《沖虛至德真經四解》Vol. 2

Liezi was traveling with his disciples to the state of Wei when they stopped for a meal by the roadside. A follower discovered a century-old human skeleton among the weeds. Brushing aside the grass, Liezi pointed at the skull and said to his disciple Baifeng: "Only this skeleton and I truly understand—we were never really born, nor shall we ever truly die."

He explained: What we perceive is merely a process of transformation. Superficially, I appear alive while this skeleton seems dead, but if we trace existence to its fundamental nature, we find no real distinction between life and death. Lu Chongxuan (a Tang dynasty Daoist master) later commented: While the physical body undergoes birth and death, the original spirit (Shen) is neither born nor destroyed. My Shen remains present while its Shen has departed—though the skeleton and I appear in different states of existence, one who comprehends the true nature of Shen realizes there is ultimately no such thing as life or death.

Liezi continued his teaching: People mistakenly cling to preserving their bodies and coveting life's pleasures. Once physical form is acquired, one inevitably becomes preoccupied with its maintenance; upon receiving life, one cannot resist delighting in it—such behaviors stem from losing touch with one's fundamental nature. Lu Chongxuan observed: After acquiring form, humans violate the Dao through excessive attachment to nurturing their bodies, ultimately hastening their demise.

The discourse then turned to categories of transformation in nature: Beginning with the legendary transformation of frogs into quails (recorded in the Mozi) and aquatic plants changing forms in different environments. For instance, when water weeds grow on dry highland, they transform into lingxi (a xerophytic plant), demonstrating how organisms adapt their morphology to surroundings. When lingxi combines with decaying soil, it gives rise to wuzu grass—a new lifeform emerging from the fusion of two substances.

The roots of wuzu grass metamorphose into scarab larvae while its leaves become butterflies, showing how a single organism can differentiate into multiple forms. All living beings undergo continuous transformation—a butterfly may become a kitchen moth, which upon death transforms into a bird called ganyugu. The avian essence then evolves into a simi insect, subsequently manifesting as vinegar mites, yellow kuang insects, and eight other forms—all exemplifying how a single life essence undergoes successive rebirths.

This passage documents various extraordinary phenomena of reproduction and transformation in nature and human society, primarily categorized into two types: spontaneous metamorphosis and asexual reproduction.

First, regarding spontaneous metamorphosis: A sheep's liver can transform into earthworms (a type of small insect), horse blood may become zhuanlin (a mythical creature), and human blood can turn into will-o'-the-wisps. These are all natural transformations occurring within the same physical form. There are also instances where a sparrowhawk changes into a harrier, the harrier into a cuckoo, and the cuckoo back into a sparrowhawk; swallows transforming into clams, field mice into quails, rotten melons into fish, old leeks into amaranth, aged rams into apes, and fish eggs into insects. These transformations occur spontaneously without external catalysts.

Concerning asexual reproduction: On Danyuan Mountain (from the Classic of Mountains and Seas), there exists a beast called "lei" resembling a wildcat but covered in hair, capable of self-impregnation. In rivers and marshes lives a bird called "yi" that can reproduce simply through mutual gazing between male and female (Zhuangzi mentions that white "yi" birds conceive when their eyes remain motionless during gazing). There are also all-female "dayao" (turtles) and all-male "zhifeng" (small wasps), both capable of self-reproduction.

Similar phenomena appear in human society: In the land of Siyou (from the Classic of the Great Wilderness), Sishi men never marry and Sinü women never wed, yet they conceive children through spiritual resonance, much like the white "yi" birds' mutual conception. The birth of Houji (ancestor of the Zhou dynasty) occurred when his mother Jiang Yuan stepped on a giant's footprint and became pregnant through spiritual resonance. The birth of the Shang dynasty's famous minister Yi Yin is even more marvelous: his mother dreamed of a deity warning about a flood, transformed into a hollow mulberry tree while fleeing, and later a woman of the Youshen clan found the infant within the tree—this was Yi Yin.

These records reflect ancient people's observations and imaginings about the origins of life, connecting nature's wonders with human reproductive legends, embodying the primitive animistic worldview that "all things possess spirit."

This scripture describes the wondrous transformations and cyclical nature of life forms. Fireflies (zhao) emerge from damp vapors, vinegar mites (xiji) arise from fermented vinegar, while different species develop peculiar affinities—like the sheep's-foot fern (yangxi) growing alongside the dogbane vine (bugou). In bamboo groves, green larvae (qingning) appear, which then transform into leopards (cheng), revealing a chain of metamorphosis from tiny creatures to large animals.

