《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 15

Heaven and earth have given me a bodily form, made me toil for life, allowed me ease in old age, and finally let death bring me rest. Thus, to treat my life well is also to treat my death well.

If you hide a boat in a valley and a mountain in a lake, people may think that is secure enough. Yet in the middle of the night, someone with great strength might still carry them away, and the foolish would not even know. Hide things large and small in what seems the right place, and they may still be moved. If you hide the world within the world so that nothing can be moved away, that is the constant truth of all things.

A person who happens to receive a human form is already glad for it. How much more when the human form follows the transformations of the myriad things, with no end to change—how could the joy in that be counted? Therefore the sage roams where nothing can escape, so that the myriad things each attain their place and exist naturally. This is truly skill in facing old age, skill in beginning, and skill in ending. If people are willing to take this as a model, how much more the root on which the myriad things rely and on which change depends?

Guo Xiang’s note: Bodily form, life, old age, and death are all parts of myself. Thus the body bears me, life makes me work, old age gives me ease, and death brings me rest. Though these four keep changing, none is other than me—why should I be stingy? Life and death are both fate; if one does not speak of “treating well,” that is one thing. But once one says to treat well, one must treat not only my death well but also my life well. The point is that the changes of life and death cannot be escaped. The author then gives an extreme example of nowhere to flee, to show that change must happen and one should yield to it without clinging.

The greatest power—nothing is greater than transformation. It opens heaven and earth and drives the myriad things toward renewal; it carries off mountains and makes the old give way. Therefore transformation never rests: in an instant things have entered a new state; heaven, earth, and the myriad things are migrating at every moment. Yet people take them for what they were and think they are still as before. Past and present change in succession, like two arms that have barely crossed and are already gone; the myriad things slip away quietly in what is dark and hard to see.

So the me of before is no longer the me of now; the past me and the present me are both constantly passing—how could one forever hold to an old state? Not understanding that one should merge with transformation, yet trying to hide the myriad things so they do not change—even if hidden ever so deep and firm, one cannot stop them from changing day by day. No longer hiding the myriad things but yielding to change, aligning oneself with heaven and earth and responding to transformation, one finds nowhere from which to flee change. That is the constant truth of the myriad things, not a narrow fixation on one side.

The human form is only one shape that happens to arise in the transformations of the myriad things—why should only the human form be worth rejoicing in, while other things…

Sages roam freely on the path of the myriad things’ transformations, moving with each day’s fresh changes and letting the myriad things change together with them. Transformation has no end, and sages respond to it without end—who could pull them out of change and leave them standing alone? Those who think they have seen through a human lifetime of a hundred years are merely people who were immature in youth and only understood in old age, and so they can still serve as others’ teachers. How much more so sages, who can merge with the myriad things and take transformation as their own root—should it not be natural that the world loves them?

Lü’s commentary: Heaven-and-earth’s creating-and-transforming has no partial affection for me. If one can treat the patterns of life well, one should also be able to treat death well—what is there for me to welcome or reject? Things large or small, when the mind fixates on them seem to exist; when the mind disperses, they seem not to exist. If one does not accord with the Dao, even if one preserves them for a time, one will lose them in the end.

Storing a boat in a valley and a mountain in a great marsh looks like secure hiding—yet once the mind forgets, things suddenly slip away. In the deep dark of midnight, if someone moves these things into unknowable obscurity to hide them, could that be done by one person’s strength alone? Hiding things large and small—even with careful arrangement—loss may still occur. Using finite life to store things in the boundless cosmos and expecting them never to be lost—does that match ordinary reason? The myriad things of the world each return to one whole; if one stores the myriad things within that whole, then even if a “strong one” tried to carry it off and flee, where could it flee? Without genuine understanding, one cannot grasp this.

Lin’s commentary: “Great Clod” (dà kuài) names creating-and-transforming and explains bodily form; “bearing” (zài) names life. When people grow old they lack strength to act and naturally rest; death is not rest sought on purpose, yet labor naturally stops. The true person neither seeks rest nor rejects it—this is said with respect to those who toil within life. If one can well follow life’s reason, then death too can be accepted in peace; if in life one cannot fully realize life’s good, how after death can one expect to obtain good?

