《列子》

The opening chapter of Liezi·Tian Rui discusses the fundamental principles governing the generation and transformation of all things. The text states that all phenomena in the world, whether large or small, long or short, possess their own distinct characteristics. All living, active beings undergo birth, death, and change—these are manifestations of natural law. Only that which is absolutely still, utterly empty, and eternally unchanging (referring to the Dao) remains unaffected by the transformations of Yin-Yang or the cycles of the four seasons.

Liezi (a key Daoist figure, whose surname was Lie and given name Yukou) lived in seclusion in Putian, in the state of Zheng, for forty years, yet no one truly understood him. Because he did not outwardly display his wisdom and refrained from argumentative speech, even rulers and ministers regarded him as an ordinary man. One year, when famine struck Zheng, Liezi prepared to move to the state of Wei. His disciples, fearing he might not return, asked for parting teachings.

Liezi smiled and responded with a question: "What did my teacher, Huqiu Zilin (Liezi’s master), ever say?" He then recounted his teacher’s words to their mutual friend Bohun Maoren (a fellow Daoist practitioner): In this world, there exists "that which is born" (concrete, visible forms) and "that which is un-born" (the source that creates all things but is itself uncreated); there exists "that which transforms" (observable phenomena of change) and "that which does not transform" (the unchanging essence that drives transformation). That which is "un-born" gives rise to all things, while that which is "untransformed" propels all change. Yet the things that are born must inevitably undergo birth and death, and phenomena that transform must inevitably experience transition.

Here, the core Daoist teaching is revealed: behind the world of appearances lies an eternal, unchanging essence (the Dao), which, though not directly manifest, is the fundamental basis for the birth, death, and transformation of all things. Through the dialogue between master and disciple, Liezi transforms profound cosmological insights into everyday conversation, embodying the Daoist wisdom of "the Dao follows what is natural."

This elucidates the principle of natural transformation in the cosmic order. Those phenomena that appear to create life do not do so through deliberate intention; what seems to cause transformation does not act with conscious purpose. These processes of generation and transformation occur spontaneously, which is why the world perpetually exists in a state of ceaseless renewal and constant flux.

No entity with physical form and movement can maintain absolute stillness. The so-called "constant generation and transformation" refers to this uninterrupted process where creation and change are interdependent, cycling endlessly. The alternation between life and death, existence and dissolution continues perpetually like the interplay of Yin-Yang or the rotation of seasons. All things undergo continuous metamorphosis within this natural order.

What remains eternally unchanging is the independently existing noumenon (referred to as "suspected singularity"). It has neither beginning nor end, and cannot be verified through concrete phenomena. The cyclical boundaries of ever-changing things are likewise inexhaustible. As stated in the Yellow Emperor's classic: "The valley spirit never dies" (where "valley spirit" signifies the mysterious function within emptiness), this void-originating source never perishes.

This is what we call the "Mysterious Feminine" (Xuanpin), the fundamental origin of heaven, earth, and all things. Though invisible and intangible, it exists continuously without exhaustion. Thus, the true source of life requires no creation itself, and the agent of transformation remains unchanged. As Zhuangzi observed, our lives are not determined by our own will, but manifest through the workings of natural law.

This passage elucidates the principle of the spontaneous generation and transformation of all things. Life arises of itself, not created by any specific entity. What we call "generation" actually has no true creator, hence it can also be termed "non-generation." Similarly, the transformations of all things occur naturally without any controlling master.

If one believes that what creates life can also die, or that what drives change can itself change, then these forces would be no different from ordinary phenomena. Only by truly understanding the principle of "neither generating nor transforming" can one comprehend the root of all creation.

All things follow their own natural course: they generate themselves, transform themselves, take form spontaneously, manifest their own colors, acquire wisdom naturally, develop strength autonomously, perish of themselves, and rest independently. These all occur spontaneously—how could there be any master arranging them? If someone deliberately tries to create life or manufacture change, how could they possibly govern heaven and earth, encompass all things, nurture myriad beings without ever exhausting their power?

