stingy about anything, and they have no fears or taboos. Entering water they do not drown; entering fire they are not burned; when struck or poked with a finger they feel no pain or itch.

Gist of the commentary: One who reaches the realm of utmost harmony cannot be harmed by external things; water and fire, pain and itch cannot disturb such a person. These sensations actually arise from self-importance and fear in the mind; the principle involved is explained in detail in the next chapter. Xiaoyang means soreness and pain; this meaning is found in the Rites of Zhou (Zhouli).

Explanation of terms: The land of Huaxu (Huaxu zhi guo) is a legendary ideal country whose people follow nature and have no artificial conflict or desire. Gui gen fu ming means returning to the source and recovering the innate nature and heavenly mandate bestowed by Heaven. Liuhe, the Six Directions, refers to heaven, earth, and the four directions of east, south, west, and north, used broadly for the entire space of the cosmos.

One who cultivates the Dao and has reached an extremely high realm treads upon the void as though on solid ground and lies down in empty space as though in bed. Clouds and mists cannot block his sight, thunder cannot disorder his hearing, beauty and ugliness cannot move his inner mind, and the ruggedness of valleys cannot trip his steps; his Shen (spirit) simply moves freely.

“Zhi shun” refers to the state of utmost compliance with nature, in which no external thing can go against him.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang dynasty Daoist priest who annotated this scripture) says: These words use metaphors to convey the principle. One need only fast and purify the mind, regulate and nourish the body, and bring the Shen (spirit) into union with the Dao, and one can reach the highest realm of the Dao. The Shen is the master of life. Since the Shen governs life, if one drives the Shen to single-mindedly pursue health and longevity, and the method is inappropriate, it will instead cause depletion. The vulgar world believes that satisfying desires is nourishing life, when it is precisely the root of shortening one’s lifespan. Therefore the noble person cultivates his original nature, while the petty person follows his desires. One who cultivates original nature has no greed, preserves naturalness, does not rejoice because of seeking life, does not detest because of fearing death, does not lean toward one side because of taking or rejecting, liking or hating, and does not feel fear toward natural transformations. What is called “Shen xing” is the Shen being united with the Dao; it is not some other special realm, nor is it some other special kind of person. Thus an ancient saying goes: The way of benevolence is not far off; put it into practice and you will reach it. Once a single word has made the principle understood, two people join hands and become attuned to each other.

(Zhenghe Commentary) To the west of Yanzhou and north of Taizhou (both are names of distant places), tens of millions of li from the state of Qi, the roads there are deep and remote and have no end, so only one whose spirit can roam freely can reach them.

Such a person can cultivate himself without a teacher’s instruction, and without likes and desires he is naturally content. Life and death do not change his inner mind, and those close to him or distant from him do not burden his body and mind. He does not pursue profit, and profit does not come seeking him; he does not go against the natural Dao, and harm does not befall him. He stints nothing and has no fear or misgiving; inwardly he has already forgotten external things.

Therefore, he enters water and does not drown, enters fire and does not feel burning heat, is beaten with rods and feels no pain, is poked with a finger and feels no aching or itching. His bodily form seems to be forgotten as well; he lies upon the void, unobstructed, does not stumble, and wherever he goes there is ample room to move. Thus, coming and going in the place where the two Qi of Yin-Yang transform, he still cannot be fathomed—how much less can ordinary people be? Therefore it is said that this is merely the spirit in motion.

This passage describes the vision of an ideal country and the transcendent state of one who has attained the Dao.

The commentary says that in that country there are no rulers or officials to administer it; everything is left to follow its own nature, so there is no need for laborious government, and the state is naturally stable. The people have no cravings or desires, and therefore no thoughts of greed; they are naturally simple and unspoiled. They know life but do not know death; they know death but do not know life. Thus they do not rejoice at birth or resist death—how then could they have any anxiety about premature or violent death?

They regard others as themselves and themselves as others, so they have no one especially close and no one especially distant—how then could there be love or hatred? They grow angry when opposed and pleased when obeyed. Therefore they neither go against those who differ from them nor flatter those who are like them—how then could there be profit and harm, gain and loss?

Since their hearts hold no love or hatred toward anything, they have no discriminating thoughts; since they have no fears or taboos toward anything, their bodies are not tense or on guard. A person like this is not drowned even in an overwhelming flood, and does not feel heat even in a great drought when metal and stone melt and earthen mounds are scorched. Even if a brave warrior thrusts a blade at him, the blade cannot enter; even if a strongman strikes, the blow cannot land. He touches solid objects without obstruction and rides the void without falling. His eyes see clearly without looking; his ears hear harmonious sounds without listening. His heart is empty and without objects, so beauty and ugliness cannot disturb him. He can plunge into water without being blocked and pass through valleys without stumbling. He enters and exits at will and comes and goes freely—this is likely the working of spirit.

“The Yellow Emperor then awoke”: the Yellow Emperor woke up.

The commentary says that “awoke” is merely a term resting on the distinction between sleep and waking; the sage makes no distinction between sleeping and waking.

“Cheerful and at ease, he summoned Tianlao, Limu, and Taishan Ji”: the Yellow Emperor, joyful and self-contented, summoned the three ministers Tianlao, Limu, and Taishan Ji. (Tianlao, Limu, and Taishan Ji were assistant ministers of the Yellow Emperor.)

“He said to them: I have heard that by dwelling in retreat for three months, purifying the heart and disciplining the body, and pondering the way to nourish the self and govern things, one may seek it—yet I have not obtained the method”: the Yellow Emperor told them, “I have heard that by dwelling in retreat for three months, purifying the heart and regulating the body, and concentrating my thoughts on the way to nourish the self and govern the myriad things, I have still not obtained the method.”

“The body cannot be nourished, things cannot be governed, and even refined thought cannot obtain it”: this is the commentator’s remark, meaning that the body cannot be cultivated and external things cannot be governed; even with refined thought, the answer cannot be obtained.

Interpretation of the Scripture

The Yellow Emperor was weary and fell asleep, and the dream he had was probably like this. Now I understand: the highest principle cannot be forced through human emotional consciousness. I understand it and have attained it, but I cannot tell it to you in words.

Since it cannot be sought through emotional consciousness, it also cannot be explained through emotional consciousness.

Another twenty-eight years passed, and the world was well governed, almost like the land of the Huaxu clan (the Huaxu clan: in legend, an ideal realm without desire or contention, naturally harmonious and peaceful).

The Zhenghe commentary says: If people exhaust their bodies and worry their minds, using knowledge to discriminate, then techniques and calculations cannot attain it. If they fast and quiet the mind, restrain the body, and after awakening merge with the Dao, then the Dao can be attained. Even though it has reality and veracity, when one reaches Wuwei and formlessness, the ultimate Dao cannot be sought through emotional consciousness. Those who know and attain it also cannot tell others in words.

Later the Yellow Emperor ascended to heaven and departed (the character jia should be read as xia, meaning “to go far away”). The common people cried out and longed for him, and for more than two hundred years this did not cease.

Interpretation of Lu Chongxuan’s Commentary

Lu Chongxuan says: The Yellow Emperor had already awakened to the Dao, so naturally he no longer relied on external things to attain the Dao. “Weary and fell asleep” means that mind and spirit settled into the principle of things, having removed cravings and desires. The discriminating spirit (the acquired mind of discrimination that arises after birth) returns to original nature, so it cannot be sought through emotional consciousness. “Cannot tell you” is because the ground of the mind is clear and bright, having already forgotten words.

Those who govern the world by techniques and calculations can achieve only empty reputation. When techniques and calculations are exhausted, traces appear; there is only an empty surface, with no way to make it real. Those above demand from those below by empty reputation, and those below respond to those above with empty reputation; superior and inferior deceive each other, accumulating falsehood and taking it as principle—how could they attain purity and simplicity?

