《玄真子外篇》

The Azure Void (Bixu), a blue-green emptiness, stretches vast and without bound. Revolving celestial bodies travel through the heaven of Qian (the direction of heaven), and the floating earth is like a tray that bears all things. The radiance of the sun and moon circles the paths of heaven: when the sun rises it brings heat, and after it sets the weather turns cold. The four seasons then turn in succession, and the myriad things change along with them. All this belongs to creative transformation—the process by which heaven and earth generate the myriad things—yet it is still not the root of that transformation.

Wuya, the figure who sets forth the argument in the text, said: “The emperor of the Yellow Suburbs is named Qibei; the emperor of the Purple Tenuity (Ziwei) is named Shenzun; the emperor of the Azure Void is named Linghuang. Qibei rules the earth, and the mountains, rivers, grasses, and trees are all in his charge. Shenzun rules the sky, and the sun, moon, and stars are all in his charge. Linghuang rules the void, and wind, thunder, clouds, and rain are all in his charge.”

When the Azure Void was at peace, the two emperors agreed to meet in spring. Before long Qibei ascended into the sky and Shenzun descended to the human world, and they met in Linghuang’s domain. Linghuang vacated the imperial throne, went out to the suburbs to receive them, and brought forth every delicacy and fine wine in his realm to entertain the two emperors. Heaped meats rose like rosy clouds, and wine poured out like rain. Thunder and lightning rushed about, the wind sounded like song, and the clouds seemed to dance. The great feast lasted for several months. Linghuang served as the host who received them, and no one, high or low, had any complaint.

The two emperors were greatly pleased. Feeling also that Linghuang had been generous to his guests and that they had nothing with which to repay him, they vied to yield their territories and invite Linghuang to rule. Shenzun said, “I have heaven.” Qibei said, “I have earth.” Puzzled by the names “heaven” and “earth,” Linghuang asked, “What I see when I look up is nothing more than the Azure Void, and what I see when I look down is no different from the Azure Void. Within this so-called Azure Void, what else is there after all? And what form do the heaven and earth of which you speak actually take?”

Qibei said, “My earth is vast and solid, and it can bring forth and nourish all living beings. High in the center and low all around, its configuration resembles Kun, the trigram symbolizing earth among the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). It rises tier upon tier like an altar platform, bearing the myriad things, its rim encircling the eight directions. The ocean surrounds nine great mountains. Rock is its bone, grasses and trees its hair, soil its flesh, springs its blood vessels, dew its sweat, and vapor its breath. Rivers and streams race off in every direction, and human beings, insects, birds, and beasts come and go among them. In its movement it resembles Qian, the trigram symbolizing heaven: it arches high aloft, as if it were a canopy, bearing the myriad things. The five planets and the host of stars are arrayed in interwoven ranks; the sun and moon travel their courses; the Milky Way runs across their midst; snow and colored clouds spread through the four quarters; and there are also the celestial palaces of the immortals. I wish you would go and dwell in heaven.”

Linghuang did not believe this, and asked, “If heaven is like a canopy, where is it hung? If earth is like an altar platform, on what does it rest below?”

Shenzun said, “This canopy of heaven is not suspended from any place. The revolving celestial bodies bear it, turning constantly toward the left, and the sun, moon, and stars move westward along with them.”

Qibei said, “Beneath this altar platform of the great earth, something like a tray has congealed and floats, and that is why the earth can remain steady.”

Linghuang said, “The revolving celestial bodies bear up heaven—but what, then, bears up that tray? Please tell me.”

Qibei said, “The revolving celestial bodies spread as a covering underneath, and that tray is precisely what upholds the earth. What do you still doubt?”

Linghuang said, “Alas, the forms of heaven and earth can indeed be explained in this way, and creative transformation may truly be as you say. If it were only this, one ought simply to stop here. Yet my void is vast and profound, an undifferentiated chaos without limit. All things can pass freely through it. It has no division of inside and outside, nor any distinction of east and west. Broad and surging, hazy and boundless, it contains the light of the sun and moon, reverberates with the sound of thunder, shows forth colors like the rainbow, and sets flying forms like dragons and luan birds. Seated, I can roam within it; reclining, I can be as much at ease as if I were swimming. The myriad things drift and float, and all can find their rest within it. It is at once empty and all-embracing, immense without boundary, and not confined by any hard, solid form. Its span of life does not depend on spring and summer in order to continue, nor does it decay with the passing years. It precedes heaven and earth, yet no beginning can be seen; it comes after heaven and earth, yet no one knows when it will end. Since this is so, how could I abandon my own enduring emptiness to accept the fleeting, tangible territories that are yours?”

When the two emperors had heard Linghuang’s words, they thanked him and then returned to their own domains. Qibei descended again to the Yellow Suburbs, and Shenzun ascended to the Purple Tenuity. Over those months their hearts had known no peace, and heaven and earth were thereby stopped up and could no longer communicate.

Hongxia zi, one who seeks the Dao (the Way), asked Bixu zi, one who has attained the Dao: “What, in the end, do the beginning of zaohua (the generation and transformation of heaven, earth, and the myriad things) and the root of ziran (the spontaneous source) actually look like? I wish to enter your realm and see for myself. May I hear you speak of it?”

Bixu zi pondered for a moment, and his expression suddenly opened into clarity. Raising his head toward Tailiao (the boundless realm of emptiness), he intoned and sang the Song of Kongdong (the Hollow Void), and replied: “Nothing presides over it, yet it is so of itself—this is the source of ziran. Nothing fashions it, yet the myriad things are transformed and brought forth from it—this is the beginning of zaohua. It is vast, empty, and profound, its form a single undifferentiated whole. Draw back your gaze and cut off all deliberation, and you may contemplate it.”

Hongxia zi said: “A person such as I ordinarily roams in freedom, and has suddenly arrived here. I wish to take your words as a boat and ride them in carefree wandering. I cannot even pause to take my leave; I want first to go and behold it.”

