《列子》

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) lived in seclusion in Putian of the Zheng state for forty years, with none around him comprehending his true spiritual attainment. Even the ruler and high-ranking officials regarded him merely as an ordinary commoner.

During a famine in Zheng, Liezi prepared to relocate to Wei. Before departure, his disciples pleaded: "Master, we know not when you shall return. May we presume to ask for your final teachings? Have you not received instruction from our grand-teacher Huzi Zilin (Liezi's teacher)?"

Liezi smiled and asked, "What did Master Huzi teach?" Though speaking thus, he nevertheless imparted to his disciples the same wisdom he had once shared with Bohun Maoren (Liezi's fellow disciple):

"Within the myriad things exists the eternally non-generating substance (Dao), and the eternally unchanging principle. Precisely this non-generating substance gives birth to all things, and this unchanging principle drives transformation. All concrete phenomena must generate and must transform, hence the world perpetually exists in a state of ceaseless production and transformation. This generative process operates continuously—the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang energies, the cycling of four seasons—all manifest this truth."

"That which does not generate appears as solitary and unchanging (yi du), while that which does not transform circulates endlessly. This cycle knows no terminus, just as this independently existing Dao has neither end nor limit."

Finally, he cited scripture from the Huangdi Jing to elucidate: "The mysterious functioning of emptiness never perishes—this is the primal mother (xuan pin). The gateway of this mother constitutes the root of heaven and earth. Continuously existing between being and non-being, its efficacy never exhausts."

(This dialogue between Liezi and his disciples reveals core Daoist philosophy: behind the phenomenal world exists the eternal, unchanging substance of Dao, which though invisible gives birth to all things. "Xuan pin" metaphorically describes Dao as a womb that nurtures creation, while "valley spirit" emphasizes its empty yet miraculously productive nature.)

The origin that creates all things (Dao) is itself uncreated, and the Dao that transforms all things is itself unchanging. All things arise and transform spontaneously, naturally taking form and color, naturally acquiring wisdom and power, naturally perishing and being reborn. To insist that there must something governing these transformations of generation and dissolution, form and color, wisdom and power would be incorrect.

Liezi said: The ancient sages comprehended the movements of heaven and earth through the two energies of Yin and Yang. All things with form emerge from the formless—so from where do heaven and earth themselves arise? Thus the evolution of the cosmos is divided into four stages: the Great Nothingness (Taiyi, the state completely devoid of Qi), the Great Beginning (Taichu, when Qi first begins to stir), the Great Commencement (Taishi, when forms first begin to take shape), and the Great Simplicity (Taisu, when the fundamental substance of matter first appears).

When Qi, form, and substance are all present but not yet separated, this state is called "Hunlun" (primordial chaos). What we call Hunlun means all things are merged together without differentiation. This state cannot be seen, heard, or touched—therefore it is called "Yi" (the source of transformation). Yi has no concrete form; through transformation it becomes "One" (the unified origin), the "One" transforms into "Seven," and "Seven" transforms into "Nine." "Nine" represents the ultimate state of Qi's transformation, after which it reverts back to "One." "One" marks the beginning of formal transformation. Within this process, the clear and light Qi ascends to become heaven, while the turbid and heavy Qi descends to become earth.

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) said: The harmonious blending of Yin and Yang energies between heaven and earth forms human beings. Thus heaven and earth contain the essence (Jing) from which all things are born and nurtured.

He further stated: Heaven and earth possess no perfect functions, sages have no omnipotent abilities, and all things lack absolute utility. For heaven's primary duty is to create and cover all beings, earth's primary duty is to bear physical forms, the sage's duty lies in teaching sentient beings, and all things fulfill their duties by occupying their proper places.

From this perspective, heaven has its deficiencies, earth has its specialties, sages have their limitations, and all things share interconnected aspects. Why is this so? The heaven responsible for creation cannot simultaneously bear all things; the earth that bears forms cannot simultaneously provide instruction; the sages who teach cannot contradict the inherent nature of things; and things with established natures cannot exceed their designated positions.

Thus the Dao of heaven and earth's operation manifests as either Yin or Yang; the sage's teaching appears as either benevolence or righteousness; the nature of things displays as either softness or hardness. These all follow their inherent tendencies without overstepping their proper bounds.

