《南華真經口義》Vol. 8

Classic: Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Exegesis of the True Scripture of Southern Florescence)

Volume 8 · Inner Chapter “Da Tong Shi” (The Great Ancestral Teacher), Part 1

Yizhai Lin Xiyi

[Explanation of the Scripture’s Theme]

“Da Tong Shi” (the Great Ancestral Teacher) refers to the Dao itself—much as one says the sage models Heaven, and Heaven models the Dao (ziran, naturalness).

[Main Sense of Zhuangzi’s Original Text]

To grasp what is “done by Heaven” and what is “done by human beings” is to reach the highest level. Knowing what Heaven does means understanding that humans receive life from Heaven; knowing what humans do means using the wisdom one already has to nurture what one does not yet know, thereby completing one’s allotted years without dying young—this is the utmost of wisdom. Even so, there remains a worry: wisdom usually depends on something else to judge right and wrong, yet what it depends on is not fixed. How can we be sure that what I call “Heaven” is not “human”? Or that what I call “human” is not “Heaven”? Moreover, there must first be the “zhenren” (true person) before there can be “zhenzhi” (true knowing).

[Kouyi (Oral Exegesis)]

Living in the world, at first everything arises from Heaven—hence “what Heaven does”; yet while one is in the world, human affairs also have their due—hence “what humans do.” When human affairs are fulfilled, the principle of Heaven shows itself; therefore one uses “what wisdom knows” to nourish “what wisdom does not know,” not busily harming life—so one can finish one’s natural span. Knowing both Heaven and the human is “the fullness of knowing.” These lines are morally and doctrinally sound.

From “Even so, there is a worry” onward the turn is especially fine: knowing must wait on something to judge what is fitting, yet what it waits on lies outside, not in oneself—sometimes one need not seek and it comes, sometimes one must seek to obtain it; neither can be fixed in advance. “Fitting” means the distinction of appropriate and inappropriate; only after the matter is settled does one see what fits and what does not—that single word dang (fitting) is placed with utmost craft. If one thinks everything is Heaven’s doing, one often still has to pursue to obtain; if one thinks everything is human doing, there are pursuits that fail. This is “how could one know Heaven is not human, human is not Heaven?” For example, Mencius says “whether life is long or short, do not doubt—it is all ming (fate),” yet also “one who knows ming does not stand under a crumbling wall”—showing that what Heaven does and what humans do have no fixed boundary. Zhuangzi’s view of worldly affairs is the sharpest; passages like this need slow, careful reading. “There must be the true person before there is true knowing” speaks of one who has attained the Dao.

[Continuation of the Scripture] What is the true person? The true persons of old did not rejoice in outliving others, did not boast of success, did not scheme for rank…

Vernacular Reading of Nanhua Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Exegesis of the True Classic of Southern Florescence)

Continuing (on the bearing of the “spirit-person”)

A person of this kind does not look back with regret once a matter is past, and when something is due they do not congratulate themselves or swell with satisfaction. They climb high without dread, enter water without being soaked, and enter fire without being scorched—because their knowing (zhi) has learned to rest on the Dao and draw close to it.

Again, such a one keeps few desires and knows when enough is enough, neither forcing outcomes nor currying favor on purpose. When their strength falls short, they yield and let things follow their course. When work is finished, they do not parade it or push others aside.

(In classical usage shi 士 and shi 事 are often interchangeable, as in Shijing, “Dongshan”: “do not shi the marching tally”—shi means “to attend to the matter.” Mou 谋 is planning. Because they act without a scheming mind, the text says they do not plot.) “Not regretting when a matter is over” takes guo as fault or loss, much like today’s “missed chance” or “years slipped by.” “Not self-satisfied when things fit” takes dang as apt, fitting—“just right”; when the affair succeeds, zide is self-congratulation, smugness. Whether things fail or succeed, they hand it all to spontaneity (ziran): no brooding over failure, no elation over success. Climbing without fear, water without wetting, fire without burning—that is being at ease wherever they go. “Knowing can mount and rely on the Dao” (zhi neng dengjia yu Dao) means what they have awakened to has sunk deep into the Way. The two phrases “if such a one” (ruo ran zhe) are Zhuangzi’s habitual brush; here zhi 知 and zhi 智 overlap in sense, and jia 假 means to lean on, to reach and abide in.