Liezi said: The ancient sages governed heaven and earth through yin and yang. Heaven and earth refer to concrete forms, while yin and yang reveal their patterns and laws. All formed things emerge from the formless. What we call "generation" does not truly die, and "non-being" does not truly generate—between being and non-being there exists no mutual causation. All things appear suddenly of themselves—we neither know why they arise nor understand their cause of generation. Since we cannot know their generative cause, it is equivalent to "non-being." Yet though equivalent to non-being, it is not absolute nothingness. This shows that formed things arise naturally, while formless principles accompany them.

From where, then, do heaven and earth arise? In truth, they have no specific origin—they emerge spontaneously. Therefore, the ancients spoke of four stages—Great Change (Taiyi), Great Beginning (Taichu), Great Commencement (Taishi), and Great Simplicity (Taisu)—to illustrate the process from subtlety to manifestation:

• The Great Change stage precedes even the appearance of qi (referring to the primordial chaos, like the Taiji of the Yijing or the undifferentiated state in Laozi)
• The Great Beginning marks the inception of qi (when yin and yang were not yet separated—the "undifferentiated mass" described below)
• The Great Commencement sees the beginning of form (after yin and yang separate, things begin taking concrete shapes)
• The Great Simplicity brings the beginning of substance (when all things acquire their material properties)

This passage describes the process of cosmic generation and transformation. The primordial state is called "Hunlun" (a state of undifferentiated chaos), where all things existed as an undivided whole—invisible, inaudible, and intangible—hence referred to as "Yi" (the origin of change).

Though this "Yi" is formless and shapeless, it serves as the fundamental source of all transformations. It first gives rise to "One" (the most primordial form), which then transforms into "Seven," and "Seven" further changes into "Nine." "Nine" represents the ultimate stage of transformation, after which it returns to "One," marking the beginning of manifest change.

During differentiation, the clear and light Qi ascends to form Heaven, while the turbid and heavy Qi descends to form Earth. The interaction of Yin and Yang energies produces a harmonious Qi, and this balanced, dynamic energy gives birth to humans. Thus, it is said that the essential Qi of Heaven and Earth's union nurtures all things.

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) maintains that Heaven and Earth cannot encompass all functions, sages cannot be omnipotent, and all beings cannot fully realize every potential. Heaven's role lies in generating and covering all things, Earth's function is to support and nourish them, the sage's responsibility is to teach living beings, and each entity has its specific purpose. This is determined by the natural order.

This passage explains how all things in heaven and earth have their distinct roles and characteristics that cannot be substituted for one another. Heaven governs the canopy (referring to how the sky envelops all things), earth presides over bearing (referring to how the ground carries all existence), the sage's duty is moral instruction, while all beings abide in their proper places. Each existence has its limitations: heaven cannot bear weight, earth cannot teach, and sages cannot forcibly alter things against their inherent nature.

All things possess their fixed attributes and positions, just as the complementary opposites of yin-yang, humaneness-righteousness, and softness-firmness are naturally formed orientations. The movement of heaven and earth cannot depart from the alternation of yin-yang, the teachings of sages cannot stray from the principles of humaneness-righteousness, and the nature of all things cannot exist without the harmony of softness and firmness. These are all natural manifestations of inherent qualities, incapable of transcending their defined boundaries.

The text then discusses the layers of cosmic generation: the source that produces life (the life-generator) does not itself die; the root that forms physical shapes (the form-creator) has no form itself; the origin that emits sounds (the sound-originator) makes no sound itself; the essence that manifests colors (the color-manifester) does not display itself; and the foundation that generates flavors (the flavor-producer) does not taste itself. These fundamental existences are all formless and traceless—they reveal their functions by producing concrete things, yet they eternally maintain a pure state beyond specific forms.

