《沖虛至德真經鬳齋口義》Vol. 4

When Confucius was at leisure in his residence, Zigong came to attend him and noticed his teacher appeared troubled, yet dared not inquire. After leaving, Zigong informed Yan Hui, who then began playing the zither and singing. Hearing the music, Confucius summoned Yan Hui.

Yan Hui entered and asked, "Master, why do you sit alone in sorrow?" Confucius countered, "Why do you sit alone in joy?" Yan Hui replied, "I once heard you say, 'To rejoice in Heaven and understand destiny brings no sorrow'—that is why I am joyful." Confucius grew solemn and said, "Indeed, those were my words in the past, but you have misunderstood them. You know only that rejoicing in Heaven and understanding destiny frees one from sorrow, but you do not realize that within this very joy lies a deeper concern."

Confucius explained, "Now I will tell you the truth: To cultivate oneself, to remain composed in hardship or prosperity, to recognize that life and death, gain and loss, are beyond one’s control, and to keep the heart undisturbed by external changes—this is what you take as 'rejoicing in Heaven and understanding destiny without sorrow.' But when I compiled the Book of Songs and the Book of Documents, and established the rites and music, my intention was to govern the world and set an example for future generations—not merely for personal cultivation or ruling the state of Lu. Now, the rulers and ministers of Lu grow increasingly disordered, benevolence and righteousness decline, and human bonds weaken. My teachings cannot even be implemented in one state, in one era—how then can they influence the world and posterity?"

"Now I understand that poetry, history, rites, and music cannot remedy chaos, yet I have not found a way to reform them—this is the true concern of one who rejoices in Heaven and understands destiny. But I have realized something: True joy and wisdom are not the 'joyous understanding' spoken of by the ancients. To have no joy and no knowledge—that is true joy and true wisdom. Only then can one be all-joyous, all-knowing, all-concerned, and all-capable. Why must poetry, history, rites, and music be discarded? Why must they be deliberately reformed?"

"To deliberately pursue joy is to cling; joy that comes effortlessly is true joy." Hearing this, Yan Hui bowed deeply toward the north and said, "Now I understand." He went out and told Zigong, who stood bewildered. Returning home, Zigong brooded for seven days and nights without sleep, growing gaunt to the bone. Only after Yan Hui counseled him did Zigong return to Confucius’s school, where he spent his days ceaselessly playing the zither and studying texts.

(Note: "Rejoicing in Heaven and understanding destiny" [乐天知命] is a key Daoist concept, referring to an attitude of aligning with nature and comprehending the Mandate of Heaven. "Bowing toward the north" [北面拜手] was the most reverent ritual gesture of disciples toward their teacher, kneeling with hands clasped while facing north.)

This chapter presents its core philosophy in three progressive layers: First, it states that those who understand how to follow the Mandate of Heaven (Tianming) remain free from sorrow; then it observes that even those who comprehend this principle may still experience worry; finally, it suggests that rather than knowing the concepts of sorrow and joy, it's better to transcend such distinctions altogether. The essential message is that rising above both sorrow and joy surpasses experiencing them, and forgetting these concepts entirely surpasses merely understanding them. Though conveyed through allegorical stories, the literary style differs markedly from Zhuangzi's writings, suggesting this may not be original Liezi material.

The term "淫" (yin) here denotes gradual permeation, referring to a state of deep contemplation.

The narrative describes a high official from Chen visiting Lu State who privately met with Shusun. Shusun remarked: "Our state has a sage—Confucius." When the Chen official asked how this was known, Shusun quoted Yan Hui saying: "The Master achieves 'abandoning the mind to follow bodily form' (fei xin yong xing)." The Chen official responded that their state also had a sage—Kangcangzi, Laozi's disciple who mastered the Dao and could "see with his ears and hear with his eyes." Astonished, the Lu ruler sent a high minister with rich gifts to invite Kangcangzi.

