《南華真經循本》Vol. 7

This passage presents Luo Miandao's commentary on the "Great Ancestral Teacher" chapter of the Nanhua Zhenjing (Zhuangzi), exploring the realm of the "Zhenren" (True Person) and the relationship between heaven and humanity.

Understanding the boundary between the natural operation of the heavenly Dao (the Way) and human effort constitutes supreme wisdom. Knowing the patterns of the Dao's movement allows one to follow nature in living; comprehending the scope of human endeavor means using acquired knowledge to nurture those aspects yet unknown. Thus one may fulfill their natural lifespan without premature demise—this represents the pinnacle of wisdom. Following the Dao means adhering to natural laws, while human effort includes virtuous actions, avoiding harm, pursuing auspiciousness and evading misfortune. The unknown aspects actually reside within each person's intrinsic true nature; if nurtured without harm, one may naturally reach old age.

Yet a question arises: human understanding often depends on certain conditions to be valid, while these conditions themselves remain uncertain. We cannot determine whether what we call "heaven" might actually belong to the realm of "human," or whether "human" might belong to "heaven." For instance, Yan Hui died young while the robber Zhi lived long; good deeds don't necessarily bring blessings nor evil deeds misfortune—showing heaven's will is inscrutable.

Only those who attain the state of Zhenren can truly discern the distinction between heaven and humanity. What is a Zhenren? Ancient Zhenren possessed these characteristics: facing gain or loss without violating their true heart, never complaining even when receiving little; achieving merit without arrogance; handling affairs naturally without premeditated schemes. Such people neither regret mistakes nor boast of successes; unafraid when climbing heights, remaining dry when entering water, feeling no heat in fire. This is because their wisdom has transcended ordinary limits.

(Note: "Zhenren" refers to Daoist practitioners who have attained advanced spiritual realization; "ascending beyond" denotes reaching transcendent states)

The ancient Daoist adepts who attained the Way (Dao) neither dreamed in sleep nor worried when awake. They ate without craving delicacies and breathed with deep, sustained rhythms. The breath of these perfected beings reached down to their heels, while ordinary people's breath only rose to their throats. Those with profound respiration seemed to draw qi from their soles, whereas shallow breathers merely moved air through their larynxes. In truth, the Dantian (energy center) and sea of qi constitute the root of breathing.

Those who grovel to please others speak with voices as grating as licentious music. People excessively addicted to desires possess inherently shallow primordial qi. What we call "heaven's mechanism" refers to the natural respiratory system within humans - the heavier one's desires, the shallower the breathing. Just as sycophants with deep cravings produce unpleasant voices, this manifests insufficient primordial qi.

The ancient adepts neither clung to life nor dreaded death. They neither rejoiced at birth nor resisted mortality, coming and going with complete freedom. They neither forgot life's origin nor forced its destination, accepting all with equanimity before forgetting and returning to fundamental truth. This constitutes neither disturbing heaven's Dao with human intentions nor artificially assisting nature - the true mark of those who've realized the Way.

Such individuals maintain tranquil minds undisturbed by wandering thoughts. Their faces remain placid with broad, untroubled brows. Their bearing appears solemn as autumn yet warm as spring, their emotions flowing with seasonal changes while maintaining unfathomable harmony with all existence. Therefore when sages wage war, they may destroy nations without losing people's hearts; their blessings flow through millennia without conscious effort to love. Deliberately seeking unity with creation disqualifies one from sagehood; having preferences negates true virtue (De); obsessing over celestial timing voids wisdom.

Heaven and earth's primordial qi originally exists as undifferentiated unity - why distinguish four seasons? Those attached to profit and loss cannot be noble persons, while the truly enlightened perceive all things as one. Scholars who pursue fame lose their authentic selves, and those who sacrifice life contrary to their nature rank below servants. Figures like Huxie, Wuguang (legendary sages with seven-inch ears), Boyi, Shuqi, Jizi (also called Xuyu), Bigan, Jita, and Shentu Di...

During the Shang dynasty, there was a man named Xunzi who recorded an incident of someone carrying stones to drown himself in a river. Such behavior represents sacrificing oneself for others' demands while failing to live freely and authentically.