(Note: Concepts such as "the life-generator" refer to the Daoist understanding of the primordial forces of the cosmos, which create all things yet remain unconstrained by their forms—similar to the generative nature of the Dao.)

This passage explores the essential nature of the Dao and the patterns of transformation in all things. The primordial source (Dao) that generates all phenomena remains unchanging itself—formless yet governing all transformations. This source manifests as both Yin and Yang, softness and hardness, brevity and longevity, roundness and squareness. It gives birth yet brings death, generates heat yet produces coolness; it ascends and descends, produces the gong and shang musical notes; appears and disappears, manifests as profound black and bright yellow; tastes both sweet and bitter, carries both rank and fragrant qualities.

Though appearing devoid of cognition and action (Wuwei), it in fact knows all and accomplishes everything. Just as ultimate knowledge appears like ignorance and supreme capability resembles incapacity, the true Dao transcends all forms: when named, no suitable designation can be found; observed, it shows no shape; listened to, it makes no sound. Precisely through this quality of emptiness, it manifests sound, generates Qi (vital energy), contains both form and Shen (spirit), and reveals light and shadow. Black appears black because of it, white appears white through it, squares gain their angles and circles their roundness from it—yet the Dao itself remains formless and nameless.

The text records an anecdote about Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) traveling to Wei. While eating by the roadside, his attendants discovered a century-old skull. Brushing aside the surrounding weeds, Liezi pointed to the skull and told his disciple Baifeng: "Only you and this truly understand what it means to have never been born nor died." This illustrates that from the perspective of transformation, one may appear alive and another dead, but from the ultimate truth, there is no real distinction between life and death.

Finally, the passage describes various transformations among creatures: frogs may transform into quails (as recorded in the Mozi), water creatures become "ji" (organisms emerging from the interaction of water and earth Qi), while those at water-earth boundaries turn into frogs and clams. These examples all demonstrate the principle of mutual transformation among all things.

This passage describes the wondrous phenomena of mutual transformation among various life forms in nature. According to Sima Biao's interpretation, the origin of all things lies at the boundary between water and earth, like objects suspended in water, which the Chu people called "wabian" (an aquatic creature).

When these life forms grow on high hills and mounds (lingtun), they transform into lingxi (a type of plant). When lingxi encounters damp environments (yuqi), it becomes wuzu grass. The roots of wuzu grass metamorphose into qicao (grubs of scarab beetles), while its leaves transform into butterflies. After the butterfly dies, it becomes a small insect found beneath stoves, whose shed skin is called "quduo" (a type of insect).

After a thousand days, the quduo transforms into a bird named "ganyugu." The vital essence (Qi) of this bird then becomes "simi" (microscopic life forms), which in turn transform into "shixi," tiny flying insects found on vinegar and wine. From shixi emerge yilu insects, which produce huangkuang insects, which then transform into jiuyou insects (where "jiu" should be "jiu," meaning aged insects). The jiuyou insects give birth to maorui (tiny flying insects), which then become fuquan (yellow beetles found in melons). All these represent the cyclical transformations of the same life form.

The text further mentions: sheep's liver can transform into digao (a type of fungus), horse's blood can become will-o'-the-wisp (phosphorescent fire), and human blood can turn into wildfire. Sparrow hawks transform into zhan birds, which then become cuckoos, and after prolonged time, the cuckoos revert back to sparrow hawks. These are all natural transformation processes occurring within the same life form.

This passage records ancient legends about the natural transformations of creatures and miraculous human conceptions. Swallows under certain conditions transform into clams, field mice turn into quails, rotten melons become fish, old leeks mutate into amaranth, elderly ewes metamorphose into apes, and fish eggs develop into insects—these are all wondrous natural transformations occurring without external causes.