The True Persons of Old

The true persons of antiquity: in sleep they did not dream; awake, they were not troubled; in eating they did not cling to flavors; their breathing was deep and long. The breath of the true person rises from the heels; the breath of ordinary people reaches only the throat. Much of what Daoist practice texts say about cultivation traces back to this passage.

When the heart-and-mind (xin) is settled, each inhalation and exhalation is deep and extended, as if climbing from the heels up to mouth and nose—hence later methods of counting the breath and regulating the breath (shuxi, tiaoxi). Without nourishing the heart-and-mind, the breath in and out merely stalls at the throat. Stillness and agitation differ, and the body shows it plainly.

Wa is vomiting; ai is the gullet. Without genuine insight within, words float at the lips, so one easily bows and submits before others. Read against the banter of Chan question-and-answer, Zhuangzi’s flavor stands out—the gibe at “toad Chan,” one hop and done, likewise mocks a “meditation” that stops at the tongue and never gains inner verification.

First section (on heavenly principle and human desire, and why this passage must not be skimmed)

To yield and comply as easily as “wow” describes human desire—appetite and craving; heavenly principle (tianli) is the order of Dao at work in us. The “depth and shallowness” mentioned earlier is what past masters meant: heavenly principle and human desire wax and wane with one’s cultivation and level—they trade places as practice deepens.

In this passage, each line is a separate insight, yet the whole hangs together. Much of what later Daoist and Buddhist writings say can be traced back here, which shows how far Zhuangzi’s own attainment reached—this text cannot be read in a hurry. One can only regret not having been there when masters like Dahui Zonggao or Zhang Pingshu could have debated these points face to face with Zhuangzi.

Second section (the ancient true person: life and death)

The true persons of old did not rejoice in being alive or loathe death. When they were born, they did not refuse; when they died, they did not resist. Coming and going were xiāorán—light, easy, and in accord with things, and that was all.

They did not forget where they began, nor did they chase after where they would end. When they received this bodily form they accepted it gladly; when they lost it they could let go and return to Dao—this is what is meant by not letting the mind stray from Dao for a moment and not using human effort to bolster heaven’s decree. That is the true person.

The heart of this passage is life and death: emergence is birth, return is death. To come and go xiāorán is neither to forget one’s beginning nor to demand to know one’s end—like the Book of Changes says: “trace the source and grasp the outcome, and thus know the saying of life and death.” Someone asked Master Zhaozhou: “Where will you go when you are a hundred?” Zhaozhou answered: “After the fire burns out, a single stalk of reed grass remains.” That is not seeking the end. Receiving means taking on this body as heaven’s gift—how could one not welcome it? Returning means giving it back and dissolving; when the return is complete, the heart no longer clings—hence “forgetting and returning.”

Not letting the mind stray from Dao: juan means to leave or discard; the mind never parts from Dao for an instant—“the mind is Dao, and outside the mind there is no Dao.” Not using human effort to bolster heaven’s decree: length of life has its mandate; human strength cannot add to it. These ten characters deserve slow, careful reading.

Third section (the true person’s bearing: attuned to the four seasons)

Such a person’s aspiration is focused and has a master; his countenance is calm and still (rong ji—the stillness of facing a wall for nineteen years is this “quiet bearing”). His brow is broad and full (sang is the forehead, kai fullness; when the head is held aright, the forehead opens).

He is stern as autumn—grave and cool like autumn qi; warm as spring—gentle and mild like spring qi. Joy and anger shift with the four seasons; in every contact with things he is fitting, yet others cannot see where his limit lies.

Aspiration here means having a ruling principle and thus being able to settle. This “aspiration” should not be forced into the vocabulary of the Analects or Mencius. Past masters said: when Buddhists speak of nature and mind they were already labeled heterodox; how much less can Zhuangzi be fully unpacked with Confucian lexicon alone?

Ji (stillness): settled quiet. Sang and kai: forehead and its fullness. With the head upright, the brow appears open.

