《南華真經》Vol. 3

The true Dao-realized person (zhenren) neither dreams in sleep nor harbors worries when awake. They eat without craving delicacies and breathe with profound, continuous rhythm—the breath of a zhenren reaches down to the heels, while ordinary people's breath only rises to the throat. Those who grovel speak as if retching, and those with excessive desires possess shallow innate spirituality.

The ancient zhenren neither clung to life nor dreaded death. They showed no elation at birth and no resistance to death, coming and going with natural ease. They neither forgot their origins nor forced their final destination, accepting fate with joy while forgetting worldly concerns to return to their original nature. This is called "not using human intentions to harm the Heavenly Dao" and "not employing artificial efforts to interfere with what is natural"—this constitutes true realization of the Dao.

Such individuals maintain focused minds and serene countenances, with broad, full foreheads. Their solemnity resembles autumn's crispness, while their gentleness flows like spring warmth. Their joys and angers follow the natural progression of the four seasons, harmonizing with all things while remaining unfathomable in their ultimate depth. Therefore, when sages wage war, they may conquer nations without losing the people's hearts; their blessings extend through generations, yet this stems not from deliberate affection.

Those who deliberately seek external connections are not sages; those with partial affections are not truly humane; those who calculate celestial timing are not worthies. Those who cannot discern advantage and harm are not noble persons; those who pursue fame at the cost of self-loss are not genuine scholars; those who sacrifice life contrary to the Dao cannot be considered true masters. Figures like Hu Buxie, Wu Guang, Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Ji Zi, Xu Yu, Ji Ta, and Shentu Di all labored for others' demands while failing to settle their own fundamental nature.

The manner of ancient zhenren manifests thus: they uphold righteousness without forming factions, appear deficient yet refuse charity; stand independently without stubbornness, maintain expansive minds without ostentation. Their cheerful expressions suggest inner joy, while their unhurried movements seem compelled by circumstance. Their gentleness reveals authentic qualities, their tranquility embodies inner virtue (De). Their solemnity matches worldly rituals, yet their transcendence defies constraint. In silence they resemble closed-door cultivation, in abstraction they forget speech. They regard penal law as foundation and ritual as supplement, employing wisdom to seize opportunities while taking virtue as their standard. Treating law as foundation manifests in restrained use of punishment; employing ritual as support serves to practice the Dao within human society.

This passage from the Zhuangzi·Great Ancestral Teacher chapter discusses the realm and perspective on life and death of the Daoist "true person" (one who has attained the Dao).

Those who understand that all things develop according to their proper timing never force their actions. Those who follow the natural patterns move as effortlessly as walking up a hill with ordinary people. Yet others mistakenly perceive this as deliberate striving. In truth, whether facing favorable or unfavorable circumstances, their attitude remains constant. This consistency reflects union with the heavenly Dao (the Way), while inconsistency would make them no different from ordinary people. When heaven and humanity cease to be opposed, one becomes a genuine true person of the Dao.

Life and death are as natural as the alternation of day and night—the constant rhythm of existence. There will always be circumstances beyond human control, for this is the universal principle governing all things. Some revere heaven as a father, yet fail to recognize heaven's far greater majesty. People consider rulers nobler than themselves and would die for them—how much more should they devote themselves to the true Dao?

When the spring dries up, fish stranded on land moisten each other with spit—far inferior to forgetting each other while swimming freely in rivers and lakes. Rather than praising Emperor Yao or condemning Tyrant Jie, better to forget judgments and merge with the great Dao. The earth carries our physical forms, life gives us labor, old age brings rest, and death offers final repose. Therefore, those who cherish life properly will also accept death peacefully.

Hiding a boat in a valley or concealing mountains in deep marshes may seem secure, yet a strongman might carry them away by midnight. However clever the concealment, flaws remain. Only by "hiding the world within the world itself" (following nature's course) can nothing escape. Humans rejoice at obtaining human form, unaware this form is but one temporary shape in the endless transformations of things—how could such joy ever be fully reckoned?

