《南華真經義海纂微》Vol. 65

Collected Subtle Explanations of the True Scripture of Southern Florescence, Volume 67 (Part Two)

Compiled by the Wulin Daoist Chu Boxiu

“Knowledge Wanders North,” Chapter Two

Nie Que asked Bei Yi for instruction on the Dao. Bei Yi said, “Set your body upright and focus your gaze. The harmonious Qi endowed by Heaven is about to arrive. Gather in your knowing and bring it back to unity. Shen will come to dwell in you, De will become your beauty, and the Dao will become your home. Let your expression be clear and calm, like that of a newborn calf, asking nothing about why it is as it is.”

Before Bei Yi had finished speaking, Nie Que fell asleep. Bei Yi was delighted. Singing as he left, he said, “His body is like withered wood, his mind like dead ashes. This is true knowledge: he does not let old opinions bind him. He is obscure and profound, without intention or concern; one cannot deliberate or plan with him. Who, then, is he?”

Guo Xiang’s commentary: “He does not let old opinions bind him” means that he follows along with change. “Without intention, one cannot deliberate with him” means that he is a being who changes on his own, naturally.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Setting the body upright is like sitting quietly before a mirror; focusing the gaze means not peering about indiscriminately. In this way, deviant Qi withdraws and harmonious Qi returns. Gathering in one’s knowing means returning the mind to its root; bringing the mind to unity means not letting one’s intentions run wild. When Shen comes to dwell in the body, one can keep the body whole and prevent Shen from departing. When De is full within, one accords with the original state; when the Dao returns, it stays and gathers in emptiness and stillness.

“Like a newborn calf” means that it does not know where it is going. Before Bei Yi had finished speaking, Nie Que pretended to be asleep. Hearing these words, he let go of the opinions he held in his heart. Bei Yi sang as he left because he was glad that Nie Que could be so calm and at ease. A body like withered wood and a mind like dead ashes signify stillness brought to its utmost. “True knowledge” is precisely the absence of contrived opinions. “He does not let old opinions bind him” means allowing life to change naturally. The final three sentences say: I do not know where he came from, or who he really is.

Yidu’s commentary: When the body is upright, it does not become scattered; when the gaze is focused, it does not wander. Thus the principle of harmony becomes manifest. Gathering in one’s knowing means removing views; bringing the mind to unity means forgetting the distinctions made by thought. Then the mind is empty and still, and Shen comes to dwell in the body. Because harmony has been brought to its utmost, De becomes your beauty; because emptiness and stillness have been brought to their utmost, the Dao becomes your home. “Clear and calm, like a newborn calf” means that the spirit is whole, asking nothing about why it is as it is, and renewing itself day by day.

Before Bei Yi had finished speaking, Nie Que pretended to be asleep. Delighted that he had attained the Dao, Bei Yi sang as he left. “True knowledge: he does not let old opinions bind him” means moving together with change. “Obscure and profound, without intention or concern; one cannot deliberate with him” means that he has merged with change.

Bixu’s commentary: When the body is neither crooked nor slanted and the gaze does not waver, harmonious Qi gathers. Gathering in one’s perception… (The original text ends here unfinished.)

When regulations are simplified, good fortune will arrive. Once it does, all kinds of beautiful things follow, and one’s pure, unblemished nature is preserved.

Keep the gaze clear and focused, without letting it wander outward; then you are almost close to the Dao. When the ears hear words that accord with the Dao, the spirit enters the mysterious gate and understands them at once. Be still and settled as if asleep, with the body like a withered tree and the mind like dead ashes. Straighten the body and focus the gaze, and true understanding will appear. Do not cling to fixed opinions and let them constrain you; gather the mind and make it single. This is the right practice. In dim obscurity, the beauty of De naturally appears. With no fixed opinions in the heart, one does not make decisions or devise plans, and so the Dao can dwell there. All this praises Nie Que’s De and bearing. He pretended to be asleep, and the subtle meaning of it is beyond words.

Yan Zhai, the commentator, says: “To straighten the body and focus the gaze is to forget the body, ears, and eyes; to gather the mind and make it single is to remove thought and awareness. In this way, original Qi is preserved, and the spirit comes to dwell there. ‘The beauty of De’ means that one’s De is enough to nourish oneself. ‘The Dao dwells there’ means that the Dao settles there, as if at home in the vast dwelling of all under Heaven. ‘Tongran’ describes a clear, unknowing gaze fixed straight ahead. A newborn calf looks without preconception, as does an infant; neither asks why. Here, it means that he does not know why he looks this way. He falls asleep before finishing what he was saying: this is when words and intention accord, and nothing more needs to be said. Once this principle is truly seen, things no longer enter the heart. ‘Meimei huihui’ describes a dim, indistinct state, at once present and absent. Since he has no intention, I have nothing to say either. ‘What sort of person is he?’ expresses profound admiration for him.”

