《南華真經循本》Vol. 17

The Nanhua Zhenjing (Classic of Nanhua) chapter "Perfect Joy" explores the nature of true happiness in human life. The text begins by posing fundamental questions: Does genuine joy truly exist in this world? Is there a method that can allow people to settle their lives and establish their purpose?

Conventional wisdom holds that wealth, status, longevity, and fame are worthy pursuits, considering comfortable living, fine food and drink, elegant clothing, beautiful sights, and pleasing music as sources of happiness. Conversely, poverty, low status, short life spans, and ill repute are viewed as misfortunes. When people fail to obtain these pleasures, they fall into profound anxiety and fear. However, the author argues that such desperate striving to satisfy bodily desires is ultimately foolish.

The wealthy labor intensely to amass fortunes they cannot possibly exhaust—this approach to the body puts the branch before the root. The powerful worry day and night about gains and losses—this treatment of the body constitutes reckless neglect. The long-lived muddle through years in dim confusion, perpetually anxious about death—this approach to the body betrays its true nature. Those martyrs who sacrifice themselves for righteousness may win glorious reputations, but they cannot preserve their lives. Can such "goodness" truly be called good? Just as loyal advice, when unheeded, should yield rather than insist—Wu Zixu suffered mutilation for his forceful remonstrations, yet had he not contended, he would have gained no fame.

Observing what the world chases after under the name of joy—how people rush headlong in pursuit, declaring it happiness—the author feels no such joy himself, nor can he confirm whether this truly qualifies as happiness. He maintains that wuwei (non-action, or following the natural course) constitutes genuine joy, yet this is precisely what worldly people detest most. Thus it is said: The highest joy transcends worldly pleasures; the highest honor surpasses worldly fame.

The chapter concludes by noting that Heaven and Earth maintain their clarity and tranquility precisely through wuwei, suggesting that wuwei may indeed be the standard for judging right and wrong. To attain perfect joy and settle one's life, only through wuwei can this be achieved.

All things intermingle and transform in a state of profound mystery, their origins unknowable. In the indistinct chaos, not even forms exist. The luxuriant growth of myriad beings all stems from the natural way of "Wuwei" (non-action). Thus we say heaven and earth appear to do nothing, yet accomplish everything. As humans, who among us can truly comprehend this state of non-action?

When Zhuangzi's wife died, his friend Huizi came to offer condolences, only to find Zhuangzi sitting with legs apart, beating a clay pot and singing. Huizi said: "You lived together for years, she bore your children and grew old with you. That you don't weep at her death is one thing, but to drum and sing—isn't this excessive?" Zhuangzi replied: "Not so. When she first died, how could I not grieve? But reflecting deeply, I realized she originally didn't exist—not just without life, but without form, even without the Qi (vital energy) that constitutes life. In the hazy chaos, Qi first coalesced into form, which then received life. Now she has transformed again in death, as naturally as the progression of seasons. She now rests peacefully in the great chamber of heaven and earth—were I to wail mournfully, that would show ignorance of destiny's course. So I refrain."

The recluses Zhili Shu and Huajie Shu once visited the Hill of Silent Souls (symbolizing the cemetery), a sacred site where the Yellow Emperor once rested on Mount Kunlun. Suddenly, a tumor grew on Huajie Shu's left elbow, causing him visible discomfort. Zhili Shu asked: "Do you resent this growth?" Huajie Shu replied: "No, why should I? Life is but a temporary lodging, our existence as fleeting as dust. Birth and death alternate like day and night. We came to observe the transformations of all things—now transformation occurs within me, why should I resent it?"

(Historical note: "Silent Souls" was an ancient honorific for the deceased, akin to the "Lord of Silent Darkness" in Wenxuan. The Hill of Silent Souls symbolizes the resting place of the dead, located at Mount Kunlun—a celestial realm where the Yellow Emperor once dwelled. Legend describes Kunlun as having five cities and twelve towers, abode of immortals. The Yellow Emperor was an ancient ruler who attained Daoist immortality. The "willow" refers to ancient funeral decorations mentioned in the Book of Rites, where willow branches were woven into screens called "willow garments" or "willow walls" to surround coffins during Zhou dynasty burial rites.)

This passage records Zhuangzi's dialogues with two recluses, Zhili Shu and Hua Jieshu, as well as his allegorical encounter with a skull.

While sitting in meditation among the tombs of Mingbo Hill, Zhili Shu suddenly noticed a willow tree growing from his left elbow (an ominous sign) and became terrified. Hua Jieshu calmly remarked: Life is but a temporary gathering of the Four Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind), like dust particles coming together—why cling to it? Birth and death are as natural as the alternation of day and night. They were contemplating the transformations of all things, and this very transformation was manifesting in their own bodies.

The subsequent narrative describes Zhuangzi encountering a dried skull in the state of Chu. Tapping it with his horsewhip, he questioned: "Did you die from clinging to life and losing the Dao? Or from the calamity of a fallen kingdom? Perhaps from shameful deeds that dishonored your family? Maybe from freezing or starvation? Or simply from natural old age?" After speaking, he used the skull as a pillow. At midnight, the skull appeared in his dream, saying: "All you mention are the troubles of the living—none exist after death. Here there are no rulers and subjects, no seasonal toils. We wander in perfect freedom—even a king's pleasures cannot compare." Skeptical, Zhuangzi proposed asking the Director of Destinies (the deity governing life and death) to restore it to life.