These serpentine, avian, and insectoid life forms undergo ceaseless transformations—some through physical changes, others through death and rebirth in perpetual cycles. The leopard (cheng) may transform into a horse, and the horse in turn may give rise to humans. Ultimately, all things originate from the "pivotal mechanism" (ji, the axis of creation) and return to it. The mysteries of birth and death remain unfathomable—what perishes here may be reborn elsewhere, with only the sovereign spirit (shen), master of physical forms, remaining indestructible.

The sage understands that life is not eternally preserved, nor is death permanent annihilation—both are fundamentally transformations of primordial qi (vital energy). That unchanging "pivotal mechanism" is the source of all things, the governor of all movement, capable of shaping the formless into form and returning form to formlessness. As Lu Chongxuan's commentary explains: life forms may appear distinct yet are fundamentally interconnected. When the spirit takes residence, there is life; when it departs, death follows. Physical forms have no permanent master, nor does the spirit possess fixed form—once embodied, it becomes bound by material laws, with birth as manifestation and death as return to the source.

As the Zhouyi (Book of Changes) states: comprehending the cycle of beginnings and endings unveils the truth of life and death. What dies here may live elsewhere—those who grasp this principle understand birth and death as mere transformations of form. All things substitute for one another through different manifestations, with infinite permutations of life and death transitions. Consider how frogs transform into quail birds, demonstrating that metamorphosis transcends geographical boundaries—aquatic and terrestrial creatures may mutually evolve. When frog spawn (wa yi) attaches to elevated land (lingtun), it becomes plantain herbs (lingxi), which further evolve into other plants, revealing the marvelous fluidity of life forms.

This passage elucidates the principle of constant transformation in all things, using numerous natural phenomena to demonstrate how life forms change according to environmental conditions. The marsh-dwelling Xicao grass transforms into Wuzu grass under different circumstances; the roots of Wuzu grass can become scarab larvae while its leaves turn into butterflies—revealing how living beings can assume different forms through material transformations. Butterflies may then metamorphose into small stove-dwelling insects called "Jianduo," changing from flying to crawling creatures; after a thousand days, these insects can transform into birds called "Ganyugu," shifting from subterranean dwellers to forest inhabitants.

Some transformations involve gradual physical changes, like the Yilu insects emerging from decaying yellow cucumber beetles as naturally as wildfire spreads. Others represent cyclical nature transformations, such as sparrowhawks turning into kites, kites into cuckoos, then reverting back to sparrowhawks. Swallows transforming into clams, field mice becoming quails, decaying fingernails turning into fish, aged leeks morphing into amaranth, old ewes changing into apes, or fish eggs becoming insects—these changes demonstrate both same-species and cross-species metamorphoses.

Particularly noteworthy are the Danhuan mountain beasts capable of self-impregnation, the river marsh birds that reproduce through visual contact, the exclusively female Dayao creatures, and the all-male Zhi wasps—showing existence of unisexual reproduction. Even among humans there are cases of pregnancy without intercourse, like Houji conceived through sensing a giant's footprint or Yi Yin born from a hollow mulberry tree—phenomena that, while inexplicable, should not be considered extraordinary.

The conclusion observes: marsh insects emerge from dampness due to Qi transformation; wine midges appear from fermented flavors; the Yangxi grass transforms after prolonged association with bamboo shoots; withered bamboo gives birth to Qingning insects (inanimate matter generating sentient life); Qingning insects produce Cheng beasts (unconscious lifeforms creating conscious ones). The philosopher Shizi classified Cheng beasts as leopard-kind; their production of horses represents same-species generation, while horses producing humans shows cross-species transformation. Thus we see the endless metamorphosis of insects and the cyclical withering-flourishing of plants—these changes proceed without end, following no fixed patterns.

This passage explores the fundamental nature of life and death, asserting that all things follow natural cycles of growth and decline. The sage who has attained the Dao understands that life and death are merely the gathering and dispersing of Qi (vital energy), as natural as drifting clouds coming and going or bubbles forming and vanishing.