There exists a mythical creature called "Lei" (recorded in the Classic of Mountains and Seas, resembling a wildcat but covered in hair) capable of self-conception. Birds in river marshes called "Yi" (mentioned by Zhuangzi as white waterfowl) can conceive simply by gazing at each other without blinking. Creatures with purely feminine essence were called "Da X" while purely masculine ones were termed "Zhi Feng" (ancient people believed slender-waisted wasps could transform mulberry worms into their offspring).

Humans exhibit similar phenomena: women yearning for men can conceive without marriage, and men longing for women can impregnate without wedlock (as recorded in the Classic of Great Wilderness about the "Land of Hidden Thoughts," where subtle Qi interaction enables conception without physical contact).

The text also documents miraculous births of historical figures: Hou Ji (progenitor of the Zhou dynasty) was conceived when his mother Jiang Yuan stepped on a giant's footprint; Yi Yin (wise minister of King Tang of Shang) was born after his mother dreamed of deities and transformed into a hollow mulberry tree, later discovered there by a woman of the Youshen clan; and creatures called "Juezhao" were said to spontaneously generate in humid environments. These legends collectively reflect ancient people's distinctive understanding of life's origins.

This passage expounds the Daoist perspective on the generation and transformation of all things. In a wine vat, small flying insects (xi ji) emerge spontaneously, while different species (such as the plant yang xi) demonstrate mutual dependence. When bamboo ages, it gives rise to moss (qing ning), which in turn generates other life forms (cheng). These transformations cycle endlessly—from cheng to horse, from horse to human, ultimately returning to the primordial source of all existence (ji).

The Yellow Emperor's Scripture states: "Bodily movement does not produce form, but rather creates shadow; sound vibrations do not produce sound, but rather create echoes." These phenomena occur simultaneously in nature without sequential cause and effect. Modern people often misunderstand this relationship, believing shadows follow forms and echoes chase sounds. In truth, this illustrates how movement causes things to lose their fundamental nature, while stillness allows return to the origin.

"Non-being" (wu) does not generate movement by itself, yet gives birth to "being" (you). All existing "being" depends on "non-being" for its emergence. Physical forms ultimately perish, and heaven-earth will reach their end alongside us. Yet what we call "ending" is actually a return to the unknowable primordial state (where "advance" should be understood as "exhaustion"). Just as matter coalesces into form and disperses into termination, this constitutes what ordinary people describe as the cycle of life and death.

All things in their convergence begin with concrete form, ultimately moving toward dispersion; what is dispersed begins again from the state of emptiness, ultimately coalescing into substance. This cycle of convergence and dispersion appears to have a beginning and end, yet its fundamental principle is without origin or cessation.

The ultimate state of the Dao is a return to "original non-being" (the void state of cosmic origin), which neither begins nor ends. Living beings inevitably return to the lifeless state; what has form ultimately dissolves into formlessness. Here, "lifelessness" does not mean never having existed, but rather the return from living to non-living; "formlessness" does not mean never having form, but the return from convergence to dispersion.

What is truly eternal is that source which generates all things yet remains unbound by the laws of birth and death, that essence which forms all things yet remains unaffected by cycles of convergence and dispersion. That life must end is as inevitable as its beginning—this is the way of nature. To forcibly prevent life's conclusion or artificially impose endpoints is foolishness that violates celestial order.

The human spirit belongs to the clear, light yang qi (vital energy) and returns to heaven; bones belong to the turbid, heavy yin qi and return to earth. At death, the spirit departs the physical form, each returning to its origin—the spirit to the Great Void (primordial cosmic space), the bones to the earth. The Yellow Emperor said: When the spirit enters the gate of the Great Void and bones return to earth, what remains of the true "self"?

(Note: This passage reflects the Daoist cyclical view of "reversal at the extreme" and the dualistic life perspective of "form and spirit," seeing life as a temporary convergence of yin-yang energies that ultimately return to cosmic origins. The "true abode" refers to the eternal state beyond physical form, the ultimate destination of Daoist cultivation.)

From birth to death, human life undergoes four major stages of transformation (though these changes are continuous, we'll outline them broadly here): infancy, prime adulthood, old age, and death.