"Abandoning the mind to follow bodily form" describes reaching a mindless state where one forgets physical existence—acting without awareness of acting. "Hearing with eyes and seeing with ears" reflects the doctrine of sensory unity, similar to Buddhist Avalokiteshvara (Guanyin) practice—as Su Shi described in his Vimalakirti Praise: "Ordinary people hear sounds with ears, but this great bodhisattva 'sees' sounds with eyes," transcending attachment to the six senses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind) with complete spiritual freedom where sensory functions interchange.

When Kangcangzi arrived in Lu, the ruler respectfully inquired. Kangcangzi clarified the rumors were exaggerated—he didn't literally bypass normal sensory functions but transcended their limitations without altering them. The ruler found this even more marvelous and insisted on understanding the mystery.

This "seeing and hearing without using eyes and ears" parallels Zhuangzi's "when senses stop, the spirit moves" (guan zhi er er shen yu xing)—the same principle as "listening with Qi" or "hearing with the heart." Though not dependent on physical senses, their ordinary functions remain intact.

Master Kangcang (a Daoist figure) said: "My body is united with my mind, my mind connects with my Qi (vital energy), my Qi harmonizes with my Shen (spirit), and ultimately my Shen returns to emptiness. Even the most minuscule existence or the faintest sound—whether from the farthest reaches of the world or right before me—when they touch me, I perceive them. Yet this perception does not come through my ears, eyes, limbs, or internal organs; it is a spontaneous awareness."

Here, the "body," "mind," "Qi," and "Shen" all ultimately return to emptiness, demonstrating the wondrous function of no-mind. "The slightest existence" refers to things almost imperceptible to the eye, while "the faintest sound" describes what is barely audible. These eight words are masterfully used—when external things stir me, I perceive them, like a natural resonance in stillness. Just as things manifest and are named, events arise and are responded to. Though my senses, limbs, and organs may register awareness, I do not fixate on them. This is the state where body, mind, Qi, and emptiness merge. The phrase "knowing it within myself" means this awareness is inwardly clear yet cannot be fully expressed in words.

The ruler of Lu was delighted upon hearing this and later recounted it to Confucius. Confucius merely smiled without replying. This silent smile mirrors the earlier statement that "the Master could do it but chose not to"—though Confucius understood this principle, he was unwilling to impart it casually, hence his wordless response.

Later, the Grand Steward of Shang asked Confucius: "Are you a sage?" Confucius replied: "I dare not claim to be a sage—I am merely learned and well-informed." The Grand Steward pressed further: "Were the Three Sovereigns of antiquity sages?" Confucius said: "The Three Sovereigns excelled in wisdom and martial prowess, but whether they were sages, I cannot say." Asked about the Five Emperors, he answered: "They were skilled in practicing benevolence and righteousness, but I am uncertain if they were sages." When questioned about the Three August Ones, Confucius responded: "They knew how to align with the times—whether sagehood applies, I cannot confirm." Astonished, the Grand Steward exclaimed: "Then who is a sage?" Confucius solemnly replied: "In the West, there is one who governs without deliberate action (Wuwei), yet there is no chaos; who issues no commands, yet people follow naturally; who teaches without coercion, yet the people move of their own accord. His state is so vast that the people cannot describe it. I suspect he may be a sage, though I dare not affirm whether he has truly attained sagehood."

This passage records dialogues between Confucius and his disciples, reflecting the Daoist interpretation of Confucian sagehood.

The Grand Minister of the Shang dynasty, upon hearing Confucius' teachings, privately wondered: "Is Kong Qiu deceiving me?" This account suggests that Buddhist ideas might have already been circulating under Confucius' name during this period. While Buddhist scriptures were officially introduced during Emperor Ming of Han's reign, their concepts may have spread earlier. The phrases "governing without controlling" and "being trusted without speaking" describe the sage's art of rulership as leaving no traces, emphasizing influencing people through sincerity.

The text then documents a conversation between Zixia and Confucius. Confucius evaluates four disciples' strengths: Yan Hui surpasses him in benevolence (ren), Zigong in eloquence, Zilu in courage, and Zizhang in dignity. Puzzled why these disciples still followed Confucius, Zixia receives this explanation: Yan Hui, though benevolent, lacks adaptability ("fan" meaning flexibility); Zigong, though eloquent, doesn't understand silence; Zilu, though courageous, doesn't know yielding; Zizhang, though dignified, lacks harmony. Confucius combines all these qualities while practicing timely adaptation ("shi" embodying the Daoist emphasis on situational wisdom), hence his disciples' enduring loyalty.