What appears as the opposition between life and death is actually like the relationship between dreaming and waking—just as one thinks they're dreaming, they may already be awake, and when feeling fully conscious, they might slip back into dreams. Those who truly comprehend the origin of life know there is essentially neither true birth nor true death. As the centenarian skeleton once remarked: "How could I abandon the joy of being a monarch to return to human suffering?" This illustrates how those who see through life and death neither cling to life nor fear death.

Ordinary people typically make two mistakes: some excessively preserve their bodies in fear of death, while others obsessively cling to life in delight of survival. In truth, life and death are like the endless transformations of all things—different life forms mutually transforming into one another. Creatures like quails, frogs, and plantains may appear different, yet they are all manifestations of the same vital energy. Consider how a butterfly emerges from a caterpillar, or how insects beneath a stove transform into dried husks before becoming other organisms—these metamorphoses appear distinct but share the same origin.

The transformation of life forms resembles how vinegar worms give birth to yellow insects, which then produce nine-headed creatures, which in turn generate tiny flying insects that eventually become fireflies—revealing the perpetual mystery of life's cyclical transformations.

This passage explores the marvelous phenomena of generation and transformation in all things, revealing the profound principles behind the mutual metamorphosis of various life forms in nature.

Some creatures seem to appear out of thin air: insects emerge from rotting melons and fruits with unknown origins; a sheep's liver decomposing transforms into a ground beetle, horse blood becomes will-o'-the-wisps, and human blood turns into wildfire. Even birds undergo mutual transformations: sparrowhawks become cuckoos, swallows turn into clams, and field mice transform into quails. Fingernails decaying can become fish, old leeks mutate into amaranth, aging ewes evolve into apes, and fish eggs develop into insects.

Nature exhibits various extraordinary reproductive methods: the beasts of Mount Danyuan conceive merely through eye contact; the large-waisted creatures in rivers and marshes are all female without needing males, while slender-waisted wasps are entirely male without requiring females. Humans also display peculiar phenomena: lovesick men can conceive without marriage through sympathetic resonance, and lovesick women can become pregnant without wedlock. As for the tiny insects in vinegar, their generation follows specific causes; yet the sheep's-bane grass coexists long-term with bamboo shoots without union. Creatures like the Qingning insect and Cheng insect, horses and humans—all arise spontaneously from nature.

From these phenomena we observe: some beings emerge through emotional exchange, others appear without any emotional cause; some sentient creatures produce insentient matter, while some insentient substances generate sentient life; some manifestations occur without reason, others arise without resonance. The endless transformations of forms in this world likely stem from some intrinsic mechanism driving them forward? All flourishing life originates from this mechanism, and all decay and dissolution return to it. Though life manifests in countless variations, the cycle of life and death remains beyond comprehension—precisely because this marvelous life mechanism operates through the fluctuations of Qi (vital energy), governed by its inherent regulator.

The Yellow Emperor's classic states: "Moving forms don't generate forms, but produce shadows; vibrating sounds don't create sounds, but yield echoes." Where there's form there must be shadow, where there's sound there must be echo—these are natural phenomena arising and vanishing simultaneously, requiring no sequence of before and after. Guo Xiang's commentary on the Zhuangzi has already explored this thoroughly. When people say "shadows follow moving forms, echoes respond to sounds," sages use this metaphor to illustrate that once things move they lose their authentic nature, while stillness returns them to their source—there's no need to obsess over superficial relationships like shadows and echoes.

Without movement there would be no transformation, yet transformation indeed gives birth to new things.

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu). All existing things owe their existence to the fundamental source of "non-being," just as life must emerge from emptiness. The dynamic patterns of movement and transformation (the "operating function") are likewise necessarily grounded in this root of "non-being."

The text employs metaphors of shadows and forms, echoes and sounds: while shadows appear to depend on physical forms, they actually rely on nothing; echoes seem to require original sounds, yet they arise through natural resonance. This illustrates the principle that "being" is born from "non-being"—all things appear to have dependencies, yet in truth they manifest spontaneously.

Regarding the discussion of "endings and beginnings," the text observes that all formed things must eventually perish, even the grandest forms like heaven and earth. However, the author distinguishes between worldly understandings of beginnings and ends (the gathering and dispersal of matter) and ultimate truth (which is without beginning or end). The coalescence of matter into form constitutes a "beginning," while its dispersion marks an "end"; yet the state of emptiness as fundamental source has neither commencement nor conclusion.