Therefore where there are living beings, there exists that which gives them life; where there are physical forms, there exists that which gives them form; where there are sounds, there exists that which produces sound; where there are colors, there exists that which manifests color; where there are flavors, there exists that which generates flavor. Created lives will eventually perish, but the life-giving force never ceases; physical forms are substantial, yet the form-giving origin remains formless; emitted sounds can be heard, but the sound-producing source itself remains silent.

The colors we perceive with our eyes appear vivid and distinct, yet the essential nature (referring to the Dao) that makes colors what they are never manifests itself. The flavors we taste with our tongues feel concrete and specific, yet the primordial source (the Dao) that gives flavors their existence never reveals itself. These are all manifestations of Wuwei (non-action, a core Daoist concept meaning effortless action).

The Great Dao can manifest both Yin and Yang qualities—it can be soft yet firm, fleeting yet enduring, round yet square. It gives birth to life and brings about death, generates heat yet provides coolness, rises yet sinks. It produces the Gong and Shang tones (two notes from the ancient pentatonic scale), appears yet disappears, manifests as profound darkness or bright yellow, tastes sweet yet bitter, smells pungent yet fragrant.

The Dao appears to lack specific cognitive abilities and seems incapable of particular functions, yet in truth it knows all things and can accomplish anything.

When Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) was traveling to the state of Wei, he stopped for a meal by the roadside. His attendant discovered a century-old skull among the grass. Liezi parted the weeds and pointed at it, turning to tell his disciple Baifeng: "Only this skull and I truly understand the state of never having been born nor having died. Are people correct in their excessive pursuit of life-nourishment? Is their relentless chase after pleasure truly appropriate?"

The mystery of how all things come into being unfolds thus: Frog eggs may transform into quails; encountering water, they become algae; at the water-earth boundary, they turn into moss. What grows on hills becomes plantain, and plantain mixed with decaying matter transforms into crowfoot grass. The roots of crowfoot grass become scarab larvae, while its leaves become butterflies. These butterflies later hatch into small insects that dwell beneath stoves, resembling shed skins in appearance.

This passage describes a series of marvelous biological transformations, revealing the ancient Daoist understanding of the mutual transmutation of all things. There exists a creature called the "Jianduo" which, after a thousand days, transforms into a bird known as the "Ganyugu." The saliva of the Ganyugu then becomes the "Simi," which in turn evolves into the "Shixiyilu," followed by successive transformations into "Shixihuangkuang," "Jiuyou," "Maorui," and finally into the insect known as "Fuquan."

A sheep's liver can transform into a substance called "Digao," horse blood can change into "Lin," and human blood can turn into "wildfire." Birds also undergo mutual transformations: the sparrowhawk becomes the harrier, the harrier becomes the cuckoo, and the cuckoo can revert back to the sparrowhawk. Swallows transform into clams, field mice become quails, rotten melons turn into fish, aged leeks change into amaranth, old rams evolve into apes, and fish eggs develop into insects.

On Mount Danyuan, there is a mystical beast capable of self-conception and reproduction, called the "Lei." The birds in the river marshes can reproduce simply by gazing at each other, known as the "Yi." Entirely female groups are called "Dayao," while entirely male groups are called "Zhifeng." A woman longing for a man can conceive without marriage, and a man yearning for a woman can be spiritually impregnated without taking a wife.

Hou Ji (the progenitor of the Zhou dynasty) was born from the footprint of a giant, while Yi Yin (a renowned minister of the Shang dynasty) emerged from a hollow mulberry tree. The "Juezhao" creature is born in damp environments, and the "Xiji" is born from wine. The "Yangxi" grass grows alongside bamboo that does not produce shoots, while old bamboo gives rise to the "Qingning," which in turn produces the "Cheng." The Cheng gives birth to horses, and horses give birth to humans. Humans ultimately return to the cyclical mechanism of nature. All things arise from this mechanism and eventually return to it.

The Yellow Emperor's Scripture states: "When form moves, it does not produce new form but rather produces shadow." This passage, through its various extraordinary examples of biological transformation, elucidates the Daoist cosmology of "all things sharing a common origin" and "cyclical recurrence," revealing the mysterious connections and transformations between different forms of life.

Sound itself does not produce sound, but produces echoes; emptiness itself does not produce emptiness, but generates substance. All formed things must inevitably come to an end - but will heaven and earth also end? Heaven and earth will end together with me. After ending, will there be new beginnings? This we cannot know. The ending of the Dao (cosmic origin) has in truth never begun, and its unfolding never repeats.