During infancy, a person's Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) remain concentrated, with a singular and pure state of mind, representing the most harmonious condition. External forces cannot harm them, and their De (virtue/power) is most complete (as Laozi said, "One who embodies profound virtue resembles a newborn"). Upon reaching prime adulthood, vigorous blood and Qi dominate, while desires and overthinking proliferate, making one vulnerable to external disturbances—De begins to decline (in competitive environments, external forces show no mercy). Entering old age, desires and overthinking weaken, the body gradually rests, and external forces no longer contend (because one no longer competes, neither do external things). Though not as perfect as infancy, this stage is better than prime adulthood. Finally, at death, one returns to peaceful rest—the ultimate homecoming.

While traveling on Mount Tai, Confucius once saw Rong Qiqi (an ancient hermit) in the outskirts of Cheng, dressed in crude deerskin tied with a straw rope, playing the qin and singing. Confucius asked why he was so joyful. Rong Qiqi replied: "I have many reasons for joy: Heaven nurtures all things, yet humans are the most noble—that I became human is my first joy. Men and women differ, yet men are more esteemed—that I became a man is my second joy. Some die at birth, yet I've lived to ninety—this is my third joy. Poverty is the scholar's constant state; death is life's inevitable end. I abide in the constant and fulfill my natural lifespan—what is there to grieve?" Confucius sighed in admiration: "Well said! Truly one who knows self-contentment." (Though not entirely free from sorrow and joy, such rational self-consolation is rare indeed.) There was also a hermit named Lin Lei, nearly a hundred years old...

In spring, wearing a fur coat, he walked through harvested fields gleaning fallen ears of grain while singing. When Confucius traveled to the State of Wei and saw this old man in the wilderness, he turned to his disciples and said, "That elder is worth conversing with. Go and try speaking with him." Zigong volunteered and approached the ridge of the field to meet him. Facing the old man, he sighed and said, "Don’t you feel any regret, sir? How can you still sing while gleaning grain?"

Lin Lei (the gleaning elder) continued walking without stopping, his song uninterrupted. Only after Zigong pressed him repeatedly did he finally look up and reply, "What do I have to regret?" Zigong said, "In your youth, you were not diligent; in your prime, you did not seize opportunities. Now, in old age, you have neither wife nor children, and death approaches. What joy is there in singing while gleaning grain?"

Lin Lei laughed and explained, "The reason for my joy is something everyone possesses, yet you consider it sorrow. Precisely because I did not exhaust myself in youth or struggle for gain in my prime, I have lived this long (by not chasing fame and fortune, one naturally attains longevity). In old age, I am free from attachments, and with death near, I am all the more joyful (this is the state of accepting fate with contentment)."

Zigong pressed further, "Long life is what people desire, and death is what they dread. Why do you find joy in death?" Lin Lei replied, "Life and death are like a cycle of coming and going. To die here—how do we know we will not be reborn elsewhere? How do I know that striving desperately to live is not delusion? Perhaps dying now is better than living in the past! (Life and death are part of an eternal cycle.)"

Zigong could not comprehend this and returned to report to Confucius. Confucius said, "I knew he was worth discussing the Dao with, but what he has realized is not yet ultimate (Lin Lei believes he has reached the pinnacle, yet the truth encompasses all without attachment)." This dialogue illustrates the Daoist transcendent attitude toward life and death, showing that following nature and releasing attachments to gain and loss constitute true wisdom.

This dialogue occurs between Zigong (a disciple of Confucius) and Confucius (Zhongni), discussing the meaning of life, death, and rest.

Feeling weary from his studies, Zigong tells Confucius he wishes to rest. Confucius replies: "There is no true rest in life (生无所息), for life itself is continuous activity." When Zigong presses him about where one might find rest, Confucius points to the graves and says: "Look at those burial mounds—raised high like ancient tripod cauldrons (鼎鬲). That is the place of rest." implying that death is the only true cessation.