Bixu zi then guided him, saying: “When nothing by human effort makes it so, and yet it is spontaneously so, this is called xuanran (mysterious spontaneity). When nothing by human effort produces change, and yet change arises of itself, this is called zhenhua (true transformation). Of the mysterious and the true: without deliberately seeking the mysterious, one nevertheless reaches the mysterious—this is called zhenxuan (the truly mysterious). Without deliberately seeking the true, one nevertheless reaches the true—this is called xuanzhen (the mysteriously true).

“Do not cling to why ziran is as it is; only by merging into ziran can one contemplate ziran. Do not cling to why change occurs; only by merging into change can one contemplate zaohua. Do not cling to the mysterious; only by merging into the mysterious can one contemplate zhenxuan. Do not cling to the true; only by merging into the true can one contemplate xuanzhen.

“The true and the mysterious are one body with each other: within the true there is the mysterious, and within the mysterious there is the true. Only when, within the mysterious, one does not cling to the true does the genuinely true appear; only when, within the true, one does not cling to the mysterious does the genuinely mysterious appear. Only thus can one ascend to the heaven of Tailiao.

“Wuyou (non-being) is the beginning of youwu (being and non-being); youwu is the inception of wuyou. When wuyou arises and youwu is established, zaohua operates within them.

“When zaohua arises, emptiness makes the myriad things full, wind sets them in motion, water causes them to cohere, consciousness causes them to respond, and Qi (vital energy) causes them to interpenetrate; thus the myriad things are thereby brought to completion. Emptiness allows the original substance to be preserved; wind brings function into play; water makes form appear; the responsiveness of consciousness gives rise to thought; the interpenetration of Qi establishes intention. Only when the original substance is preserved can the root be made firm; only when function comes into play can one see clearly the gradual change of things; only when form appears can one observe transformation; only when thought arises can one recognize change; only when intention is established can one examine the principles of things in detail.

“Therefore, the root that can be made firm is the original substance of emptiness; the gradual change that can be seen clearly is the function of wind; the transformation that can be observed is the form condensed by water; the change that can be recognized is the thought produced by consciousness; the principle that can be examined in detail is the intention established by Qi. Hence wind and water vie with one another in transformation, so that the myriad things each differ; consciousness and Qi manifest every kind of intention, so that mental conceptions each differ.

“Zaohua revolves in heaven and is thereby able to endure constantly; it drifts over the earth and is thereby able to continue. Its movement is endless and inexhaustible; its generation follows no fixed manner; its transformation has no limit; and according with it likewise has no end.

“If one traces zaohua back to its source, what, finally, is one to say? The generation and transformation of zaohua are rooted in the primordial beginning; its vastness, reaching to the utmost extreme, is rooted in wu (non-being); its being so of itself is rooted in xu (vacuity); its having neither form nor trace, yet being able to persist, is rooted in miao (the subtle and marvelous). Observe the source upon which it depends, and the origin of zaohua will become manifest.”

Hongxiazi deeply understood the principles by which the myriad things come into being and change, yet he worried that he kept falling into want. He therefore bathed in the radiance of the red sun and drew in the pure Qi (vital energy) of the azure emptiness, hoping thereby to replenish himself. He cut off the rites of congratulation and condolence, rarely came and went among relatives and friends, and roamed alone in company with the Great Void (Taixu). He often gathered with others for talk; servants kept the gate facing the wind and lit lamps to carry on where the moonlight left off, and pure conversation continued all night without cease.

A man who clung to worldly pleasures and a life of rank and prominence heard of this and came to visit. Seeing Hongxiazi’s lanes empty and still and his dwelling desolate, his face full of worry, he felt ashamed at heart and said, “I cannot even look after my own livelihood—how could I have any mind left for the Creative Transformation?” Hongxiazi replied, “I take myself to be an intimate of the Creative Transformation; there is nothing in its principles that is unclear to me. Yet the Creative Transformation simply does not recognize me, and that is why I am left in want. I have no debt to the Creative Transformation; rather, the Creative Transformation is ashamed before me. I shall go and call it to account, so that you need worry no longer and your shame may be removed.”

Thereupon Hongxiazi harnessed the steed of the red sun, mounted the carriage of the azure emptiness, set his robes in order, and drove forth. Passing through the Realm of All Nothings, he met Tongkong and asked to borrow the road. Tongkong asked who he was and why he had come. Hongxiazi explained his purpose. Tongkong said, “If the Creative Transformation is the master of the myriad things, then in my realm there is no Creative Transformation for you to call to account, nor any road to lend. You had best go another way.”

Hongxiazi turned south. Passing through the Domain of Spontaneity (Ziran), he met Huayuan and again asked to borrow the road. Huayuan said, “The Creative Transformation is a brother realm of mine—have you not heard? If you borrow my road to revile my kin, I become your enemy. My subordinates and I will attack you.”

Hongxiazi then drove west. Passing through the State of Non-Abiding, he met Yinben. Yinben refused him, saying, “To borrow a road one must have credentials and means—do you not know this? If you have a carriage that can fly through the void and a jade disc that symbolizes luminous emptiness, I will open the pass for you.” Hongxiazi said, “If I possessed such resources as a jade disc and a carriage, I would not go to revile the Creative Transformation, still less come to you to borrow a road.”

He went on toward the north. Passing through the Wilds of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), he met Shengshou. Shengshou rebuked him, saying, “How is it that you understand only now? The dwelling of the Creative Transformation may be known, yet it cannot be approached; it may be heard of, yet one cannot grow intimate with it. Even if you wish to borrow my road, by what means would you arrive there? You wish to go and revile the Creative Transformation—I fear it cannot be done at all.”

Hearing Shengshou’s words, Hongxiazi was melancholy and lost in spirit. He hesitated and paced about, and at last could only turn his carriage and horses around, intending to return to the human world. As he passed the outskirts of the Mysterious Plain, he lost his way on the herding road. Just then the youth Shen and the youth Yi were swimming and playing in the Mysterious Stream, and Hongxiazi asked them the way.