All living things must return to the lifeless state; all formed things must return to the formless. What we call "non-life" does not mean there was never life to begin with, just as "formless" does not mean there was never form. The existence of life inherently follows the principle of moving toward its conclusion. This ending is unavoidable, just as birth is inevitable. To desire eternal preservation of life and exhaust the process of ending is to misunderstand the natural order.

Human spirit (Shen) originates from heaven (cosmic energy), while the physical body comes from earth (material elements). That which belongs to heaven is clear and expansive; that which belongs to earth is turbid and condensed. When spirit departs from form, each returning to its source, this state is called "ghost." "Ghost" means "to return" - returning to one's true origin.

The Yellow Emperor (revered ancestor in Daoism) once said: "When spirit enters its heavenly gate and the body returns to earthly roots, what remains of 'me'?"

A human life undergoes four great transformations: infancy, vigorous adulthood, old age, and death. During infancy, one's Qi is concentrated and mind perfectly unified, achieving the most harmonious state - external things cannot harm such a person, and virtue (De) can increase no further.

In the prime of youth when one is strong and vigorous, Qi (vital energy) and blood are abundant, while desires and distracting thoughts constantly arise. As external matters continuously intrude, one's inner De (Virtue/Power) gradually diminishes. Upon reaching old age when physical strength declines, desires and distracting thoughts grow faint, the body becomes tranquil, and external things can no longer disturb the heart-mind. Though this state still falls short of the pure simplicity of an infant, it far surpasses the restlessness of youth. When death finally arrives, one returns completely to stillness, reverting to the primordial serenity of life's origin.

When Confucius was traveling on Mount Tai, he encountered Rong Qiji (a recluse of the Spring and Autumn period) walking through the outskirts of the state of Cheng. The old man wore crude deerskin garments tied with a straw rope, yet he played his zither and sang with perfect contentment. Confucius asked curiously: "Why is the master so joyful?"

Rong Qiji replied: "My happiness has three aspects: First, heaven and earth give birth to all things, yet humans alone are most noble - that I was born human is my first joy. Second, male and female are distinguished, with males being more honored - that I was born male is my second joy. Third, some die in infancy while I've reached ninety years of age - this is my third joy. Poverty is the scholar's constant condition; death is life's inevitable destination. Being at peace with my condition and yielding to nature's course, what reason have I for sorrow?"

Hearing this, Confucius sighed in admiration: "Excellent indeed! This is truly one who understands self-contentment."

Lin Lei, a hermit nearing a hundred years old, was still wearing a fur coat in early spring as he gleaned leftover wheat stalks in an old field, singing while he walked. When Confucius traveled to the state of Wei and saw him in the countryside, he turned to his disciples and said, "That elder is worth conversing with—why don't you go and try speaking to him?"

Zi Gong (a disciple of Confucius) volunteered to approach him. Meeting Lin Lei at the field's edge, he sighed and said, "Don't you have any regrets, venerable sir, singing while gleaning like this?" Lin Lei neither paused in his steps nor ceased his song. Only after Zi Gong pressed him repeatedly did he finally look up and reply, "What would I regret?"

Zi Gong, perplexed, asked, "In your youth, you were not diligent; in your prime, you did not strive for achievement; now in old age, you have neither wife nor children, and death approaches—what joy is there in this that you can sing while gleaning?" Lin Lei laughed and said, "The reason for my joy is something everyone possesses, yet others worry over it. Precisely because I was not diligent in youth and did not compete for fame in my prime, I have lived this long. Having no wife or children to burden me in old age and no attachments as death nears—this is why I am so happy."

Zi Gong pressed further: "Long life is what people desire; death is what they dread. Yet you find joy in approaching death—why is that?" Lin Lei answered, "Death and life are like a cycle of going and returning."

(Note: This dialogue embodies the Daoist philosophy of "following nature's course." By not deliberately pursuing worldly values, Lin Lei achieves inner freedom. He views life and death as a natural cycle not to be clung to—a detached attitude that contrasts sharply with Confucianism's active engagement with society.)

How can those who die in this place know they will not be reborn elsewhere? Thus I understand that life and death are ultimately no different in essence. How can I be certain that the ceaseless striving for longevity isn't itself a delusion? How can I know that present death might not be preferable to past existence?