Qīrán here means dignified and commanding, like autumn’s breath. Nuǎnrán means mild, like spring’s breath. The true person’s joy and anger resonate with the four seasons and with all things, yet leave no trace—hence “no one knows his utmost.”

“Nuanran xi ye” (warm with joy): The heart feels warm and glad, yet this is not deliberate joy or anger—it is like the four seasons turning on their own, spring giving way to autumn.

“Ji is a stopping place; wu are affairs.” “Ji” (极) means a fixed foothold; “wu” (物) are the various concrete matters of life. One meets each affair as it comes and gives each its due, yet there is no rigid “must stop here”—this is what is meant by “letting the heart be born in season only in the instant of meeting affairs”: the heart responds only in the present moment of engagement, without sticking or lingering.

“Thus when the sage employs troops, he may destroy a state yet not lose the people’s hearts; his benefit and grace may extend through ten thousand generations, yet he is not ‘loving people’ in a private sense.”

Warfare is by nature harm to the world; bestowing benefit and grace is by nature caring for the world. If the sage does both with wuwei (non-deliberate, unforced mind), then even when a state falls, the people do not resent him; those who receive his kindness say only that “the emperor’s power—what has it to do with me?” (帝力于我何有), and do not credit the sage’s personal affection. This book carries that meaning too; only Zhuangzi’s phrasing often goes to extremes, as in “grace through ten thousand generations yet not called benevolence” or “mirroring all things yet not called righteousness”—all of that kind of exaggerated style.

“Therefore to delight in penetrating all things is not to be a sage; to have favorites is not benevolence; to follow heaven’s seasons is not to be worthy; not to see benefit and harm as one is not to be a gentleman; to pursue fame and lose oneself is not to be a scholar; to lose one’s life and authenticity is not to be one who masters others.”

The lines below mock and belittle sages and worthies in order to throw into relief how far beyond reach the True Person (Zhenren) stands. The gist: when there are no True Persons in the world and people do not know the supreme Dao, then from the sage downward, whether great or small, none counts as truly real.

• “Delighting in making all things attain their place”: the sage’s heart takes as joy that nothing fails to find its proper station—but if one clings to arranging all things and takes that as one’s delight, one is not worthy to be called a sage. Without deliberate mind there is no near and far; with near and far there is mind, and with mind one is not pure Ren (benevolence).
• Moving with the times and knowing heaven’s seasons—worthy people can do that too; but if one cannot rest content without that, one is not truly worthy.
• Gentlemen can pursue benefit and avoid harm; but if one cannot see benefit and harm as flowing into one, one is not a true gentleman.
• Scholars must seek reputation; fame is the guest of substance—to lose oneself for the guest is not to be a true scholar.
• Zhen (authenticity) is what is so of itself; not knowing the natural and wearing out body and mind is to be servant to others, not master of others.

All of this is deliberately overblown argument (过当之论). Hence the examples below—Hu Buxie, Wu Guang, Boyi, Shuqi, Jizi, Xuyu, Jita, Shentu Di—are said to be “serving another’s servitude, suiting another’s standards, yet not suiting their own suitability for themselves”: laboring for others, conforming to others’ measures, unable to rest at ease in their own authenticity.

Scriptural passage:

Those who lose themselves in serving others therefore cannot attain joy for themselves. Though this saying is one-sided, its wording is exquisite. Hu Buxie, Wu Guang, Xu Yu, Ji Ta, and Shentu Di were worthies of antiquity; they could not attain joy for themselves, could not have their own will fulfilled.

The True Person (Zhenren) of antiquity appeared upright without leaning to either side, as if insufficient yet without self-abasement, easy and unhurried. Having the angles of De (Virtue/Power) yet not hard-edged, expansive as if possessing nothing, without ornament. As if pleased yet not truly pleased, as if acting only when there was no alternative, as if gloomy before responding to things. Full and with a harmonious countenance, self-possessed with De settled and at rest—as if the same as the world yet stern, as if vast and beyond restraint, as if fond of keeping the mouth closed, as if having forgotten speech.