These stories illustrate Zhuangzi's view of life and death: existence is a temporary coalescence of natural Qi, while death is merely a return to the source—nothing to fear. The skull allegory particularly contrasts the constraints of worldly life with the liberation of death, transcending conventional values.

This passage comes from Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben (a commentary on the Zhuangzi), which illustrates the Daoist philosophy of "conforming to natural disposition" through several parables.

The story of the skull tells of a man asking a skull if it wished to return to the human world, regain its body, and reunite with parents, wife, children, and social life. The skull, however, furrowed its brow deeply and replied, "How could I abandon the joy of my present state—like that of a king—to endure the toils of human existence again?"

Next, the text recounts how when Yan Yuan (a disciple of Confucius) planned to go to Qi, Confucius showed concern. Zigong asked why, and Confucius explained using Guanzi’s words: "A small bag cannot hold large objects; a short rope cannot reach deep well water—everything has its inherent limitations." Confucius worried that if Yan Yuan spoke to the ruler of Qi about the governing principles of sage-kings like Yao, Shun, and the Yellow Emperor, it would be like feeding a bird as one feeds a person, which would only harm the bird. He gave the example of the ruler of Lu, who once entertained a seabird with the grandest Nine Shao music and the most lavish Tailao sacrificial offerings, only for the bird to die of fright in three days. To properly care for a bird, one should let it perch in the forest, roam the sandbars, eat small fish, and live freely.

Finally, Liezi (a Daoist master), while eating by the roadside, pointed to a century-old skull and said to his disciple: "Only it and I understand that life and death have no absolute boundary. Are you (the skull) truly sorrowful? Am I (the living) truly joyful?" These words reveal that life and death are merely different states in the natural cycle.

All these stories convey the same principle: All things have their own innate nature, and no single standard can be forcibly imposed upon them. The wisdom of the sage lies in adapting to the unique disposition of each thing—only then does one align with the patterns of the Dao (the Way) and attain true blessings.

This passage illustrates the Daoist concept of the mutual transformation of all things. The general meaning is as follows:

Living beings originate from minute substances in water (the character "㡭" meaning "utmost primal," referring to the most primitive life forms), forming moss ("turtle-moss garments") at the water-soil boundary. When growing on hills, they transform into plantain (Plantago). Plantain encountering decaying matter becomes crowfoot grass, whose roots transform into scarab larvae while its leaves become butterflies. These butterflies in turn transform into small insects beneath stoves (quduo), which after a thousand days become qianyu bone-birds. The saliva of these birds transforms into Simi insects, which then become vinegar midges (shixi)... This continuous transformation ultimately produces bamboo insects (qingning) from bamboo, leopards (cheng) from bamboo insects, horses from leopards, and humans from horses—with humans eventually returning to the primordial mechanism of creation ("ji" referring to the source of transformation).

Through numerous examples of biological metamorphosis, the author demonstrates that all things emerge from and ultimately return to this creative mechanism. While alive, beings depend on external nourishment; in death, they are liberated from this dependence. Hence Zhuangzi's saying, "You have never died, I have never been born"—birth and death are fundamentally relative phases of transformation.

The text also records intriguing observations: for instance, plantain by water and on mountains are actually the same plant (known as "fouyi" in the Book of Songs), merely growing in different environments; bamboo roots produce five-inch-long insects (qingning); the author personally witnessed white moths materializing from empty air beneath lamplight in Anxiang; and residents around Dongting Lake's Mingshan area would catch quails in spring to make pickled vinegar. These accounts not only evidence the theory of biological transformation but also preserve Song Dynasty folk knowledge and customs.

The Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben discusses the transformative patterns of heaven, earth, and all things. The text notes phenomena like field mice transforming into quails, as recorded in the Yueling, demonstrating the endless metamorphoses of existence. One should not doubt such phenomena merely because they seem unfamiliar. While this bears resemblance to Buddhist rebirth theory, Buddhism presents it rigidly—claiming evildoers become beasts after death, only to revert to human form once karmic retribution ends—a view lacking empirical proof. Zhuangzi (the Nanhua Zhenren) offers a more fluid perspective, proposing that all things emerge from and return to the "pivot" (ji)—the dynamic mechanism of Yin-Yang Qi's movement.

Specifically, "emerging from the pivot" signifies birth, while "returning to the pivot" denotes death and dissolution. Heaven and earth brim with Yin and Yang Qi, from which all beings form. At death, Yang Qi ascends to heaven and Yin Qi descends to earth. These energies perpetually circulate within the cosmos, continuously giving rise to new beings—always through the interplay of Yin and Yang. However, one must not simplistically assume a dead horse directly transforms into a newborn human, or vice versa.

Zhu Xi (Master Zhu) cites Zhang Zai's (Zhang Hengqu) view in his Yulei: after death, the human body disperses back to its primordial source, only to later recombine from this great source into new beings—an exceptionally lucid explanation. In contrast, the Buddhist model would require countless discrete Qi clusters ceaselessly cycling through rebirth, creating endless entanglement. The passage concludes with a Bitan anecdote: people in Yanzhou still call tigers and leopards "cheng," an ancient term for fierce beasts.

At its core, this passage expounds the Daoist cosmology of "Qi transformation and cyclical renewal," where life and death are merely the gathering and dispersal of Yin-Yang Qi—fundamentally distinct from the Buddhist soul-rebirth doctrine.