The two youths asked, “What is your surname, sir? You have trudged across the void and passed through the heights of cloud and mist; your carriage and horses are already weary. Where do you still mean to go, and why have you come to ask the way?” Hongxiazi said, “My name is Hongxiazi. I once thought that I understood the Creative Transformation, yet the Creative Transformation gives me no regard. Now the resources on which I depend to live are insufficient, and I have become a laughingstock in the eyes of those who covet worldly things. That is why I wished to call the Creative Transformation to account. I sought a road to the east, the west, the south, and the north, and succeeded in none of them: in the Realm of All Nothings to the east, Tongkong questioned me; in the State of Non-Abiding to the west, Yinben refused me; in the Wilds of Taiji to the north, Shengshou rebuked me; and in the Domain of Spontaneity to the south, Huayuan blocked me. Thinking that evening was near and the road long, I turned back toward the human world, only to lose my way here. Fortunately I have met you, and I wish to inquire. May I ask who you are? What you say truly has reason.”

The two youths said, “We are Shen and Yi. We once herded the roads with the Creative Transformation on the mysterious outskirts. Just now we played a game called Liuse and lost the road. Fearing that the Creative Transformation would blame us, we hesitated and did not go on, and so came to the Mysterious Plain to swim. We ourselves are distressed at having lost the road—how would we dare go to see the Creative Transformation? Yet you, on account of a worldly shame, come seeking audience with our lord. Fortunately you met those feudal lords and heard their questioning; otherwise you would likely still have been set on blaming the Creative Transformation. This is upon the Mysterious Plain—why look any further at the two of us swimming? Since you, sir, left the human world and came here without seeing the Creative Transformation, and now, having lost the way, ask us for directions, how will you face the elders and brothers of the human world when you later wish to return to your old dwelling? Better to take off your robes and swim with us, drifting with the waves and roaming freely for a while. When we have drawn a map of the route, we will accompany you to pay respects to the Creative Transformation. Would you not then understand all at once?”

So Hongxiazi too entered the water, now floating up and now sinking down, and swam along the current. Together with the two youths he rode the mysterious waves and drifted beyond the four quarters of heaven and earth, and in a moment they reached the realm where the Creative Transformation dwells. Spontaneity offered them robes of constant suchness, and Taiji sent food of the Limitless (Wuji). Hongxiazi and the two youths put on the robes and ate the food, and at once a radiance shone through heaven and earth. They then paid respects to Huazhen and turned to look down upon the human world. What the world calls glory and shame were, in Huazhen’s eyes, nothing but vain and delusive views. They only feared that the Creative Transformation might learn that Hongxiazi had originally meant to revile it.

Hongxiazi then asked the Creative Transformation where the Dao of which the two youths had spoken actually was. The two youths answered, “Clinging neither to ‘perishing’ nor to ‘not perishing,’ the Dao does not leave the sovereign’s homeland.” The Creative Transformation was delighted and said, “To regard ‘being’ as being is to be able not to lose its being; to regard ‘perishing’ as perishing is to be able not to lose its perishing. To regard ‘not-being’ as not-being is likewise not to lose its not-being; to regard ‘not-perishing’ as not-perishing is likewise not to lose its not-perishing. Herding the outskirts of the Mysterious Plain without being constrained by borders, you have already understood the method of guiding the road.”

Thereupon Hongxiazi put on the clothes given by Spontaneity, ate the food given by Taiji, gladly heeded the words of the Creative Transformation, and received its aid. He took leave of the Creative Transformation and departed together with the two youths, preparing to return to his old dwelling.

On this journey he met the Great Void at Tongkong. The Great Void said, “Ever since you went to behold the Creative Transformation, you have lived alone in a desolate dwelling, cold and solitary. I have been concerned whether you are safe and well in the human world.” Hongxiazi replied, “Just now I saw with my own eyes the form of the Creative Transformation, grasped with my heart its intent, and heard with my ears its words. I understood that the ultimate Dao has no fixed being or non-being. How could I still take the being and non-being of the human world as so solid?”

He went on, “The root of Huayuan lies in observing non-being from the side of being, and observing being from the side of non-being. How, then, should such a principle be described? One may say: its countenance and its words are profound and subtle, hard to understand, and also vast and far-reaching, hard to exhaust. Thus what is profound and subtle is hard to illumine, and what is vast and far-reaching is hard to make plain. The forms of the myriad things are endless, each different from the others; the minds of the myriad things have no fixed direction. Therefore those of old who ascended Tailiao and contemplated Huayuan, knowing that the working of the Creative Transformation is subtle and inexhaustible, composed the Song of Tailiao and sang: ‘How numinous and wondrous is Huayuan! How clear and bright the azure void! How luminous the red aurora! How profound and far-reaching! The function of the Creative Transformation is boundless and without limit!’”

If one cannot regard the differing forms of the myriad things as continuous with one another, and again regard the place of that continuity as each having its differences; if one cannot regard the differing minds of the myriad things as continuous, and also see that within that continuity difference still remains; and if one cannot race onward free of preconception and arrive at the realm of the profound and far-reaching—then how can one roam the Great Non-being and realize that state of the Creative Transformation which transcends being and non-being?

Xuanzhenzi said: If one does not rely on thought that races in pursuit, and yet can still reach places dark, remote, and profound, then by what means can one travel all around the Great Void—the vast and boundless cosmos—and observe the wonders of creation and transformation, the coming-into-being and changing of all things between heaven and earth?

Jingnu

Jingnu came from the east, and Jiaomo came from the Western Regions. The two met on the plains of the Central Lands and matched themselves in empty, insubstantial words, contending for victory by means of sound.

Jingnu then opened his mouth as if drawing a bow and gave forth a soft, chirping cry, saying: “I have heard that sighing, crying out in alarm, breathing out warmly, and blowing are all breath issuing at the throat; chewing, sipping, tasting, and swallowing are all the tongue discerning flavors; looking askance, recognizing, calling out, and examining are all the eyes observing; striking, drawing, plucking, and mimicking sounds are all the ears distinguishing the tones of bells and drums. With this, everything has already been said.”