A boat floats on water and moves; a mountain is stable and still. “Midnight” in the text stands for deep, traceless principle; “the strong one” means creating-and-transforming, and “carrying off in flight” means creating-and-transforming driving the myriad things through change. Form migrates with change—how can the myriad things keep their original appearance? In the time it takes to bow or lift the head, one has already undergone myriad changes. Ordinary people take bodies fated to change and lodge them in heaven-and-earth that never cease turning, yet are pushed by change without knowing it.

Therefore Zhuangzi uses the parables of hiding a boat and hiding a mountain to show: only one who can master the myriad things without being ruled by externals will not be migrated by creating-and-transforming. Yu Xiong said: “Turning never stops; heaven-and-earth change in secret—who can notice?” The meaning matches what is expressed here.

If all things under Heaven can each rest in their proper place and run their course according to nature, then nothing need be hidden away and nothing can escape the flow of the great transformation (Dahua). Only by grasping this constant principle can one see things as they truly are, accord with the logic of nature and life (xingming), and merge with change as one body.

The nature that knows neither birth nor death is lodged in forms that are born and die and change without cease—merely one encounter amid the transformations of the myriad things. What is there to rejoice in especially? Though the body has life, it cannot outlast a hundred years; yet the root power by which the body exists has no beginning or end. The changes it undergoes are endless—how could the joy within them be counted?

What the sage roams in is letting the myriad things under Heaven return to the Dao of the myriad things; hence in whatever change he finds himself, he remains at ease. One who is adept at facing early death and long life, beginning and end—even if he has not fully forgotten life and death—can still fully unfold his inborn nature and thus suffice as a model for the world. How much more those who penetrate Heaven’s mandate and can comply with the myriad things: what the myriad things depend upon is precisely what change relies upon as its ground.

Xiangdao commentary: From birth to death, human beings pass through the great transformation (Dahua). Toil and hurry are wearisome, yet people oddly delight in them; rest and ease would naturally be pleasant, yet people reject them. There is no other reason than that they do not treat these states according to the Great Dao (Da Dao). Following the Dao and treating life well is likewise treating death well. Life is like drifting without anchor; death is like rest. Settle into the state you are in; do not fix the mind on chasing externals. Why treat the body as private property, insist on preserving and cherishing it, and take pride in the form you happen to have?

Hiding a boat in a mountain ravine is hiding something small; hiding a mountain in a great marsh is hiding something large. Yet at midnight it may still be seen; if a strong man comes, it may still be carried off. Boat and mountain differ in size and in stillness versus motion, but both can be shouldered and moved by the strong—the outcome is the same. Seen in this light, when people face the great transformation, do they mean to hide by staying still, or to hide by moving and changing? Whether moving or still, one cannot evade change. Better, then, to return the myriad things under Heaven to the myriad things, and open-heartedly merge with change as one.

The true aspect of the myriad things was always continuous with change; it is only that people, dragged by externals, sink into narrow views. The sage roams where the myriad things cannot escape change, and so is not bound by externals. The ground on which the myriad things depend need not wait upon change—it is precisely what change takes as its support.

Bixu commentary: “Great clod” (dakuai) refers to the primordial qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth. “I” (wo) is what we call a being endowed with spiritual intelligence (ling). That intelligence inherently knows no birth, aging, or death—whence come these distinctions? From the having of a body. If one says “I” originally did not bear a body, then “I” would originally know no fatigue; if one says “I” originally had no life, then “I” would originally not…

I did not live in order to be at ease, and so I do not rest merely because death has come. Consider the Dao (the Way): since it is so skilled at giving birth to the myriad things, it must be equally skilled at letting them die. If, for the moment, we take contentment with one's allotted fate to be a good thing, then my life is a good thing, and what is there to reproach in my death?