The true Dao is the accord of spirit and principle: responding to external things with sincerity, not favoring the good because of small talents, and not flying into a rage over small faults. It is like spring rain and dew: all things can grow, customs naturally change, and transformation and nurturing proceed in accordance with nature. People do not know what causes them to change, nor do they feel how they are brought to completion. Therefore the common people longed for him endlessly.

This passage is Fan’s annotation on the line from Zhuangzi’s “Free and Easy Wandering”: “On Mount Miaoguye there dwells a spirit-person.”

Fan first points out that once people have a body, they are entangled by external things and thereby lose their true self. Looking inward at oneself, the body is originally empty, yet one still single-mindedly thinks of nourishing it; this shows that one has not yet escaped attachment to the body. Looking outward at the myriad things, the myriad things are also originally empty, yet one still single-mindedly thinks of governing them; this shows that one has not yet escaped attachment to external things. If one can forget both things and self and no longer cling to distinctions, then one is far from the Great Dao.

The subtle reaches of the ultimate Dao are deep and mysterious; its utmost reaches are dark and silent. If one seeks it with worldly feelings and ordinary consciousness, one will never obtain it. The way to recognize it is “no-knowing”; the way to obtain it is “no-obtaining.” Once one understands that there is originally no knowing and originally no obtaining, how could one tell it to others in words?

One who truly comprehends this can let the mind and spirit roam in a realm of tranquil detachment, let the primordial Qi (vital energy) merge with silence and stillness, comply with the natural nature of the myriad things, and mix in no private intention; then the world will naturally be well governed. As for those who reject the dusty world and transcend to become immortals, they lay down their bows and arrows and ascend to heaven, and the people of the world then submit to such a state. Who then would still be willing to regard external things as important?

Fan also cites the book Zhuangzi as evidence: it says that the Yellow Emperor first used benevolence and righteousness to stir people’s hearts (ying, to disturb), and later asked Guangchengzi about the Dao, the gist being that only by discarding sagehood and wisdom can the world be governed. From this it can be seen that the episode of the Yellow Emperor “stirring people’s hearts” should be merely an allegory. The meaning of this chapter also agrees with this.

The following is a sentence-by-sentence annotation on the Jing (scripture/classic) text.

Lieguoye Mountain: a legendary mountain name, seen in the Classic of Mountains and Seas, located among the sea and river islets. A spirit-person dwells on the mountain.

Spirit-person: one whose spirit is concentrated, settled, and still; therefore called “spirit-person.”

Inhaling wind and drinking dew, not eating the five grains: since one already does not eat the five grains, why would one still need to inhale wind and drink dew? This describes the appearance of breathing exercises during cultivation; it is no different from ordinary people’s behavior, merely a formal description.

Mind like a deep spring, form like a maiden: the mind is clear as the water of a deep spring, the body soft as a maiden. This means he brought yielding softness, emptiness, and stillness to the utmost; his innate bearing is naturally pure, not that he avoided aging by relying on nourishment and regulation.

Not clinging, not loving: wei means love. The straw dog was a dog made of straw by the ancients for sacrifice and discarded after use. Here the straw dog is used as a metaphor for how one treats the myriad things: one is not partial to anything, and one’s beneficence is without partiality.

Immortals and sages serve as his ministers: immortals and sages are willing to be his subordinates, showing that his De (Virtue/Power) is higher than that of immortals and sages.

The immortal is the state attained by cultivators of long life and advanced age; the sage is the name for one who governs the world and is praised as a sage. The natural endowments of these two types are inherently pure; it is not that they avoid aging only through postnatal nurturing.

(In the scriptural text, the word wei in “bu wei bu ai” is read as yin, meaning to draw close to, to favor.) They do not favor anyone, nor do they love anyone in particular. Like the “straw dogs” used in ancient sacrifices, they regard all things alike, and their grace favors none. Therefore immortals and sages all willingly become such a one’s subjects.

They do not make people fear them, nor do they provoke people to anger, so people are naturally willing to be directed by them. Here “fear” means being awed into submission by their majestic De (Virtue/Power). In reality, this is not a genuine relation of ruler and minister or master and servant; it is only that high and low, elder and younger each rest in their proper station, and so these terms are borrowed to explain it.

They do not bestow favors, yet the myriad things are naturally sufficient; they do not gather wealth, yet they themselves are without fault. Qian means deficiency, lack, or shortage. Thereupon Yin-Yang is constantly harmonized, the sun and moon are constantly bright, the four seasons constantly proceed, wind and rain are even and timely; the generation and nurturing of the myriad things takes place on time, the yearly harvest is constantly abundant; the land suffers no drought or flood, people no premature death or illness, the myriad things no defects or pestilence, and ghosts and spirits do not manifest numinous power or work anomalies.

This is because the De of Heaven and human beings are in accord; Yin-Yang moves in order; day and night, light and dark have their measure; disasters do not arise. Thus their Dao (the Way) accords with Heaven and Earth and corresponds to the movement of the four seasons. Laozi says: “One who governs the world by the Dao—the ghosts do not manifest their numinous power.”

(The commentator Lu explains: These words describe the realm in which Shen (spirit) and Dao are united. Therefore the image of a person beyond conventional bounds is borrowed, and the name “spirit person” is provisionally used. Such a person does not nourish the body with the five grains but preserves it by exhaling and inhaling true Qi (vital energy); the mind is like still water, raising no waves, and cannot be stirred by external things; such a one is like an unmarried young woman, without the entanglements of thought. Joy and anger cannot enter the breast; right and wrong cannot interfere with their function; there is nothing sought and nothing desired. They are “not benevolent” like Heaven and Earth—that is, not partial and not deliberately dispensing favors. Even the power of Yin-Yang to transform and nourish the myriad things cannot disturb them, and ghosts and spirits cannot verify their truth. Such is their function.)

Zhenghe (an annotation source label, borrowing the reign name of Emperor Huizong of Song) says: The so-called “Shen” (spirit) is that fundamental root which mysteriously transforms and nurtures the myriad things and which can also be explained in words. By realizing the wondrous function of Shen, one can transcend the constraints of form and number, and thus command external things without being burdened by them.

If one can inhale wind and drink dew, not eating the five grains, then one will not cling to diet for nourishing life; if the mind is clear like the water of a deep abyss and the body is supple like an unmarried maiden, then one can be focused and undivided. Not being entangled by attachment and fondness, immortals and sages all willingly become one’s subordinates; not being given to fear and anger, sincere and honest people all willingly serve one. In this way one can walk alongside the Dao in mutual support.

Such a person is calm and practices Wuwei (non-action); Yin-Yang are harmonious and stable, and sentient beings suffer no harm. Therefore he does not dispense favors and does not amass wealth; Yin-Yang are balanced and the four seasons follow their order; the myriad things grow in season and the five grains are abundant; people are free from premature death and severe illness, creatures are free from pestilence, and ghosts and strange beings no longer manifest their powers. This is precisely why the sage can bring the myriad things to complete fruition without anything being omitted.

Master Fan’s commentary says: “Shen” is the realm in which one can transcend the ten thousand things and master them. The ten thousand things all dwell at the extremities of the Dao, while those who have realized the wondrousness of Shen lodge themselves above the ten thousand things; external things are not enough to disturb their minds, and so they can master the ten thousand things without being entangled by them. Apart from the legendary Shenren (spirit-person) who dwells on Mount Guye—the sacred mountain in the Zhuangzi’s “Xiaoyao You” (“Free and Easy Wandering”)—who could accomplish this?

They inhale the wind and drink the dew, and do not eat the five grains, because they do not set their minds on nourishing the physical form. Their minds are like a deep, clear spring, and so they are calm and steady and do not move rashly; their bodily form is supple and gentle like a maiden’s, and so they accord with the ten thousand things and do not oppose them. They do not deliberately favor anyone, yet immortal sages naturally establish norms for them; they do not deliberately despise anyone, yet honest and cautious people are naturally willing to serve them. They have no intentional entanglement with external things. They bestow no favors, yet the ten thousand things are naturally abundant; they make no demands on themselves, yet they themselves lack nothing.