The passage ultimately emphasizes that the Great Dao (cosmic origin) has neither beginning nor end, and transcends both "being" and "non-being." As the Zhuangzi states, "there has never been a beginning"—it existed before the formation of heaven and earth, yet one cannot say it has existed for long. All living things return to lifeless states; all formed things ultimately revert to emptiness.

This scripture explores the fundamental relationship between life/death and physical form. It first observes that all living things ultimately return to death, and all physical forms eventually dissipate - this is the natural order of things.

Lu Chongxuan (Tang Dynasty Daoist master) explains: All things with beginnings and endings originate from "beginninglessness" (wushi) and ultimately return to "non-being" (bu you). Viewed from the primordial chaos of the universe, since there is emergence, how could there not be cessation? How could there not be dissolution?

The so-called "non-living" state actually follows existing life entering death and stillness - it's not that life never existed originally. True "fundamental non-arising" (ben busheng) means neither birth nor death from the very origin. Similarly, "formlessness" comes after physical forms disperse - not that forms never existed. True "fundamental formlessness" (ben wuxing) means neither aggregation nor dispersion from the source.

The life-creating origin itself has no birth/death; the form-shaping origin itself has no form. Thus it can generate all things while remaining unchanged. When we say life and form return to non-living/formless states, this is merely the cyclical alternation of existence and non-existence, not the eternal ultimate reality.

Lu further clarifies: The "Shen" (referring to the Daoist primordial spirit, the mechanism of creation) being deathless doesn't mean it lacks generative power. All things' capacity for life and all forms' capacity to manifest operate through Shen. Precisely because it can generate while remaining unaffected by birth/death cycles, it shares the nature of the Supreme Void's primordial Qi (cosmic source energy).

Fan Yingyuan (Southern Song Dynasty master) adds: Generated life must return to the non-living source; formed bodies must return to the formless origin. "Non-living" doesn't mean never having lived, but returning from living to this state; "formless" doesn't mean never having form, but returning from formed to this state.

Life inevitably moves toward termination just as it inevitably emerges. Life doesn't deliberately choose to exist - it arises spontaneously, hence living beings don't know why they live. Precisely because they don't know life's origin, they cannot prevent its continuation; not knowing death's cause, they cannot resist it. Seeking eternal life to avoid termination constitutes delusion that violates natural law.

Lu offers an analogy: Just as spring's warm Qi inevitably makes plants grow, living things must have endings. Desiring endless life misunderstands ultimate principles.

Fan concludes: Birth has its initiating sprout, death its returning destination - beginning and ending mutually transform.

This scripture explores the fundamental nature and ultimate destination of human spirit and physical form. The spirit belongs to the celestial aspect (heavenly portion), being light and expansive; while bones and physical form belong to the earthly aspect (earthly portion), being heavy and consolidating. At death, the spirit departs from the body, each returning to its origin—the spirit ascends to heaven while the physical form returns to earth. This is called "gui" (ghost), meaning returning to the "true abode" (zhenzhai), the realm of the Great Void (Taixu, the cosmic origin).

Human life emerges from the union of water and fire (Jing-essence and Shen-spirit), giving birth to earth (physical form). At birth, only when both spirit and hun-po soul are complete can a whole life be formed. The hun (ethereal like cloud qi) follows the Shen-spirit and can reach everywhere, while the po (white substance) governs the physical form with inherent limitations. Sages can use hun to control po, preventing the spirit from being burdened by the body; ordinary people, however, let hun submit to po, causing their spirit to become insufficient to govern the physical form. Thus, when sages die, though their physical forms perish, their spirit remains as vibrant as in life; whereas ordinary people live with spirits as if already dead.

Virtuous individuals become ordinary gui after death—though they lose supernatural powers, they remain distinct from those who sink into darkness and transform into aberrant beings. The original meaning of "gui" is "to return," signifying the return to origin. The Yellow Emperor said: "When the spirit enters the heavenly gate and bones return to the earth, what remains of 'me'?" Life originates from formless Dao, the physical body emerges from shapeless Qi (vital energy), and within this Qi lies spiritual consciousness. Both mind and body are unified manifestations of Yin-Yang energies, concrete expressions of the primordial Qi (先天一气).

(Note: Here "Qi" refers to innate life energy, distinct from postnatal breath; "Great Void" denotes the most primordial state of the cosmos; "true abode" metaphorically represents the fundamental realm to which life ultimately returns.)

This scripture explores the Daoist perspective on the relationship between form and spirit, and the nature of life and death.