"In the middle of the night, a strong man carried it off on his back" (from the Zhuangzi, referring to a boat hidden in a valley that a powerful man carries away at midnight) speaks of the unfathomable, wondrous force of Yin-Yang, which drives the work of transformation without pause. Is it that those who hide things have no method? Yet things slip away all the same, and who can prevent it? The problem, however, lies not in whether the hiding is done well, but in the fact that there is a principle that never changes or shifts. How would ordinary people know of it?

A flying bird does not know about sinking into the water, so what sinks is, in effect, hidden. One thing does not know another, and so that other thing is, in effect, hidden. Each thing hides itself; no one is hiding it. This is the constant condition of all things and does not depend on outside force. The person who has attained understanding regards the whole universe as a single house, and so loses nothing under heaven. What is this, if not "hiding"? "Under heaven" is the collective name for animals, plants, and all the myriad kinds. What is called "hiding" is quiet change and shifting, of which people are wholly unaware.

In a dream one becomes a bird and soars into the sky; in a dream one becomes a fish and dives into the deep. The transformations of the myriad things have no end, and neither does the delight within them. Why, then, should we be so pleased merely to have encountered a human form? What the myriad things cannot escape is the process of creation and transformation (zaohua). The sage lets the Shen (spirit) roam in a realm without mind and without change, and so all things are preserved within it. Ordinary people who imitate the sage merely admire his outward traces, whereas the supreme "One" leaves no trace and is the root to which all transformations return. If one still clings to the notion of the good, or to some dependence, none of this is true "release from bondage" (xuanjie: being freed from constraints and no longer burdened by external things).

Commentary by Zhao says: Life is the traveler setting out, and death is the one returning home; where there is life there must be death, and where there is departure there must be return. This is why the Creator treats my life well and my death well too: one need only rest content with what is natural. The boat hidden in the valley and the mountain hidden in the great marsh are each a hiding suited to its size, yet Yin-Yang shifts them in secret without anyone noticing. This means that everything with form must eventually change. But if one hides the world within the world, so that above and below, the four directions, and past and present are never left behind even for a moment, where could anything escape to? Form and color are one's nature, and one's nature is form and color; this is the constant condition of all things, and it holds for both humans and other beings alike. A person, equipped with a hundred bones, becomes human and is delighted by it; how much more should one delight in the root that makes this body what it is? The sage understands that everything confined within the world of form cannot escape the allotted course of Qi (vital energy), and so follows its changes without clinging to any one place, and thus all things are preserved. Early death or long life, beginning or end, are all handled with equanimity. Ordinary people may imitate this; how much more so the Dao, which moves in formlessness and also bestows form on all things? The way it bestows this body is just so: traceless and natural.

This is precisely the root on which all things depend and the foundation by which all change is sustained—the utmost good within what is most good. Is it not worthy of reverence? Though things are many, change ultimately returns to one; what is called “the One” is just this.

Yizhai comments: “Hide a boat in a ravine, hide a mountain in a marsh”—yet by midnight the boat and mountain may still be carried off. These images mean that however carefully and secretly one plans, one cannot be fully in control. If one places all things within the world and lets them follow their own course, there is nowhere to flee. The true nature of things is often just this. People commonly take pride in having a body, yet they do not know that this single person undergoes endless transformation and that the principles of all things are already present in oneself—how could such delight be counted?

The sage lets the mind wander in what is natural, neither clinging to gain nor clinging to loss. Hence it is said that he wanders where nothing can escape, and there all things abide. Among things, some live long and some die young; some are in youth and some in old age; some begin and some end. If even the Creator can treat things in this way, how much more should one take the Dao as one’s model? “What all things depend on and what change awaits” refers to the Dao. The passage advances layer by layer—this is Zhuangzi’s rhetorical momentum.