A good teacher sets out rules that are sure to be simple; a good student takes instruction swiftly. “Straighten the body and focus the gaze” disciplines the outer self, while “gather the mind and make it single” orders the inner self. The rules could hardly be simpler. Falling asleep before finishing what one is saying shows an even swifter grasp of instruction. The phrase “a clear gaze, like that of a newborn calf” best describes the state in which De is beautiful and the Dao dwells within: free of intention and contrivance, pure and natural, and forgetting oneself amid all things. This passage reveals the method for entering the Dao.

The song sung by Bei Yi expresses the same idea as Zigong’s praise of the old man of Hanyin, a figure in the Zhuangzi. People are often troubled because they treat the mind as a place for devising plans and knowledge as their master. Now Nie Que has no intention or thought, so there is no way to consult with him about plans. That is why the speaker praises his unadulterated De and laments that there seems to be no one like him in the world.

Shun asked Cheng, “Can the Dao be obtained and made one’s own?” Cheng replied, “Even your body does not belong to you. How, then, could you make the Dao your own?” Shun said, “If my body does not belong to me, then whose is it?” Cheng replied, “It is a form entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Life, too, does not belong to you; it is Heaven and Earth…” (The original text ends here unfinished.)

Gentle, harmonious Qi is your life and destiny, yet it does not belong to you. It is the natural unfolding bestowed on you by Heaven and Earth. Your body, too, is not yours; it is a form temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth and brought into being through transformation. Thus, when you walk, you do not know where you are going; when you settle down, you do not know what sustains you; and when you eat, you do not know what your food tastes like. These things are brought about by the vigorous, flowing Qi between Heaven and Earth. How, then, could you claim them as your own?

Guo Xiang’s commentary: Your body does not belong to you; how much less, then, does the Dao belong to you? If your body truly were yours, you ought to be able to control its beauty or ugliness, life or death. Yet when Qi gathers and you are born, you cannot stop it; when Qi disperses and you die, you cannot hold it back. This shows that the body forms naturally through the gathering of Qi and is not yours to possess. Descendants, too, arise through the natural gathering of Qi, replacing one another like cicadas shedding their skins. Walking, dwelling, and eating all take place within nature. “Vigorous Yang” means movement and activity. Those who understand this may be able to let go of their attachment to the body and forget their worries about life and death.

Lü Huiqing’s commentary: Among all things under Heaven, nothing seems more easily subject to one’s control than one’s own body. Yet the body is a form bestowed by Heaven and Earth; it does not belong to you. What is closer to the body and sustains its existence than life? But life, too, is harmonious Qi bestowed by Heaven and Earth, and you cannot control how it comes into being. The root of life is nature and destiny, yet these likewise arise from the natural unfolding of Heaven and Earth and cannot be made to go against it. Look at your body and you will see that it has no independent awareness of its own. How, then, could you know where you are going when you walk, what sustains you when you settle down, or what your food tastes like when you eat? These things are brought about by the vigorous, active Qi between Heaven and Earth. If so, how could you claim the so-called Dao as your own?

Yidu’s commentary: The people of ancient times who attained the Dao regarded the body as a vessel that carries the Dao. But the Creator governs the body’s survival and demise; it does not belong to you. It is a form temporarily bestowed by Heaven and Earth. If you cannot possess even your own body, how much less can you possess the Dao? Not only the body, but life and nature and destiny do not belong to you either. They are all bestowed by Heaven and Earth and follow the course of nature; descendants are merely one link in this process of generation and transformation. Once you understand that none of these things is yours, you should follow nature. Thus, walking, dwelling, and eating all arise from nature, though people do not know why they happen as they do. People receive the vigorous, flowing Qi between Heaven and Earth and are born; through it, too, they die. How could they claim it as their own?

Bixu’s commentary: The Dao cannot be seen or heard, nor can it be grasped by hand. Can anyone truly possess it? The body is like a form that has taken shape naturally. Does it belong to you? The answer is: “Since…” (The original text ends here.)