Ordinary people mistakenly regard the physical body as the entirety of "self," thus generating various emotional desires. The more emotions one has, the deeper one sinks into attachment; the fewer desires one harbors, the lighter one's burdens become. Only those who have attained the Dao (the Way) can transcend this "attachment to self" and recognize the true nature of spirit. Common people cling to their physical forms, causing their spirit (Shen) to drift away from its original purity. When the body eventually returns to dust, where then is that clinging "self"?

Heaven and Earth operate according to their inherent patterns: in stillness, they return to their fundamental nature; in movement, they distance themselves from their source. Just as physical movement creates shadows and sound vibrations produce echoes, "being" emerges from "non-being," moving ever further from the root. Since all "being" must ultimately return to "non-being," the physical form is destined to perish. Heaven and Earth exist simultaneously with me, and will conclude with me—who can truly comprehend this ultimate mystery?

Concepts of beginning and end, duration and brevity, are all relative. The supreme Dao (the Way) itself has neither beginning nor end. Life emerges from formlessness and returns to formlessness—this is not sudden transformation but natural law. To cling to the idea of perpetual existence is like using the finite to measure the infinite, a delusion caused by superficial appearances.

A person's spirit (Shen) originates from the clear, light Qi (vital energy) of Heaven, while bones derive from the turbid, heavy Qi of Earth. After death, the spirit returns to the great void (Taixu), and flesh and bones revert to dust—where then does "self" remain? Yet this applies only to ordinary people. Sages roam with the Creator beyond life and death, beyond beginnings and endings—though their forms may decay, their true selves endure eternally.

All things have their origin and destination. When spirit returns to its source and bones to their root, this constitutes the state of returning to one's original truth.

This scripture primarily explores the Daoist principles of cultivating longevity and observing the transformations of life.

Practitioners of the Dao nurture their primordial spirit (Shen, the innate spiritual nature) by consolidating vital essence (Jing) and Qi (vital energy). They use the Shen to govern the physical form, and through the form, they preserve the Shen. In this way, Jing remains intact and undepleted, the Shen’s function never exhausts, and the body flourishes without decay. By closing the sensory gates, external phenomena cannot disturb them; by stabilizing the foundation of life, external influences cannot shake them. This indestructible state has existed since ancient times—this is the cultivation method of "long life and enduring vision." Ancient Daoist practitioners cultivated their bodies for twelve hundred years while their forms remained unweakened, having attained this very state.

A human life has four major stages: infancy, youth, old age, and death. Throughout these stages, transformation never ceases. In infancy, the mind holds no notions of right and wrong, so virtue (De) is pure and the will is unified. But once desires and thoughts arise, troubles multiply. In old age, the Qi becomes gentle and harmonious, bringing one closer to the Dao (the Way), and at life’s end, one enters a state of rest.

From the perspective of "non-being" (wu), the true eternal nature—one’s innate essence—remains forever still and unchanging. From the perspective of "being" (you), the myriad things are in constant flux. Just as rivers appear to flow while their essence remains unchanged, and boats seem still while actually moving, a person’s appearance and mind transform daily without their awareness. Only by understanding the alternation of day and night, and the continuity of past and present, can one grasp the cyclical patterns of all things.

Particular emphasis is placed on infancy, when Qi is concentrated and the will is pure and harmonious—the state of greatest De. As Laozi said, "One who embodies thick virtue is like an infant." Infants act with natural non-action (Wuwei), so their Jing is not scattered, their will is not divided, and their inner harmony remains firm.

In infancy, the human heart remains pure and undisturbed by external influences, making it impervious to harmful energies (Xieqi), thus preserving the integrity of one's innate nature (Xing). This is what Laozi referred to as "the state of profound Virtue (De)."

In youth, when vitality (Qi) is abundant, desires and thoughts flood the mind, making one easily swayed by external temptations, leading to the gradual decline of one's innate nature. At this stage, individuals engage in competition with the world, yet fail to gain harmony with all things. It resembles what Confucius described as the "stage of vigorous vitality."

In old age, desires and thoughts grow faint, the body requires rest, and one no longer actively pursues external things. Without the heart of contention, external matters no longer disturb. Though not as pure as infancy, it surpasses the turbulence of youth. This is the state Zhuangzi spoke of as "old age bringing me ease."

At death, one attains complete rest, returning to the ultimate origin. Lu Chongxuan's commentary explains: Approaching one's innate nature allows realization of the Dao (the Way), while indulgence in desires leads to the loss of true nature. Thus, the state of "profound Virtue" in infancy clearly surpasses the restless striving of others.