“Great Clod” (dakuai) originally meant the great earth; in the sense of this chapter it means the Creator. “Bearing me with form” is like saying the Creator carries me in a body: when the hundred parts are whole, spirit lodges within—one cannot but be so carried. “Toiling me with life” means that rising and sleeping, eating and drinking, pain and itch, cold and warmth—all these press and wear upon one; one cannot but be so toiled. “Giving me ease in old age” means that blood and breath gradually decline, the form daily weakens, and heart and thought slowly fade—one cannot but be given rest. “Letting me rest in death” means that strength is spent, spirit departs, the limbs and hundred parts each go their way, and one lies at ease in a vast dwelling—one cannot but be given repose.

From this we see that people who, while alive, dread death are merely indulging false feeling. While one lives, one need only find how to live well; whatever injures life, goes against the Dao, or harms others and things should not be done. Then when death comes, how could it not be well? What gives me life is the Creator; that my life goes well is up to me. What difference is there between life and death?

The images of “hiding the boat” and “hiding the mountain” mean that the human being stands within creation yet wishes to dodge creation’s shifts and migrations—that cannot be done. In the world, whatever is hidden somewhere will in time be moved; once moved, what was there is no more. Only where there is no place of hiding can nothing flee, and so everything can abide. The place where nothing can flee and all things can abide is the “Realm of Nothing-Whatever” (wuheyou zhi xiang) and the “Vast Wilderness” (guangmo zhi ye). Settled there, one may roam within and leave things to natural non-action (wuwei)…

When the mind opens and becomes unobstructed, it no longer clings to any particular place; wherever one goes, one can dwell at ease. This is what it means to hold all under heaven within the heart.

As for the Way of all under heaven, though things arise from the turning of fate and return into it, passing through birth, death, and ceaseless transformation in myriad forms, once you see how they renew themselves day by day, you understand that nothing can escape change. People bound by private desire often treat what they have seen before as their own, taking boats and mountains to be things that never change and can endure forever, and deep valleys and lakes to be places where one can hide. They suppose the body has some region untouched by change, yet they do not grasp that the hidden pivot—the fundamental force that drives change in all things—works in secret without resting even for an instant. All things and the great earth change together with form; it is only that people themselves do not notice.

The phrase “skilled at dying young, skilled at growing old” appears thus in all versions of the text. Only the version used by Chen Bixu and the edition collated by Zhang Junfang read “skilled at youth, skilled at growing old,” which fits the sense better.

The Dao has genuine substance and trustworthiness, yet it acts through wuwei (non-action) and has no form. It can be transmitted but cannot be possessed; it can be apprehended but cannot be seen with the eyes. It takes itself as root, existed before heaven and earth appeared, and has been present from ancient times. It gives rise to spirits, ghosts, divine beings, and the Lord on High; it generates heaven and earth, yet abides before the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji); it lies beneath the four quarters of heaven and earth yet does not seem remote. It was born before heaven and earth yet does not thereby seem ancient; it endures from highest antiquity yet does not thereby seem aged.

Xiwei attained the Dao and thereby could govern heaven and earth. Fuxi attained the Dao and thereby could receive the source of qi (vital energy). The Northern Dipper attained the Dao and thereby has run without error since antiquity. Sun and moon attained the Dao and thereby have never ceased in their courses. Kanhuai attained the Dao and thereby could enter Mount Kunlun. Pingyi attained the Dao and thereby could roam the great rivers. Jianwu attained the Dao and thereby dwelt on great mountains. The Yellow Emperor attained the Dao and thereby ascended to the heavens. Zhuanxu attained the Dao and thereby dwelt in the Dark Palace. Yuqiang attained the Dao and thereby stood at the North Pole. Queen Mother of the West attained the Dao and thereby sat on Mount Shaoguang. The Dao has no knowable beginning and no knowable end.