The text specifically notes that "ren" (benevolence) here carries the same meaning as "cheng" (sincerity), highlighting the Daoist understanding differing from Confucian interpretations. The phrase "harmonizing light with dust" is classic Daoist terminology, describing the sage's state of harmonious coexistence with all things. Through these contrasts, the dialogue presents the Daoist view that a true sage should possess comprehensive and flexible wisdom.

This passage recounts the story of Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) and Nanguozi (a highly accomplished Daoist practitioner), illustrating the cultivation realm of "emptiness, stillness, and non-action (Wuwei)" in Daoism.

Nanguozi was a person whose inner being was completely empty and still—his ears heard without registering, his eyes saw without perceiving, his mouth spoke without words, his mind knew without grasping, and his body remained tranquil and free from worry. Though Liezi lived as his neighbor for twenty years, they never visited each other. When they met on the road, they acted as if they did not see one another, leading Liezi’s disciples to mistakenly believe there was animosity between them.

Later, Liezi took forty disciples to visit Nanguozi and found him like a soulless husk (qi po), incapable of normal interaction. Suddenly, Nanguozi pointed to the last disciple in the group and spoke, appearing intensely focused and direct. This unusual behavior left Liezi’s followers deeply perplexed.

The phrase "his countenance brims with virtue, his back radiates serenity" describes how Nanguozi’s inner De (Virtue/Power) overflowed, manifesting as a peaceful aura from within. "His form knows no fear" signifies his perfected cultivation—utterly unshaken by external phenomena. This vivid portrayal embodies the Daoist ideal of the "perfected person," one who transcends sensory attachments and maintains absolute mental emptiness and stillness in non-action.

This passage presents Liezi's (a prominent Daoist figure) profound insights on the relationship between form and spirit, as well as the realms of cognition.

It begins by noting that Liezi's state of physical form and spirit (Shen) differs from that of Nanguozi—his body and mind had not yet achieved complete unity, thus making him unworthy of deeper conversation. The text uses the term "kankanran" to describe Nanguozi's state of focused self-contentment, utterly absorbed in himself.

Liezi proposes: Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) need not speak, and those who attain genuine knowledge need not verbalize it. Using "non-speech" to express is true expression; using "non-knowing" to perceive is true perception. He categorizes cognitive realms into three levels: The first transcends language yet still retains conceptual constructs; the second distinguishes between "being" and "non-being"; the third reaches the supreme state where one simultaneously speaks all yet speaks nothing, knows all yet knows nothing—this constitutes the truly mysterious condition that aligns with the Dao.

The latter section describes Liezi's learning process under Master Lao Shang: After three years, he could maintain mental indifference to right/wrong distinctions and verbal silence on matters of gain/loss, earning only a glance of approval from his teacher. After five years (though the full quote isn't provided, we can infer) deeper levels of cultivation would follow. This illustrates the Daoist practice's characteristic requirement of long-term accumulation and gradual progression.

This passage describes Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) gradually learning the art of "wandering the mind" (youxin) under his teacher Lao Shangshi. In the first seven years, Liezi progressively reached a state where his mind no longer distinguished right from wrong, and his speech no longer concerned gain or loss—only then did his teacher smile at him. After two more years, he attained a state where neither his thoughts nor words touched upon matters of right/wrong or profit/loss, at which point the teacher permitted him to sit at the same mat.

By the ninth year, Liezi had completely transcended all distinctions between right/wrong and self/others. His senses became interchangeable: his eyes could hear like ears, his ears could smell like a nose. His spirit concentrated while his physical form dissolved—he no longer felt his bodily existence, and his movements and speech seemed to occur spontaneously. In this state, the truth of the universe became fully revealed to him.

