《南華真經循本》Vol. 28

The "Keyi" chapter of the Nanhua Zhenjing (Southern Florescence Scripture) examines six distinct realms of human aspiration, ultimately revealing that the highest state is the "Way of the Sages" which follows natural spontaneity.

The text first enumerates five types of deliberate pursuits: The first are recluses who withdraw to mountain forests, disdaining worldly affairs while consciously cultivating an air of lofty detachment. The second are scholars who preach benevolence and righteousness, devoting themselves to moral cultivation. The third are court officials chasing fame and status, strictly adhering to rituals and laws. The fourth are idle wanderers dwelling by lakes and rivers, indulging in wuwei (non-action) lifestyles. The fifth are longevity practitioners mastering daoyin (ancient health exercises), pursuing extended lifespans like the legendary Pengzu.

Then it points to the supreme state of "non-deliberation": possessing cultivation without ostentatious displays of purity, achieving governance without chasing officialdom, enjoying leisure without wilderness retreats, attaining longevity without practicing daoyin. This realm forgets all yet encompasses everything—serene and empty, yet containing all excellences. This constitutes the natural Dao of heaven and earth, and the De (Virtue) of sages.

True sages maintain tranquil minds, harmonizing effortlessly with yin-yang and the natural order. They neither actively pursue blessings nor invite misfortunes; they respond only when stimulated by external phenomena, act only when impelled. Rejecting artificial cleverness, they follow nature's patterns—thus avoiding celestial calamities, material burdens, human censure, or ghostly reproach. Living like drifting duckweed, dying like peaceful rest, they neither scheme nor calculate, their inner luminosity shining without ostentation. This represents the ultimate state of alignment with the Dao-De of heaven and earth.

This passage elucidates the essential method of cultivating mind and nature in Daoist practice. The core principle lies in maintaining mental purity and tranquility, aligning with the natural Dao.

First, it describes the ideal state of consciousness: dreamless sleep, worry-free awakening, an unadulterated mind free from distractions, and never-weary soul. This state of serene emptiness alone accords with heavenly virtue (Tiande). Excessive grief or joy constitutes deviation from De, inconstant emotions represent straying from the Dao, while rigid preferences indicate deficiency in virtue. Thus the supreme state involves neither sorrow nor joy in the heart, maintaining unwavering focus and ultimate inner stillness; existing without conflict with all things, reaching perfect emptiness and tranquility; never opposing nature, achieving absolute purity.

Illustrations clarify these principles: Just as physical overexertion causes injury and constant mental exertion leads to exhaustion, water—though naturally clear and calm—turns turbid when stagnant. Heavenly virtue manifests as unadulterated simplicity, unchanging singularity, and detached wuwei (non-action), moving in accordance with natural patterns—this constitutes the method for nurturing spirit.

A sword analogy follows: As precious Wu-Yue blades require careful storage, so too should one treasure their spirit. The perfected person's shen (spirit) permeates heaven and earth, reaching celestial heights and earthly depths, nurturing all things without trace—a state called "being coequal with the Divine Sovereign."

Explaining the "Way of Pure Simplicity": This fundamental Dao lies in safeguarding primordial shen (original spirit), uniting with it completely. Its purity manifests as: non-mixing with external matters (simplicity) and non-dissipation of vital spirit (purity). Those attaining this become zhenren (perfected beings).

Critique of worldly cultivation methods follows: Using conventional learning to restore original nature or vulgar thinking to channel desires constitutes deluded folly. Ancient practitioners nurtured wisdom through serenity, living without forced cleverness—called "using wisdom to nourish tranquility," where wisdom and serenity mutually cultivate natural harmony.

Finally, the essence of Dao and De: De represents harmony, Dao represents order. De embracing all things is benevolence; Dao governing all things is righteousness. Clear righteousness makes all things intimate; sincere heart returning to nature brings joy; authentic conduct accordant with rites constitutes propriety. Yet excessive ritual enforcement brings chaos. Ancient sages dwelt in primal simplicity with the world, practicing wuwei while preserving their unclouded nature.