The true Dao-realized individuals of ancient times conducted themselves differently: they upheld righteousness without forming cliques, harmonized with all things without seeking factions. Though they might appear lacking in ability, they never easily submitted to others. Like a ritual wine vessel (gu) with defined edges yet not rigid, they possessed grandeur while remaining open and receptive—never superficial or ostentatious.

Their demeanor was serene, as if content, yet restrained as if acting out of necessity. Their hearts were full yet knew moderation. Outwardly, they might seem no different from ordinary society, yet inwardly they transcended worldly constraints. They cherished solitude and quiet cultivation, often forgetting what they intended to say.

The genuine path of cultivation is this: Punishment serves as the foundation, ritual as the support, wisdom guides timely action, and virtue (De) is the standard for conduct. As the foundation, punishment should be applied with leniency and compassion, avoiding excessive harm. Ritual, as the support, must be practicable in the world. Wisdom is used to adapt to circumstances out of necessity, while following virtue is as natural as a person with feet effortlessly ascending a hill. Yet ordinary people mistake this for deliberate austerity.

Ritual is the root of self-cultivation, hence it takes precedence. Punishment aids governance and thus serves as secondary support. Virtue operates as naturally as the cycle of seasons, and wisdom responds to worldly affairs out of inevitability—both are manifestations of aligning with the Dao (the Way).

This passage expounds the Daoist cultivation principle of naturalness and the philosophy of unity between heaven and humanity.

Cultivation should never be forced. It resembles footprints left by someone who happened to climb a mountain - those unaware might assume he regularly ascends peaks. True practitioners maintain naturalness regardless of personal preferences, for this unified state aligns with the heavenly Dao (the Way), while disunity associates with human artifice. Yet the heavenly Dao and human ways fundamentally don't conflict - this constitutes the realm of perfected beings (zhenren).

One should regard both desirable and undesirable things equally. Life and death alternate like day and night - both follow natural patterns beyond human interference. People revere heaven as their father, yet remain unaware of the more sublime Dao; they sacrifice themselves for rulers, ignorant that the true Dao holds greater value. Like fish stranded when springs dry up, gasping to moisten each other on land - how inferior to swimming freely in rivers and lakes, forgetting one another's existence. Rather than praising Emperor Yao and condemning Tyrant Jie, better to forget distinctions and merge with the great Dao.

All things follow their natural patterns. The Dao stands more venerable than rulers and fathers, yet people seldom comprehend this. Instead of engaging in debates over right and wrong, better to transcend into the great Dao. Heaven and earth endow us with form, employ life to make us labor, use aging to grant us rest, and employ death to give us repose. To cherish life properly is to cherish death properly. Hiding boats in mountain valleys or concealing mountains in lakes may seem secure, yet strongmen might carry them away at midnight - foolish men remain unaware. All things great and small have their proper places, yet ultimately everything transforms.

This passage explores the profound Daoist philosophy of "concealment" (藏) and "evasion" (遁). The core teaching reveals that when the entire world is concealed within itself, there remains no place to escape—this constitutes the fundamental principle of eternal things.

The text employs vivid metaphors: concealing a boat in mountain valleys or hiding mountains within lakes may seem secure, yet one remains unaware that greater forces might displace them by midnight. In contrast, concealing the world within the world itself leaves no avenue for escape, representing the most sublime form of "concealment."

Two types of "excellence" (善) are distinguished: the Creator's excellence grants life its beginning and end, while human excellence lies in proper acceptance of life and death. All phenomena undergo endless transformations (万化), yet a fundamental Dao (一化) governs this perpetual flux.

The sage comprehends this truth, thereby transcending material attachments to achieve the state of "concealing the world within the world." This resembles ancient peasants tilling fields and digging wells, living naturally without sensing the emperor's power. The human form is precious—merely attaining human embodiment brings joy, while the body contains infinite transformative pleasures.

Ultimately, the sage who masters this truth of cosmic concealment can guide people to face life and death peacefully, free from distress over premature death or aging. This state isn't forced concealment but natural unity with the Dao.