Later, when Liezi—who had previously enjoyed traveling—was asked by his teacher Huzi (Master Huqiu) about the joy of wandering, he replied that while others traveled to see scenery, he wandered to observe the transformations of all things. Huzi pointed out that this "external wandering" (waiyou), fixated on external changes, was inferior to "internal wandering" (neiyou)—turning one's gaze inward. The ultimate wandering (zhiyou) requires no fixed destination; the highest observation (zhiguan) clings to no particular sight. Only then can one wander and observe everywhere. Upon hearing this, Liezi ceased traveling for life, realizing that the highest form of "wandering" is actually a boundless state of spiritual freedom.

Here, "wandering" (you) refers not to ordinary travel but to a cultivated Daoist state—the mind's liberation from external attachments. Through progressively relinquishing distinctions of right/wrong and gain/loss, one ultimately achieves the unity of self and cosmos, where all dualities dissolve.

The passage discusses two distinct realms of "contemplative wandering." Ordinary people merely observe the changing scenery between heaven and earth with their eyes to derive pleasure, while genuine Daoist practitioners comprehend the essential truth that all things are in constant transformation and renewal. Master Huzi (a Daoist figure) points out that what ordinary people call "contemplative wandering" is actually nothing special, as they only perceive superficial changes without realizing that the "self" is also evolving along with all things.

The true supreme state is "ultimate wandering" (zhiyou) — non-attachment to external objects and turning inward to contemplate one's innate nature. Those who cannot reach this state have not yet perfected their cultivation. When one attains a state beyond distinctions and attachments, there ceases to be any separation between external objects and the self. At this stage, every place becomes a site for "contemplative wandering," and all phenomena can serve as objects of reflection.

The subsequent dialogue between Long Shu (a Daoist practitioner) and Wen Zhi (a fangshi, or esoteric master) seeking medical advice is particularly intriguing. Long Shu describes his "symptoms": feeling no pride when praised in his hometown, no shame when slandered in his country; neither joyful upon gaining nor sorrowful upon losing; viewing life as death and wealth as poverty; seeing others as pigs or dogs while regarding himself as ordinary; dwelling in his own home as if it were an inn, and perceiving his homeland as a foreign land. These states cannot be moved by rank or salary, threatened by punishment, altered by profit or harm, nor shaken by sorrow or joy — rendering him incapable of serving rulers, maintaining friendships, or managing household affairs.

In truth, these are not actual ailments but rather profound states achieved through Daoist cultivation — transcending worldly values of honor and disgrace, gain and loss, intimacy and estrangement. Upon hearing this, Wen Zhi immediately recognizes that these are not illnesses but manifestations of attaining the Dao (dedao), concluding with the remark: "Your state has already reached remarkable clarity." Through this "medical consultation" format, the passage vividly illustrates the Daoist spiritual realm that surpasses conventional values.

This recounts the story of Wen Zhi diagnosing Long Shu's condition. Wen Zhi had Long Shu stand with his back to the light while he observed from behind toward the illuminated area, then remarked: "I see your heart—it is clear and luminous, nearly attaining the realm of a sage. Your heart has six passages open, with only one remaining obstructed. Now you regard the wisdom of sages as an illness—this is likely the cause, is it not? Such a condition lies beyond the reach of my humble medical skills."

The text then describes a transcendent state of being: viewing honor and disgrace, gain and loss, life and death, wealth and poverty as equal; forgetting worldly affairs; regarding others like pigs or dogs, without distinction between noble and base; seeing oneself as one sees others, dissolving all separation; treating home as an inn and family as strangers; considering one's homeland as barbarous wilderness, while distant lands seem near. These are all manifestations of an unfettered mind. Such individuals are unsuited to serving rulers, forming friendships, managing wives and children, or commanding servants, for they have no mind for worldly affairs. These are the characteristics of those who have attained the Dao (the Way), yet they are mistaken for symptoms of illness—much like the scolding phrases used in Chan (Zen) Buddhism today.

The passage mentions "standing with one's back to the light to see the heart," akin to the legendary physician Bian Que's ability to see internal organs through walls, though here it is primarily metaphorical. The text then pivots to observe: if sages cannot forget their own wisdom, even that can be considered an illness. This resembles the Buddhist teaching that "clinging to medicine as a cure makes the medicine itself a disease."