In the most pristine era of antiquity, the forces of Yin and Yang were naturally harmonized, spirits and deities caused no disturbances, and the four seasons followed their proper courses. All beings were unharmed, creatures did not die prematurely, and though people possessed wisdom, they had no need to use it. This was what we call the state of "Supreme Unity" (Zhiyi). In that time, everything maintained its natural state without human intervention.

As the Dao and its Virtue (De) gradually declined, by the time of Suiren and Fuxi who began governing the world, society could still maintain stability though it was no longer pure. The decline continued through the eras of Shennong and the Yellow Emperor, when society remained orderly but had lost its natural harmony. By the reigns of Yao and Shun, the implementation of various teachings and institutions caused the dissipation of innate simplicity—people turned away from the Great Dao to pursue petty cleverness, abandoning their heavenly nature in favor of intellectual contrivance. When all people began understanding things through cunning minds, the world could no longer be stabilized.

Then came the proliferation of elaborate rituals and extensive knowledge, where external ornamentation obscured essence, and excessive learning drowned out the original mind. The common people became confused and chaotic, unable to return to their authentic state. Thus we see how the world lost the Dao, and the Dao withdrew from the world—the two became estranged from each other. In such times, how could practitioners revive the Great Dao? And how could the world regain it?

True recluses do not deliberately hide themselves, nor do they seal their lips or conceal their wisdom—they withdraw because the era's destiny has gone awry. In times of clarity and prosperity, they naturally blend into society without leaving traces; in chaotic periods, they retreat into stillness while awaiting the proper moment. This was the ancient wisdom for preserving one's authentic self. The sages of old didn't use clever rhetoric to flaunt knowledge, didn't employ cunning to manipulate the world, and didn't let intellect damage virtue. Content in their natural state, what more did they need to do?

The Great Dao fundamentally requires no trivial actions, and true Virtue isn't found in shallow knowledge. Excessive pursuit of petty knowledge harms Virtue, while fixation on minor deeds damages the Dao. Thus simply rectifying oneself is sufficient—maintaining the integrity of one's nature constitutes true "fulfillment." When the ancients spoke of fulfillment, they didn't mean high rank or wealth, but an inner joy that couldn't be increased. What people today call fulfillment refers solely to official positions and material gains. Yet these external things are like temporarily lodged possessions—their coming cannot be stopped, their going cannot be detained. Therefore, one shouldn't become arrogant in prosperity nor grovel in poverty.

This recounts stories of ancient sages who refused royal positions, embodying the Daoist principle of "not letting material things burden one's form."

Yao wished to abdicate his rule to Xu You, who declined. He then offered it to Zizhou Zhifu, who replied: "I could serve as the Son of Heaven, but I'm currently treating a chronic illness and have no time to govern the world." Though the empire is the most important thing, one shouldn't harm life for its sake—how much less for lesser things? Only those who don't treat the empire as significant are truly worthy of entrusting it to.

Shun successively offered his throne to Zizhou Zhibo, Shan Juan, and the farmer of Shihu, all of whom refused. Zizhou Zhibo similarly declined due to health concerns. Shan Juan lived in the Wuling Mountains of Changde, Hunan (where the Shan Juan Altar stands today), describing his self-sufficient rural life: wearing furs in winter, hemp in summer, plowing in spring and harvesting in autumn, working at sunrise and resting at sunset—completely free and at ease. He considered this life far happier than governing the world. The farmer of Shihu felt Shun's virtue was insufficient and took his family to live on an island, never to return.

The account concludes with the story of King Tai of Zhou (grandfather of King Wen). The Di tribes repeatedly invaded Bin territory, first demanding furs and silks, then hounds, horses, and jewels, ultimately coveting the land itself. The king said: "Rather than watch neighbors turn brothers against each other and fathers slay sons, we should depart." These sages all understood: those who lose themselves in worldly fame and gain, forfeiting their true nature, are like confused people who mistake branches for roots.