Someone said, “If all things come into being on their own, then they should belong to me.” In fact, even your body does not belong to you. It is only a temporary form, formed by the gathering of Heaven and Earth’s material substance. You were born along with the forms of Heaven and Earth, but this body is not yours. Your nature and life—your life and innate disposition—came about through the union of Yin and Yang in Heaven and Earth, but they are not yours either. Your descendants came about through the changes of Heaven and Earth, and they do not belong to you. Every movement you make, and everything involved in your dwelling and eating, is the result of original Qi—the fundamental energy ceaselessly moving through Heaven and Earth—surging and driving things onward. What does any of this have to do with you personally?

Yanzhai said, “‘Wei’ means to gather. The Four Great Elements—earth, water, fire, and wind, which make up the human body—temporarily gather to form the body; this is called ‘gathered form.’ Yin and Yang unite to bring forth all things; this is called ‘gathered harmony.’ Though nature and life are present in me, they are bestowed by the principles of creation and transformation; this is called ‘yielding to what is.’ People in the world pass life on from generation to generation, like cicadas shedding their old shells; this is called ‘shedding.’ ‘Strong Yang’ means vital energy. People’s movements, dwelling, and eating are all driven by this energy; they are not the property of the individual. The Sutra of Perfect Enlightenment says, ‘Where, in truth, is this illusory body now?’ That is the point. Once people understand this, they will no longer cling to the body or to what they depend on.”

Cheng—or perhaps someone else—said, “The commentaries by the various scholars of Master Shun rarely discuss this point in detail. I later consulted Bixuzi’s Notes on Pronunciation and Meaning, which says that ancient rulers had four assistants: the Left Aide, the Right Support, the Front Counselor, and the Rear Assistant. ‘Cheng’ was probably an official title.” This explanation is more convincing.

The Dao has no form of its own and must be revealed through the myriad things. The body does not belong to me; it is merely a dwelling place for the spirit. Heaven and Earth temporarily gather to form it, but in the end it must perish. What we call “I” is only a temporary sojourner within the body. Birth and nature are the same. Then it is clear that descendants merely inherit life for a time before changing and passing away. Therefore, people’s movements, dwelling, and eating should all follow their natural course. The harmonious Qi of Heaven and Earth flows forth and gives life to the myriad things: one thing flourishes as another withers; one thing dies as another is born. All this is the endless transformation of the Great Dao, and the life received by the myriad things is without end. How can you claim them as your own?

These words explain that the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth are impartial. Their purpose is to dispel people’s delusion that they own their bodies and must cherish their descendants. Only by understanding this can one enter the Dao. This is the key teaching in the True Classic of Southern Florescence for loosening people’s bonds and freeing them from entanglement.

Confucius asked Lao Dan, “Today I have some leisure, and I venture to ask what the utmost Dao is.” Lao Dan replied, “First fast, still your heart, cleanse your mind and purify your spirit, and cast aside your assumptions and cleverness. The Dao is deep and subtle, difficult to explain! I will try to give you an outline of it. What is bright and visible arises from what is dark and unseen; things that are ordered and distinct arise from what is formless. Spirit arises from the Dao, and form arises from spirit. All things reproduce through their forms: animals with nine openings are born from the womb, while animals with eight openings…”

Egg-born creatures have no traceable origin and no bounds to their destination. They have no gates or dwellings, yet can reach in all four directions. Between Heaven and Earth, they display an aspect of boundless vastness. When people take inspiration from this Dao, their limbs grow strong, their thoughts become clear, and their ears and eyes grow keen. They apply their minds without strain and respond to all things without any fixed method.

Heaven is naturally high and distant, Earth naturally broad, the sun and moon naturally move, and all things naturally flourish. Is this the Dao? Broad learning does not necessarily bring true knowledge, and eloquence does not necessarily bring wisdom; the sages understood this long ago. Add to it, and it does not grow; diminish it, and it does not lessen. This is what the sages uphold. It is deep and vast as the sea, lofty and towering, ending only to begin again. It transforms and embraces all things without ever being exhausted. Is this the way of the noble person? All things draw nourishment from it without depleting it. Is this the Dao?