Regarding the Dao of life and death: That which exists eternally without origin is the Dao (the Way). Because life perpetuates life, though the body perishes, the spirit (Shen) remains undiminished—this is the natural order. When life leads to extinction, this is misfortune. Similarly, that which dies eternally without origin is also the Dao. Because death begets death, though the body still lives, the spirit may already be extinguished—this too is the natural order. When death gives rise to new life, this is fortune. Thus it is said: To live naturally without deliberate action (Wuwei) is the Dao; to follow the Dao to one's natural end is the norm. To die through deliberate action is also the Dao; to die in accordance with the Dao is likewise the norm.

The true Great Dao knows not whence life comes, obliterating all knowledge and perception. Ordinary people know life's origins—though their bodies die, they believe their spirit endures. Understanding that where there is life there must be death, and realizing the truth of non-life through life's phenomena, becomes instead a burden. To comprehend life's essence through the truth of non-life...

This passage expounds the Daoist transcendent perspective on life and death. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) regard life with such naturalness that they seem untouched by living; when facing death, though their physical form remains, they maintain the serenity of observing an ordinary event. This is the state of approaching the great Dao.

The text observes that ordinary people often cling to distinctions between life and death, much like when Yang Zhu (a Daoist figure) sang at the gate upon seeing Ji Liang's death, yet wept over Sui Wu's corpse. Whether commoners live or die, the masses alternate between joyful songs and mournful wails—all stemming from failure to penetrate life and death's essential nature. Like a lamp flaring brightly before extinguishing, when things reach their extreme they reverse course—this is the natural order.

Using sensory decline as metaphor: those going blind first discern fine hairs; those going deaf initially hear mosquitoes' wings—both manifestations of things reversing at their limits. When Puze in Zheng produced many sages and Dongli many talents, Deng Xi (a Logician school representative) deliberately challenged Bo Fengzi passing through Dongli: "Do you understand being sustained by others yet remaining unbound?" hinting that true wisdom transcends worldly attachments.

The core teaching reveals that Dao-realized beings perceive life and death as naturally as day and night's alternation, neither forcing joy nor sorrow. This transcendence isn't pretentious profundity but ordinary mind arising from understanding cyclical nature—like Zhuangzi and Liezi's philosophies, or Buddhist discourses on annihilation and eternity, all spring from realizing this natural Dao.

This passage illustrates Daoist concepts of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and "great wisdom appearing foolish" through two parables.

The first story recounts how Deng Xi (a renowned sophist of the Spring and Autumn period) attempted to mock Bo Fengzi (a sage). Bo Fengzi's attendant retorted: "In Qi and Lu there are numerous skilled craftsmen - some excel at construction, others at metalworking, some in music, others in documentation and mathematics, some in military strategy, others in temple rituals. Though each possesses specialized skills, none can govern the others. Those who administer them often lack these technical abilities. This resembles how you, the governing official (referring to Deng Xi), are actually being directed by us. What grounds have you for conceit?" Left speechless, Deng Xi departed with his disciples. This reveals a profound truth: the truly wise (Bo Fengzi) appears to practice non-action yet skillfully employs capable people.

The second story tells of Gongyi Bo, renowned among feudal lords for his strength. When King Xuan of Zhou ceremoniously invited him, he appeared surprisingly timid. The puzzled king received this explanation: "My teacher taught the virtue of concealing one's capacity. Overcoming weak opponents demonstrates no courage - true bravery lies in winning without battle." This embodies the Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," showing how genuine power often remains unmanifested.

Both stories demonstrate how Daoism values not superficial talent or strength, but inner wisdom and strategy. Those appearing incapable or inactive often prove the true masters; seemingly weak individuals may contain the greatest power. This philosophy forms a striking contrast with Confucianism's emphasis on proactive engagement with worldly affairs.

This dialogue recounts how Gongyi Bo explained the profound meaning of "true strength" to the ruler. When the ruler questioned why Gongyi Bo, who could only break a grasshopper's leg or lift a cicada's wing—seemingly trivial feats—was renowned throughout the land, Gongyi Bo sighed and revealed the truth.