Taking punishment as the bodily form, rites as the wings, knowledge as the timely moment, and De as the path to follow. “Taking punishment as the bodily form” means lenient yet capable of cutting down; “rites as the wings” means what is used to move through the world; “knowledge as the timely moment” means handling affairs only when there is no alternative; “De as the path to follow” means that, like one with feet who reaches a hill, people truly believe one is diligent in walking.

Commentary on the meaning:

This passage describes the True Person’s manner of speech: it is entirely warm, pure, and unmixed, yet it is spoken too obscurely. The “Buddha illumination” section contains many such descriptions. “Upright without leaning” means standing in the middle without partiality. “As if insufficient yet without self-abasement”—“承” (chéng) here means to defer and abase oneself; in the Zuozhuan there is the phrase “使使之副者曰承.” “与乎” means ease and leisure. “觚” is the corner of De; “觚而不坚” means having the angles of virtue without sharp corners. “张乎” is the appearance of ease; “虚” is having as if not having; “不华” is plain and unadorned. “邴邴” is the look of joy—seeming joyful yet not joyful. “崔” means to descend or to take one’s place; in responding to things there is the sense of having no alternative, like being gloomy before one answers. “滀” means to gather—the look of fullness and delight; when life shows in the complexion, it appears clearly on the face, hence “进我色.” “止我德” is what is called the empty chamber bringing good fortune; “止” is rest at rest, the look of self-possession. “厉” is stern severity—viewed from outside one seems as stern as the world, yet within there is truly the “崔” sense of acting only when unavoidable, hence “似世.” “謷” means great—unbowed by the world, hence “未可制.” “好闭” means unwilling to open the mouth; “连” means joined and sealed—when one has not yet spoken…

This passage describes the realm and attitude of Zhenren (Perfected Persons who have attained the Dao). When Zhenren speak, they seem reluctant, and having spoken, it's as if they said nothing—this state is called "manhu" (a demeanor of humble modesty). Like two phrases expressing the same meaning, they appear submissive on the surface while maintaining their authentic nature within.

The text presents two approaches to worldly engagement: while sages advocate using punishments to supplement moral education, here it suggests making punishments fundamental and rituals secondary—an inversion of conventional wisdom. Even when carrying out executions, their hearts remain broad and undisturbed. They conform to worldly customs when performing rites, employing wisdom only as a last resort to navigate worldly affairs.

Those with true De (Virtue/Power) follow the natural Dao of heaven, much like someone ascending a small hill who reaches the summit without deliberate effort. Zhuangzi uses the metaphor of "Qiu Xiaoshan" (little hill) to illustrate how natural action requires no mental strain or exertion.

The key concept is "oneness": whether liking or disliking, approving or disapproving, all are fundamentally unified. Those who share virtue with heaven regard preferences as identical, while those who associate with ordinary people distinguish between them. But Zhenren transcend such distinctions—they neither let human desires override heavenly principles nor suppress human nature with heavenly Dao, achieving a state beyond preferences where heaven and humanity unite. This resembles Buddhism's transcendence of existence and non-existence, or Laozi's teaching that "these two emerge together but differ in name."

Life and death alternate as naturally as day and night, beyond human interference. People revere heaven as a father—how much more should they venerate the supreme Dao? People consider rulers nobler than themselves and willingly die for them—how much more should they devote themselves to the true Dao? This illustrates how humans should honor the supreme Dao above all.

Through contrasting worldly values, the passage elucidates how Zhenren transcend dualities and align with nature, ultimately pointing toward the highest realm of unity between heaven and humanity.

Life and Death, the True Lord, and the Great Ancestral Teacher

Death and life alternate like day and night. The Yijing says that to “penetrate the way of day and night is to be clear and penetrating”—that is speaking of feeling versus reality: what human effort cannot decide in advance is the real pattern of heaven, earth, and the myriad things. What is called fate, what is called Heaven, points to this real pattern. These lines use the mandate of life and death to clarify the meaning of “one” and “not-one.”

It also says: father and ruler are the most honored and beloved in human affairs, yet the Dao (the Way) is more honored than ruler or father—hence one may call it “father of all fathers,” and say that within it there abides the True Lord—so high that one cannot reach it. “True” means what is natural. The point is: everyone knows to honor ruler and father, yet does not know that the Dao is the Great Ancestral Teacher.