Peng Zu attained the Dao and lived from the age of Emperor Shun through the age of the Five Hegemons. Fu Yue attained the Dao, assisted King Wuding, and helped the ruler of Shang hold all under heaven; later he rode the eastern rope and the Winnow Basket, taking his place among the stars.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: what is called “having substance” means that kind of reality that is without deliberate action; what is called “formless” means what is constantly without form. The Dao has flowed from antiquity to the present; everyone lodges within it, yet none can claim it as private property; all things find rest through it, yet none can see its shape. “Before heaven and earth were born, it firmly existed from of old” shows that the formless Dao was not produced by formed things—how then could one say it gave birth to spirits? It is not produced by spirits, ghosts, or the Lord on High… (the original note breaks off here)

The sovereign said: “Shen, the wondrous power that sets all things in motion and transformation, is not a ruler who created Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth came into being naturally. This shows that the so-called wondrous power is not enough to govern all things. The wondrous thing is that there appears to be no ruler.

“The Dao is in high places, yet there is no such thing as height; it is in deep places, yet there is no such thing as depth. It lasts through ages, yet there is no such thing as duration; it seems ancient, yet there is no such thing as age. The Dao is everywhere, but no place where it is can be fixed and pointed out. It reaches everywhere above and below, so it cannot be described as high or low; it extends everywhere within and without, so it cannot be described as interior or exterior. The Dao moves along with the transformations of all things, so it cannot be called constant and unchanging. It runs through things from beginning to end and remains as it always is, so it cannot be called old.

“In ancient times, the Clan of Xiwei attained the Dao and was therefore able to encompass Heaven and Earth. He reached the state of riding the stars Ji and Wei and taking his place among the constellations. To say that he ‘attained the Dao’ does not mean that he acquired the Dao as if it were some object. It means that he naturally came into accord with it. The birth of life is itself no easy matter. Each thing comes into being and transforms independently, and each accords with the Dao in its own way. Once life has come into being, why worry that it cannot be directed by itself and must be shaped through deliberate action? Deliberate action only harms life.”

Lü’s Commentary: When the ears and eyes attain the Dao, they can hear and see; when the hands and feet attain it, they can move. Surely there is a nature and life’s own character in this? When cold and heat attain the Dao, they come and go in alternation; when all things attain it, they grow and multiply. Surely there are reliable patterns within this? Yet when we ask who makes them operate in this way, we find no particular ruler. This is what it means to be formless. Sometimes the Dao can be understood without being spoken of; sometimes it can be seen directly in the things before us, and so it can be communicated. But no one can make it their own, nor can anyone receive it as they would an object. When the mind accords with the Dao, the two fit and blend together. This may be called “attaining the Dao.” But the Dao has no trace that can be observed, so it cannot be seen.

“The coming into being of all things is never without a source; the Dao, however, is its own foundation and source. All things depend first on Heaven and Earth before they exist, while the Dao existed before Heaven and Earth came into being. When the Ghost Emperor attained me, he gained wondrous power; yet I myself do not rely on spiritual power as a ruler. Thus, even the Ghost Emperor cannot make a numinous sound arise from nothing. Heaven and Earth attained me and were thereby able to bring forth and transform things; yet I myself do not take part in their generation and transformation. Thus, even now, I remain as I was at the Taiji, the primal state before the myriad things were differentiated.

“‘High’ and ‘deep’ refer to positions in space, while ‘duration’ and ‘age’ refer to the passage of time. The Dao has no form and is not constrained by time; hence it is hidden and formless, without a fixed name. Although the ancient sages differed, some appearing in public and others living in seclusion, none became a sage without attaining the Dao. Nor was Xiwei the only one who attained it: Fu Yue and others did so as well. The Dao is the root of all things under Heaven. From Heaven downward, nothing can establish itself without relying on the Dao. This applies not only to the Dipper and the sun and moon. Such things lie beyond the measure of ordinary people’s understanding, but they are simply what those who have attained the Dao can accomplish. Perhaps this is why the Dao is called the ‘Great Ancestral Master,’ the common model and teacher of all things.”

Lin’s Commentary: Here, “character” refers to the condition of nature and life; “reliable” means that there are trustworthy patterns within them … (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Although the Dao acts, it always accords with nature and is therefore not subject to the sway of Yin-Yang. The Dao resonates with all things, so when things come into being they do not go against it; yet once things are complete, the Dao has never acted with deliberate intent. It responds to things yet never shows a fixed form.