He disclosed that he had once studied under Master Shangqiu Zi, a reclusive sage whose strength was unparalleled in the world, yet even his closest family remained unaware of it because he never used his power carelessly. His master taught him: True cultivation lies in perceiving what ordinary people cannot see, focusing on details others overlook, and practicing what most are unwilling to endure. Just as learning to see begins with recognizing a cartload of firewood, and learning to hear starts with distinguishing the sound of a bell, these are the most fundamental forms of training.

The key lies in inner refinement—when the mind attains the state of "Yi" (a return to simplicity and authenticity), outward mastery follows naturally. It was precisely because Shangqiu Zi completely concealed his strength that even his neighbors knew nothing of his abilities. Gongyi Bo admitted that he had violated his master's teachings by displaying his power and gaining fame among the feudal lords. Yet he emphasized: True renown does not come from flaunting strength, but from knowing when to wield it—and this, he argued, still surpasses those who rely solely on brute force. Through the contrast between master and disciple's approaches to life, this dialogue reveals the Daoist wisdom of "Great skill appears clumsy" and "Harmonizing radiance with the dust of the world."

This passage recounts a story about interpersonal conduct and scholarly attitudes. Prince Mou of Zhongshan (a virtuous noble from the state of Wei) enjoyed befriending worthy scholars while neglecting state affairs, particularly admiring Gongsun Long of Zhao (a prominent figure in the School of Names during the Warring States period). Yue Zhengziyu, a Confucian scholar, disapproved and mocked this tendency.

Yue Zhengziyu criticized Gongsun Long: "This man follows no master's tradition in his actions, shares no common path in his scholarship. Though eloquent in debate, he strays from proper principles. His learning is eclectic yet lacks systematic foundation. Fond of novelty for novelty's sake, he spouts nonsense specifically to confuse minds and refute others' views, while mutually flattering his disciples like Han Tan." The phrase "no master, no peers" refers to Gongsun Long being self-taught; "clever but misleading" indicates his glib tongue twisting logic; "flood-like without home" compares his theories to overflowing floodwaters lacking scholarly grounding.

Prince Mou's countenance changed upon hearing this, demanding why Gongsun Long was so disparaged. Ziyu then gave an example: "I laugh at how he deceived Kong Chuan (a Confucian scholar), claiming a divine archer could make each subsequent arrow's tip strike the nock of its predecessor, linking arrows seamlessly so when the first hits the target, the last still rests on the bowstring, appearing as one continuous line." Here "nock" refers to the arrow's notch that hooks the string. The meaning is that a master archer could make each arrow precisely hit its predecessor's tail, forming an unbroken chain resembling a single long arrow.

Kong Chuan was astonished, but Gongsun Long retorted this wasn't even the most marvelous feat. He mentioned Hong Chao, disciple of the legendary archer Feng Meng, who once angrily frightened his wife using the Wuhao bow and Qiwei arrows. This archery analogy satirizes those who, like Gongsun Long, rely on sophistry to prevail—scholars who flaunt prowess and contend aggressively, contrary to the Daoist teaching that "great wisdom appears foolish." True cultivation seems wuwei (non-action) yet remains comprehensive, enduring offense without contention—precisely the philosophy of conduct conveyed in the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Classic of Perfect Virtue of Profound Emptiness).

This dialogue recounts a debate between two scholars regarding the doctrines of Gongsun Long (also known as Zilong). Lezheng Ziyu criticizes Gongsun Long's theories as absurd, citing examples like "a white horse is not a horse"—statements that defy common sense. He mocks Gongsun Long's disciples (referring to Gongzi Mou) for stubbornly defending their teacher's logical flaws.

Gongzi Mou counters by arguing that Lezheng Ziyu fails to grasp the profundity of these statements, hence finding them ridiculous. He explains: When free from subjective thought, the mind merges with all things; when not forcing distinctions, the true nature of things manifests spontaneously. To say something is eternal refers to its unchanging essence; a shadow appears to move because the object casting it shifts position; a single hair can suspend a thousand jun (a unit of weight) through balanced force distribution; "a white horse is not a horse" distinguishes concrete form from abstract concept; claiming "an orphaned calf never had a mother" means that by definition, an orphan implies the absence of its mother.