Zhenghe Zhenren further elaborates: In infancy, essence (Jing) and energy (Qi) are concentrated, the heart-mind is unified—this is the pinnacle of harmony, what Laozi called "profound Virtue." In youth, vitality is unsettled, desires flourish—as Zhuangzi said, "contact with external things breeds entanglement." In old age, vitality wanes, so desires fade and the body seeks rest. As for death, the true return—it is complete rest and the return to one's origin. Zhuangzi's words, "Heaven and Earth gave me form, life makes me toil, old age brings me ease, death grants me rest," express this truth. From infancy to death, transformation occurs daily—hence it is called "transformation" (Hua).

Fan Yingyuan remarked: Like Zigong's saying, "The noble man rests content here," these four states are universal patterns of life. Ordinary people change inwardly as their forms change, while sages adapt outwardly yet remain inwardly unchanged.

When Confucius traveled to Mount Tai, he saw Rong Qiji in the wilderness of Cheng, dressed in crude deerskin tied with a straw rope, playing the zither and singing. Confucius asked, "Why are you so joyful, sir?" Rong Qiji replied, "My joys are many: Heaven creates all things, yet humans are most precious. That I can be human is my first joy."

From this we infer that the spiritual essence (Shenqi) of humans is no different from other creatures—only their pursuits differ, hence their forms vary. Rong Qiji understood this deeply.

This passage recounts a dialogue between the ancient hermit Lin Lei (a practitioner nearing a hundred years of age) and Confucius's disciple Zigong, revealing the Daoist perspective on life, death, poverty, and wealth.

In early spring, Lin Lei wore a fur coat while gathering fallen grain stalks in harvested fields, singing as he walked. Confucius, observing this, deemed the elder worthy of conversation and sent Zigong to inquire. Zigong couldn't comprehend why this old man appeared so joyful: in youth he hadn't been diligent, in prime years he hadn't sought advancement, in old age he had neither wife nor children, with death approaching—yet he could still happily gather grain while singing.

Lin Lei laughed and replied that his joy was actually attainable by all, only people mistakenly considered these very things causes for sorrow. He proposed three great joys of human existence: first, being born human rather than beast; second, being born male (reflecting the era's social hierarchy); third, living to ninety when many died in childhood. He viewed poverty as the scholar's natural state and death as life's inevitable conclusion—what then remained to grieve when one accepts nature's course and completes life's journey well? Confucius praised his skill in self-consolation.

The commentator surnamed Lu notes that just as casting metal requires a mold, human form and spirit (Shen) are shaped by the "divine" (referring to Dao or natural law). That Lin Lei only realized this in old age shows his excessive attachment to physical form (xing). While Confucius approved his ability to console himself, he considered Lin Lei not yet truly penetrating the ultimate Dao.

This exchange demonstrates the Daoist attitude of following nature's flow and finding contentment in poverty while embracing the Dao. It suggests transcending conventional views of wealth and mortality to recognize life's essential nature—the true path to joy.

The wealthy and powerful fail to comprehend this principle, yet they worry over it—why then should you find my views strange?

In my youth I never strove desperately for fame, nor in old age do I contend for fleeting opportunities. Thus I've attained such longevity. Without desperate striving, one won't covet empty reputation; without contending for chances, one remains free from profit-driven obsessions. With neither of these burdens weighing on the heart, one naturally lives to a hundred years without deliberate supplication. Lu Chongxuan explains: by not pursuing what exceeds one's lot nor contending for opportunities beyond fate's design, one avoids exhausting the spirit and suffering premature death. It is precisely because I "rejoice in Heaven and know my fate" that I've achieved such long life.

This old man has neither wife nor children, with death approaching—yet he finds such joy. This exemplifies the Book of Changes' teaching: "Rejoicing in Heaven and knowing fate, thus having no sorrow." Lu Chongxuan adds: spouses and children only tax one's spirit—how could they truly prolong life? Serenely awaiting life's conclusion without inner distress—this is why such joy is possible.

Zigong (Confucius' disciple) asked: "Long life is humanity's common desire; death is what all men dread. Yet you find joy in death—why?" Lin Lei replied: "Death and life are like coming and going. Those who die here—how do we know they're not reborn elsewhere? Thus I perceive no difference between them. How can you be certain that frenetically pursuing longevity isn't delusion? Or that my present death isn't superior to past life?" Lu Chongxuan explains: understanding that the physical body undergoes renewal while the spirit neither dies nor perishes, that life and death alternate like day and night—why then cling to life and fear death?