A person in China belongs neither to Yin nor to Yang. For a time, they dwell between Heaven and Earth as a human being, but in the end they return to their source. Seen from the source, life is simply a gathering of Qi (vital energy). Even the difference between a long life and a short one amounts to very little—no more than a fleeting moment. How could that be enough to judge whether Yao or Jie was right or wrong? Each fruit follows its own pattern of growth. Though human relationships are complex, people still use them to arrange the order of elders and younger people. When sages encounter these changes, they do not resist them; when events have passed, they do not cling to them. They harmonize their responses with the changes in things: this is De (Virtue/Power). To respond by following the moment is the Dao. The rise of emperors and the establishment of royal rule also come from this.

Living between Heaven and Earth is like a white horse flashing past an opening in a wall: in an instant, it is gone. Breath surges forth, and everything comes into being from it; then it gradually disperses, and everything returns to it. Things are born through change and die through change. Living creatures grieve over this, and human beings mourn it. Loosen the bonds imposed at birth and set down the sack given at birth: amid the bustle and confusion, the soul is about to depart, and the body follows, until both return to formlessness. The formless gives rise to form, and form returns to formlessness. Everyone knows this, but it is not what those who have reached the state they seek devote themselves to pursuing. People all speak this way, yet once they reach that state, they stop speaking. If they are still talking, it shows they have not reached it. Clear sight that finds no point of encounter is inferior to silence; when the Dao cannot be heard, hearing is inferior to shutting off the senses. This is called the greatest gain.

Guo Xiang’s commentary says: “‘The dark and obscure’ and ‘the formless’ both refer to the Dao. The point is that all things arise on their own and do not depend on anything outside themselves. Form is a transformation from the subtle to the coarse. Although things seem to arise from one another through form, they all do so naturally; therefore, viviparous and egg-born species cannot transform into one another.”

The movement of Shen (spirit, the numinous and lucid mind) and Qi (vital energy) cannot be controlled by human force. Following their natural nature and roaming along a path that leaves no trace is to entrust the body to Heaven and Earth and lodge the spirit beyond the myriad things. Thus the mind has no gates or partitions: it is open in every direction, broad and at ease. One roams through the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, moving along with the transformations of the myriad things.

If a person is fortunate enough to encounter this Dao, they can preserve their innate nature and settle their spirit. The generation and transformation of the myriad things under Heaven and Earth are, from the beginning, natural. Therefore, the sage casts aside cleverness and leaves everything to nature, allowing the myriad things to keep to their proper places and develop freely.

Those who move in step with the transformations of the myriad things can make use of external things without being driven by them. The Great Dao nourishes the myriad things without deliberately displaying that it nourishes them, and so each thing finds its proper place. To say that it achieves no merit is precisely to describe the Great Dao. The sage does not cling to any particular name; calm and content, they accept whatever comes. They do not pursue fame and merit, but return to the root rather than chase after the branches. Alas, the myriad things are no more than gatherings of Qi. Death and life have no essential difference—how much less do long and short lives matter? Each thing has its own principle; one need only follow it.

In human society, cleverness and change complicate matters. Yet even among different kinds of cleverness there is an order of connection, and one should act according to the circumstances one encounters. Let what should pass go by. Harmonizing and fitting together—that is all the order established by the sovereigns amounts to. Human life is brief, like a white colt flashing past a gap; there is truly no need to grieve over it. Birth and death are both simply transformations. There is no need to mourn the death of things or grieve the death of one’s kind. “Unfastening the bow case and casting off the ranks” means freeing oneself from constraint and standing alone, beyond the transformations. Amid the ceaseless transformations of the myriad things, one can bring things to completion by not deliberately trying to control them and by not fixing them into any particular form. But if one simply falls silent, closes oneself off, and blocks change, one cannot bring them to completion.

Lü’s Commentary: When the spirit tends toward the Great Dao, it can still appear bright and clear; at the utmost limit of the Dao, it becomes deep and unfathomable. From it the myriad things arise, each with its own pattern of growth. Jing (essence) and Qi are utterly real, yet have no fixed form. The myriad things give rise to one another through their forms; they come and go without a trace, open in every direction and without obstruction.

If a person is fortunate enough to encounter this Dao, they can dwell in the depths of the myriad things, discern their root, let their thoughts flow freely, and respond in ways without limit. Nothing in the generation of the myriad things under Heaven and Earth is otherwise. Broad learning and extensive experience do not amount to true knowledge; eloquence does not amount to wisdom. The sage casts these aside, neither treating increase as true gain nor decrease as true loss. This is what the sage preserves.