Thus sages wander in the realm where nothing escapes (the great Dao), coexisting with all things. They are equally at peace with early death, long life, beginnings and endings. People already emulate them—how much more should they follow that which sustains all things and governs every transformation?

The Dao is utterly real and trustworthy, yet acts through wuwei (non-action) and has no form. It can be transmitted mind-to-mind but not handed over, realized but not seen. It is its own source, existing before heaven and earth. It makes ghosts and spirits divine, gives birth to the Celestial Emperor, and creates all things between heaven and earth.

This passage from the Zhuangzi·Great and Venerable Teacher discusses the transcendent nature of the Dao and the state of those who attain it. Here's a modern interpretation:

The Dao exists before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) yet appears neither lofty, nor profound beneath the six directions of space. Older than heaven and earth yet not ancient, more enduring than antiquity yet not aged. The ancient masters who attained the Dao all realized this truth:

Xiwei obtained it and could create heaven and earth; Fuxi grasped it and harmonized primordial Qi. The Big Dipper maintains its course by it, while the sun and moon never cease their movements through its power. Kanhuai governs Mount Kunlun with it, the river god Fengyi roams waterways by it, and the mountain deity Jianwu dwells peacefully on Mount Tai through it. The Yellow Emperor ascended to the clouds by it, Zhuanxu resided in the Mystic Palace through it, Yuqiang guards the North Pole with it, and the Queen Mother of the West presides over Mount Shaoguang by it. Peng Zu lived from Emperor Shun's era to the Spring and Autumn period through it; Fu Yue assisted King Wuding in governing the realm by it, and after death his spirit joined the constellations as one of the stars.

When Nanbo Zikui asked the wise woman Yu, "You're advanced in years yet have a childlike complexion—how is this possible?" she replied, "Because I've comprehended the Dao." Asked if one could learn the Dao, she said no, illustrating with the example of Bu Liangyi—who possessed sage-like qualities but lacked understanding of the sage's way, while she understood the Dao but lacked the innate capacity. Over three years of instruction, she guided him: first forgetting worldly concerns for three days, then transcending material attachments in seven days, and surpassing life-and-death concerns in nine days. Upon reaching the "dawn illumination" state (mental clarity), one can "perceive the Absolute" (realize the Dao in its purity), thereby transcending temporal boundaries to enter the deathless, birthless realm of eternity.

This state allows harmonious adaptation to all transformations of life, death, and change—called "undisturbed tranquility" (yingning), where one maintains inner peace despite external disturbances. When questioned about her lineage, Woman Yu described knowledge transmission as texts (secondary ink) originating from recitation, which stems from insight born of practice, arising from diligent application nurtured by chanting, emerging from profound silence rooted in boundless void, ultimately tracing back to the primordial "suspicious beginning" of undifferentiated chaos.

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi·Great and Venerable Teacher chapter, recounting the story of four enlightened practitioners. The four cultivators—Zisi, Ziyu, Zili, and Zilai—made a mutual agreement: "Whoever can regard 'nothingness' as the head, 'life' as the spine, and 'death' as the tailbone, understanding that life, death, existence, and extinction are fundamentally one, shall be our friend." The four looked at each other and smiled, their hearts in perfect accord, thus forming a profound friendship.

Later, Ziyu fell ill, his body contorted and deformed, his spine bent, with internal organs and blood vessels protruding from his back. Yet he remained utterly at ease, even admiring his strange reflection in a well and remarking: "The Creator has made me into this hunched form!" When Zisi asked if he resented this transformation, Ziyu replied: "Why should I resent it? If the Creator turned my left arm into a rooster, I’d use it to herald the dawn; if my right arm became a slingshot, I’d hunt pheasants to roast; if my buttocks transformed into wheels and my spirit into a steed, I’d ride them—why would I need any other carriage?"