These stories demonstrate that true Daoists value life above power, preferring simple, unconstrained existence over being bound by worldly affairs. This attitude of "not exchanging one's life for the empire" marks the fundamental difference between Daoist practitioners and ordinary people.

This passage recounts several Daoist stories about valuing life and transcending worldly power, which I'll explain section by section:

The story of Gugong Danfu (grandfather of King Wen of Zhou) tells how he chose to relinquish his throne rather than have his people die in war for him. He led his clan to resettle at the foot of Mount Qi and rebuild their nation. Those who truly understand the value of life won't harm their bodies for pleasure even when wealthy, nor exhaust themselves for profit when poor. Yet today's high-ranking officials risk their lives for trivial gains - what foolishness indeed!

Prince Sou of Yue fled to a mountain cave in terror after three successive kings were murdered. The Yue people smoked him out with mugwort fumes and forcibly placed him on the royal chariot. Gazing heavenward, Prince Sou cried: "O throne, O throne, why must you pursue me?" It wasn't that he despised kingship, but feared the disasters it brought. Ironically, this very refusal to sacrifice life for power made him the ideal ruler in his people's eyes.

During a territorial dispute between Han and Wei, the wise Master Zihuazi asked Marquis Zhaoxi of Han: "Suppose a contract stated: 'Take it with your left hand and lose your right; take it with your right and lose your left - but the taker gains all under heaven.' Would you take it?" The Marquis refused. Zihuazi continued: "Excellent! This shows your arms are more precious than the empire, yet your body surpasses even your arms. The land you're contesting isn't worth a fraction of Han's value - why torment your body for it?" The Marquis marveled at this unprecedented wisdom.

When the Duke of Lu heard the Dao-realized Yan He might accept an official post, he sent envoys bearing gifts. They found Yan He in coarse cloth feeding oxen. "Is this Yan He's home?" asked the envoy. "It is," Yan He replied directly. When presented with the gifts, he added: "You must have mistaken me for someone else." These stories collectively demonstrate how genuine Dao practitioners value life far above power and wealth.

The Nanhua Zhenjing (Classic of the Perfected Nanhua) passage Xunben reveals core Daoist perspectives on the value of life through several parables:

Yan He's disdain for wealth and status illustrates that the true purpose of the Dao (the Way) is self-cultivation; only its surplus should be applied to governing states—as casually as one might use clods of earth or straw to administer the world. Imperial achievements are mere byproducts for sages, never the root of preserving life. Yet ordinary people sacrifice their lives chasing external things—how lamentable! This resembles someone using the legendary Marquis of Sui's pearl to shoot sparrows, inviting universal ridicule for inverted priorities. Is life not more precious than such a pearl?

When the Daoist master Liezi lived in poverty, Ziyang, a minister of Zheng, sent him provisions. Liezi refused, explaining to his wife: "He doesn't truly know me—this charity stems merely from hearsay." Later, Ziyang was indeed executed for tyrannical rule, vindicating Liezi's wisdom in avoiding political entanglements.

The Chu butcher named Shuo followed King Zhao during his exile but declined rewards after the restoration. He reasoned: "The king's loss wasn't my fault, nor was his return my merit. Chu law stipulates audiences with rulers require great service. My wisdom couldn't protect the state; my courage couldn't slay enemies. Accepting rewards for mere companionship would corrupt the nation's justice." He retired to keep butchering sheep.

These stories collectively illuminate life's supremacy over external fame. True Daoist practitioners treasure inner cultivation, resisting wealth's temptations and undeserved honors. Like the butcher rejecting improper rewards, sages handle worldly affairs by the principle: "What they employ carries weight; what they seek remains light."

This recounts stories of ancient sages who rejected wealth and honors, finding contentment in poverty while devoted to the Dao (the Way).