When Zigong (Confucius' disciple) heard these words, he failed to comprehend them and reported them to Confucius. The Master said: "I knew this was someone with whom one could discuss the Dao (the Way). Indeed it is so. Yet while he has grasped the principle, he hasn't yet reached perfect clarity."

Later, when Zigong grew weary of study, he said to Confucius: "I wish to rest." Confucius replied: "There is no true rest while one lives." Zigong asked: "Does this mean I shall never find rest?" The Master answered: "You shall. When you see those burial mounds—some towering like hills, some squared like altars, some rounded like domes, some hollowed like cooking vessels—then you'll know where rest may be found."

Zigong sighed: "How great is death! The noble find peace there, while the petty are subdued." Confucius said: "Ah Zigong, you've finally understood. All men know the joys of living, but not its sufferings; they know the exhaustion of aging, but not the ease of old age; they fear the terror of death, but fail to see it as repose."

Yanzi (the famous minister of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period) similarly observed: "How excellent is death! The virtuous rest there, while the wicked are brought low."

Death is actually the final destination of De (Virtue/Power). The ancients called the dead “returnees”—those who have gone back to their source. If the dead are returnees, then the living are “travelers,” walking along the road. To keep traveling without knowing to return to one’s source is to lose one’s home. When one person loses their home, everyone condemns them; yet when the whole world loses its home, no one seems to think anything is wrong.

Some people leave their homes and families behind, neglect their livelihoods, and wander everywhere without returning. What sort of people are they? The world would surely call them unruly drifters. Others are eager for worldly fame and status, show off their cleverness, pursue empty reputations, and boast about themselves while failing to see their original nature. What sort of people are they? The world instead considers them wise and resourceful. In truth, both kinds have lost their nature; the only difference is that the world approves of the latter and condemns the former. Only the sage—one who has attained the Dao (the Way)—knows what to pursue and what to relinquish.

Someone asked Liezi, “Why do you esteem the state of emptiness?” Liezi replied, “Emptiness has no rank or worth.” He continued: “Rather than pursue an empty reputation, remain tranquil; rather than force yourself to act, remain empty and still. In tranquility and stillness, you can find your true destination. When you are forever taking and giving, you lose your foundation. Once things have fallen into ruin, trying to repair them under the banner of benevolence and righteousness can no longer undo the damage.”

Zhou Xiong, an ancient worthy, once said ….

All things in heaven and earth are in constant motion and transformation, yet these changes are so subtle they escape ordinary perception. What decreases here increases there; what reaches completion here meets deficiency there. This perpetual cycle of waxing and waning never ceases, much like life itself ebbs and flows with the passage of time.

Such transformations never occur abruptly. Consider how a person ages from birth to old age—their countenance, complexion, wisdom, and physique undergo subtle daily changes, while skin, nails, and hair shed and renew themselves imperceptibly. These minute shifts elude immediate detection, becoming apparent only in hindsight.

There was a man from Qi who constantly feared the sky might collapse and the earth cave in, leaving him without refuge. His anxiety grew so severe he could neither eat nor sleep. Another man sought to enlighten him: "The sky is merely accumulated Qi (vital energy), present everywhere. You breathe and move within this air daily—why fear its collapse?"

The worried man persisted: "If the sky truly is Qi, won't the sun, moon, and stars come crashing down?" The teacher explained: "These celestial bodies are but luminous clusters of Qi—even should they fall, they couldn't harm anyone." Still unconvinced, the anxious man asked: "Then what if the earth gives way?" To which came the reply: "The earth is simply compacted matter." (Here the terms "accumulated Qi" and "compacted matter" reveal the Daoist view of all phenomena as fundamentally composed of Qi, reflecting a form of simple materialism.)

This dialogue explores the philosophical question of whether heaven and earth can perish. Someone expressed concern that the sky might collapse and the earth might cave in, to which another person reassured them that heaven and earth fill all directions without gaps—just as people walk upon the ground all day without worrying it might give way. Hearing this, both were relieved and delighted.