Ziyu continued: "To receive life is to meet the right moment; to lose it is to follow the natural course. Those who rest content in their time and yield to change remain untouched by joy or sorrow—this is what the ancients called 'release from bondage.' Those who cannot free themselves are shackled by external things. Since nothing can ever resist the Dao of nature, why should I resent it?"

Soon after, Zilai fell gravely ill, gasping on the verge of death as his family wept around him. Zili came to visit, scolding the mourners to step back and not disturb the transformation of life and death. Leaning against the door, he asked Zilai: "What will the great Creator make of you this time? Will you become a rat’s liver or an insect’s leg?" Zilai calmly replied: "A child obeys their parents’ command, whether east or west. The transformations of Yin-Yang are even closer to us than parents. If they bring me to death’s door and I disobey, I would be defying the natural order."

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi·Great and Venerable Teacher chapter, using several parables to illustrate the Daoist transcendent attitude toward life and death.

Nature gives us form so we may labor, grants us life so we may rest, arranges old age so we may retire, and ordains death so we may find repose. Thus, those who cherish life must also face death with equanimity. Just as a blacksmith casting metal would consider it ominous if the metal leaped up and cried, "I must become a sword!" so too would the Creator find it strange if someone, having just taken human form, exclaimed, "I am a human!"

Zhuangzi compares heaven and earth to a great furnace and the Creator to a blacksmith, illustrating how all things transform and flow according to natural laws—nothing is unacceptable. The text then recounts the story of three recluses: Zisanghu, Mengzifan, and Ziqinzhang. They became close friends, pursuing the state of "friendship in Wuwei (non-action)"—neither deliberately helping nor deliberately refraining, transcending the constraints of the body to wander freely in the boundless realm.

Later, when Zisanghu passed away, his two friends played the zither and sang at his funeral: "Ah, Zisanghu! You have returned to your true origin, while we remain trapped in the human world." Zigong, witnessing this, questioned its impropriety, but the two laughed at his ignorance. Confucius explained: These men are "those beyond the world," who regard life as a tumor and death as the bursting of a boil. They see life and death as nothing more than the gathering and dispersal of Qi (vital energy), having forgotten even their own livers and gallbladders, eyes and ears, roaming carefree beyond the dust of the mundane.

This passage embodies the Daoist philosophical view of "equating life and death," seeing them merely as different phases of the natural cycle. The wise should transcend physical constraints and wander freely with the Creator.

Zhuangzi here employs a dialogue between Confucius and his disciples to expound the Daoist pursuit of naturalness and transcendence beyond worldly rituals and conventions.

Confucius tells Zigong: "How could I muddle along performing rituals for the crowd's approval?" When Zigong asks what principle his teacher follows instead, Confucius replies: "I am one punished by Heaven - yet I'll share this truth with you. Fish survive in water; humans find peace in the Dao (the Way). Fish need ponds to thrive; humans require Wuwei (non-action) to attain inner tranquility. Thus fish swim freely in rivers and lakes, while humans transcend constraints through Daoist practice."

Zigong inquires about "eccentrics" (extraordinary individuals). Confucius explains: "Eccentrics differ from common folk yet harmonize with Heaven's Dao. Therefore, whom Heaven deems petty may be humanity's noble, while humanity's noble may be Heaven's petty."

When Yanhui asks about Mengsun Cai (a Lu state official) - famous for mourning yet shedding no tears at his mother's death - questioning whether this was reputation without substance, Confucius responds: "Mengsun has attained profound realization. He simplified funeral rites, transcending life-death dualities. Knowing neither life nor death, he follows natural transformation. We who consider ourselves awake still dream. Though his body performed weeping, his heart knew no grief - this is true accordance with nature."

Finally, through Xu You's dialogue with Yi'erzi, Zhuangzi observes: "Yao's imposition of benevolence and righteousness marks people like facial tattoos (Qing punishment). These artificial moral codes fetter human nature. True cultivators should enter 'Liaotianyi' (the vast emptiness united with Heaven's Dao), transcending such man-made constraints."

This dialogue reveals the profound discourse in Zhuangzi's philosophy about transcending worldly values and pursuing spiritual freedom.