Jiaomo hastily opened his mouth and shouted aloud: “I have heard that the sun, the moon, comets, and bo stars—celestial phenomena of the comet kind, as the ancients spoke of them—all shine brightly in the sky; peaks, ridges, hills, and crags stand high and low, rugged and unbroken; waves, tides, still waters, and whirlpools surge and spread through the water; peaks, ridges, hills, and crags stand high and low, rugged and unbroken; waves, tides, still waters, and whirlpools roll vast through the water; and goblins and specters such as the chi and the mei appear and vanish in the world of ghosts and spirits. With this, too, everything has already been said.”

The general sense is this: the two argued back and forth, their words pouring on like a spring, each supposing that he had already spoken to the very end. Yet Jingnu opened ten thousand mouths, as if he would turn speech into a jesting performance; Jiaomo raised his fur and shook his tail, sounding from the throat so as to overawe others.

Zhonghuazi sighed and said: “If one speaks only of what lies near, in one’s own person, Jingnu’s words may still be considered apt; if one speaks of external things afar, Jiaomo’s words may still be considered apt. These two have turned away from the realm of silence and laboriously contend by means of sound. Even if their gaze were like lightning and their tongues like thunder, they could do no more than startle a deep valley. How could they make the Dao (the Way) resound along the shore of the vast sea?”

Note: The original is interspersed with many fanqie phonetic glosses and phrases that appear to be corrupt; the above renders the general sense according to context. Among these, “Jingnu” and “Jiaomo” are the appellations of figures in the text.

Tailiao asked Wubian: “Amid the transformations of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, the ten thousand phenomena each differ from one another. As for the utmost extremes of great and small, of being and non-being, can these be explained clearly?”

Wubian replied: “As I see it, what is smallest is instead greatest, and what is greatest is instead smallest; what is most empty and void instead exists, and what is most solid and real is instead empty. Do you understand?”

Tailiao said: “I have heard that the smallest cannot become great, and the greatest cannot become small; the most empty cannot become solid and real, and the most solid and real cannot become empty. When you say that ‘the smallest is instead the greatest, and the most empty instead exists,’ what do you mean?”

Wubian said: “Let me tell you. If we speak of the smallest and the greatest, nothing is more extreme than emptiness; if we speak of utmost non-being and utmost being, nothing is more extreme than the Dao (the Way). Why do I say this? Emptiness contains heaven and earth and also extends beyond all that exists—is this not precisely what is greatest? It also enters within the finest mote of dust, so subtle that nothing can be seen—is this not precisely what is smallest? Search throughout heaven and earth and the four directions, and the Dao cannot be found—is this not precisely utmost non-being? It stands beyond the transformations of the myriad things, yet is present everywhere and cannot be escaped—is this not precisely utmost being? Therefore it is said that the smallest is instead the greatest, and the greatest is instead the smallest; what is most non-existent instead exists, and what is most existent is instead empty. Is it not so?”

When creation first arose, nine vast powers—wind, cloud, thunder, sea, fire, sun, earth, heaven, and the void—contended with one another, each boasting of its own might.

Wind said, “I stir the Qi (vital energy) of primordial chaos. I howl and roar, lift great rocks, uproot trees, and drive the waves into a surge. Who can be mightier than I?”

Cloud-vapor rose and said, “I appear and vanish in a moment, dense and dim. I cover the sea and the mountains, hide the sun, and fill the sky. Who can be mightier than I?”

Thunder rumbled and said, “I crash and resound, coming on swift and violent, like a chariot wheel spinning at full speed, with lightning flashing and peals that startle. Great floods pounding like drums, and fierce beasts roaring in rage, cannot match my force. Who can be mightier than I?”

The sea-waves surged and said, “I am boundlessly vast, my billows heaving. I overturn giant sea-turtles and toss whales, as if I could collapse the islands of the sea and overturn heaven and earth. Who can be mightier than I?”

Flame blazed and said, “My light leaps up, bright and dazzling. I scorch the myriad things, so fiercely hot that even the bright sun seems blackened by the heat. Who can be mightier than I?”

The sun shone and said, “My radiance is brilliant and lights heaven and earth. I am hot enough to melt metal and scorch stone. Who can be mightier than I?”

The earth shook and said, “I am solid, weighty, and vast, with towering mountains and flowing rivers. I can contain the oceans and link the rivers, and I can also set the mountain ridges trembling. Who can be mightier than I?”

Heaven resounded and said, “I am lofty, far-reaching, vast, and deep. I embrace water and wind, and I cover the earth and the whole cosmos. Who can be mightier than I?”

The void, broad and open, said, “I am empty without limit, vacant, still, and formless, vast and profound. I embrace heaven and earth and give birth to Yin-Yang. Who can be mightier than I?”

The nine powers argued for a time, and Wind spoke again: “Who can be mightier than we?” The void replied, “I have heard the Most High (Taishang, an honorific in Daoism for the supreme Dao, or for a revered deity) say that the Dao (the Way) alone is the greatest. We may go and ask.”

Thereupon the clouds drew in their breath, the wind stopped blowing, the sun ceased to blaze, the sea-waves grew calm, the earth stopped shaking, the flames went out, heaven grew quiet, and the void no longer showed the stirring of its emptiness. Thunder was invited into the realm of the Dao. There, sound gave way to echo, and form gave way to shadow. One clung neither to being nor to non-being, and neither to movement nor to stillness. After the nine powers had seen this, each withdrew for the time being and yielded to the others. Together they brought about the state of Wuwei (non-action), until the end of the long kalpas of the mundane world.

The form of the Dao is song; the shadow of the Dao is emptiness; the sound of the Dao is nothing; the echo of the Dao is the state of the beginning. Vast and openly expansive, formless and without trace, it returns to vanishing; stretching far, it returns to the beginning; still and settled, it is at ease of itself. If one names it with the words “yi,” “xia,” “ming,” “mo,” “yin,” “bo,” “xuan,” and “yuan,” it is because these words express, respectively, forgetting and loss, remote and profound distance, bright illumination, deep and silent stillness, firm solidity and depth, boundless vastness, dark mystery and spiritual subtlety, and complete perfection.