Master Changlu (a Daoist scholar), upon hearing of this, laughed and said: "Rainbows, clouds, wind, rain, and the four seasons—these are all formed by accumulated Qi (vital energy) that composes the heavens. Mountains, rivers, oceans, metals, stones, fire, and wood—these are all accumulated matter that forms the earth. Since we know heaven is accumulated Qi and earth is accumulated substance, how can we claim they will never perish? In the vast emptiness of the cosmos, heaven and earth are but tiny specks, yet within the realm of form, they are the grandest of all. That they are unfathomable and immeasurable is true, but to worry about their destruction is thinking too far ahead, while insisting they will never perish is equally mistaken. Heaven and earth will eventually meet their end—when that time comes, how could one not be concerned?"

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure), hearing this, smiled and replied: "To say heaven and earth will perish is wrong, and to say they will not perish is also wrong. Whether they perish or not lies beyond our knowing. In truth, these two possibilities are fundamentally the same—just as the living do not know death, and the dead do not know life; those arriving do not know departure, and those departing do not know arrival. The principle of destruction and non-destruction follows the same logic."

Shun asked the ancient sage Zheng: "Can I possess the Dao?" Zheng replied: "Even your body does not belong to you—how could you possess the Dao?" Shun pressed further: "If my body isn't mine, then to whom does it belong?"

Zheng explained: "Your physical form is temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Your life is not yours—it is the harmonious state bestowed by Heaven and Earth; your innate nature and destiny are not yours—they follow the operational principles arranged by Heaven and Earth; even your descendants are not yours, merely the molting process of life's continuation between heaven and earth. Thus when walking, one need not deliberately seek direction; when dwelling, one need not cling to residence; when eating, one need not be overly fastidious. How could the flowing Yang Qi (natural energy) between Heaven and Earth ever be personally owned?"

Another story tells of the Guo clan of Qi who were exceedingly wealthy, while the Xiang clan of Song lived in poverty. Xiang traveled to Qi to seek Guo's advice on attaining riches. Guo said: "I excel at 'stealing.' When I first began this practice, I became self-sufficient within a year, prosperous by the second year, and immensely wealthy by the third. Later, I could even benefit my entire village."

Xiang was delighted upon hearing this but only grasped the superficial meaning, failing to understand its profound implication. He proceeded to scale walls and bore through barriers, stealing everything he encountered. Before long, he was convicted of theft and had even his original possessions confiscated. Believing Guo had deceived him, Xiang went to confront him with grievances.

Master Guo (a wise man) asked Master Xiang: "What do you think constitutes theft?" Master Xiang described his understanding of thievery.

With a sigh, Master Guo responded: "Alas! Your understanding of theft remains so superficial! Let me explain. I've learned that heaven and earth operate by their inherent patterns, and the earth nurtures its resources. What I 'steal' are the opportune moments of cosmic movement and the earth's natural provisions—I harness the nourishing rains, the fertility of mountains and marshes to grow crops and build dwellings with walls. When I take fowl and beasts from the land or fish and turtles from waters, these too are forms of 'theft.'"

"Yet crops, timber, animals, and fish are all born of nature—which of these truly belongs to me? Though I 'steal' from nature in this way, no calamity befalls me. But gold, jewels, grain, fabrics, and material wealth—these are hoarded by men themselves. Were they truly bestowed by heaven? If one steals such things and incurs punishment, whom can they blame?"

Perplexed, Master Xiang felt deceived and sought counsel from Master Dongguo (another sage). Master Dongguo remarked: "Isn't your very existence also 'stolen'? You appropriated the harmonious blending of Yin-Yang energies to be born, borrowing them to form your body. How much more so for external possessions? In truth, all things between heaven and earth inherently depend on one another. To forcibly claim them as one's own—that is true delusion."

"What Master Guo calls 'theft' is in fact aligned with the Dao (the Way) of nature."

Human misfortunes arise from the greed that drives theft - such selfishness naturally invites retribution. Yet upon closer examination, even those who proclaim absolute selflessness are fundamentally engaged in theft; while those who transcend all notions of public and private still operate within a higher form of appropriation. In truth, the boundary between public and private is itself governed by Heaven and Earth's natural order. Those who truly comprehend the Dao of cosmic operation understand: who in this world can truly be called a thief? And who can claim complete innocence?

(This passage from the Liezi's "Explaining Conjunctions" uses the metaphor of theft to explore Daoist philosophy of "equalizing all things." From the Daoist perspective, attachment to distinctions between "public" and "private" violates natural harmony. The truly awakened transcend such dualistic thinking, embracing all existence with the impartiality of Heaven and Earth, making no artificial separations.)