In the state of Chu, there was a butcher named Tu Yang Shuo who fled with the king when Wu's army invaded the capital. Later, the king wanted to reward him with high office and riches, but he declined, saying: "I know the rank of a high minister is more honorable than a butcher's stall, and the salary of ten thousand measures is far greater than the profit from slaughtering sheep. But I cannot covet titles and wealth at the cost of tarnishing my lord's reputation with reckless rewards." In the end, he returned to his humble butcher shop.

Yuan Xian lived in Lu in a dilapidated house with a thatched roof and mulberry branches for door hinges. When Zi Gong, dressed in fine robes and riding in a grand carriage, came to visit and saw him in tattered clothes, he asked, "How has the master fallen into such sickness?" Yuan Xian replied, "Lacking wealth is called poverty; knowing the Dao yet failing to practice it is called sickness. I am poor, not sick." He then mocked Zi Gong for his sycophantic behavior, leaving him ashamed.

Zengzi lived in extreme poverty in the state of Wei—his sleeves so torn his elbows showed, his shoes so worn his heels were exposed. Yet he still sang the Odes of Shang with lofty spirit, his inner cultivation so profound that even the Son of Heaven could not command him as a subject, nor could feudal lords claim his friendship. This illustrates that those who truly cultivate their minds forget their physical form, those who refine their bodies forget material gain, and those who pursue the Dao forget worldly concerns.

Finally, when Confucius asked Yan Hui why he did not seek office, Yan Hui replied that his fifty acres outside the city provided enough for gruel, his ten acres within the city clothed him, and playing the zither brought him joy. By studying Confucius’s teachings, he found fulfillment and had no desire for official position. These stories all demonstrate that true sages do not crave glory or riches, remaining spiritually rich while content in simplicity.

Confucius, upon hearing Yan Hui's words, grew solemn and said: "Yan Hui speaks well indeed! I have heard that those who are truly content are not burdened by material gains, those with genuine inner peace feel no fear when losing external things, and those who cultivate their inner virtue feel no shame even without official position. These words I have long recited, but today I finally witness their embodiment in Yan Hui—this is my true gain."

Prince Mou of Wei said to Zhanzi: "Though I dwell in mountain streams, my mind remains preoccupied with court affairs. What should I do?" Zhanzi replied: "You must value life itself. One who truly values life naturally holds fame and profit lightly." The prince responded: "I understand this principle, yet cannot control myself." Zhanzi said: "If you cannot control it, then follow its natural course. Forcing suppression causes double harm—such people rarely attain longevity." As a prince of a great state, Mou's retreat to wilderness was harder than a commoner's; though not yet fully attaining the Dao, he already possessed the heart seeking it.

When Confucius was trapped between Chen and Cai states, he went seven days without cooked meals, surviving only on herb soup without grain, his face haggard yet still playing the qin and singing indoors. As Yan Hui picked vegetables, Zilu and Zigong whispered: "Our master was expelled from Lu, unwelcome in Wei, had trees felled at him in Song, and now suffers between Chen and Cai. Yet he still sings—can a gentleman be so shameless?" Yan Hui, unsure how to respond, reported this to Confucius. Putting down his qin, the sage sighed: "Zilu and Zigong are shallow men. Call them in—I shall enlighten them."

Zilu entered declaring: "We've reached utter destitution!" Confucius countered: "What nonsense! A gentleman is 'attained' when aligned with the Dao (the Way), 'destitute' only when diverging from it. Holding fast to benevolence and righteousness despite this chaotic era's misfortunes—how is this destitution? Introspection reveals no deviation from principle; facing peril, I lose no virtue. Just as winter frost reveals the pine's vitality, my Chen-Cai ordeal proves fortunate indeed!" Resuming his qin, he sang while Zilu excitedly danced with a shield. Zigong marveled: "Now I understand—the ancients who attained the Dao found joy equally in adversity and prosperity, for their happiness sprang not from circumstance but moral cultivation. To them, want and abundance were as natural as seasonal changes."