The Great Dao is profound and exalted, and no one knows where its boundaries lie. Its movement has measure and scope, yet does not extend beyond the Dao; what the myriad things rely upon is not obtained from outside. Seek the Great Dao in this way, and you will find where it is. The Great Dao does not favor Yin over Yang, or Yang over Yin; one simply follows the Dao. A person is simply a person, living like other people. Returning to the root and…

Heaven and all things are one body. In the obscure and subtle, there is nothing especially worthy of praise. Long life and short life should be regarded alike. What is there in the difference between Yao and Jie that anyone could boast of? Plants and trees, fruits and seeds, each follow their own patterns of growth, while all things share a common principle. The ordering of people according to human relationships is likewise part of the Dao’s course. To follow this course without opposing it, neither clinging to anything nor insisting on casting it aside or seeking to obtain it, is called harmony. To respond in accordance with the changes of things is De. To allow each thing to come into its own according to its particular circumstances is Dao. Acting in this way requires neither deliberate scrutiny nor loud proclamation.

The rise of emperors, in the end, is no more than following this Dao. Human life is brief, like a colt flashing past an opening in a wall; it cannot be made to stay. People grieve for the myriad things and lament human life because they do not understand that life has no true beginning and no true end.

Undo what binds you, and you can move freely; let things tighten and slacken in due measure, and you will not be constrained. When order loosens, you can gather and unfold at will, with nothing in the way. When the hun and po depart, the body goes with them. Words do not issue from beyond the Dao. The Dao is like a great smelting furnace, able to make the formless take form and the formed return to formlessness. This is something everyone knows. Those who seek the Dao need not cling to pursuing what lies ahead: if they truly understand it, they have experienced it firsthand; if they do not, they are merely talking about it.

Those who clearly apprehend the Dao are not entangled by external things, so eloquence is inferior to silence. Those who have truly heard the Dao know that ordinary sounds cannot convey it, so hearing is inferior to closing one’s ears. When the speaker has nothing to say and the listener hears no sound, this is called the greatest understanding.

The commentary by Yiduzhu says: An obscure and subtle aspiration comes first, and only then can there be visible achievement; the formless Dao comes first, and only then can ordered things be established. Singleness without mixture is called “essence”; depth beyond measure is called “spirit.” All things nourish one another through their forms, but the root that enables them to give rise to one another is the “essence” spoken of here. Thus, beings born from wombs and eggs each receive their own nature and allotment of life. The wondrous workings of the utmost essence arise naturally. It does not take “coming” as coming or “going” as going. It has no boundaries of gates or rooms, yet extends in every direction, vast and unhindered.

Those who understand this Dao can bring their limbs, ears, and eyes into accord with what is truly so. Their minds therefore exert no effort, and their responses to external things have no fixed form. The movements, growth, and transformations of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things likewise all arise from this. As for treating broad and elaborate argument as wisdom, the sages have already abandoned that practice. The workings of the Dao do not change through addition or subtraction; what the sages preserve is precisely this root that remains unchanged by addition or subtraction.

The Dao moves together with change and is inexhaustible; it supplies all things with what they need and is never depleted. All things draw nourishment from the Dao, yet the Dao is not exhausted by this. These are the workings of the Dao.

In the Central Land there was a person who had attained the Dao. He said that sages belong to neither Yin nor Yang, and that their state is beyond measure. People become human simply because they happen to encounter this form; it is not deliberately arranged. Therefore, one should return to the root and observe the transformations of all things. The birth of life is only a temporary gathering of obscure and subtle Qi. The fruits and plants of the world, too, each have their own nature and allotment of life…

The relationships of rank and seniority among people are the same: what harmonizes these relationships and responds to them is Heaven’s De (Virtue/Power). In response to Heaven’s De, the human way and the rule of emperors arise. Yet these are only superficial expressions that follow the affairs of the world, not the subtle workings of the sage.

Human life in this world lasts no more than a fleeting instant. We are born and then move toward death, just as night must follow day. People pursue external things and lose sight of reason, grieving over life and death. This is all because they are bound by family ties and affection, like a bow stored in its case or a book placed in its cover. Only those who have truly escaped such bonds can untangle the tangle of attachments.

The soul’s Qi (vital energy) disperses and can go anywhere. Death is a return. When the formless takes shape, life arrives; when form returns to formlessness, death departs. This is a truth everyone knows; it is not the most important matter in cultivation. Everyone can speak of the principles of life and death, but those who have reached life’s true state do not discuss them. Once one clings to such discussion, one has not yet reached that state. Thus, debate is inferior to silence, and hearing is inferior to shutting off the senses. To stop clinging to what one has “gained” is the greatest gain.