Moisten Each Other with Foam and Forget Each Other in the Dao

When the water is gone, fish crowd on dry land, breathing moisture on each other and wetting one another with spit—nothing like swimming apart in the rivers and lakes and forgetting each other. Better than praising Yao and condemning Jie is to forget both sides and dissolve together into the Dao.

The great clod (heaven and earth) gave me a body, wears me out with living, eases me with aging, and rests me with death. Thus to be good at living is precisely the path of being good at dying.

“Breathing on each other” (xiang xu) and “moistening each other” (xiang ru): mouth to mouth, foam to wet. Moistening each other on dry ground is nothing like forgetting each other in the rivers and lakes—a metaphor for people straining and contriving in the world, versus embodying the Dao in non-action (wuwei). The line “praise Yao, reject Jie” looks on the surface like rebellion, yet it is where insight stands alone: no Jie and no Yao, no overthrow and no rise, no good and no evil, no ruin and no praise; ruin and praise, overthrow and rise, good and evil all arise only in relation. Better than sorting them out here is to forget both and hand oneself to the natural; handing oneself to the natural is to be transformed by the Dao.

Buddhism says “this dharma is equal, with nothing high or low,” also “discard both being and non-being,” also “the great Dao is not hard—only picking and choosing is the trouble”—all the same meaning. The saying “two clay oxen fought their way into the sea; from then until now, no news” is especially fine.

The great clod is heaven and earth: with form comes life, and once alive one cannot avoid toil; when sinews weaken with age, ease comes naturally. Rest (xi) means to cease. “To be good at my living” is to preserve this body; “if in the morning I hear the Dao, in the evening I may die”—that is the idea.

Hiding a Boat in a Valley, Hiding a Mountain in a Marsh

You hide a boat in a valley and a mountain in a marsh, thinking it secure; yet in the middle of the night a powerful being drags it away, and you do not know. If hiding small things is like this, how much more hiding the whole world? Only one who hides the world in the world will not lose it. This is ordinary feeling: lose something by chance and you cannot forget; if even the self is lost, and forgetting is forgotten, you will not end in fear and worry.

The human form suits virtue (de); human fate suits the season. What does not suit virtue or season is called being out of step. To force on when out of step is disaster. So do not harm virtue, do not block the season. If Boyi attained the Dao yet lived under a tyrant, or Xu You attained the Dao yet met the rule of Yao and Shun—it was not that they yielded; the times did not match.

Liezi, Huzi, and Jixian

Liezi was traveling, eating by the roadside, when he saw a hundred-year-old skull, pointed at it and laughed, saying: only I know how you died and how you lived. A crowd gathered to look; Liezi walked away. His disciples asked why. Liezi said: I saw my teacher and asked; Huzi said: come—I will first teach you to observe complexion. Jixian was a face-reader in the state of Zheng; the master had him come and read my face—have him come tomorrow.

The next day Jixian saw Huzi and, coming out, told Liezi: your teacher will die. Liezi went in and reported; Huzi said: just now I showed him earthly pattern (di wen)—the aspect of earth virtue—leading the snake so he saw a complete form. Have him come again tomorrow.

Again the next day Jixian saw Huzi and, coming out, told Liezi: fortunately the master was saved and is whole again. Liezi reported; Huzi said: just now I showed heaven’s ground (tian rang)—the aspect of heaven’s virtue—leading the snake so he saw the form of tiger and leopard. Have him come again tomorrow.

Again the next day Jixian saw Huzi, stood without steadying himself, and lost his color. Liezi reported; Huzi said: just now I showed penetrating qi (chong qi)—the aspect of yin-yang in harmony—leading the snake so he saw the form of birds and beasts. Have him come again tomorrow.