Whatever can be transmitted or received has not yet left behind concrete things; whatever can be grasped or seen has not yet left behind shape and color. The Dao has no object that can be transmitted, so it cannot be obtained by receiving; the Dao has nothing to be grasped, so it cannot be seen by looking. The wheelwright Pian’s son could not receive from his father the secret of wheel-making; Xiangwang sought the pearl and in the end could obtain it, yet could not see it.

“Stillness” means returning to one’s original destiny—that is, returning to one’s own root. “Each returns to its root” means each returns to its own source. The Dao has been truly present from antiquity and can be held fast in its continuity without change. When its subtle efficacy appears in a person, it is called Shen (spirit); in Heaven, it is called Di (the Lord). When a sage dies he is called Shen, meaning his death is no different from his life; when an ordinary person dies he is called gui (ghost), meaning his life is no different from his death. Put this way, if one can exhaust the wondrous nature of the human spirit, then it exists before Heaven and Earth.

Laozi said: “The gate of the mysterious female—this is called the root of Heaven and Earth.” The meaning is that the Dao is like the deep portal of the maternal, the root of Heaven and Earth. Therefore the Dao, though it abides on high, has no “high” as such; though it abides in depth, has no “depth” as such; though it abides in birth, is not birth in the usual sense; though it abides in age, is not age in the usual sense.

From Xiwei to Fu Yue, all speak of those who attained the Dao. The sense here is close to Laozi’s chapter “In ancient times, those who attained the One.” “Great Yi” is the stage before Qi has appeared; “Great Beginning” is the stage when Qi first emerges. Since “before Qi was seen” is likened to the father, then Qi is the mother. The Dipper is the regulator that holds the celestial bodies in their courses; Kanpi is a divine name, Pingyi is the water spirit, Jianwu assigns names, Yuqiang is the god of the northern sea, and Queen Mother of the West is also a divine name. Down to Fu Yue, these are all ancient attainers of the Dao. Their deeds can no longer be verified in detail; one should enter the meaning with the heart and not cling to the surface of the stories.

Xiang Dao’s commentary says: Resonating with things and thereby penetrating—that is “having affect” (youqing); because there is affect, there is verification. Still and unmoving—that is Wuwei (non-action); because of Wuwei, there is no form. The “Discourse on Making All Things Equal” says: “It can be practiced; it has real presence, yet you cannot see its form.” It also says: “It has affect yet no form.” Is the Dao easy to understand? For this very reason, the Dao can be conveyed in the heart-mind yet cannot be received like a physical object; it can be apprehended through one’s nature yet cannot be seen with the eyes. What is called “transmission” in fact has no concrete thing to transmit; what is called “obtaining” in fact has nothing to obtain.

From the perspective of origin, the Dao has its own basis and its own root; it existed before Heaven and Earth were formed and has been so from antiquity. From the perspective of function, it appears as spirit, ghost, numinous power, and Lord, and also generates Heaven and Earth; it moves up and down without fixed abode, so it cannot be described as high or deep. From the character “change” (bian) onward, the original text is incomplete.

Change has no fixed form, so it cannot be measured by notions of longevity or aging. That ghosts and spirits are numinous, and that the Heavenly Emperor can rule—all of this is because of the Dao (the Way); the Dao is the root of ghosts and spirits, and also the root from which Heaven and Earth arise.

From Xīwéi (a legendary ancient ruler) to Fù Shuō (a worthy minister of the Shang), those in antiquity who attained the Dao—some ascended into the sky, some dwelt in mountains, some plunged into deep waters—could all preserve an enduring life and unfathomable wonder. This is precisely the profundity spoken of in “The Great and Venerable Teacher” (Dazongshi).