They steer Yin-Yang by the Dao, and Yin-Yang remains harmonious throughout the year, without perverse calamities; they govern the sun and moon by the Dao, and the sun and moon remain constantly bright, without anomalies of dimness or solar and lunar eclipses. They regulate the heavenly cycles by the Dao and thus accord with the four seasons; they set the Six Qi (yin, yang, wind, rain, darkness, and brightness) in motion by the Dao and can make wind and rain balanced and even. When the Six Qi are settled and used to nourish sentient beings, generation and growth proceed in constant order year after year; without seizing the essence of heaven and earth, they can assist the five grains, so that harvests are abundant every year and the land suffers no disasters. People are able to live in peace and happiness, are not cut off prematurely, and can also meet a good end. Toward the ten thousand things, they follow their inherent nature, so there is no suffering from pestilence; and ghosts and spirits do not display numinous power or cause mischief. Such a Dao—if it were not the most Shen-like person in the world, who could achieve it?

Liezi (Lie Yukou, a Daoist figure of the Warring States period) studied under Lao Shangshi and was a friend of Bo Gaozi. He developed the Way of these two, and then rode the wind and returned.

The Zhuangzi says: Liezi rode the wind and traveled, light and airy, and only after fifteen days did he return. He was probably a Shenren; that is why Yukou—that is, Liezi—commended him as a Shenren.

Lu Chongxuan says: If Shen (spirit) lingers on things that have form, the hundred bones—all the joints of the body—will be obstructed; if Shen unites with the true Dao, the five senses will all be unobstructed. When the senses are unobstructed, nothing distant is unperceived; when there is no obstruction, one can ride the wind and travel. Wearing feather garments and coming and going, leaping by means of feathers and scales—such statements (and this is precisely the situation described by Liezi, that is, Lie Yukou) are in themselves ordinary principles. This is not boasting of marvels, but using fables to explain the principle.

The Zhenghe commentary (a commentary from the Zhenghe era of Emperor Huizong of Song) says: The Laozi states, “Good travelers leave no tracks or traces.” To ride the wind and travel, although no ruts or footprints are seen, one still relies on the force of the wind and still has something on which to depend. Only Shen can arrive without traveling and depend on nothing.

When Yin Sheng heard this principle, he lived with Liezi and did not leave for several months, repeatedly asking Liezi to transmit its method. He asked ten times, and ten times Liezi did not tell him. Yin Sheng felt resentment in his heart and asked to take his leave; Liezi did not detain him either. Yin Sheng withdrew, but after several months he was still not reconciled, so he came back to follow him again. Liezi asked, “Why do you come and go so frequently?” Yin Sheng said, “Earlier, I—Zhang Dai by name (the commentary gives Zhang Yi; this is Yin Sheng’s name)—sought your instruction, and you did not tell me, so I did resent you. Now my mind has become clear, and so I have come again.” Liezi said, “I originally thought you understood things; has your understanding now become so shallow? I will tell you now: you should comprehend it through what you have learned from your teacher.”

The Zhenghe commentary: He was asked three times and did not answer; he was sought ten times and did not tell. This shows that the Dao inherently cannot be spoken. What Liezi ultimately told Yin Sheng was only to make him recall the principles he himself had learned from his teacher.

Liezi’s disciple Yin Sheng followed his teacher to study the Dao. He repeatedly went back to ask for instruction, but Liezi did not tell him. Was this because the teacher hoped he would grasp it with his mind and silently realize it for himself? Yet resentment arose in Yin Sheng’s heart, and he even became bitter enough to ask to leave. Liezi had no choice but to tell him the Dao he had learned, yet it was as if he had not spoken at all, only touching on it briefly and then stopping.

Lu Chongxuan said: When you first left, I thought you had already penetrated my Dao. Now that you have returned bearing resentment, I realize how shallow your understanding is.

The following is Yin Sheng’s own account of his experience. He served his teacher and associated with a fellow disciple. The teacher called him “Lao Shang,” while this fellow disciple called him “Bo Gao.”

For the first three years, he did not dare think of right and wrong in his heart or speak of benefit and harm with his mouth, and only then did the teacher occasionally glance at him. Master Fan held that in his heart he still actually had thoughts of benefit and harm, but merely did not dare speak them; this was concealing resentment and hiding his true feelings, and so the teacher only gave him a glance. Master Lu held that these three years were a matter of being single-minded and never departing from reverence, to the point that he only sought the teacher to turn back and look at his person and pay attention to his conduct.

After five years, in his heart he no longer dwelled on right and wrong, and with his mouth he no longer discussed benefit and harm (the word “geng” means “to change”), and only then did the teacher break into a smile.

Right and wrong, benefit and harm, are originally common principles of the world. To let the mind think and the mouth speak as they will, with an open heart, concealing nothing, inner and outer as one—is this not superior to hiding and not revealing oneself? The teacher rejoiced at this change in him, and so expressed approval through a smile.

Master Lu concluded: At the three-year stage, he was focused on concentration, and so he obtained only a single glance back from the teacher; after five years, he had gone beyond concentration, and the meaning of the teacher’s smile became evident.

After seven years of studying the Dao, what I thought in my heart no longer divided right from wrong, and what I spoke no longer calculated benefit and harm. Only then did my teacher, for the first time, invite me to sit beside him on the same mat.

What is the “heart”? It is still and empty-bright, without miscellaneous thoughts. What is the “mouth”? It is silent, merely breathing in and out naturally. Following the utmost of the heart, there is no right or wrong to speak of; allowing the natural principle of the mouth, there is no benefit or harm to calculate. A teacher and friend who is in accord with the Dao stands on equal footing and sits shoulder to shoulder; only thus can there be such closeness.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang-dynasty commentator; “Lu says” refers to his commentary) says: One should examine things carefully before opening one’s mouth; then even if one’s words touch on right and wrong, benefit and harm, they will not go astray.

After nine years, the thoughts of the heart ran freely as they wished, and the mouth spoke freely. I no longer knew what were my own right and wrong, benefit and harm, nor what were others’ right and wrong, benefit and harm; still less did I remember that my teacher was my master or that others were my friends. The boundaries between inner and outer had all melted away.

Since there was no clinging in the heart and no contrariety in the mouth, one could let thoughts roam and speech be unrestrained, realize the great Dao, exhaust its purport, and become a ford and bridge for the world (a path that guides people across delusion, a metaphor for one who guides beings). All day there are thoughts in the heart, yet one feels they are not one’s thoughts; all day one speaks, yet one feels it is not oneself speaking. If one takes “no-thought” as a kind of thought and “no-speech” as a kind of speech, then one has not yet reached the ultimate. The saying “Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone” is precisely this. Where, then, can the distinction between self and other be sought? Where should the name and role between master and disciple be applied? Therefore it says, “inner and outer are both exhausted.”

Lu Chongxuan’s commentary: There is no clinging at all in the heart, so right and wrong, benefit and harm no longer sway one’s choices; words move freely in all directions, yet all accord with the great Dao.

Master Fan said: To distinguish right from wrong clearly is precisely the reason the Dao is diminished; once the mind of benefit and harm arises, true feeling and falsehood then stir one another in turn.

Liezi (a Daoist figure of the Warring States period) studied the Dao. After three years, his heart no longer weighed right and wrong, yet in his heart there were still things accepted and rejected in his thoughts; his mouth no longer spoke of benefit and harm, yet in his mouth there were still things accepted and rejected in his speech. Thus when he first received a glance from his teacher (the Master), the Dao was present in the instant their eyes met.

After five years, his heart no longer weighed right and wrong; at this point his heart had no accepting or rejecting, which shows that the notion of right and wrong had not yet been completely extinguished. His mouth no longer spoke of benefit and harm; at this point his mouth had no accepting or rejecting, which shows that the mind of benefit and harm had not yet been completely forgotten. Thus when the teacher once smiled, his heart silently merged with the Dao in a state of no opposition.