Zigong, enlightened, exclaims: "How great is death! The noble find peace in it, while the petty succumb to it." Confucius elaborates: "People know the joys of life but not its toils; they know the weariness of old age but not its ease; they fear death but do not see it as rest." Quoting Zhuangzi, he adds: "Nature gives us form to labor, old age to relax, and death to rest."

Finally, the perspective of Yanzi (a renowned statesman of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period) is cited: "The ancients saw death as a return (德之徼, De's homecoming). Those of perfected Virtue (De) rest in it, while the unvirtuous are overcome by it. Death is life’s destination, like a traveler returning home."

Through this teacher-disciple exchange, the dialogue reveals the Daoist understanding of life and death: existence is a process of toil, and death is not an end but a return to nature’s original state. The noble (君子) align with the Dao (the Way), accepting death as homecoming, while the petty (小人) cling to life in fear. The metaphor of "De's homecoming" (德之徼) is particularly profound—framing death as a wanderer’s return, embodying the Daoist transcendence that unites life and death in harmony.

This passage from the Liezi primarily discusses the ultimate destination of human life and the question of values. The text presents an analogy: if we call the deceased "returnees," then the living are "wayfarers." Those who keep journeying without knowing their destination are people who have lost their way home. When an individual loses their way, everyone condemns them; yet when an entire society loses its way, no one sees anything wrong with it.

The text then illustrates two types of lost individuals: The first abandon their homeland, forsake their kin, and wander without returning—such people are considered dissolute madmen by the world. The second are those obsessed with worldly fame and success, who pride themselves on their intellect while chasing empty reputation without self-awareness—yet the world praises them as wise. In truth, both types have lost their original nature, but people often only condemn the former while approving the latter. Only sages can discern what should be embraced and what should be relinquished.

When asked why Liezi esteemed the state of "emptiness" (xu), he replied: Genuine "emptiness" inherently recognizes no distinction between nobility and baseness. He emphasized non-attachment to names and forms, maintaining a state of tranquil emptiness to preserve one's original nature. The moment thoughts of acquisition or giving arise, one loses authenticity. Like shattered vessels that cannot be restored, attempting to mend ruined affairs with benevolence and righteousness (renyi) afterward is already too late.

(Note: The term "emptiness" (xu) here is a key Daoist concept referring to the state of relinquishing attachments and returning to the source; "those who esteem worldly achievement" (zhongxian shi) refers to people who value conventional success; "drowning in loss" (ni sang) means being submerged in delusion.)

Master Xiong (teacher of King Wen of Zhou, feudal lord of Chu, and author of twenty-two philosophical texts) once said: The movement of heaven and earth never ceases, and all things undergo imperceptible transformations—who can truly perceive this? This echoes Zhuangzi's principle of the "boat and ravine" (metaphor for constant change), and Confucius similarly observed that "day and night alternate without end, and all things flow with the passage of time."

All phenomena follow the transformations of creation, and this process never stops. The form of life from yesterday is not the same as today's; in the blink of an eye, countless changes have already occurred. When Qi (vital energy) dissipates and the physical form decays, it does not happen abruptly—yet foolish people believe they can escape this inevitable transformation. How lamentable!

Where something is depleted here, it will be replenished elsewhere; where something is achieved here, it will be lost there (just as rivers dry up and valleys empty, hills erode and abysses fill). This cyclical alternation of gain and loss, life and death, repeats endlessly, yet people remain unaware. When we think we have succeeded, decline has already begun; when we believe we are alive, death quietly approaches.

The transformations of Qi and form are gradual, never sudden, so people do not notice them. Consider how, from birth to old age, a person's appearance, intellect, and physique change daily—skin, nails, and hair constantly renew and shed. It is not as if one remains unchanged since infancy. If even these subtle shifts escape our notice, how much more elusive are the workings of creation's finer processes?