Therefore it is said that De (Virtue/Power) means obtaining. To be able to obtain while not clinging to “obtaining,” and also to understand while not taking “obtaining” as what has been obtained—this is the De of one who has attained the Dao. What is a person who has gained this De like? Confucius proclaimed De without making himself the center. Laozi possessed De while remaining simple and uncarved. Zhuangzi (Nanhua), after attaining the Dao, could let his Shen (spirit) come and go alone with heaven and earth, without looking down on the myriad things. The Perfected One of Chongxu, after attaining the Dao, could ride the wind with light ease. Yan Hui, after attaining the Dao, communed with the Great Dao. As for Daliao, to attain the Dao was to transcend beginning and end. Even if one thinks with all one’s strength, one cannot probe the matter to the bottom—how then could one exhaust the source of the myriad things?

The insect that fears the dark at night can light its own belly. The insect that hides in a basket-shell can slip into crevices. The insect that carries bits of grass and filth can move about in the grass. The sprout-cicada (a kind of cicada) that grows in the soil clings to the earth. Each thought its own way of living the best, and so they mocked one another.

The belly-lighting insect mocked the basket-bodied insect, saying, “You think yourself skilled at nurturing life, hiding in your shell and drawing in when danger comes. Yet whenever you go in or out you must crane your head and peer about, easily startled by outside things. You are not so much at ease as I am, hidden in the dark.”

The filth-bearing insect mocked the basket-bodied insect, saying, “You think yourself skilled at nurturing life, with your body drawn into the shell, having to mind your head whether you advance or retreat, and shrinking back into the shell when frightened. You always suffer the worry of hesitating at going in and out. You are far less at ease than I am, with my form covered over.”

The root-cicada mocked the filth-bearing insect, saying, “You think yourself skilled at nurturing life, with bits of grass and filth clinging to your body and your movements slow, so that outside things do not easily notice that you are moving, or even that you are alive. Yet you still worry about wind and fire. You are not so secure as I am, fixed in the soil.”

These insects mocked one another, each relying on its own ability. Xuanhua (the spots of light that appear before the eyes when vision blurs), hearing this, also mocked the root-cicada, saying, “You think yourself skilled at nurturing life. You hide mouth and eyes, empty and still the mind, fill the belly, take root in the soil, and draw water and earth from outside without moving. Like a sprout you grow from the back, receiving wind and sunlight. Yet you are still burdened by bodily form and limited by what has substantial existence. Once digging and destruction come, you will still come to harm. You are not so much at ease as I am, sudden, fleeting, and without any fixed state.”

The root-cicada said, “I find creation truly wondrous. From ancient times to the present, among insects that know how to hide the mouth, hide the eyes, empty the mind, and fill the belly, I fear that none is more accomplished than I in nurturing life. Just now I heard only your voice and could not clearly see your form. What kind of being are you, and from where were you born?”

Xuanhua replied, “I am born of dizziness in the eyes and appear as the gaze falls into disorder. When slow, I am like stars strung in a line; when swift, I am like blossoms scattering in a flurry. Try to grasp me and you cannot catch me; try to be rid of me and you cannot succeed. Say that I do not exist, and yet I appear; say that I exist, and I am not a solid thing. When I come, I suddenly manifest, as if issued from creation; when I depart, I am silent and without trace, returning to the Great Void. Only one who can roam beyond the myriad things can see the realm of ease in which I dwell.”

Seen from the round, the round may also appear as square; seen from the square, the square may also appear as round. Therefore it is said that what is supremely round has no fixed circular form, yet can present itself as square, and what is supremely square has no fixed square form, yet can present itself as round. That which can make the round within the square is called the Great Round; that which can make the square within the round is called the Great Square.

The Great Square said, “In the past I took your roundness for squareness, yet you did not know my squareness.” The Great Round said, “In the past I took your squareness for roundness, yet you did not know my roundness.” This is because square and round are not fixed and unchanging. When the compass faces the void, the void does not thereby show a circle; when the carpenter’s square (the tool for drawing right angles) faces empty space, that space does not thereby show a square. Thus, if one can let mind and spirit wander at ease in the realm of the most profound stillness, so that compass and square lose any object on which to exercise their skill, one draws near to the state of which the Great Round and the Great Square speak.

Why is this so? There is a reason in it. Thus, if one takes a compass to regulate nothingness, nothingness remains nothingness, yet people do not know that it was never round to begin with; if one takes a carpenter’s square to measure emptiness, emptiness remains emptiness, yet people do not know that it was never square to begin with. Seen in this light, when the mind and Shen (spirit) roam in the realm of utmost stillness, so that compass and square cannot put their skill to use, this realm is perhaps perfect roundness and perfect squareness.

The people of the land of Wa told a story like this:

In the Eastern Sea there was a bird named the Hong. Its body was far larger than a quail’s, second only to the Peng. It drifted over the vast sea, swallowing giant whales, and when it had eaten its fill it soared to the edge of the azure sky.

Fangfeng Yaohuomeqie (a personal name) was a hunter of birds. With a great bow he hooked prey as numerous as the myriad things. Seeing the huge Hong fly past, he drew his bow and shot, and a single arrow struck home. The Hong cried out in fury, its voice surpassing thunder. In an instant its blood converged into rivers, and the falling feathers blotted out the sun. It tumbled and fell, its force filling the air, and at last crashed upon the broad wilderness, shaking the earth with a roar. Even the Taixu (the vast, boundless sky) echoed in response, and the creative powers of heaven and earth seemed to tremble as well.

Fangfeng Yaohuomeqie led people hurrying to view it, and they arrived only after ten days. He then climbed onto the body of the giant bird and gazed afar at the four seas; the bird’s body was so lofty that it seemed to cover the earth. He therefore summoned cooks from all under heaven and raised cloud-ladders to dismember the giant bird. Cooks from every region busied themselves with the cooking; steam gathered into clouds, and the firewood of the mountains and forests was used up. Roasting the bird’s flesh took seven years, and still the people of the Central Plains could not all have tasted it. Rendering the bird’s fat took nine years, and still the distant regions could not all be coated with it. People also wove its feathers into boats that scattered across the great sea, called “quail-feather ships.” Fangfeng Yaohuomeqie thought the power of his bow miraculous, and so he often fasted and bathed before offering sacrifice to it. All those under heaven who were widely learned, fond of curiosities, and given to talking of strange things came by carriage to see it. The might of this bow and arrow had never been known since heaven and earth were first opened, and now it was manifested here.