Commentary by Bixu: Yang appears from within Yin, and life emerges from nonbeing; the principle is clear and evident. Spirit is the trace left by the outflow of the empty, subtle, mysterious Dao; the body is the coarse substance formed by the condensation of the harmonious Qi of Yin and Yang. Yin and Yang intermingle, giving rise to different kinds of life, with forms such as live birth and hatching from eggs. We cannot know where they come from or where their beginnings lie, nor can we measure the limits of where they go. When life appears, it spreads in all directions—where is its gateway? When life returns, it fills the realm of formlessness—where is its dwelling? It is neither diminished nor increased, and its vastness has no bounds. These four statements describe how the Dao, in its all-embracing unity, transforms and nurtures the myriad things. The “attainment of the One” spoken of in the Hundred Origins refers to this state.

To question the Dao through knowledge yields little; to answer it through cleverness produces clumsy words. Setting aside knowledge and cleverness was what the ancients esteemed. Neither gain nor loss can alter the Dao: it is profound and lofty. To transform and measure the myriad things without overlooking anything, one must first grasp the root rather than seek outward. All things receive nourishment from the Dao and so do not lack. This shows that the empty, subtle, mysterious Dao itself neither increases nor diminishes.

Take, for now, the human form and the form of Heaven as examples: they will return to their source and enter a boundless realm of emptiness and stillness. When the Qi of Yin and Yang condenses, it forms living things; after a time, it disperses again and returns to formlessness. Disputes over the length of life and what is right or wrong are merely deluded thoughts. Plants lack conscious awareness, yet they too follow the principles of Yin-Yang transformation. Though human beings differ in kind, they cannot transcend the order of what comes before and after. When the sage encounters a situation…

Let what has already passed go by; do not insist on starting new undertakings. In what you do, make harmony your De and follow the circumstances as they arise as your Dao. People cross paths in this life, only to part again in the blink of an eye.

Only those who are calm and settled are undisturbed by changes of coming and going. Those who are not ruled by change are not bound by life and death. To undo restraints and escape the limits imposed by ritual and rank is like draining an abscess and removing the illness: it releases the entanglement of body and mind. Amid disorder and upheaval, when change is imminent but not yet complete, if the hun and po souls cannot remain settled, the body’s parts will fall apart and the spirit will return to its original state.

Form without form is a body that is not ruled by change; the source that brings forth all things does not change along with them. Everything that has form belongs to the coarse and visible realm, open to everyone’s sight. Those who have attained the Dao, however, forget even the distinction between the coarse and the subtle. To speak of the Dao only in words is like discussing dregs and lees: it yields nothing of real value. So if listening to the Dao goes no further than hearing sounds with the ears, one may mistake not truly understanding for having attained it.

Yanzhai says: Only what has order and distinction allows us to discern the myriad things; what is without form or trace is the source of transformation. The human spirit, too, belongs to transformation. The myriad things come into being through one another by means of their forms, and humans and animals are among them. Although humans are more esteemed than other living beings, the process by which life is generated is the same. The Dao has no fixed entrance or dwelling place and cannot be sought by following traces. How, then, could anyone know where it enters or leaves?

If you can seek out and understand this Dao, body and mind will become settled and thought will grow clear. In responding to the myriad things, you will not be confined to fixed methods. The four statements concerning Heaven and Earth and the myriad things describe the Dao as extending from top to bottom and present everywhere. People regard wide learning and eloquence as their own accomplishments, unaware that the power that gives them knowledge and wisdom comes from transformation. The sage therefore takes transformation as the measure: increase is not treated as true increase, nor decrease as true decrease. What must be kept lies within oneself; external things cannot add to it or diminish it.

Things end and begin again, and responding to the myriad things has no limit. Yet as long as thoughts and traces remain, one has not escaped the marks of transformation. If you can respond to things without being depleted, you can be without intention and without trace. The Dao belongs to neither Yin nor Yang and cannot be named after any particular thing. Though people have bodies, the mind can roam where the myriad things began; the body is only a temporary lodging between Heaven and Earth.

“Root” refers to the original source of the myriad things. “Yinyi” refers to breath that is obstructed and stagnant. From the perspective of the source of all things, a body with form can itself become a burden. A hundred years of life is no more than a brief instant beside Heaven and Earth. Even small things such as fruit, gourds, and vegetables follow nature’s patterns: when they grow, how they sprout, and what seeds they come from.