Zigong failed to comprehend and reported this to Confucius, who said: "I knew one could discuss profound matters with him, though his realization remains incomplete." Hearing Lin Lei's words initially, one might consider them ultimate truth, yet Confucius recognized their imperfection. The truly complete state embraces all without attachment, thereby fully comprehending heavenly principle. Presently Lin Lei still distinguishes having from lacking, acceptance from rejection—inevitably perceiving internal and external as separate. Yet he approaches truth, lacking only final penetration. Were he to perceive the mystery of myriad transformations returning to Oneness, forgetting all distinctions, truth would become self-evident—indeed requiring no deliberate rejection. That state of harmonizing inner and outer, blending with the multitude—where lies any division between completeness and incompleteness?

Lu Chongxuan concludes: dying here while being born elsewhere follows inevitable law. Lin Lei's "how do we know" expresses approximate truth—hence Confucius' judgment of incompleteness.

This passage primarily explores perspectives on life and death and the realms of human existence, with its core ideas summarized as follows:

Those who comprehend the laws of nature and understand the Mandate of Heaven (Tianming) remain free from sorrow, for by accepting ordinary circumstances they achieve a good end. The transformations of life and death cannot affect their fundamental nature, thus they maintain joy. The truly self-cultivated person accepts both adversity and prosperity with equanimity, understanding that the coming and going of life lies beyond personal control. With an undisturbed heart, they naturally remain without sorrow. However, Confucius observed that deliberate pursuit of either joy or sorrow constitutes false happiness—true joy transcends such dualities in its natural state.

The text mentions Rong Qiqi (a Spring and Autumn period hermit) as one who truly attained self-contentment, while Lin Lei (an ancient worthy), though enlightened, hadn't reached complete realization. Life and death form a cyclical process—death marks life's beginning, with the transformations of all things being endless. Those who penetrate this truth neither cling to life nor dread death, unlike those anxiously toiling for survival who remain fundamentally confused.

When Zigong (Confucius' disciple) wearied of study, the Master told him: "While alive, there is no cessation—life itself is labor. Only when seeing graves (kuang meaning tomb chambers, fen meaning burial mounds, and li referring to funerary objects) does one understand true rest." Zigong sighed that death is magnificent—the noble find repose in it while the petty succumb. Confucius further explained: "People know life's pleasures but not its sufferings; recognize old age's weariness but not its comfort; fear death's terror but not its rest." Finally quoting Zhuangzi: "The Great Clod (nature) burdens us with form, labors us with life, eases us with age, and rests us with death."

Through this teacher-disciple dialogue, the text elucidates the Daoist philosophical view equating life and death while advocating harmony with nature. It presents death as life's natural destination—neither to be feared nor escaped.

This scripture explores perspectives on life, death, and the meaning of existence. Laozi states that death is the means by which I find rest. Lu Chongxuan explains that living represents a state of constant activity, and only through death can one truly rest. Just as the sun's radiance keeps all things in motion—with noble men pursuing reputation and petty men chasing profit—there is never cessation.

Zhenghe Zhenren observes that if Daoist study doesn't reach the stage of comprehending life and death, what's the purpose of studying? When Zigong (Confucius' disciple) grew weary of learning and desired rest, it was because he hadn't yet understood death's true meaning. Confucius told him there's no rest in life—one must behold the towering tomb mound and prominent epitaph to recognize death as the secluded resting place that separates us from the world. While ordinary people perish in death, noble men's spirits endure beyond physical demise, hence the saying "noble men find rest, petty men perish." Life is toil, aging brings ease, but death is true repose.

Fan Yingyuan quotes Laozi: "In learning, advance daily; yet transcend the burdens learning brings." Zigong's desire for rest stemmed from not having reached the stage of "daily advancement," let alone the supreme state of "continually reducing desires to achieve non-action (Wuwei) that accomplishes all." Confucius told him one must remain diligent until death. Zhuangzi says the earth gives us form—life brings toil, aging brings comfort, death brings rest. These truths are meant for those attached to physical form and wearied by life's struggles.

Yanzi marvels: "How splendid was the ancients' attitude toward death!" While life and death remain constant across time, the special praise for ancient perspectives shows they neither clung to life nor feared death.