This scripture elucidates the essence and miraculous functions of the Dao (the Way). It begins by observing that even malevolent spirits and demons have their imitators—how much more so should we emulate the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) that resides within the human body? The Dao is the source of all things, more essential than governing the world itself.

The Dao possesses several distinctive characteristics: it is real yet formless, can be transmitted through the heart-mind but not handed over physically, can be comprehended yet remains invisible. It is self-originating, existing before heaven and earth. It makes spirits and deities manifest, gives birth to heaven and earth, yet resides neither above the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) nor beneath the Six Extremities. It is neither ancient nor recent—all these descriptions emphasize the Dao’s timelessness and universality.

When the ancient sovereign Xīwéi attained the Dao, he could lift and support heaven and earth. When Fuxi attained the Dao, he harmonized the primordial Qi (vital energy). The Northern Dipper, having attained the Dao, never strays from its celestial course, while the sun and moon, embodying the Dao, move ceaselessly. The mountain deity Kanhuai (a beast-faced guardian) attained the Dao and became the protector of Mount Kunlun. The river god Fengyi, upon attaining the Dao, roamed freely through the great rivers, and the mountain deity Jianwu, embodying the Dao, abides eternally on Mount Tai.

Here, the text enumerates mythic figures and natural deities to illustrate that whoever masters the power of the Dao attains extraordinary capabilities. The Dao is like what Laozi called the "root of heaven and earth"—humans and the cosmos follow the same principles, which is why the human body contains its own microcosm (Taiji). Later alchemical terms such as "lead and mercury" or "dragon and tiger" are but metaphors pointing to this same truth.

The Yellow Emperor attained the true essence of the Dao (the Way) and ascended to heaven riding clouds; Zhuanxu (one of the Five Emperors) mastered the Dao and resided in the Mysterious Palace of the North (the abode of the Big Dipper deity in Daoism). The "Monthly Ordinances" records that the Celestial Emperor of the North is Zhuanxu, guarded by the water deity Xuanming.

Yuqiang, the god of the North Sea (a deity with a human face and bird's body, described in the "Classic of Mountains and Seas" as wearing green snakes on his ears and treading on red snakes), guarded the North Pole after attaining the Dao. The Queen Mother of the West (the legendary leader of female immortals) dwelled on Mount Shaoguang (some say it refers to a cave, others to a realm of emptiness in the west) after achieving the Dao. The "Classic of Mountains and Seas" describes her as human-like but with a leopard's tail and wild hair, adorned with jade ornaments, skilled in long whistling, and living by the Xun River. Legends from Emperor Wu of Han's era depict her as an exquisitely beautiful female immortal.

Pengzu (the legendary figure of longevity) lived from the time of Emperor Shun until the Spring and Autumn period after attaining the Dao. Fu Yue (a virtuous minister of the Shang dynasty) assisted King Wuding in governing the realm after mastering the Dao, and after death, his spirit transformed into a star, riding between the constellations of Ji and Wei (an ancient astronomical region called the "Eastern Weave").

This passage primarily illustrates that the Dao has neither beginning nor end. The author, concerned that people might cling to superficial forms, proceeds to discuss how life and death are ultimately illusory—similar to the Buddhist doctrines of "nature school" (exploring the noumenon) and "phenomenal schools" (exploring manifestations).

Later, Nanbo Zikui (a Daoist practitioner) asked Nüyu (an enlightened master): "You are advanced in years yet have the complexion of a child—why?" Nüyu replied, "Because I have attained the Dao." When Nanbo Zikui sought to learn, Nüyu said, "No, you are not the right candidate. But Liangyi possesses the disposition of a sage yet lacks the method to realize the Dao, while I have the method but lack the sage's disposition. I will try to teach him—perhaps a true sage can be forged this way? Even so, first spend three days freeing him from worldly attachments before deeper teachings can be transmitted." (Note: This demonstrates the Daoist principle of "teaching according to aptitude.")

This passage elucidates the stages of realization in Daoist cultivation. It first describes a practitioner's progressive attainment through sustained practice: spending seven days to relinquish external attachments (worldly matters), then nine days to transcend attachment to life itself, ultimately reaching the state of "sudden illumination" (zhaoche) — an instantaneous, thorough awakening. Upon achieving this state, one perceives the singular Dao (jian du), transcends temporal concepts (no past or present), and finally enters the deathless realm of eternity.