Bixu’s commentary: The Dao can always rescue all things well because it has genuine responsiveness; when things respond, the Dao at once pervades them, because the Dao has sincerity (xin). Though the Dao has real responsiveness, it does nothing deliberately (wuwei); though it has sincerity, it has no form. Therefore the Dao can be transmitted, yet not handed over like a concrete object; it can be inwardly grasped, yet cannot be seen with the eyes. Ghosts are lords of yin; the Emperor is lord of yang. That yin-yang transformation is unfathomable is because the wondrous Dao is within it; that Heaven and Earth never cease generating is because the Dao is within them. The Dao’s loftiness, depth, and endurance indeed cannot be fathomed by thought or argued in words, yet it is nowhere absent.

Laozi, from Heaven and Earth, the Valley Spirit, the myriad things, and the feudal lords, spoke of attaining the Dao; in Zhuangzi’s “Discussion on Making All Things Equal” (Qiwu Lun), from Xīwéi to Fù Shuō, all speak of attaining the Dao—thus again treating the Dao as something that can be obtained. The Dao’s pervasion and transformation cannot be exhausted even by a thousand sages.

Zhao’s commentary: Where there is feeling (qing) and sincerity (xin), naming and explanation are possible; where there is non-action (wuwei) and formlessness, they are not. “Can be transmitted yet not received in the hand” means that though the Dao has genuine feeling and sincerity, there is no concrete thing to receive; “can be inwardly grasped yet not seen” means that though it is without deliberate action and without form, there is no concrete image to behold. That ghosts can be numinous and the Emperor can rule both stem from the Dao’s wonder. What follows further explains the Dao’s function—the meaning is clear and need not be spelled out in detail.

Yanzhai’s remarks: The preceding passage did not mention the word “Dao”; only here is the Dao named, showing that what “The Great and Venerable Teacher” discusses is the Dao. “Qing” and “xin” both mean what is real; “wuwei” means there is nothing on which deliberate effort can be applied, and “formlessness” means there is no fixed direction or shape. “Can be transmitted yet not received in the hand, can be inwardly grasped yet not seen”—only one who realizes the Dao understands this. The chapters of Master Guan Yin explain the word “transmit” very clearly: the Dao itself is root and source, and existed before Heaven and Earth began. This is called “the limitless giving rise to the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji).” Ghosts are traces left by the workings of creation; the Emperor is Heaven’s ruler—ghosts and the Emperor can display wonder because the Dao acts within them. Heaven and Earth too exist because of the Dao. This is called “the Supreme Ultimate generating the Two Modes (yin and yang).”

Therefore, Realized Persons do not even know how lofty, profound, or long-lived they truly are. From the age of Xīwéi down to Fu Shuo, it was only after such people attained the Dao that they could reach this state.

The opening of this chapter discusses the way of the Realized Person and the principles of life and death; here the text turns again to the substance of the Dao itself and cites figures from high antiquity who attained the Dao as proof. Though the wording is strange, the meaning is in fact clear, and commentators through the ages have already discussed it at length. The passages on “spirit and ghost” and “spirit emperor” (shendi) are especially deep and hard to fathom; I add my modest view here as a supplement.

What is called “ghost emperor” (guidi) is yin-yang: it is the root and source of yin-yang itself, formless yet spiritually efficacious. In its movement and transformation it generates Heaven and Earth; it can be spoken of and described. What “has form and has spirit” is the manifest shape of yin-yang. As the substance of the Dao, it is everywhere and nowhere to be found; it does nothing, yet nothing fails to be accomplished. In that case, what is there left to debate about how lofty, profound, or enduring it might be?

When this meaning is examined closely, it ultimately stems from what the Daodejing calls “the gate of the Mysterious Feminine (xuanpin)—this is called the root of Heaven and Earth.” “Mysterious Feminine” is another name for yin-yang. To recognize the “gate of the Mysterious Feminine” is to understand the doctrine of “ghost emperor”: spiritual efficacy resides within yin-yang, and yin and yang in turn serve as each other’s substance and function—this is the subtle principle whereby change has no fixed pattern and depth cannot be measured.

If one can truly grasp the root of what gives birth to Heaven and gives birth to Earth, then one can also know from where we ourselves come. Once the place of origin is known, how could one still be ignorant and adrift at the time of departure?