This passage recounts several stories of ancient sages who rejected political power to uphold their moral principles.

The first is the story of Gong Bo, a virtuous minister of the Zhou dynasty. When the tyrannical King Li of Zhou provoked unrest, the feudal lords elected Gong Bo to govern as regent for fourteen years. Later, divination revealed that King Li remained the legitimate ruler, so Gong Bo abdicated and retreated to Mount Gong, living a carefree and untroubled life. This period in history became known as the "Gonghe Regency."

Next is the tale of Emperor Shun offering the throne to his friend Beiren Wuze. Beiren Wuze found it strange enough that Shun, once a humble farmer, had become Yao’s successor—but now, to further tarnish his own integrity by engaging in such a morally questionable act as abdication was too shameful to bear. Unable to face Shun, he drowned himself in the Qingling Abyss.

The third story takes place during King Tang of Shang’s campaign against the tyrant Jie of Xia. Tang sought counsel from two recluses, Bian Sui and Wu Guang, both of whom declined to advise him. Later, Tang succeeded in overthrowing Jie with the help of Yi Yin and attempted to abdicate in favor of Bian Sui. Bian Sui argued that participating in the plot to overthrow a ruler was unjust, and accepting the throne after victory was greedy. Unwilling to live in an age of moral decay, he drowned himself in the Chou River. Tang then offered the throne to Wu Guang, who declared that deposing a ruler was unrighteous, slaughtering the people was inhumane, and profiting from others’ risks was dishonorable. In the end, he tied a stone to his back and sank into the Lu River.

Finally, the passage mentions the two virtuous scholars Bo Yi and Shu Qi of the state of Guzhu. Hearing that the western ruler (King Wen of Zhou) might be a man of the Dao (Way), they set out to investigate. These stories all illustrate the extreme moral integrity of ancient sages, who chose death rather than compromise their principles.

When King Wu of Zhou heard of the reputations of Bo Yi and Shu Qi (two renowned recluses from the late Shang dynasty), he sent his younger brother, the Duke of Zhou, to visit them with offers of high-ranking positions and generous emoluments. They slaughtered animals and smeared their lips with blood to seal the covenant, promising to bestow noble titles and official posts upon the two men. However, Bo Yi and Shu Qi exchanged glances and laughed, saying: "How peculiar! This is not the Dao we pursue. In the days when the Divine Farmer (Shennong) governed the world, he conducted seasonal sacrifices to express reverence without seeking blessings. He treated the people with loyalty and trust as his foundation, administering policies solely for their peace and happiness, never for personal gain. He did not build his success upon others' failures, nor elevate himself by stepping on others, nor exploit chaotic times for private advantage. Now the Zhou dynasty, seeing the Shang's disorder, hastens to seize power—controlling subjects through political machinations, maintaining authority by military force, feigning sincerity through blood oaths, promoting virtue to win hearts, and waging wars to pursue profit. This is merely replacing one tyranny with another."

They continued: "We have heard that true sages boldly shoulder responsibility in times of order, but refuse to live ignobly in times of chaos. Now the world is darkened, and Zhou's virtue (De) has declined. Rather than sully ourselves by joining this muddy stream, we prefer seclusion to preserve our purity." Thereupon, the two men journeyed north to Shouyang Mountain, where they eventually starved to death. Men like Bo Yi and Shu Qi, facing wealth and honor within easy reach yet resolutely rejecting them, clung to their noble integrity and unconventional ways. They sought only to fulfill their aspirations, refusing to participate in worldly affairs. Such was the moral character of these two sages!

(Additional context: This passage, through the story of Bo Yi and Shu Qi, critiques King Wu's overthrow of the Shang—while nominally ending tyranny, it still relied on political scheming and force. This reflects the Daoist rejection of "replacing violence with violence," emphasizing that true sage-kings should govern through Wuwei (non-action) like Shennong.)