A man of Qi once spent his days in fear that the sky would collapse and the earth cave in, leaving him no place to dwell. He worried so much that he could neither eat nor sleep. Another man, concerned for him, went to offer counsel: "The sky is nothing but accumulated Qi (vital energy), present everywhere. You move within this Qi all day—why fear its collapse?" (Yet the vast depths of heaven are far more profound than what meets our eyes.)

This passage comes from the Liezi, recording a dialogue between two individuals discussing whether heaven and earth might perish.

The first person asks: "If heaven is formed by the gathering of Qi (vital energy), wouldn't the sun, moon, and stars fall down?" The enlightened one explains: "The sun, moon, and stars are also luminous objects within Qi. Qi permeates everywhere—even something as vast as heaven and earth remains stable within the void, let alone these celestial bodies supported by Qi. Even if they were to fall, they wouldn't harm anyone."

The questioner then asks: "What if the earth collapses?" The enlightened one replies: "The earth is formed by accumulated clods of soil, filling all directions—everywhere is soil. You walk and tread upon it all day long, so why worry about it collapsing?" Hearing this, the questioner is greatly pleased, and the enlightened one shares his joy. (Here the author comments: One worries that heaven and earth must inevitably perish, while the other rejoices in their eternal existence—yet neither truly understands what should be cause for worry or joy. Their mutual consolation and explanations still fail to free them from confusion.)

Later, when Changluzi hears of this, he laughs and says: "Rainbows, clouds, wind, rain, and the four seasons—these are celestial phenomena formed by the gathering of Qi. Mountains, rivers, metals, stones, fire, and wood—these are terrestrial phenomena formed by the accumulation of matter. Since we know heaven is an aggregation of Qi and earth an accumulation of matter, how can we claim they won’t perish? In the vastness of the void, heaven and earth are but small things, yet within the world of form, they are the greatest. That they are unfathomable and immeasurable is natural. To worry about their destruction is indeed thinking too far ahead, yet to say they will never perish is also incorrect. Heaven and earth will ultimately perish—when that time comes, how can we not be concerned?" (Here the text points out: Understanding the principle that all things that have a beginning must have an end.)

This discussion reflects ancient Chinese cosmological thought, using "Qi" and "form" to explain the composition of all things. It acknowledges both the vastness of heaven and earth and recognizes their inherent limitations.

When Liezi heard people debating whether heaven and earth would perish, he smiled and responded: Those who claim heaven and earth will perish are wrong, and those who claim they won't perish are equally mistaken. Whether they perish or not fundamentally transcends our capacity to know. In truth, perishing or not perishing are ultimately the same - if heaven and earth don't perish, we coexist with them; if they do perish, we vanish along with them. Why then should we feel either joy or anxiety about it?

The living cannot comprehend death, nor can the dead comprehend life; when we enter this world we know not whence we came, and when we depart we know not whither we go. Why should we trouble ourselves with questions about heaven and earth's survival that surpass human understanding? Just as things in formation don't know when they'll be destroyed, and things destroyed don't know when they'll reappear - these transformations are all manifestations of nature's patterns, and we should simply follow their natural course.

Emperor Shun once asked the ancient sage Cheng: "Can humans possess the Dao (the Way)?" Cheng replied: "Your own body doesn't even belong to you - how could you possibly possess the Dao?" Shun pressed further: "If my body doesn't belong to me, then to whom does it belong?" Cheng explained: "Your physical form is but the coalescence of Qi (vital energy) between heaven and earth; your life is the harmonious manifestation of Yin-Yang energies; your very existence displays nature's patterns. Even your descendants are merely the metabolic renewal of heaven and earth's Qi, like a cicada shedding its skin. None of this is within your control - since you can't even govern the gathering and dispersion of your life's breath, how could you presume to possess the profound Dao?"