Lezheng Ziyu retorts that Gongzi Mou blindly accepts Gongsun Long's arguments like someone who mistakes every sound for truth. After a long silence, Gongzi Mou withdraws, suggesting they continue the discussion another day.

The text also elucidates several classical allusions: "Wuhao" refers to the legendary Yellow Emperor's renowned bow, while "Qiwei" names a famous arrow. "Not blinking when the arrow nearly touches the eyelash" describes archery focus; "the arrow falls without stirring dust" illustrates its silent landing; "equal force in successive shots" demonstrates consistent power—all praising the archer's precision in controlling an arrow that drops only at the last possible moment before hitting the eye.

This passage explores several philosophical propositions. First, it discusses the concept of "pointing at things": When you point at an object with your finger, countless other things remain unpointed. Hence the saying "what is pointed at cannot encompass all" (you zhi bu zhi), whereas by not pointing at anything, all things are inherently included—this is the principle of "without pointing, all arrives" (wu zhi ze jie zhi).

Regarding the notion of "things": If we consider concrete objects as "things," how could we ever exhaust the myriad phenomena of the world? But by not defining specific objects as "things," one can embrace all existence—this illustrates the truth that "what comprehends things is ever-present" (jin wu zhe chang you).

The text then examines the philosophical puzzle of a moving shadow: What appears as shadow movement is actually the disappearance of the preceding shadow and emergence of the subsequent one. The philosopher Hui Shi (Master Hui) argued that a flying bird's shadow never actually moves, since each moment produces a new shadow—this is the principle of "the shadow does not shift" (ying bu yi).

The analogy of "a single hair pulling a thousand jun" is presented: While one strand of hair cannot move an immense weight, when accumulated sufficiently to match the object's force, movement becomes possible—this is called "when potential reaches equilibrium" (shi zhi deng).

The famous proposition "a white horse is not a horse" is analyzed: Whiteness belongs to color while horse refers to form—these are distinct conceptual categories that shouldn't be conflated, hence "form and name separate" (xing ming li ye).

The discussion of orphaned calves (gu du) observes: A calf with a mother cannot be called "orphaned," therefore by definition an "orphaned calf" has no mother.

Finally, the passage recounts how Emperor Yao governed for fifty years without knowing whether his people truly supported him—inquiries to attendants, court officials, and common citizens all yielded uncertain answers. These discussions reveal ancient philosophers' profound reflections on conceptual relationships and the correspondence between names and realities.

Emperor Yao once strolled in commoner's clothes along Kangqu (an ancient thoroughfare), where he heard children singing: "You nurture us common folk, through nothing but your great Dao. Unknowingly and unawares, we follow Heaven's law." Delighted, Yao asked: "Who taught you this song?" The children replied: "We heard it from the officials." When Yao inquired with his ministers, they claimed it was an ancient poem passed down through generations. Returning to his palace, Yao summoned Shun and abdicated the throne to him, which Shun accepted without refusal.

This passage illustrates the way of sage-like transformation. True transformation often leaves no trace - though the people are influenced, they remain unaware of it. "Nurturing us" refers to enabling our existence between Heaven and Earth; "the great Dao" represents the ultimate principle; "Heaven's law" signifies cosmic order. Though the song originally praised Yao's virtue, the ministers mistook it for ancient poetry, showing how people remain oblivious to the source of such transformation. Yao governed the world with such natural effortlessness that he could selflessly yield the throne to Shun, who in turn accepted it spontaneously.

Guan Yinxi (disciple of Laozi) said: Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) do not cling to selfhood, for the Dao manifests through all things. In motion, be like flowing water - completely natural; in stillness, be like a clear mirror - reflecting without distortion; in response, be like an echo - immediate and unforced. The Dao inherently exists within all things - no thing contradicts the Dao, nor does the Dao contradict things. Those who truly understand the Dao need not deliberately listen with ears, see with eyes, exert strength, or ponder with mind. Attempting to pursue the Dao through senses and intellect yields the opposite result. The Dao seems ahead, then suddenly behind; when employed, it fills Heaven and Earth; when released, its whereabouts become unknown. Neither can it be attained by those who consciously seek it, nor approached by those completely indifferent. Only through silent realization and natural accord can it be obtained. True wisdom means knowing without emotional attachment, having capability without deliberate action. Be like clods of earth and specks of dust - completely spontaneous and effortless. Though appearing inactive, such being perfectly accords with heavenly principle.