End of the middle fascicle of the Outer Chapters of the Xuanzhenzi.

The lower fascicle of the Outer Chapters of the Xuanzhenzi, composed by Xuanzhenzi Zhang Zhihe of the Tang dynasty.

The Spirit of the Waves.

The spirit of the tides is named Jiang Xu, and the spirit of the Han River is named He Gu. The two met in the wilderness of Zhenyuan. Jiang Xu asked He Gu, “I took you to be water. You hang in the sky and do not disperse, and at night you even shine. How does this differ from the rivers on earth?”

He Gu replied, “People of the world call me a spirit, and only for that reason do they describe me so. What do I myself know? Have you never heard? To sail a boat across the heavens, to flow along the edge of the sky, and to keep the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl gazing at each other from opposite banks of the river—all these are within my power. Let me ask you in turn: I took you to be rushing water. Why do you sometimes withdraw and advance no farther, and sometimes rise on schedule, as if you had awareness?”

Jiang Xu said, “People of the world call me a numen, and only for that reason am I described so. What do I myself know? Have you never heard? To surge like sudden thunder, to fly like white egrets, to appear as white carriages and white horses, as though the three armies were galloping out on campaign—all these are within my power.”

Jiang Xu and He Gu then looked at each other and laughed. Each thought himself numinous and wondrous, and proudly felt that nothing else could compare. The subtle profundity of the Dao (the Way) lies here, in the wilderness of Zhenyuan.

At that moment someone overheard their words and said, “Are you Jiang Xu and He Gu? Now I will tell you. I saw with my own eyes the opening of Heaven and Earth, and only afterward did I see the tidal waters and the Heavenly Han appear. These names of yours were merely passed along through the mouth of the shaman Wu Xian, and then set into the legends of antiquity. Is this not very close to fiction? Deluded people explain for themselves the puzzles of the tidal waters and the Heavenly Han, and falsely attribute them to the divinities Jiang Xu and He Gu. Why do you accept the questions of the superstitious without knowing it yourselves, and even claim the ingenuity of creation as your own merit? Are you not afraid of being mocked beneath the Yellow Springs by the ghosts of the superstitious?”

Hearing this, Jiang Xu and He Gu were startled and afraid. They apologized and asked, “I had thought you a friend to us. You are still and unmoving, yet you can respond to the myriad things; you point out our delusions and bring us to awakening. Do you too have a mind? We have heard that the subtlety of the Dao already existed before Heaven and Earth, and that in the wilderness of Zhenyuan it is called ‘Zhixuan’ (the Ultimate Mystery). Might this be you? May we ask your name? We wish to understand why we are said to be numinous and divine, and we also wish to know the root of the tidal waters and the Heavenly Han. Can you tell us?”

Zhixuan replied, “I will tell you. If you wish to understand the origin of the Heavenly Han, observe the pattern of the azure sky: it has textures of pure white. Then observe the belly of the firefly, and you will see changes of brightness and dark. These are differences of form and of light and color. Where is there truly a spirit He Gu? Vast as the Heavenly Han is, it is not something an ordinary river can explain.

“If you wish to understand the origin of the tidal waters, observe the circulation of the blood vessels: there is a tendency to flow back and forth. Then observe the leaves of the locust tree: they have their seasons of opening and closing. This is the responsive stirring of Qi (vital energy). Where is there truly a numen Jiang Xu? Mighty as the ocean tides are, their root cannot be seen by relying on spiritual awareness.

“If you wish to understand my teaching, observe that empty space has no form yet does not move recklessly, and that the mountain valley is without feeling yet can answer sound. This manifests the realm of emptiness and stillness. Where is there, apart from this, a mysterious entity named ‘Zhixuan’? However subtle my teaching may be, it cannot be known by a mind that clings to distinctions.

“I will tell you something more. In the Kunlun Mountains there is a kind of ‘insect of knowing.’ Because what it has seen and heard is narrow and its insight shallow, it borrows my ‘non-being’ (wu) and your ‘being’ (you), insists that He Gu has divinity and Jiang Xu has numinous power, and presumptuously speaks of the Dao of Zhixuan. It is in just this way that such baseless talk arises.

“I observe that between Heaven and Earth there are six phenomena that seem divine and extraordinary, yet each has its cause. Seawater, struck and churned by river currents, becomes billows and tides. The bright stellar patterns of the night sky form the Heavenly Han. Firelight reflected upon the clouds becomes lightning. The hue of rain set against the sun produces the rainbow. Yang Qi (the bright aspect of Yin-Yang) moving through the void gives rise to thunder. And when mind and intellect cast off the pull of external objects, the Dao appears. Whatever comes to be has its cause. It is not because you are numinous and I am mysterious that the myriad things are so; yet the ‘non-being’ of which I speak is not absolute emptiness either. The tidal waters, the Heavenly Han, lightning, the rainbow, thunder, and the Dao each have the root from which they take form. What, then, can the ‘being’ to which you cling explain?”

Jiang Xu and He Gu rose together and danced in thanks, saying, “What you say is indeed reasonable. In the past we were deluded, and so took each other for divine spirits. We are willing to accompany you, roaming in the realm of no-mind, and thus pass what remains of our lives. Deceived while alive by the sayings of the insect of knowing, we shall in death be buried in the wilderness of Zhenyuan. Why should we still cling to borrowing the tidal waters and the Heavenly Han as names under which to pose as numinous beings, and let the ghosts of the superstitious mock us beneath the Yellow Springs?”