After seven years, he let his heart think as it would, and there were no longer thoughts of right and wrong—this was indeed the extinction of right and wrong, but he had not yet reached the realm of no-thought. He let his mouth speak as it would, and there were no longer words of benefit and harm—this was indeed the forgetting of benefit and harm, but he had not yet reached the realm of forgetting words. Therefore the teacher invited him to sit together on the same mat, and their minds met in the moment they brushed past each other.

As for what the mind reaches, thought arises from non-thought; as for what the mouth says, speech arises from non-speech. Right and wrong, benefit and harm, were all dissolved; self and other were both forgotten, and together they returned to the Dao. At this point, how could he still know that the teacher was his teacher or that others were his friends?

The course of cultivating the Dao begins with one, takes five as the middle, seven as the turning point, and nine as the culmination. Among the ancients who cultivated the Dao, some could transcend life and death (waishing, “putting life outside”) in nine days; some could comprehend the primordial beginning (the undifferentiated chaos before the myriad things were divided) after nine transmissions; and some reached the wondrous realm in nine years. This is probably because the sequence of entering the Dao had been completed at this point, and they entered a realm beyond reckoning.

Then the function of the eyes was like that of the ears, the ears like the nose, the nose like the mouth and tongue; all the senses could communicate with one another, and there was nothing that was not the same.

Lu Chongxuan says: When the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose no longer each rely on their own special strengths but are left to their natural functioning, and when the mind holds no deliberate thoughts, this is what is meant by “no distinction.”

When the spirit is concentrated and settled and the body is relaxed, bones and flesh seem to melt away. One no longer perceives what the body leans on or what the feet stand on, but drifts east and west with the wind like a dry fallen leaf or an empty husk. One cannot even tell whether the wind carries me or I carry the wind.

The eyes, ears, nose, and mouth each have their own functions. If one gathers the spirit, relaxes the body, and does not depend on external things, then seeing and hearing need not rely on the eyes and ears, and smelling and tasting need not rely on the nose and mouth. The six viscera, seven apertures, four limbs, and hundred bones all become still like clods of earth, like a corpse resting motionless, one and the same as the myriad things. Then what does the body still rely on for support, and what do the feet still tread upon? Do I ride the wind, or does the wind ride me? Who can distinguish?

Lu Chongxuan explains: “Spirit concentrated” means unmoving; “body released” means without obstruction; “bones and flesh all melted” means forgetting the physical frame. Since the physical frame has forgotten its circumstances, and the spirit’s thoughts have departed from what they cling to, one drifts up and down together with the wind and Qi.

Zhenghe’s commentary says: After three years of practice, the mind is no longer deluded; therefore when the Master glanced at him, he gained understanding. After five years, the mind was no longer obscured, so that the Master smiled broadly (referring to Liezi’s teacher Huqiuzi). After seven years, the mind was no longer burdened; the Master then had him sit on the same mat. After nine years, right and wrong, profit and harm could no longer weigh upon him; subject and object were both forgotten, the five sense faculties interpenetrated, and the wind rode me as I rode the wind—where was there still any need for deliberate exertion of mind?

The Master had you stay under his gate, and in less than an hour you complained several times. Your body will not be contained by the Qi of Heaven and Earth, nor will even a single joint of your body be borne by the earth.

This means: If one clings to desires and emotions and maintains distinctions of the self, then skin, flesh, and bones cannot even accommodate one another, and the whole body will have nowhere to rest—how then could it be covered and borne by Heaven and Earth?

Liezi could tread on empty air and ride the wind—such an ability he could perhaps nearly attain. When Yin Sheng (that is, Guan Yinzi) heard this, he held his breath for a long while and did not dare speak again.

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang-dynasty Daoist) explains: Liezi could ride the wind because he had forgotten his own body. Laozi says, “The reason I have great trouble is that I have a body. When I no longer have a body, what trouble shall I have?” If form and limbs still cannot be let go, then even the weight of a small joint on the body cannot be borne by the earth—how much less would he have leisure to ride the wind and soar through the void?

Zhenghe (referring to the commentary from the Zhenghe era of the Song dynasty) says: Those who devote themselves to the Dao forget mental scheming—how much more should they put aside resentment? If even a tiny piece or small joint of the body cannot be supported by Qi and cannot be borne by the earth, then your body is no longer your own; how can one speak of attaining the Dao?

Fan says: When the six apertures penetrate one another, all things and events become unobstructed; when the six apertures contend and disturb one another, all things and events become obstructed. One who has made progress in cultivating the Dao has eyes like ears, ears like a nose, and a nose like a mouth; he does not know with what he sees and hears, nor with what he tastes. Merged into a single whole, he has no doubt in his mind. He is like extinguished dead ash, his form already released; again like a withered tree, bones and flesh all dissolved, about to attain the Great Penetration. Thus, while dwelling in the body, when there is something to rely on he relies on it, yet he does not feel that he has a body; when the foot needs to walk, he walks, yet he does not feel that he has feet. Letting the wind blow east or west, he drifts like a wooden leaf or a dry husk with the wind. In this way, between movement and stillness, the heavenly mechanism operates naturally, without ruts or traces. The wind carries me, and I carry the wind—how can one distinguish which is active? Liezi’s cultivation reached this stage; one may say it reached its utmost. Zhuang Zhou held that Liezi’s riding the wind still depended on something; this was probably said from the perspective of the path by which he entered the Dao.

Liezi asked Guan Yin: When the Perfected One moves in hiding, is he not “empty”? What is called “not empty” means having solid form and obstruction. Every movement of the Perfected One is not blocked by substantial things. Guo Xiang says: The Perfected One’s mind is empty; therefore he can harness the ten thousand things.

Liezi asked again: “He treads on fire without feeling heat and walks among the ten thousand things without obstruction—is this so?” Liezi again asked whether the Perfected One, moving in hiding, is “not empty”; the commentary above has already answered: the Perfected One’s mind is empty, and therefore he can transcend the obstruction of solid entities.

The following is a modern Chinese interpretation of the scripture Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (the Liezi):

"Not empty" means truly existent. The movements and rests of the perfected person are not obstructed by concrete existence. Guo Xiang said: "His mind is empty and still, and therefore he can master and respond to the multitude of actual things."

("Truly existent" refers to concrete existing things.) The perfected person who has truly attained the Dao is not bound by concrete things in any action. Guo Xiang's commentary says: His mind is empty and still, and therefore he can master and respond to the myriad actual things.

He treads on fire without feeling heat, walks above the myriad things without trembling.

("Without trembling" means not shaking with fear.) He steps on fire without feeling heat, walks at high places and faces the myriad things without fear or trembling.

Xiang Xiu said: "The world delights in pushing him forward, yet he is not annoyed; it is not that he considers himself lofty, and therefore he does not tremble."

Xiang Xiu's commentary says: The world delights in elevating him, and he is not annoyed; this is not because he considers himself noble, and therefore he does not tremble.

Someone asked: "How can one reach this state?" Guan Yin replied: "This is the guarding of pure Qi; it is not a matter of cleverness, skill, or boldness."

(Guan Yin was a legendary figure of antiquity. When Laozi traveled west, Guan Yin stopped him at Hangu Pass and asked him to write a book, hence the name "Guan Yin.") Someone asked: How can one attain this state? Guan Yin replied: This is the result of guarding pure Qi (vital energy); it is not something that can be achieved by cleverness, skill, or brave decisiveness.

"The utmost pure and utmost real is simply my inherent nature; it is not sought from outside. If one carefully guards it without losing it, then things cannot harm him. How could one need to rely on cunning and courage to brave dangers?"

("Inherent nature" refers to the innate nature of a person.) The state of purity and reality is originally our own inherent nature; there is no need to seek it outside. If one carefully guards it without losing it, external things cannot harm him. Where would there be any need to rely on cunning and courage to risk dangers and difficulties?

Lu said: "This speaks of the perfected person's hidden practice: accumulating virtue is not the root—emptiness is. How else could he tread on fire without heat or climb high without trembling? This makes clear that pure Qi emerges from nature. Guarding the spirit and harmonizing with the Dao, one can reach this state, and therefore he is called a perfected person. How could this be attained by cleverness, skill, or boldness?"