The fictional character Yi'erzi seeks to learn the Great Dao (Dao), to which the recluse Xu You responds: Just as the blind cannot perceive beauty and the deaf cannot hear music, those clinging to conventional judgments of right and wrong can hardly comprehend the realm of carefree liberation. Yi'erzi counters by citing examples—the ancient beauty Wu Zhuang losing her looks, the strongman Ju Liang losing his strength, and the Yellow Emperor losing his wisdom—demonstrating how such transformations occur in the "crucible of the Creator," implying that humans can transcend inherent limitations through cultivation.

Xu You then describes his vision of the supreme Dao: It harmonizes all things without proclaiming benevolence or righteousness, benefits all generations without claiming kindness, predates antiquity without showing age, and fashions heaven and earth without displaying skill. This state represents true freedom.

The subsequent dialogue between Yan Hui and Confucius delves deeper. Yan Hui undergoes three stages of realization: first forgetting benevolence and righteousness, then forgetting rituals and music, and finally attaining "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang)—where bodily existence fades, sensory perceptions dissolve, and complete unity with the Dao is achieved. Confucius, upon hearing this, responds with solemn respect, acknowledging this realm surpasses his own understanding.

The concluding episode featuring the recluse Zisang playing his zither while singing mournfully in the rain explores the nature of fate. He questions the root of poverty, ultimately realizing: Just as parents would never wish suffering upon their children, heaven and earth would not deliberately impoverish people—such circumstances constitute the irresistible "decree of fate" (ming). Through this extreme situation, the Daoist perspective on destiny emerges—not as passive resignation, but as transcendent equanimity beyond worldly gain and loss.

Nie Que, a Daoist figure, asked Wang Ni four questions, to which Wang Ni consistently replied, "I don't know." Delighted, Nie Que leaped up and went to inform Pu Yizi, a highly accomplished practitioner. Pu Yizi remarked, "Have you finally realized it now? The ancient Emperor Shun of the Youyu era couldn't compare to the more primordial Tai Shi (Fu Xi). Shun used benevolence and righteousness to win over people's hearts. Though he gained popular support, he never transcended artificial contrivances. But Tai Shi slept in serene relaxation and awoke in leisurely contentment—it mattered not whether people called him an ox or a horse. His wisdom was genuine and trustworthy, his virtue (De) utterly pure and spontaneous, never entangled in human affectation."

Jian Wu encountered the madman Jie Yu (a Chu recluse), who asked, "What did Ri Zhong Shi (a fictional character) tell you about governing?" Jian Wu replied, "He said rulers should personally establish laws to regulate the people—who would dare disobey such edification?" Jie Yu criticized this: "This is fraudulent morality! Governing the world this way is like trying to cross the sea on foot while dredging the Yellow River, or making a mosquito carry a mountain. The sage governs by first rectifying himself, then spreading transformation, allowing people to fulfill their capacities. Don’t birds know to fly high to evade arrows, and mice to hide deep beneath temple floors to avoid smoke? Are humans less aware of the Dao of nature than these small creatures?"

Tian Gen wandered the southern slopes of Mount Yin and met the Nameless Man (an enlightened being) by the Liao River. He asked, "How should the world be governed?" The Nameless Man rebuked him: "Begone! You superficial person—why ask such a dreary question? I’m about to wander with the Creator, resting by riding the bird of emptiness beyond the six directions, roaming the Land of Nothingness (the realm of Dao), dwelling in the boundless wilds. Why disturb me with worldly governance?" When Tian Gen persisted, the Nameless Man finally said, "Let your heart remain placid, your breath (Qi) return to stillness. Follow the natural tendencies of all things without imposing selfishness—then the world will naturally be at peace."

Yang Ziju (Yang Zhu) visited Laozi (Lao Dan) and asked, "Suppose someone is quick-witted, strong, perceptive, and tirelessly seeks the Dao—could such a person compare to an enlightened ruler?" Laozi replied, "To the sage, such a person is merely shackled by skills, exhausting his body and disturbing his spirit (Shen)."