Again the next day Jixian stood with Huzi and looked; then he fled. Liezi chased but could not catch him, returned and told Huzi. Huzi said: just now I showed what has never begun to leave my source—never begun to leave my source means never begun to leave the root of my Dao. Dao and I are one, I and Dao are one; so I showed what has never begun to leave my source. I showed the Dao; therefore Jixian could not peer into me. When I showed earthly pattern, that was the aspect of earth virtue; when I showed heaven’s ground, heaven’s virtue; when I showed penetrating qi, yin-yang in harmony. Earth virtue, heaven’s virtue, penetrating qi are all aspects of the Dao; never begun to leave my source is never begun to leave the root of my Dao.

The Dao, Things, and Non-Reliance

The Dao gives you your aspect, heaven gives you your form—do not let likes and dislikes injure the body. Now you have a mind that leans outward on things, and things have a mind that leans inward on you—you are enslaved by things, so Jixian could peer into you. When I showed what has never begun to leave my source, I showed the Dao; therefore Jixian could not peer into me. When I showed earthly pattern, heaven’s ground, and penetrating qi, those were all aspects of the Dao; never begun to leave my source is never begun to leave the root of my Dao.

Non-reliance outward, no fixation of things inward, no fixation of things outward, no reliance inward—thus no thing and no reliance, and Dao and I are one. No thing and no reliance is never begun to leave my source. Never begun to leave my source is never begun to leave the root of my Dao. Dao and I are one; therefore Jixian could not peer into me. When I showed what has never begun to leave my source, I showed the Dao; therefore Jixian could not peer into me.

Note: The first half of this chapter is oral commentary on passages about life and death, the True Lord, moistening each other with foam, and the great clod bearing form. The latter half—the story of Liezi, Huzi, and Jixian reading faces—in the received Zhuangzi appears in chapters such as “The Normal Course for Rulers and Kings”; here the oral text runs together complexion-reading, earthly pattern, heaven’s ground, penetrating qi, and never leaving the source, which may differ in detail from the inner chapters’ narrative. The vernacular translation follows your supplied original sentence by sentence without altering the plot.

Those with power pick things up and carry them away, yet people who are ignorant of how things truly work do not understand the reasoning behind this. Whether one hides small things or large things, one must consider whether it is appropriate; even if hidden securely, there is still the possibility of loss. If one places all things in the world within the world itself, allowing each to return to its natural state, then there is nowhere they can escape and be lost. This is the constant, true condition of the myriad things.

When people happen to obtain a human form, they rejoice in it. Yet the human form also undergoes countless transformations—who knows when such change will ever reach its end? How could such joys ever be fully counted? Therefore the sage causes the mind and spirit to wander freely in that place where the myriad things cannot escape and be lost, so that each thing may abide in its own way.

Creation and transformation (the generating and changing of heaven, earth, and the myriad things) can bring the myriad things to an untimely end or grant them long life; it can initiate the myriad things or bring them to a close—humans still take it as their model, how much more so the Dao upon which the myriad things depend and on which all change relies?

A boat in a mountain valley, a mountain in a lake or marsh—these may be said to be hidden with utmost secrecy, yet they can still be lost in the middle of the night. Here, “those with power” refers to creation and transformation; it picks up boat and mountain and departs—meaning that the myriad things will ultimately be lost. Human scheming, however deep and secret, sometimes still cannot be controlled by oneself. This is just what the common saying means: “Hammering iron to make a door sill—the ghost sees it and claps and laughs”: what humans exhaust their ingenuity to produce, even ghosts would laugh at on seeing it.

Mountain valleys and lakes are both vast—a valley can hide a boat, a lake or marsh can hide a mountain. To store small things in large places is appropriate. What is called “loss” (dun) means being deprived; to store the world within the world is to let the myriad things return to nature. When all things in the world are handed back to nature, there is no place that can cause them to be lost. The true state of the myriad things has always been thus; hence it is called “the great constant disposition of things”—that is, the enduring reality of the myriad things.

People all rejoice in possessing a human form, yet do not know that the human body also undergoes myriad transformations—who can know what it will ultimately become? If one understands this point, one will know that the myriad things are all complete within oneself, and heaven and earth are united with me as one body. How could such joy ever be fully exhausted?

The sage lets mind and spirit wander freely within nature, and therefore has neither gain nor loss; hence it is said that one should wander in that place where the myriad things cannot be lost and each abides in its own way.