("Lu" refers to Lu Chongxuan, a Daoist commentator of the Tang dynasty.) Lu Chongxuan said: This speaks of the perfected person's cultivation as inward and concealed; accumulating virtue is not the fundamental point—the fundamental point is emptiness. How is it that he can tread on fire without heat and climb high without fear? This shows that pure Qi originates from nature. By guarding the spirit and harmonizing with the Dao, one can reach this state, and therefore he is called a perfected person. How could this be obtained by cleverness, skill, or brave decisiveness?

"Ji, Yu speaks to you. 'Yu' should be 'I'. Whatever has appearance, image, or sound—how can he tread on fire without heat or climb high without trembling? This makes clear that pure Qi emerges from nature. Guarding the spirit and harmonizing with the Dao, one can reach this state, and therefore he is called a perfected person. How could this be attained by cleverness, skill, or boldness?"

(This passage in the original contains obvious displacement, repetition, and interpolation. "Ji" and "Yu" are ancient appellations or errors for Liezi or other figures; "'Yu' should be 'I'" is the commentator's textual correction.) This passage largely repeats the previous one and contains textual errors. The general meaning is: Whatever has outward form, appearance, or sound is a thing with form. How can one tread on fire without heat or climb high without fear? This shows that pure Qi emerges from nature. Guarding the spirit and harmonizing with the Dao, one can reach this state, and therefore he is called a perfected person. How could this be obtained by cleverness and boldness?

"Ji, Yu speaks to you. 'Yu' should be 'I'. Whatever has appearance, image, sound, or color is a thing."

(As above, this is a repeated textual correction.) Whatever has outward form, appearance, sound, or color belongs to the category of "things."

From the highest sage down to the lowest insect, all are beings with form and sound. If one looks at them in terms of form and sound, then there is no fundamental difference among them.

From the highest sage down to the lowest insect, all are existences with form and sound. If one considers them only in terms of bodily form and sound, there is no fundamental distinction among them.

"How then can one thing be far from another?"

(This is a question about the preceding passage.) Then why are things so vastly different from one another?

Xiang Xiu said: "Only the one without mind is uniquely far."

Xiang Xiu replied: Only those who have no mind for external things and are detached from fame and profit are different from others and far from the dust of the world.

"How could one suffice to reach what is prior? It is merely form and color."

("Prior" refers to transcending and leading.) How could things of form and color suffice to reach a state that transcends all things? They are merely form and color.

Xiang Xiu said: "They are all alike things of form and color; they are not sufficient to surpass one another. What truly surpasses is only nature itself."

Xiang Xiu said: All are equally things of form and color, and are not sufficient to surpass one another. What can truly surpass is only the Dao of nature.

Lu said: "Whatever has form is a thing; things are all the same—how can color be distinguished as before or after? Those who make themselves noble and regard other things as base are the most deeply deluded by emotion. Only one who forgets form, guards the spirit, practices stillness, and thereby gives rise to wisdom can penetrate spiritual illumination."

Lu Chongxuan said: Whatever has bodily form belongs to the category of things; things are all the same, so how can color be distinguished as before or after? Those who consider themselves noble and despise other things are the most deeply deluded by desire. Only one who forgets the body, guards the spirit, cultivates stillness, and thereby generates wisdom can penetrate spiritual illumination.

"Then things that are created from the formless and rest in the unchangeable."

("Created from the formless" means reaching the realm of formlessness; "the unchangeable" means no longer being drawn along by the changes of external things.) Then, if things can reach the realm of formlessness, they will rest in a state no longer drawn along by the changes of external things.

Note: In the original text, the passage "Ji, Yu speaks to you. 'Yu' should be 'I'" is a transcription or printing error and repetition from ancient manuscripts. In the translation, it has been reasonably interpreted according to the context.

If “Being” fundamentally has no beginning, then the things it generates have no fixed bodily form; if bodily form has no end, then the state in which it abides is likewise without change.

Only those who regard themselves as noble in bodily form and make light of all things are the most deeply deluded by passions and desires. Those who can forget bodily form (referring to attachment to outward appearance), guard the spirit (Shen), and cultivate emptiness and stillness so as to give rise to wisdom can penetrate spiritual illumination (Shenming, referring to subtle and profound principles).

In this way, the generation of all things transcends the marks of form and abides in the realm of non-change. Even those attached to form and sound who wish to exhaust the beginnings and ends of things cannot reach the ultimate ground. Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says: Forgetting form and guarding Shen, one can reach the formless realm; preserving true nature and uniting with the Dao (the Way), one can abide in the realm of non-change. If one can attain this Dao, exhaust the principles of things, and fully develop one’s nature, how could one fail to walk the correct path?

The Zhiren (the utmost person, one who has reached the highest level of cultivation) dwells within a measure that does not go to excess; he does not cling to form and color, does not pursue the beginnings and ends of things, and therefore does not lose the natural correct way. He conceals himself within the beginningless order, because the ultimate principle is originally without concealment; one simply lets it be natural without grasping, and thus it is profoundly deep and without trace, its boundaries nowhere to be seen.

He roams within the changes of the beginning and end of all things. By according with the principles of things without selfish intent, he can roam together with all things—how then could he be limited by beginning and end? Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says: The Zhiren does not lose his De (Virtue/Power) in action, and so he does not go to excess; he does not lose the correct way in walking, and so he hides in the beginningless; he constantly returns to the source, and so he can roam through the beginning and end of all things.

By making one’s nature single and undivided (referring to original nature), nourishing one’s Qi (vital energy, referring to primordial Qi and Jing-Qi [essence and vital energy]), and embracing and guarding one’s De, one thereby penetrates the principle by which all things are generated. For one whose Qi is unified and whose De is pure, it is not only that he himself penetrates; he can also remove obstructions among all things and thereby universally benefit all beings. Lu Chongxuan’s commentary says: When one’s nature is not scattered but returns solely to the true, one unites with the De of Heaven and Earth and thereby understands the nature and destiny of all things.

For a person like this, the innate nature is preserved intact, and the spirit suffers no deficiency—how could external things invade him?

When one’s natural allotment is not impaired, bodily form and spirit become fused into one—from where could anxiety and trouble enter?

Lu Chongxuan, a Tang-dynasty Daoist priest who annotated the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (that is, the Liezi), says: If one values the great Dao, one’s nature remains whole; if one removes desires and passions, there is no gap in the mind (xi, the same as “gap”), no form or trace. From what place, then, could external things enter?

Fan Echang, a Tang-dynasty scholar who annotated the Liezi, says: All people receive the same harmonious Qi, but when people come into contact with external things they easily lose themselves and instead become entangled by them, so their Qi declines. Only by guarding the pure Qi—being unified and not confused, harmonious and not violent, making the inner mind empty and still to the utmost—how could such a person be compared to those who show off cleverness and love boldness? Why is this so? The forms, appearances, sounds, and colors of external things are originally similar; between one thing and another there is fundamentally no great difference. Then why cling to outer traces? If one can remain within the measure where one is not enticed and does not overstep the limit; if one hides within the ordering that has no beginning, inexhaustible and endless; if one roams amid the beginning, end, and transformations of the ten thousand things, wandering with what the Creator creates without acting recklessly—for such a person, the mind and spirit withdraw and hide in the dark depths, and external things have no way to invade. Therefore he walks submerged in water without being obstructed, treads into fire without being burned, walks above the ten thousand things without trembling, and dwells in high and dangerous places without danger.

A drunkard falls from a cart; though the fall is severe, he does not die. His bones and joints are the same as other people’s, yet the degree of his injury differs from theirs, because his spirit is intact. When riding, he does not know it; when falling, he does not know it either.

This uses a crude example to illustrate the certainty of the highest principle.

The fear of life and death cannot enter his breast; therefore, even when he runs counter to external things, he suffers no setback.

Vernacular Interpretation (Four Commentaries on the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing, by Gao Shouyuan)

Xiang Xiu says: This means encountering external changes without being alarmed.