Among human relationships there are those who rule and those who are ruled, and the strong oppress the weak; yet people live together in the world as equals. When they follow what is fitting, their relations become harmonious; when they cannot remain in their original state, change takes place. Harmony aligned with circumstance is the natural state of De. Even the rise of emperors has never gone beyond this principle. “Coming into life and entering death” means that what came before extends onward, while what comes later bends down to arrive.

When the Book of Changes speaks of “plumbing the depths of the mysterious and understanding transformation,” this is what it means. All things arise from nothing and, after death, return to nothing; at their root, they are one and the same principle. Yet human beings and other things each experience sorrow because they are enclosed by physical form and cannot understand this. If they could recognize their own condition, it would be like undoing their covering and emerging from a sack.

The myriad transformations ultimately return to the true source. “The form of the formless” is the form that cannot be seen; “the formlessness within form” is what cannot be seen within physical form. The Buddhist teaching of the Dharma Body—the abiding, indestructible essence that transcends physical form—speaks of the same principle. Everyone knows this principle, but because people cannot escape the constraints of physical form, they can never reach it. Those who study and seek the utmost must carry their efforts beyond this point. Once they reach the utmost, they no longer cling to words; clinging to words prevents them from reaching it.

To see something and encounter it is called “meeting.” This is knowledge bound to outward traces. The Dao cannot be sought through outward traces, so it cannot be “encountered” in this way. Thus, disputation is inferior to silence, and hearing is inferior to shutting off the ears and eyes.

Brightness arises from darkness; formed bodies originally arise from what is subtle and luminous. All formed things under Heaven arise from nothing. Things generate one another through their physical forms, as in the principle that “the One gives rise to Two, Two to Three.” The comings and goings of the myriad things have no fixed gate, yet they open in every direction; anywhere can become a gate. Clear thought and keen senses, too, are workings of the Dao. Heaven, Earth, and all things come from it, showing that the Dao’s workings are vast and boundless.

People in the world take fragmented learning and skill in argument for wisdom, hoping through them to unite with the Great Dao. The sages abandoned this approach long ago. The opening of the text first asks people to cast aside cleverness and scheming, then explains that, to reach the highest state, even worldly methods of increase and decrease can no longer have any effect. The Dao is deep and exalted; it runs through the beginning and end of all things and transforms them without omission. It shapes all things without relying on craft. All things receive nourishment from it, and though it is utterly empty, it satisfies their needs. Perhaps this is what makes the Dao the Dao.

There is a kind of person who belongs neither to Yin nor to Yang; being and nonbeing, death and life cannot bind them. They are simply human, possessing human form but free of worldly emotions, and so can return to the source and roam where all things begin.

Human life is nothing more than the gathering of Qi. However long or short a life may be, in the end it is only a brief moment. Why, then, use this to decide who was right or wrong, Yao or Jie? Consider fruits and melons: though small, each grows and reproduces according to its own order. In human relations, too, ranks of honor and lowliness follow one another in succession. Thus, when a sage encounters …

To accord with the myriad things is to avoid going against their inherent nature; once something has passed, one does not keep it in mind.

What are called “harmony” and “contingency” are both skillful ways of responding to the myriad things, yet they never depart from Dao and De. This is the principle by which rulers rise and the people sustain their lives.

The myriad things emerge from the vitality of life and return to it; this is the natural order. People cannot help grieving over life and death because they have not yet escaped the constraints imposed by nature. If one can use reason to see through and break free of these constraints, they will naturally fall away. The hun and po depart, and the body comes to an end with them: this is simply a return to the Great Dao. What is there to grieve?

When the formless becomes form, that is birth; when form returns to the formless, that is death. Everyone knows these principles; they are not difficult to understand. Yet once one has truly understood how things are, one forgets words. Anything that still needs to be said shows that understanding is not yet complete. So eloquence is no better than silence, and listening widely is no better than shutting off the ears and eyes. Only through closing them off and remaining silent can one be said to have attained the Great Realization—the fundamental understanding. From this we can see that attachment to argument and hearing can, in fact, lead to loss.

It transforms and measures the myriad things without being exhausted. Like the clear, empty expanse of the sky, it is bright and limpid: all things are reflected within it, then vanish without a trace. Another version reads, “It transforms the myriad things and leaves nothing behind,” which also makes sense.