The Liezi presents a parable about "stealing" that conveys profound wisdom. In the state of Qi lived a wealthy man named Guo, while in Song there was a poor man named Xiang. Seeking the secret to prosperity, Xiang went to consult Guo, who revealed: "I excel at 'stealing.' When I first began 'stealing,' I had enough for food and clothing within a year, achieved comfort in two years, and amassed abundant wealth after three."

Xiang rejoiced at this advice but grasped only the superficial meaning. He took to burglary - scaling walls and breaking into houses to steal whatever he found. Soon apprehended for theft, he lost even his family inheritance. Convinced he'd been deceived, Xiang confronted Guo, who sighed: "You've completely misunderstood the Dao of 'stealing'!"

Guo explained: "When I speak of 'stealing,' I mean appropriating Heaven's timing and Earth's bounty: harnessing seasonal cycles, utilizing rain's nourishment, and drawing from mountain and marsh resources to cultivate crops and build dwellings; taking game from land and fish from waters. These are Nature's gifts, not my personal creations. By aligning with natural patterns to obtain resources, I incur no misfortune."

This contrast illustrates true wisdom: authentic "stealing from Heaven" means harmonizing with natural laws to obtain sustenance, not forcible plundering. Guo's approach represents lawful utilization of natural resources, while Xiang's literal theft brought legal consequences. The text emphasizes all things arise spontaneously (zisheng ziyou) from the Dao, and humans should follow celestial patterns when securing life's necessities. The parable echoes Daoist principles of wuwei (non-action) - true attainment comes not through forceful acquisition but through alignment with cosmic rhythms.

This passage comes from the Liezi, using a parable about "theft" to explore the relationship between humans and the myriad things of heaven and earth.

The text states: Gold, silver, and material wealth—these possessions are all gathered by people themselves. Could they truly be bestowed by heaven? Since even heaven cannot grant them, how can humans genuinely possess them? If one is punished for stealing, whom can they blame? Xiangshi (a character in the story) was deeply perplexed by this, thinking Guoshi (another character) had deceived him, so he went to consult Master Dongguo.

Master Dongguo explained: In truth, isn't our very existence also a form of "theft"? We "steal" the harmonious blending of Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang) to sustain our lives and form our bodies—how much more so for external possessions? Heaven, earth, and the myriad things are fundamentally an interconnected whole. To insist on claiming certain things as one's own is delusion.

Guoshi's "theft" aligned with the natural Dao (the Way), so he incurred no misfortune, whereas Xiangshi's "theft" stemmed from selfishness, leading to punishment. Yet ultimately, whether for public or private ends, both are forms of "taking"—the difference lies only in method. The truly transcendent state, beyond distinctions of public and private, is realizing the oneness of all things, free from attachment to possession or rejection.

Through the metaphor of "theft," this passage expresses the Daoist philosophical view of "the unity of all things," suggesting that humans should follow the natural Dao (the Way), neither excessively pursuing personal gain nor deliberately rejecting external things.

This passage describes the state of "no-mind" (wuxin). The true sage views public and private matters with the same naturalness as heaven and earth operate (the De of heaven and earth). Human life is fundamentally a manifestation of heaven and earth's movement, and the body is but one phenomenon within this cosmic process. What people now cling to and covet are ultimately just manifestations of existence within heaven and earth.

Between heaven and earth, both life and physical form are natural phenomena. In themselves, affairs make no distinction between public and private, nor does the Dao principle contain any inherent differentiation between what should be cherished or begrudged. Those who truly understand the operation of heaven and earth—how could they distinguish between what constitutes theft and what does not? What is the principle of heaven and earth? Simply natural spontaneity. Since all things operate spontaneously, why bother with conceptual distinctions between public and private? When notions of public and private cease to exist, theft becomes indistinguishable from non-theft in the Dao's principle.

(Note: This passage embodies the Daoist philosophy of "equalizing all things" (qiwu), advocating transcendence beyond artificial distinctions to return to the original state of natural authenticity. "No-mind" refers to the clear mental state free from attachment to subjective differentiations.)