What can bring the myriad things to untimely death or long life, what can begin and end the myriad things, is creation and transformation; here “shan” (善) means “able to.” If humans can still take creation and transformation as their model, how much more so the Dao? What the myriad things depend upon is the Dao, and what all change relies upon is also the Dao—this is what is called the “Great Fundamental Teacher” (Dazongshi), the root honored in common by all things.

Zhuangzi’s writing advances layer upon layer, each level higher than the last; had these been the words of a sage, they would usually have been more plain and accessible.

Plain-Language Explanation

Main Meaning of the Passage

The Dao can sustain spirit; ghosts and spirits and the sovereign of creation-and-transformation rely on it to give birth to heaven and earth. It is prior to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), yet is not regarded as lofty; it lies beneath the six extremities (the six directions), yet is not regarded as deep; it precedes heaven and earth, yet is not regarded as far back in time; from antiquity in the upper ages it has been above, yet is not regarded as old.

Commentary

Until this point the text had never plainly named the word “Dao”; only here does it gather everything under “Dao”—this is the sense of the great fundamental master (dazongshi). “Qing” means how things really are; “xin” (faithfulness) also means how things really are. Wuwei (non-action) has no fixed handle to grasp; “formlessness” has no settled shape. It can be passed on, yet cannot be “received” the way one takes an object in hand; it can be attained, yet cannot be “seen” the way one looks at a thing—these two lines cannot be fully unpacked except by someone who truly knows. Guan Yinzi has a chapter that explains “transmitting and receiving” with rare clarity: tracing from the root to inquire into its beginning—inquiring into the beginning of this Dao, one finds that before heaven and earth existed, this Dao was already there; that is what is meant by “Wuji yet Taiji” (the limitless, and yet the Supreme Ultimate). “Ghost” is the mark left by creation-and-transformation; “Emperor” is like the Emperor in the Yijing who “issues forth from Zhen (Thunder).” That ghosts and the Emperor can be numinous is because this Dao is at work; heaven and earth too exist only through the Dao—hence “giving birth to heaven and earth.” The Yijing speaks of Taiji; Taiji gives birth to the two modes (Yin-Yang)—that is exactly this idea. The four phrases “not lofty, not deep, not remote, not old” should be unfolded as freely and fully as possible. The six extremities are the six directions.

From Xiwei down, the thirteen uses of “obtained” all mean that each figure attained this Dao and thereby could act as described. Xiwei was an ancient ruler; “ordering heaven and earth” is like putting the cosmos in good array. “Mother of Qi” is primordial vital energy; “uniting with” (xi) means merging yin-yang Qi within one’s own person—again, a theme cultivation lineages look back to. Kanpi is a mountain spirit; “uniting with Kunlun” means holding and dwelling on Kunlun. Fengyi is a water spirit. Jianwu… (the commentary continues to match each name with its deed as in the original notes.)

Oral Commentary (on the preceding passage)

This passage invokes Mount Tai’s spirit, the Yellow Emperor ascending to the cloudy heavens, and immortals rising from Ding Lake. The Mysterious Palace (a palace in the immortal realm) corresponds to what people today call the Pure Realm of the Great Clarity (a supreme Qing dynasty immortal realm in Daoism). Yuqiang is the god of the north; Shaoguang is where immortals dwell. As for the word “enter,” its beginning and end are unclear—several occurrences of “person” or “enter” are close in sense, yet the sentences differ in length, which is typical of Zhuangzi’s style. Among the thirteen lines, sun and moon and the lodges of the Dipper appear abruptly, and Peng Zu and Chuan Shuo (ancient immortals) are cited as proof; the brushwork exceeds ordinary bounds. One cannot judge it by the rules of ordinary sage writing—it must be read on its own terms.

Main Text: Nanbo Zikai Questions Nü Yu

Nanbo Zikai asked Nü Yu, “You are very old, yet your face is like a child’s—why?”

Nü Yu said, “I have heard the Dao.”

Nanbo Zikai asked, “Can it be learned?”