That drunk person, by relying on the power of wine, preserved himself, and was still able to be like this—meeting things without fear and not being harmed by external things.

Xiang Xiu says: The drunk person has merely lost his original awareness because of the wine; it is not that he acts from a natural absence of deliberate mind.

How much more is this true of one who obtains preservation from the Heavenly Dao and preserves himself?

Xiang Xiu says: One who can obtain preservation from the Heavenly Dao has a mind that is naturally wuwei and unattached, and acts in accord with the principle of spontaneity.

The sage hides within the Heavenly Dao, and therefore external things cannot harm him.

Guo Xiang says: The sage does not peer beyond the bounds of his nature and make reckless demands, and so it is said that he “hides.”

Master Lu says: The drunk person’s spirit is not united with the Dao; he is preserved only because of the wine, and so worry and fear cannot invade the “Heavenly Storehouse” in his mind, and life and death cannot injure his form and spirit. If one can truly preserve the spirit, external things will naturally be unable to harm him.

The Zhenghe commentator says: The spirit of the perfected person is mysterious and unfathomable. What is called “pure” means that he does not impair his own spirit. The pure and plain great Dao lies only in guarding the spirit. If one guards it without losing it, external things will be unable to harm him.

The Zhenghe commentator says: The spirit of the Perfect Man has already reached a wondrous realm. What is called “purity” means that he does not diminish his own spirit. The great Dao, pure, simple, and undifferentiated, can be guarded only by relying on spirit; guard it without losing it, and one becomes one with Shen (spirit) and divine brightness. Hence it is said: “The Perfect Man dives into water without suffocating, treads into fire without being burned, and walks above the myriad things without trembling.” This depends on the guarding of pure Qi (the primal Qi that is unmixed and undisturbed), not on cleverness, skill, or boldness.

Next, on the relation between form and name: the forms, sounds, and colors of the myriad things all have both name and reality. Once name and reality exist, they adhere to movement and transformation. Once one has received a completed form, that form will in the end perish and come to its end; how then is it different from other things? How could it alone exist prior to the myriad things? The Dao is different: it generates the myriad things yet does not appear as a concrete form, is not paired with anything, and abides in a condition that does not change with external things; thus it can stand alone and not be driven by external things. Since form, color, name, and sound are insufficient for seeking the true reality of the Dao, how can those who cling to them and wish to exhaust the Dao be considered correct?

In relation to this, the Perfect Man rests content in a measure that does not allow excess, and so he acts fittingly without going too far; he hides his body within the order that has no beginning or end, and so he moves without exhaustion; he transcends the changes of beginning and end among the myriad things, and so he can roam with the Creator (the great Dao that generates the myriad things). He focuses his nature without scattering it, nurtures his primal Qi without depleting it, and contains his De (Virtue/Power) without letting it disperse; in this way he penetrates the realm of “reaching what is formless and resting where there is no transformation.” His innate truth is kept whole, his Shen (spirit) has no crevice, and external things have no way to intrude. This is why he can enter water without obstruction, tread fire without heat, and walk above the myriad things without trembling.

When a drunkard rides in a carriage, because his whole body is steeped in wine, his mind and spirit are not disturbed; therefore, even if the carriage jolts, he will not be injured. The Perfect Man walks above the myriad things because he is hidden and protected by the Heavenly Dao, and so he can master external things, while external things cannot harm him. All this is the guarding of pure Qi, and it is because he does not diminish his Shen (spirit).

Master Fan’s commentary says: Inquiring into the origin of forms, heaven and earth were born together with me; tracing back to the first beginning of number and principle, the myriad things and I are originally one body.

Master Fan says: When we investigate the origin of the physical body, Heaven and Earth arise together with me; when we trace the primal beginning of Qi and its numerical patterns, the myriad things are one body with me. What, then, can be called a “carriage”? What can be called a “person”? What can be called “falling”? What can be called “injury”? Once the mind of cleverness and discrimination is opened, people enter into mutual entanglement with external things; and so they cling to external things and take them as truly existing—what they see is indeed a “carriage.” Taking the self as real, what they know indeed contains “falling.” Once there is knowledge and perception, there is the distinction between riding and falling; how could one avoid injury?

The drunkard relies entirely on the power of wine to preserve himself; his mind is thereby blotted out and his perception darkened. Riding in a carriage, he does not know there is a carriage; falling, he does not know there is ground; birth, death, fear, and alarm do not enter his breast. He touches external things without fear. He has merely temporarily entrusted his whole body to wine, and it is still so—how much more so for one whose nature is complete and who has never departed from it?

The myriad things of the world are no more than one carriage, and man lodges his body upon it. If within the mind one starts the contrivances of clever perception, and those contrivances pursue the turmoil of illusion, then once that turmoil overturns a person into all kinds of false places, what is injured is not only the bones and joints. The sage hides himself within spontaneity; therefore no one can harm him. This is precisely the principle stated earlier: “preserve wholeness and leave no gap.”

Even so, it is called “Heaven” because it is set over against man: if man has a single nature, that is already no-nature—how much more so when there is still “Heaven”? It is called “hiding” because it is set over against “opening”: opening is Heaven; without Heaven there would be no hiding—how much more so when there is still “hiding”? One who can deeply penetrate and realize this layer will find therein a realm that words cannot discuss.

The original story: Lie Yukou (Liezi, a Daoist figure from the state of Zheng during the Warring States period) demonstrated archery for Bohun Wuren (a Daoist worthy). He drew the bow to the full, until the string was fully stretched and the arrowhead reached its limit; then he placed a cup of water on his elbow. His hand remained steady and fixed, and not a single drop of water in the cup spilled.

Guo Xiang’s commentary: When the arrow is shot, arrowheads fly out in succession. The arrow has just been released and has not yet reached the target when he again rests the cup back on his elbow; this speaks of the wonder of agility.

At this moment, Lie Yukou was like a wooden image, motionless and still.

Drawing the bow to full, placing a cup of water on the elbow and then shooting, loosing two arrows in succession with the second closely following the first while the arm remains steady as a clay sculpture or carved wood—this is the subtle excellence of archery. It requires singleness of mind, a settled spirit, and an unmoving body before one can reach this level.

Bohun Wuren said: “This is still shooting with a mind intent on shooting. Although one has exhausted the principles of archery, one still cannot avoid being entangled by concern for external things—victory and defeat, gain and loss. This is not yet ‘shooting without shooting.’ Forget the distinction between ability and inability; even if one does not shoot, it is the same as shooting.”

Bohun Wuren continued: “Suppose you and I climb a high mountain, tread on perilous rocks, and face a chasm a hundred ren deep—could you still shoot? As soon as fear arises within, your archery will fail.”

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang-dynasty Daoist and commentator on the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing, the True Classic of the Vast Void and Perfect Virtue) notes: Relying on one’s own skill and steadying one’s body merely means carefully responding to the situation at hand; it does not mean forgetting the physical form, discarding external things, and relying wholly on spirit to operate.

Thereupon Bohun Wuren indeed climbed the high mountain, trod on perilous rocks, faced the hundred-ren abyss, and retreated until his heels were at the cliff’s edge, with two-tenths of his foot hanging beyond it. He bowed to Yukou and invited him to come over. Yukou, however, lay prostrate on the ground, sweat flowing down to his heels.

Lu’s note: To feel fear on climbing high and approaching danger is because one worries about oneself and cherishes one’s life. One does not realize that clinging to the physical form precisely harms life, while forgetting the physical form can instead complete life. Yukou is only a man skilled at archery, not yet one who accords with the Great Dao. If one can forget the form and keep the Shen whole, and not be burdened by the things of the world, that is true “shooting without shooting.”

Bohun Wuren said: “The Perfected Person—one who has reached the highest stage of cultivating the Dao—can peer upward into the blue sky, dive downward into the Yellow Springs, and release the spirit into the farthest reaches of the eight directions, yet Shen and Qi remain not the slightest bit altered.”