The text contrasts two conditions: one where the body appears withered like dead wood and the mind like cold ashes (gaoxing sixin), which seems to extinguish life yet paradoxically achieves immortality; the other involving indulgence in desires (zongqing siyu), which appears to nourish life but fails to attain longevity. The genuine Dao-realized person interacts with all things without rejection or pursuit, neither destroying nor artificially creating—this equilibrium is termed "yingning," maintaining inner serenity even amidst worldly engagement.

Through the dialogue of Nanbo Zikui, the transmission of the Dao is symbolized by a sequence of metaphorical names (Fumo, Luosong, Zhanming, Niexu, etc.), representing successive stages of cognition through writing, recitation, visual perception, and auditory reception, ultimately tracing back to the most mysterious origin called "doubtful beginning" (yi shi).

The narrative concludes with the story of four cultivators—Zisi, Ziyu, Zili, and Zilai—who formed a pact recognizing anyone who could regard "non-being" as the head, "life" as the spine, and "death" as the tailbone, understanding life-death as an integrated whole, as their true companion. When Ziyu fell ill, his body contorted grotesquely—his spine bent like a hunchback, internal organs displaced upwards, chin sunk to his navel, shoulders towering above his head—yet he accepted this transformation with equanimity as the work of the Creator. This exemplifies the Daoist philosophy of harmonizing with nature and transcending physical form.

This passage presents Zhuangzi's (the Nanhua True Man) philosophical reflections on life, death, and physical form through the dialogue between Ziyu and Zilai, showcasing the Daoist transcendent attitude toward natural transformation.

Ziyu had twenty-four vertebrae, his spine curved like a tumorous growth—all descriptions emphasizing his peculiar physical form. The Yin and Yang energies (Yin-Yang) within him were in chaotic imbalance, hence his illness. Yet his mind remained at ease, untroubled by his condition. Leaning on something, he hobbled to a well to see his reflection and sighed: "Is the Creator going to make me this twisted and cramped?"

Zisi jokingly asked if he disliked such a form. Ziyu replied that he felt no aversion whatsoever. He imagined: if the Creator gradually transformed his left arm into a rooster, he'd use it to herald the dawn; if his right arm became a slingshot, he'd hunt pheasants to roast; if his buttocks turned into wheels and his spirit (Shen) into a steed, he could ride them—why would he need any other carriage?

He elaborated further: What we gain comes through timely opportunity; what we lose follows natural accord. Those who rest in timely fate and go along with transformation remain untouched by sorrow or joy—this is what the ancients called "suspended release" (like something hung naturally coming loose). Those who cannot release themselves remain bound by external things. Since all beings cannot defy the Dao's patterns from time immemorial, why should I feel aversion?

Later, when Zilai lay gravely ill, breathing his last with family weeping around him, Li came to visit. Chiding them to step back and not disturb this process of "transformation" (Daoists view death as natural metamorphosis), he leaned by the doorway and asked Zilai: "How magnificent is the Creator! What will He transform you into next? Will you become a rat's liver or an insect's leg?" (implying the unknown microscopic forms after death)

Zilai responded: "Children obey their parents' commands whether east, west, south or north. Shouldn't humans regard the transformations of Yin-Yang as children regard their parents?" This dialogue embodies the Daoist worldview of "resting in timeliness and following natural course," viewing bodily changes and life's end as processes of the Creator's natural workings.

This passage presents Zhuangzi's philosophical reflections on life, death, and the transformative power of creation (zaohua), along with the story of Zisang Hu and others transcending worldly rituals.

Zhuangzi states: The creative force (zaohua) is more intimately connected to us than our parents. When it brings me near death, if I refuse to comply, I would be acting contrary to its will—what fault would the creative force have in this? Nature gives me physical form, assigns me labor during life, grants me leisure in old age, and offers rest through death. Therefore, those who cherish life should likewise cherish death. Consider a blacksmith casting metal: if the metal were to leap up and declare, "I must become a sword!" the smith would deem this an ill omen. Similarly, when humans obtain human form and obstinately insist, "I am human! I am human!" the Creator would consider them ill-fated. There's no need to cling stubbornly to being human—what harm is there in transforming into something else? View heaven and earth as a great furnace and the creative force as the supreme artisan—where could we not go? We fall peacefully asleep, then suddenly awaken (here equating life with sleep and death with awakening).