Nü Yu said, “No! You are not the right person. Bu Liangyi had the talent of a sage but not the sage’s Dao; I had the sage’s Dao but not the sage’s talent. I wished to transmit the teaching to him so that he might truly become a sage—or so I hoped. Otherwise, to give the sage’s Dao to someone with a sage’s talent would in itself be easy. I guarded the Dao and told him step by step: after three days he could forget the world outside himself; I guarded the teaching further, and after seven days he could forget external things; after nine more days of guarding, he could forget his own life and death. Only after forgetting life and death does the mind become clear as in morning (zhaoche, morning clarity); only after that clarity can one see the One (jian du, seeing the solitary unity with the Dao); only after seeing the One can one be free of past and present; only then can one enter the realm where there is no death and no birth. What kills is not dead; what gives life does not live. Toward all things it neither only sends off nor only welcomes, neither only destroys nor only completes—this is called Yingning (turmoil followed by true peace). Yingning means becoming genuinely realized after being stirred.”

Nanbo Zikai asked, “From whom did you alone hear this?”

Nü Yu said, “I heard it from the Son of Deputy Ink; the Son of Deputy Ink heard it from the Grandson of Recited Lu; the Grandson of Recited Lu heard it from Zhanming; Zhanming from Nie Xu; Nie Xu from Xu Yi; Xu Yi from Ou; Ou from Xuanming; Xuanming from Can Liao; Can Liao from Yi Shi (Doubt’s Beginning).”

Oral Commentary (on this passage)

Zikai and Ziqi are both figures in allegory. An old person with the complexion of a child is a motif later cultivators often use. Splitting “the sage’s talent” and “the sage’s Dao” into two phrases is excellent—only Zhuangzi could write that way. Earlier sections had not yet reached this level.

Vernacular Interpretation of Nanhuazhenjing Kouyi (Oral Meaning of the True Classic of Southern Florescence)

When the text speaks of “having” (you)—of persons who unite the Dao with genuine capacity—after the Five Emperors and Three Kings, there were perhaps only a few such as Yi Yin, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius. Expressions in the scripture like “three,” “seven days,” and “nine days” need not be forced into numerological readings; they simply indicate that each stage of realization rises one level higher than the last.

Waisheng (treating the body and life as external): setting aside one’s person and worldly stake. Chao che (dawn clarity): the chest grows bright and clear, like the limpid qi of the sky just before daybreak. Jian du (seeing the One): one sees for oneself what others cannot see. Without past and present, then without death and life—Zhuangzi again calls “killing life” “not dying,” and “giving life” “not living.” This is a familiar twist in his style: when he speaks of killing, he does not mean real death; when he speaks of living, he does not mean real birth.

Jiang means to escort. No welcoming, no sending off; no completing, no ruining is simply following what is natural. Ying is to stir or disturb; even amid stirring and disorder, that settled peace is always present—this is ning (tranquility). The name ying ning (tranquility after disturbance) arises because stability only shows itself after agitation, hence “tranquility after being stirred.”

The string of nine wen (hearing/knowing) in the fumo (auxiliary ink—the layer fixed in written characters) is truly extraordinary in the sub-commentary. Because there is speech, it is written on bamboo slips; hence fumo: what takes shape outwardly is “words”; the ink on the slips is the “auxiliary.” Luo song: wrapping up and reciting; reading by the text is “song,” reciting from memory is also “song”—like a child born of a son, which is why “descendants” appears below. Zhan is to see; seeing penetratingly is zhan ming (clear-sightedness). Nie is the same as nie (mumbling); boasting to oneself is nie xu. Yi is to deploy; xu is to wait—able to act when the time is right is xu yi. Yu ou: when words fall short, one draws out the voice in song. Yu jie: sighing, speaking of joy found in oneself.

The overall point of these lines is that the Dao can indeed be awakened through study of books, and so many names are coined—seemingly strange—yet in the end all return to the Creator and to Xuanming (the dark and abysmal). You (being) is the beginning of qi; canliao is the beginning of the nameless; yi shi is again the beginning of what has no beginning—the sense of “there is a beginning,” “there is a beginning before the beginning,” and “there is a beginning before that which has no beginning.” The essential teaching is: though the Dao is reached through written words, it is in truth what the innate nature of Heaven already possesses.