Guo Xiang (a Western Jin Xuanxue thinker and commentator on the Zhuangzi) notes: “Huichi” means to release or let loose. When De (Virtue/Power) is full within, spiritual radiance fills without; whether near or far, hidden or deep, wherever one reaches is clear and penetrating. Thus one can discern the crux of safety and danger while inwardly remaining detached and content.

He lets himself go throughout the farthest limits of the eight directions, yet his spirit (Shen) and vital Qi remain unchanged from beginning to end. Guo Xiang’s commentary says: When De (Virtue/Power) is replete within, the spirit is full without. No matter how distant or deeply hidden, wherever it reaches it can see clearly; thus one can discern the crux of safety and danger, and inwardly one remains at ease and self-possessed.

Yet now your eyes wander and your mind is scattered; in the matter of archery you are already in danger. Guo Xiang says: Because you cannot understand the ultimate Dao, fear arises in your mind, and so the things you lose become many—how could it be only the skill of archery?

Lu Chongxuan (a Tang dynasty Daoist who annotated the Liezi) says: A person of the utmost Dao is at ease between heaven and earth; spirit and vital Qi are their own masters, and sorrow and joy cannot enter. Now you are still so fearful—how could this be close to the Dao? This is only the level of a beginner in archery; you have not grasped its subtle essence.

The Zhenghe commentary (a commentary from the Zhenghe era of the Northern Song; here it refers to the quoted commentary) says: Drawing the bowstring to full tension refers to strength; placing a cup of water on the elbow refers to steadiness and concentration. After an arrow is released, the next arrow follows closely upon the previous one, like a wooden puppet merely performing the movement—this refers to singleness of mind. Yet this skill has not reached the realm of penetrating the Dao, so it is called “the shooting of shooting,” not “the shooting of non-shooting” (that is, the realm of no-mind in shooting, in which one hits naturally).

The Perfected person (zhiren), one whose cultivation has reached the highest level, gazes upward at the blue sky—would that be only like climbing a high mountain? He sinks downward into the Yellow Springs—would that be only like approaching the depths of an abyss? The farthest limits of the eight directions are released at will, yet spirit and vital Qi do not change in the slightest—would he merely be one who retreats and lingers with both feet suspended beyond the edge and yet feels no fear?

Under such circumstances Liezi (Lie Yukou, a pre-Qin Daoist figure) was so frightened that he lay prone on the ground, sweating profusely, and could not even shoot. This shows that although he could guard purity and unity and keep De from being impaired, there was still something in his spirit that had not reached the ultimate. Therefore it says: In the realm of hitting the target, you are already in danger.

Fan’s commentary says: drawing the bow to its full extent is the utmost of holding fullness; placing a cup of water on the elbow without the slightest ripple is the utmost of steadiness. The first arrow has just been released, and the next is already nocked; front and back join without interruption. At this moment the archer is like a wooden puppet, single-minded in intent and wholly without distracting thoughts, just as Zhuangzi says, “looked at, it seems like a wooden rooster” (a fighting cock trained to the utmost appears like a carved wooden chicken, entirely free of agitation). This is the acme of archery. As for “shooting without shooting,” that is an even higher realm: even if one climbs a high mountain, treads upon dangerous rocks, faces a hundred-ren abyss, and stands in a perilous place, the mind remains unmoved, and no arrow misses; this is what is meant by “shooting without shooting.”

Extending this principle more broadly, the Perfect Man (zhiren), looking upward, can exhaust the height of the blue sky; looking downward, he can reach the depths of the Yellow Springs. He moves through the eight directions, yet his spirit and qi do not change in the slightest. This is truly the utmost great and utmost strong, filling the space between heaven and earth. How could one who has reached such a realm give rise to a shrinking heart out of fear?

During the Spring and Autumn period, in the state of Jin there was a son of the Fan clan named Zihua, who was skilled at cultivating a private reputation and was a wandering knight-errant; the people of the whole state admired him. He enjoyed the favor of the ruler of Jin, and although he held no office, his position was above that of Jin’s most honored Three Ministers (the three highest-ranking among the Six Ministers). Those he looked upon with favor, Jin would grant noble rank; those he despised, Jin would dismiss. Those who came and went at his gate had status equal to that of court ministers. Zihua had the retainers under his gate attack and criticize one another with cleverness and meanness, the strong oppressing the weak. Even when someone was wounded or disfigured in front of them, they did not care in the least. Day and night they took this as a game and a source of amusement, until almost the entire state had formed such a custom.

Lu Chongxuan, a Tang dynasty commentator, explains: the so-called “oblique gaze” means looking at someone out of the corner of the eye, with contempt filling the eyes; the so-called “biased fat” means backbiting slander being expressed with extreme harshness. The retainers at Zihua’s gate took other people’s judgments as the measure of their own honor and disgrace, so those who came to him were like the famous scholars of the Jin dynasty who esteemed pure conversation and character appraisal. Zihua let his retainers indulge their verbal cleverness without any scruple, so that slandering and insulting one another almost became the prevailing custom.

Two honored retainers of the Fan clan—an aristocratic family of the Spring and Autumn period—Hesheng and Zibo, went out and, passing through the outskirts, lodged at the house of a man named Shangqiu Kai. At midnight the two chatted about Zihua’s reputation and power, saying that he could make the living seem dead and give the dead fame again; that he could make the rich poor and the poor rich.

Lu Chongxuan comments: to make a living person “perish” is to disparage and defame him; to make a dead person “survive” is to praise him; to make a rich person “poor” is to strip him; to make a poor person “rich” is to bestow on him. Shangqiu Kai was shallow and did not understand these principles, so he thought all this was brought about by Zihua’s own power.

Shangqiu Kai, originally hard-pressed by hunger and cold, had hidden on the north side of the window and eavesdropped. So he borrowed some grain, carried a basket on his shoulder, and went to Zihua’s gate. Zihua’s disciples all came from prominent families; they wore white silk robes, rode in high carriages, walked slowly, and looked arrogant. When they saw that Shangqiu Kai was old and weak, dark-complexioned, and unkempt in dress and cap, they all looked at him askance with contempt. Then they teased, insulted, and deceived him; they pushed, twisted, and beat him, stopping at nothing. Shangqiu Kai to the end showed no angry expression, while the retainers, after mocking and laughing to the last, found themselves exhausted instead.

Lu Chongxuan comments: funong means extreme neglect; xiawu means approaching with disrespectful familiarity; qiyi means wildly deceiving; dang means touching and fiddling; bi means twisting and bending; ai means humiliating; and dan means defying and rejecting.

Zihuazi and Shangqiu Kai ascended a high terrace together, and in front of the crowd he said offhandedly, “Whoever dares to jump down from the terrace, I will reward with a hundred pieces of gold.” Everyone eagerly vied to respond.

Lu says (the commentator’s remark): This was using the foolish crowd to make sport of them, so they all merely pretended to compete in obeying the command.

Shangqiu Kai took it as true, and Zihuazi casually repeated it once more: “Whoever dares to jump down from the terrace, I will reward with a hundred pieces of gold.” The crowd again all vied to respond.

Lu says: Again this was using the foolish crowd to make sport of them, so everyone only pretended to compete in obeying the command.

Shangqiu Kai believed it was true, and so he was the first to jump down. His body was as light as a flying bird, and after landing he was completely unharmed. The crowd thought this was merely accidental and did not find it strange. Zihuazi then pointed to the deep water at a bend of the Yellow River and said, “There are precious pearls in there; dive into the water and you can get them.” Shangqiu Kai followed and dove into the water—what is called “swimming” here means moving submerged beneath the water. When he came out, he had indeed obtained the pearl. Only then did the crowd begin to be puzzled.