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi·Ying Di Wang chapter, using several allegorical stories to expound the Daoist political wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and the cultivation state of "embracing emptiness and stillness to preserve authenticity."

The text first illustrates how external talents invite misfortune through examples: the beautiful fur of tigers and leopards attracts hunters, while the agility of monkeys leads to their capture. When Yang Zhu (Yang Ziju) asks Laozi (Lao Dan) about enlightened rulership, Laozi replies: "A true sage-king governs the world with achievements covering all directions yet appearing unrelated to himself. He nurtures all things while the people feel no dependence, accomplishes without claiming credit, letting all beings grow naturally." Such rulers are grounded in the unfathomable Dao (the Way), roaming the realm of emptiness.

The narrative then recounts the story of Ji Xian, a famous diviner from Zheng who could foresee life, death, and fortune. After meeting Ji Xian, Liezi (Lie Yukou) becomes awestruck and reports this to his teacher Master Hu Zi. The master points out: "You've only learned superficial techniques, not the true essence of Dao. Rushing to compete with worldly skills naturally makes you transparent." He instructs Liezi to bring Ji Xian for a reading.

After their first meeting, Ji Xian predicts Hu Zi will soon die. The master explains he intentionally displayed the "Earth Pattern" state (still as the earth), concealing his vitality. During their second encounter, the diviner changes his prognosis, saying Hu Zi can be saved. The master reveals this time he slightly manifested the "Heaven-Earth" vitality. The story continues with two more transformations, ultimately causing the diviner to flee in panic—demonstrating how those who attain Dao transcend superficial appearances of life and death, becoming unfathomably mutable.

These stories collectively elucidate that true governance and self-cultivation must emulate nature's way—avoiding deliberate display, maintaining emptiness and stillness—to reach the realm where "non-action accomplishes all." Like Master Hu Zi's manifested states, Dao attainees remain unconstrained by appearances, responding to circumstances with boundless adaptability.

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) once brought a fortune-teller to meet his teacher Huizi. After their first encounter, the fortune-teller told Liezi: "Your master's face looks like dead ashes—he won't survive ten more days." Hearing this, Huizi remarked: "I was just now displaying the stillness of the earth (Tianrang), with my Qi (vital energy) sunk to the soles of my feet. He likely only saw my state of closed-off vitality."

The next day, the fortune-teller returned and exclaimed after seeing Huizi: "Your master's complexion has revived—he's saved!" Huizi explained: "This time I manifested the harmonious interaction of heaven and earth (Taichong), where Yin-Yang energies balanced like an abyss. An abyss has nine states—this time I revealed three of them."

During their third meeting, the fortune-teller fled in panic the moment he stood before Huizi. The master said: "Now I revealed the primordial chaos before creation (Weishi Chu Wu Zong), shifting like reflections in water. Unable to perceive my essence, he fled in terror."

This experience made Liezi realize how far he was from true understanding. Returning home, he secluded himself for three years—tending the hearth like a servant, feeding pigs as if serving honored guests, abandoning worldly calculations, and living with the simplicity of uncarved wood. Ultimately, he attained unity with the Dao (the Way).

A genuine Daoist master must: never be enslaved by empty reputation, never hoard schemes, never force burdens upon himself, and never flaunt cleverness. Let the Shen (spirit) wander boundlessly, follow innate nature without craving. The perfected mind mirrors all—neither welcoming nor rejecting, reflecting reality without retention, thus engaging all things unharmed.

The parable concludes with a warning against forcing nature: The Southern Emperor "Shu" and Northern Emperor "Hu" visited the Central Emperor "Hundun" (Chaos), who treated them generously. To repay him, they said: "All beings have seven apertures (eyes, ears, mouth, nose) for seeing, hearing, eating, and breathing—only Hundun lacks them." Each day they drilled one hole, but on the seventh day, Hundun died. This cautions how human interference destroys natural integrity.