The benevolent find peaceful rest; the unvirtuous simply perish. Those who cultivate virtue and act prudently maintain reverential caution—this is the benevolent person's concern. The greedy and unrestrained, forever unsatisfied, suffer continuously until death ends their torment.

Death is virtue's homecoming. "De (Virtue)" means attainment, while "jiao" (boundary) signifies return—each going to their proper place. The ancients called the dead "returnees," making the living "travelers." To journey without knowing one's destination is to be homeless. When one person loses their way, the world condemns them, yet when all under heaven are lost, none recognize the disorder.

(Note: The term "jiao" referenced here is a Daoist technical term denoting the ultimate destination or boundary of things; "great clod" refers to the earth; "lofty mound" describes the tomb's imposing appearance)

This scripture reveals the common delusions of worldly people by contrasting two states of existence. First, it describes two types of individuals: one is the reckless wanderer who abandons his homeland, forsakes his kin, and neglects his household to roam aimlessly; the other is the scheming intellectual obsessed with worldly achievements, flaunting his talents and chasing fame, only to lose himself in the process. Though their manifestations differ, both are fundamentally trapped in a state of "drowning and dissipation" (沉溺迷失, chenni mishi)—a profound state of delusion and loss.

Laozi (the founder of Daoism) teaches that "returning to the root is called stillness" (归根曰静, guigen yue jing), emphasizing that true tranquility lies in returning to one’s original nature. Those who cling to physical life exhaust their spirit and torment their hearts, as if shackled and burdened—only in death do they find release and return to authenticity. Ordinary people fear death and crave life, yet fail to understand the return to life’s source. This confusion is widespread.

The text cites Yanzi (a famed minister of the Qi state during the Spring and Autumn period) and the Confucian and Mohist schools as examples, demonstrating that the emphasis on physical existence is not ultimate truth. The Zhenghe era (宋徽宗年号, here representing Confucian thought) regards life and death as great matters, asserting that only those who properly nurture life can properly face death. True longevity lies in the indestructibility of spirit (神, shen)—the virtuous (仁者, renzhe) endure in spirit, while the unvirtuous (不仁者, burenzhe) perish along with all things upon death.

Finally, the text employs a parable from Zhuangzi: two shepherds both lost their sheep—one due to gambling, the other due to study. Though their methods differed, the outcome was the same: both strayed from the proper path. Whether wandering the world or pursuing knowledge, any deviation from the Dao (道) is fundamentally no different. Only the sage who awakens to the Dao truly understands what to pursue and what to relinquish.

This passage expounds profound truths about life, death, and ultimate destiny. Death represents the ultimate manifestation of De (Virtue/Power) (where "ultimate" refers to the final realization), while the fundamental origin of life actually stems from Yin (which symbolizes stillness and homecoming). Life is the journey, death the homecoming—this reveals the deeper meaning behind the dynamic interplay of Yin-Yang.

Those who indulge in wild excess err by overly pursuing external gratification; cunning strategists falter through excessive attachment to internal scheming. Ordinary people often cannot discern what to relinquish and what to pursue, while only sages truly understand the Dao of discernment.

Fan Yingyuan (a Song Dynasty Daoist) explains: When people die they are called "ghosts," and "ghost" means to return—returning to life's true abode. Yet people cling to their limited existence, anchoring themselves in fleshly forms from which there is no escape, mutually harming and exhausting themselves through external attachments, their lives like galloping carriages that cannot stop—is this not profoundly pitiable?

Some toil throughout life yet see no accomplishment, exhaust themselves yet know no homecoming—is this not tragic? Those who lose themselves in this way, unaware of returning to their original nature, what meaning does their living hold? It's like someone abandoning their homeland, forsaking kin, neglecting family duties to wander aimlessly without return—what manner of person is this? Merely a drifting passerby in Heaven and Earth's creation, a temporary lodger in the cycles of Yin-Yang.

Others become obsessed with worldly reputation, flaunting talents and chasing empty fame, proclaiming themselves in society without self-awareness. What manner of person is this? Merely one who embellishes wisdom to startle fools, adorns conduct to highlight others' flaws—a peddler of fame in this world. Though these two types manifest differently, both are like drowning souls unaware of homecoming. Some may praise the former as free-spirited or commend the latter as resourceful, but ultimately, only sages truly grasp the Dao of discernment.