Zihuazi had earlier instructed his disciples to prepare meat and cloth for them as rewards in return. Soon afterward, a storehouse of the Fan family caught fire, and Zihuazi said, “Whoever can rush into the fire and bring out brocade will be rewarded according to how much he brings out.” Shangqiu Kai, without hesitation, entered the fire and moved back and forth taking things; smoke and dust did not cling to his body, nor was he scorched. The members of the Fan household thought he possessed Daoist arts and together apologized to him, saying, “We did not know that you, sir, possessed the Dao, and so we deceived you; we did not know you were a divine man, and so we treated you negligently. Are you making fools of us, or do you take us for deaf and blind? May we ask, sir, what your Dao actually is?”

Lu says: Jumping down from the high terrace like flying; diving into the water for the pearl as if walking on land; entering the fire and moving about unharmed—Zihua’s disciples all regarded him as wondrous and possessed of the Dao. This is a man who, when deceived, does not become angry; he must inevitably regard us deaf and blind people as his own kind. That is why they asked what his Dao really was.

Shangqiu Kai (a figure in the Liezi parable) said: I have already lost the Dao (the Way); even if I have thoughts in my mind, I do not know how to act. Nevertheless, there is one more point that I can try to tell you. Formerly, when your two retainers were staying at my home, I heard that the Fan family (a wealthy and powerful clan of the time) had great power and influence: they could make the living die and the dead come back to life, make the rich poor and the poor rich. I was utterly sincere and single-hearted, without duplicity, and so I came from a thousand li away. When I arrived here, I found that what your retainers said was all true. I only feared that my sincerity was insufficient and my actions could not keep up, so that I did not even know where my body should be placed or where benefit and harm lay. When the mind is single-minded, external things do not oppose it—perhaps that is all it amounts to. Only now do I realize that your retainers deceived me. Inwardly I harbor suspicion, while outwardly I presume to watch and listen with self-assurance; recalling that in the past I did not fall into difficulty or drown in it, I feel merely lucky. My heart is therefore frightened and feverish, alarmed and uneasy. How would I dare go near water and fire?

Lu (the commentator) says: Laozi says, “Great wisdom appears foolish.” It seems so, but in fact it is not. If only the will is single-minded and free of distracting thoughts, so that one can instantly forget one’s own body, then life and death, worry and fear cannot invade one. How much more is this true of one who is wholly united with the Dao, preserves the spirit so as to accord with true nature, whose wisdom pervades the cosmos and whose merit covers all things—how could such a person be discussed exhaustively? Thus it is clear that it is because notions of right and wrong arise in the mind that water and fire become things one dares not approach.

After this, when the followers of the Fan family met beggars and horse doctors on the road, they did not dare insult them; they would invariably alight from their carriages and bow to them. Zai Wo (a disciple of Confucius) heard about this and told Zhongni (Confucius). Zhongni said: “Do you not know? A person of utmost sincerity can move all things. One who can shake heaven and earth, evoke responses from ghosts and spirits, and move freely throughout the six directions (liuhe: heaven, earth, and the four quarters) with no one opposing him—how could this be merely a matter of being able to tread dangerous ground and enter water and fire? Shangqiu Kai believed in something false, and even so it did not oppose him; how much more so when both sides treat each other with sincerity? You must remember this.”

Lu says: Beggars and horse doctors are all people of low status; even when making fun of them, one would not dare treat them lightly. The Master’s teaching on the response elicited by utmost sincerity has already stated the principle exhaustively.

The way of the sage lies in sincerity and trustworthiness. When sincerity and trustworthiness are full, the spirit is complete. The sage embraces spirit and roams freely. In the ordinary world, people’s originally simple and complete nature has become obscured; thoughts of profit and cunning must all be forgotten. If the human heart is occupied by the fear of life and death, nothing else can enter the breast; thus one can withstand external things without being cowed by them, and walk above the myriad things without trembling.

If another meets me with falsehood and I respond with sincerity, what could fail to work? Thus Shangqiu Kai climbed a high terrace and threw himself down, swam in a bend of the river, and indeed obtained a precious pearl and came out. He went in and out of fire, and dust did not cover his whole body. That he was not scorched was because of his sincerity. Presumably, in the way of utmost sincerity, once one enters into it one is together with the spirit, unaware of where the body is placed and not calculating where benefit and harm lie; thus one can overcome external things and suffer no harm. For this reason, a drunken man who falls from a cart is not injured; when the Yellow Emperor lost the Mysterious Pearl, Xiangwang, a figure in myth, was able to recover it. As for treading on fire without feeling heat, Guan Yin, Laozi’s disciple, regarded this as the result of guarding pure Qi (vital energy).

If cunning calculation exists in the mind, the pure white nature is incomplete. If the pure white nature is incomplete, the spirit is unsettled, and the Dao cannot be borne within it. Thus Shangqiu Kai knew that such a claim was absurd and untrue. Afterward, when he recalled his former experience of not being scorched or drowned, he was frightened and trembled, and from then on dared not go near water or fire again. This was because once the calculating mind arose, doubt was born. To be sincere yet believe in something false, and to be insincere and therefore suspicious—such is the difference between the two. As for one of utmost sincere belief, he transcends even this: he can move Heaven and Earth, resonate with ghosts and spirits, and travel unobstructed throughout the four directions—how could it stop at treading dangerous places and entering water and fire?

Mr. Fan said: Those who rely on fame and power to raise themselves above others will find it hard to win people’s obedience anywhere; those who deal with people and things with honesty and trustworthiness will be at ease wherever they are. Shangqiu Kai (a legendary figure who moved people by his sincerity) was a man who embodied sincerity. When he heard Mr. Fan’s praise, he believed it to be true; when insulted by the crowd, he was not angry; when he fell from a high terrace, he was not injured by the stones; when he dived into a river bend to retrieve a pearl that had been thrown away, he was not drowned; when he reached into fire to take out a brocade, he was not scorched. Investigating the reason, it was simply that sincerity was stored in his heart, so he had no conflict with external things. With my sincerity, even the false things of others cannot harm me—how much less could they harm one of utmost sincerity and trustworthiness? That such a person can move Heaven and Earth, summon ghosts and spirits, and travel across the four quarters with none opposing him is therefore not at all surprising.

King Xuan of Zhou (a Western Zhou monarch) had a livestock officer under whom served a laborer named Liang Yang, who was skilled at taming wild birds and fierce beasts. He placed food in the garden, and even tigers, wolves, eagles, and ospreys—fierce creatures all—were docile. Males and females paired, multiplied in flocks, and different species lived together without biting one another. King Xuan worried that this skill would be lost with Liang Yang alone, so he ordered Mao Qiuyuan to study with him.

Liang Yang said: “I am only a lowly servant; what method do I have to tell you? What I fear is that Your Highness will think I am hiding something from you, so I will speak briefly about my way of raising tigers. Generally, if you follow a tiger, it is pleased; if you oppose it, it becomes angry. This is the nature of creatures with blood and Qi (vital energy). Yet their joy and anger do not arise at random; they are always provoked by opposition. Those who feed tigers dare not give them living creatures, for fear that in killing prey they will rouse the tiger’s anger; they dare not give them whole food, for fear that in tearing it apart they will rouse its anger. One must grasp the timing of its hunger and satiety and comply with its inclinations.”

Xiang Xiu (a Wei-Jin scholar) annotated: “Follow the very causes in its heart that would make it angry, and comply with them.” Tigers and humans are different species, yet a tiger can ingratiate itself with and draw close to the one who raises it, because its nature has been followed.

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing is the Daoist classic Liezi (it was honored as a scripture during the reign of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, hence the name). This passage uses the story of the seagulls to discuss the way of compliance and opposition.

The reason birds draw close to people and are willing to play with them is that people follow their inclinations; if people wish to harm them, they fly far away, because people go against their hearts. Thus, harming external things fundamentally consists in going against their hearts.

How, then, would I dare go against them and make them angry? Nor would I deliberately comply with them and make them joyful. After joy there is necessarily a turn to anger, and after anger there is often a turn to joy; this alternation of the two emotions departs from the “center.” If one cannot abide in a state of balance and harmony, things will reverse when they reach an extreme—this is an inevitable principle.

If my mind originally had no distinction between opposition and compliance, how could the birds become angry because of my opposition or joyful because of my compliance?