That summer, Tongzhen Bo, Guanzhi Jun—the Lord of Observation—and Zuowang Hou—the Sovereign of Sitting in Forgetfulness—gathered in the land of Kui to discuss the cultivation of the Dao. At the gathering, the Lord of Observation and Zuowang Hou argued over whether the Dao is ultimately “being” or “non-being,” debating without cease, and the whole day brought no result.

The Lord of Observation said, “Setting out from the Pavilion of Observation, I know that the Dao is not wholly non-being, for I have seen its existence.”

Zuowang Hou said, “Sitting on the Terrace of Forgetfulness, I realized that the Dao is not substantially existent, and so I know that it is non-being.”

Tongzhen Bo said to them, “The ultimate Dao should not be divided into being and non-being. Have you not seen the sun, moon, and stars in the sky? Their positions are high or low, the sun and moon differ in size, and the range over which the stars are spread is broad or narrow. If one judges size by distance, and takes the sun as the example, one will mistakenly see it as both cold and small. If one judges distance by heat and cold, and again takes the sun, one will mistakenly think it very near. From this we know that far and near have no absolute difference in themselves. It is only that, when one looks from different directions, the eye naturally produces different impressions.

“Raise a plate on a pole a hundred feet long. Whether a person looks while lying down or while standing, the distance between the plate and the person is the same, yet the sense of its size differs. This shows that what the eye sees is affected by the angle of view. That the sunlight of east and west differs in strength may also be due only to a difference in the angle at which the light falls, and to the rising of Yin Qi in this place.

“The manifestation of the Dao within the mind is like this. At the Pavilion of Observation or the Terrace of Forgetfulness, the state of mind is not the same, and so one person feels that the Dao is being, while another feels that it is non-being. If one takes the Dao to be being and sends the Lord of Observation to the Terrace of Forgetfulness, he too will realize non-being. If one takes the Dao to be non-being and sends Zuowang Hou to the Pavilion of Observation, he too will recognize being. This is only that the observers’ states of mind differ. The fundamental reality of being and non-being is not two different things; the difference comes from human clinging and obstruction.

“To argue over the nearness or farness of the sun, moon, and stars is to have failed to understand the differences produced by the angle of view. To argue over the being or non-being of the ultimate Dao is to have failed to comprehend the obstruction brought by clinging.”

Hearing this, the two closed their mouths and withdrew.

Master Daxuan said, “The gathering in the land of Kui brought into communication the dispute over the nearness and farness of the sun, moon, and stars, and also reconciled the disagreement over the being and non-being of the ultimate Dao. It laid open prejudices that past and present had left unclear, and removed the superfluous words of unresolved debate, so that the Lord of Observation let go of his clinging and Zuowang Hou ceased to argue. All of this was the achievement of Tongzhen Bo.”

Wu Sheng excelled at painting ghosts. On white walls he worked with an ink brush, his strokes swift as wind racing and lightning flashing: sometimes he first drew a ghost’s feet, and sometimes a hand appeared first; when the body was complete, it indeed accorded with the figure’s expression. The picture seemed wholly spontaneous, as if it manifested the mystery of creation. For this his name was known throughout the land, and he reached the age of sixty. Painters everywhere admired his marvelous skill, yet none could ever fully grasp it.

When Xuanzhenzi heard of this, he went to visit Wu Sheng and asked, “May I ask what the secret of painting ghosts is? Why does your technique seem inexhaustible?” Wu Sheng said with pleasure, “You are not a painter—why do you inquire so deeply?” Wu Sheng had just finished a painting; he bowed to Xuanzhenzi and invited him to drink wine. When the wine had brought their spirits high, he invited him to drink tea as well. When the pleasure of the tea was at its height, Wu Sheng dismissed his disciples, bowed once more, and asked Xuanzhenzi to stay the night and talk.

Wu Sheng told him the method of painting ghosts: “I have no special skill; I have only grasped one method. Once, while drinking tea, I stayed awake until midnight without sleeping, letting my mind and Shen (spirit) grow clear and still and my thoughts settle into calm, forgetting the existence of all things and setting aside every notion in my heart. After a long while, my state of mind became silent, open, and expansive. Then the strange and varied forms of ghosts, monsters, and goblins—some deft and some clumsy, now arising and now vanishing—all appeared within my mind; their coming and going met no obstruction, and their shapes could never be seen to the end.

“I regard this method as subtle and its secret as simple, so I have long made the painting of ghosts my work, yet I have never taught it to anyone else. Now I am sixty, known throughout the land, and everyone under heaven takes me for the founding master of ghost painting. After I am gone, painters will still be as numerous as trees in a forest. They will long to see my paintings with their own eyes, pursue my reputation without end, and imitate my likeness without ever being satisfied. They will strive to chase my skill yet never exhaust it, and copy my manner of painting yet never fathom the principle within it. You have asked about the mystery of creation, and I cannot but answer you with the principle of creation. I have never transmitted this method to others; now I ask you to tell it to later generations.”

Xuanzhenzi thanked him and said, “To enter a hidden and subtle realm may be easy, but to depict its forms is difficult. Having fortunately heard the method of painting ghosts, I have been able to glimpse the first threads of creation. I would not, in any case, proclaim it for later generations, and you need not regard this as my having transmitted the method.”

In the original text several sentences are repeated; the vernacular interpretation has combined them according to their meaning.

Dew condenses into beads. Though they are round, they are not drawn with a compass; they cannot become square, because they do not cling to any fixed shape. Ash left after a fire seems to form a wheel. Though it is always turning, it is not a ring; it cannot break apart, because the turning is swift and continuous. Passing through mist with the sun at one’s back brings out a winding, rainbow-like form that cannot become a straight line, because the image changes with light and shadow. When river water is drawn off to brew wine, the liquor surges with the waves and cannot come to rest, because its Qi (vital energy) circulates evenly. Raindrops fall into the sea and merge with the waters of rivers, lakes, and marshes, so that no distinction remains among them: this is to realize the nature of water. When the mind is still and returns to luminous emptiness, merging with the Great Void (the vast, boundless emptiness) so that the two cannot be divided, this is to comprehend the Dao (the Way) of Heaven.