The narrative then shifts to the story of three recluses: Zisang Hu, Mengzi Fan, and Ziqin Zhang. They formed a profound friendship, pursuing what they called "the friendship of non-action (wuwei)" and "the action of non-action." They longed to wander freely between heaven and earth, playing joyfully in the infinite, liberated from the constraints of life and death. The three would exchange knowing smiles, their hearts resonating in perfect harmony.

When Zisang Hu later passed away, Confucius sent Zigong to assist with funeral arrangements. Zigong found the other two companions—one composing music, the other playing the qin—singing before the corpse: "Ah, Zisang Hu! You have returned to your original truth while we remain trapped in the human realm!" Zigong approached and challenged them: "Is singing before a corpse in accordance with ritual propriety?" The two exchanged smiles and replied, "What do you know of ritual's true meaning?" (They believed rituals should spring from genuine feeling—without authentic emotion, what value do empty formalities hold?)

Upon Zigong's return, Confucius remarked: "These men transcend worldly conventions. Their inner cultivation has reached the realm of emptiness (xu), their outward being liberated from physical constraints. They sing before death without changing countenance—I cannot measure them by ordinary standards."

This dialogue between Confucius and his disciple Zigong explores two contrasting approaches to life. Confucius describes certain individuals as "those who wander beyond the square" (transcending worldly conventions), while considering himself as "one who wanders within the square" (adhering to social rituals). He acknowledges these paths are fundamentally incompatible, realizing his sending condolences appeared shallow in comparison.

Those who have attained the Dao follow nature's transformations, roaming freely with the primordial Qi of heaven and earth. They view life as an unnecessary appendage and death as the bursting of a boil, utterly indifferent to the sequence of birth and demise. Liberated from physical constraints, forgetting liver and gall, ears and eyes, they drift unaware of beginnings or endings within the cyclic flow of existence. Untroubled and carefree beyond the dusty world, why would they anxiously observe mundane rituals to please the crowd?

Zigong inquires which path Confucius should follow. The sage self-deprecatingly calls himself "heaven's condemned one" - while unable to reach their elevated state, he nevertheless wishes to explore the great Dao together with Zigong.

Using the metaphor of fish and water, Confucius illustrates: fish require water to survive just as humans need the Dao for stability. Yet the highest state occurs when fish forget about water while swimming freely in lakes and rivers, just as practitioners forget deliberate pursuit while immersed in Daoist arts. When Zigong asks about "irregular people" (those who stand apart), Confucius explains they differ from worldly norms yet harmonize with heavenly principles. Calling them "heaven's little children" suggests they retain the pure, spontaneous nature of the uncarved block.

Yan Hui (a disciple of Confucius) asked Confucius: "When Mengsun Cai (a man from the state of Lu) mourned his mother's death, he shed no tears, felt no sorrow in his heart, and showed no grief during the mourning period. These three behaviors all violate mourning rites, yet he became renowned throughout Lu for his exemplary mourning. Can someone truly gain fame without substance? I find this truly perplexing."

Confucius replied: "Mengsun has attained the highest state of mourning rites, transcending ordinary people's understanding of such rituals. Common people wish to simplify mourning rites but cannot, whereas Mengsun has achieved true simplicity. Those cultivating the Dao always seek to reduce emotional attachments but struggle to succeed, yet Mengsun has accomplished this."

"Mengsun has surpassed the boundaries of life and death. He neither deliberately pursues life nor fears death; he doesn't calculate who dies first or last. He regards himself as part of the ongoing transformation, calmly facing unknown changes. The deceased are undergoing transformation, while the living have yet to transform—but who can truly determine each state?"

Confucius continued: "We who consider ourselves awake are actually like those still dreaming—how can we truly comprehend these principles? Though a Dao cultivator's body may undergo frightening transformations (referring to death), this cannot harm his essential nature. Human existence is as fleeting as a white steed's shadow across a crevice, yet true nature and genuine feelings never truly perish."