"Not clinging to selfhood" means flowing with all manifestations, allowing the Dao to naturally reveal itself through things. Move like water - without hidden motives; rest like a mirror - where beauty and ugliness belong to external objects, not the mirror itself; respond like echoes - completely spontaneous. The Dao harmonizes with all things - everything embodies the Dao, and only the unenlightened perceive contradiction. Not using ears to hear or eyes to see, because true realization transcends senses; not employing strength or thought, because the Dao fundamentally resides in wuwei (non-action).

The eyes can see clearly without deliberate looking, attain without forceful striving, and comprehend without conscious pondering. If one seeks the Dao through external means like vision, hearing, physical form, or intellectual knowledge, they will only deviate from the true Dao. The body and physical strength belong to the corporeal realm, while intellect belongs to the realm of thought. The Dao may seem ahead, then suddenly appear behind—this shows it has no fixed position. When employed, it fills the six directions of heaven and earth (up, down, and the four cardinal directions); when unused, it vanishes without a trace—when you do not use it, you cannot even know where it is.

Those who deliberately pursue the Dao with intention are far from it, for how could the Dao draw near to those with such contrivance? Those who seek it without intention are closer, yet the Dao has never deliberately approached the unintentional. As the Buddhists say: the Dao can neither be deliberately pursued nor unintentionally obtained. Silent, natural realization arises from innate nature—it is the understanding one is born with. True wisdom takes "not knowing" as knowing, hence the saying "to know yet be free of attachment"; true ability takes "incapacity" as capacity, hence the saying "to be capable yet act without striving"—seeming ignorance is true knowledge, seeming incapacity is true ability.

People today often say, "From the first movement, it is already so," while Chan (Zen) calls this "things have no fixed direction." If one begins by insisting on their own ignorance, how can they attain true knowledge? If one begins by insisting on their own incapacity, how can they accomplish anything? Thus, "taking not knowing as knowing" is not actual ignorance, but appearing unknowing while knowing all; "taking incapacity as capacity" is not actual inability, but appearing incapable while capable of all; "taking non-action as action" is not actual inaction, but appearing inactive while acting in all things.

If one acts deliberately like piling dust or forming clumps, though it may seem like non-action, it violates natural principle—the true Dao of Wuwei (non-action) is not like this. From this perspective, have the teachings of Zhuangzi and Liezi ever advocated stillness like withered wood or dead ashes? The Chan saying, "Do not allow night travelers to head for the light; they must reach utter extinction before reviving," expresses precisely this meaning. This passage captures the core essence of Zhuangzi and Liezi's thought.

The Chan masters Wuzu Fayan and Zhenjing once said: In the cold, desolate incense burner of an ancient temple, a single thought can seem like ten thousand years—yet this state may obscure the light. Dahui Zonggao also mentioned this view in his Pǔ Shuō (General Discourses). The Zhuangzi·Tianxia chapter criticizes Tian Pian and Shen Dao for taking "unyielding immobility" as the Dao, calling it the learning of the dead—here, the term "clump" refers to the "accumulated clump" mentioned earlier.

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of the Ultimate Virtue of Empty Perfection) is a pivotal Daoist text. This Yanzhai Kouyi represents the Southern Song dynasty Daoist Lin Xiyi's commentary on the scripture ("Juan zhi si" refers to the fourth volume of this exegetical work). Lin Xiyi (whose sobriquet was Yanzhai) employs accessible language to elucidate profound Daoist philosophy, aiding practitioners in comprehending the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing's essential teachings on self-cultivation and realization of the Dao (the Way). This volume further explains how to attain supreme unity with the Dao through cultivation methods emphasizing emptiness, stillness, and wuwei (non-action).