The courses of the sun and moon have a beginning in which they join like a jade disc; life and death likewise have a beginning in their cycle of return. One who understands the pattern by which the sun and moon come together knows when solar and lunar eclipses will occur; one who penetrates the principle of the cycle of life and death knows that birth and death each alternate in their proper season. Thus, when the moon covers the sun, the sunlight dims; when the moon passes on, the sun grows bright again. When the sun and moon stand opposite each other, the moonlight is obscured; when the two move out of that opposing position, the moon appears bright. In the same way, when death arrives, the soul-consciousness of life changes with it; when death passes, life comes again. While one is alive and forgets death, cognition seems to return to empty stillness; when that forgetting disappears, death becomes manifest.

From this it can be seen that the brightness of the moon comes from the sun’s illumination, and that the appearance of death likewise depends on the cognition of the living. Without light, the moon is not bright; without cognition, death has no way to appear. Eclipses, however, cannot injure the essential substance of the sun and moon, nor can the alternation of life and death alter the Shen (spirit) of the Utmost Person. Because the essential substance of the sun and moon is unharmed, the sun and moon need not worry over eclipses; because the Shen of the Utmost Person remains unchanged, the Utmost Person does not fear life and death.

Being (you) cannot be said never to have existed, nor can non-being (wu) be said never to have brought being into appearance. What is called being contains a non-being not yet made manifest, and what is called non-being likewise contains a being not yet made manifest. Only this is the ultimate state of being and non-being.

Thus, when something now present suddenly vanishes, that does not mean it never existed in the past; when something now absent suddenly appears, that does not mean it has always existed. This is because the times they occupy are different. To join the being and non-being of the past and hold that the two do not differ, and again to join the being and non-being of the future and hold that the two are not distinct, is to view them as situated in one and the same time.

Of things that occupy different times, people commonly take change to be inevitable, yet when they come together, what runs counter to ordinary principle may also arise. Of things that occupy the same time, people commonly suppose that they will not change, yet inevitable change may also appear.

The shadow asked the light, “My form is dim and belongs to Yin; you are bright and conspicuous and belong to Yang. Only when you first appear do I begin to show myself; when you are at your fullest, I come to my end; when you vanish, I vanish with you. Only when you are clear am I bright. Why, after all, is this so?”

The shadow asked the light again, “My form is dim and belongs to Yin; you are bright and conspicuous and belong to Yang. Only when you first appear do I begin to show myself; when you are at your fullest, I come to my end; when you vanish, I vanish with you; only when you are clear am I bright. Why do your changes have no fixed measure, so that they carry me along and make me, too, change without constancy?”

The light replied, “In an empty place you are absent; beside a solid object you appear. If the object is like wings, you seem to fly; if the object has feet, you seem to walk; if the object bends, you bend as well; if the object is broad and straight, you too are broad and straight. When you draw near a candle flame, the shadow shifts outside the object; when you move away from a mirror, the shadow is reflected once more into my form. You yourself change without constancy—how can you blame only me for being unsteady?

“Still, your changes and mine communicate. What I understand least are precisely those changes that even I cannot explain. When, for example, one meets a yangsui, an ancient concave bronze mirror used to obtain fire, my light and image are reflected in reverse upon your surface; when one encounters Luohou, the legendary stellar deity said to cover the sun during an eclipse, my light seems as if eaten away, and the shadow bends awry with it. I would question creative transformation, exhaust the principles of things, and know fully the nature bestowed by Heaven, and still I do not understand. Perhaps this is destiny?”

The shadow said with a smile, “You need only draw in your light, and my shadow will disappear. Being and non-being depend on you. How could I be said to resist or to comply? And why should I vainly inquire into the destiny fixed by creative transformation?”

When “Mo” (默, Silence) appears, if Mo calls it “one,” “Ji” (寂, Stillness) can class it as “one”; if Mo calls it “two,” Ji can likewise class it as “two.” In Mo’s view, “one” is non-being; in Ji’s view, “one” is being. In Mo’s view, “two” is at once non-being and being; in Ji’s view, “two” is at once being and non-being.

When “one” appears, the case is just the same: if Mo calls it “one,” Ji can class it as “one”; if Mo calls it “two,” Ji can likewise class it as “two.” In Mo’s view, “one” is non-being; in Ji’s view, “one” is being. In Mo’s view, “two” is at once non-being and being; in Ji’s view, “two” is at once being and non-being.

Within “one” there is no parting from “two,” and within “two” there is no parting from “one.” Thus, to know that Ji is not “one,” and also to understand that Mo is not “two”—this alone is called Zhenyi (真一, the True One: the fundamental reality that transcends one and two).

What is called Zhenyi is neither one nor two, and neither Stillness nor Silence. Even these four designations are absent, and even “there is nothing at all” does not exist. This alone is called Zhenwu (真无, True Non-being: the state that transcends the distinction between being and non-being). Only one who can roam in the realm of Zhenwu can thereafter behold the form of Zhenyi. One who roams in Zhenwu and beholds Zhenyi is then able to see the various kinds of “non-being.”

At this point Ji says to Mo: “As for these various kinds of ‘non-being,’ no one can give them a name. I force a name upon them and call them Taiwu zhi Huan (太无之寰, the Sphere of Great Non-being: a vast, boundless realm that transcends being and non-being). This Sphere of Great Non-being cannot be explained by anyone in words. I force a name upon such an explanation and call it Mi (谧, an expression of silent wordlessness). Can you understand?”

“I can.”

Thereupon Ji composes his bearing and regulates his breath, sinking into stillness without a word. After a long while, the two forget one another.

When Mo comes to realization, he says: “A moment ago I heard its name and also saw its ‘non-being’; now I have heard its Mi, yet I still have not seen its ‘non-being.’ Is this what is meant by the Mi of Great Non-being?”

Ji awakens and says: “Just now you and I were speaking only of the subtle points, and indeed you understood. You may be said to have grasped the principle of the hidden and minute.” From then on, after Mo has returned, Ji no longer discusses these matters with him.

Xuanzhenzi Waipian (The Outer Chapters of the Master of Mysterious Perfection), Lower Scroll.