"Mengsun merely followed others' weeping—his tears didn't spring from inner grief but were like ritual responses to ordinary acquaintances. He regarded his parents no differently from others, thus transcending worldly sorrow."

This passage explores the philosophical question of "self-knowledge." Through the contrast between dreams and reality, the author raises a profound doubt: does our so-called "self" truly exist? Just as one may soar through the skies when dreaming of being a bird or plunge into the depths as a fish, only to wake up wondering whether the presently speaking self is truly awake or still dreaming. Such experiences reveal that our presumed "self" is fundamentally questionable.

The text then discusses two states of being: one where extreme joy arrives so swiftly there's no time for laughter, and another where laughter springs spontaneously from the heart without deliberate intention. These serve as metaphors for the natural, childlike state (ziran) revered in Daoism—a state unconstrained by forced adherence to ritual propriety.

The passage further presents the notion of "arranged transformation" (anpai er qu hua), suggesting that life's fortunes—wealth and poverty, honor and disgrace—are all orchestrations of the Creator, which we should accept with equanimity. Death is but a return to the original state, merging back into the undifferentiated chaos of the Primordial Beginning (taichu), described here as the "Oneness of Vast Heaven" (liao tian yi).

The conclusion references a dialogue between Yierzi and Xu You: when Yao imposed humaneness and righteousness upon the world, it was like branding people's faces (qingxing) or cutting off their noses (yixing)—mutilations of their true nature. Xu You's rhetorical question—why would Yierzi still seek his teachings—implies that those tainted by worldly conventions can scarcely comprehend the true Dao.

This dialogue expounds the Daoist perspective on transcending worldly concepts to attain spiritual liberation.

The fictional character Yi'erzi seeks the path of transcendence, to which the hermit Xu You responds with metaphors: just as the blind cannot appreciate beauty nor the deaf enjoy music, those bound by conventional thinking cannot comprehend true freedom. He then references allegorical figures—Wu Zhuang (who abandoned vanity) lost her beauty, Ju Liang (who relinquished force) lost his strength, and the Yellow Emperor (a sage-king revered in Daoism) relinquished cunning—all of whom attained genuine wisdom through the "Crucible of the Creator."

Xu You praises the supreme state of the "Great Ancestral Teacher" (the Dao): it harmonizes all things without flaunting benevolence or righteousness, blesses generations without claiming kindness, predates antiquity without showing age, and molds heaven and earth without displaying skill. This is the essence of true freedom.

Later, the exchange between Yan Hui and Confucius reveals three stages of Daoist cultivation: first, forgetting worldly notions of benevolence and righteousness; second, abandoning rituals and music; finally, reaching the highest state of "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuòwàng)—transcending physical constraints, discarding cleverness, and merging with the Dao. Confucius, moved, remarks that unity with the Dao dissolves personal biases, while adaptability surpasses convention, and he vows to follow Yan Hui’s example. This embodies the core Daoist ideals of "forgetting the self" and "equalizing all things."

Ziyu and Zisang were close friends. After ten consecutive days of heavy rain, Ziyu grew concerned and said, "Zisang must be starving and ill by now." So he packed some food and went to deliver it.

Approaching Zisang’s door, he heard a sound inside that was half-song, half-lament, accompanied by the plucking of a zither. The voice sang weakly, almost out of tune, hurriedly reciting verses: "Is it my father? Is it my mother? Is it Heaven’s will? Or human effort?"

Ziyu entered and asked, "Why does your recitation carry such sorrow?" Zisang replied, "I’ve been pondering who brought me to this desperate state, yet I cannot find the answer. Would my parents have wished poverty upon me? Heaven shelters all things impartially; Earth bears all beings without bias—how could they single me out for hardship? I’ve searched intensely for the cause but found nothing. Since that’s so, then what has brought me to this extremity must simply be the workings of ming (destiny)."

(This dialogue from the Zhuangzi’s "Great Ancestral Teacher" chapter illustrates the Daoist principle of "accepting the moment and complying with circumstance." In Daoist thought, ming represents the natural order beyond human control—a reality practitioners should embrace without resentment toward Heaven or others.)