《南華真經新傳》Vol. 11

This passage discusses the concept of the "True Person" (真人) in Zhuangzi's chapter "Tian Zifang." Tian Zifang, a minister of Marquis Wen of Wei, mentions his teacher Dongguo Shunzi during a conversation with the marquis.

Tian Zifang often praised a man named Xi Gong, leading the marquis to assume Xi Gong was his teacher. Tian Zifang clarified that Xi Gong was merely a fellow villager, while his true teacher was Dongguo Shunzi. Surprised, the marquis asked why Tian Zifang had never spoken of this teacher before. Tian Zifang explained: Dongguo Shunzi had attained the state of a "True Person"—outwardly ordinary but inwardly in harmony with Heaven (天), embodying Wuwei (non-action, 无为) while preserving his innate genuineness, remaining pure and encompassing all things. When encountering those who strayed from the Dao, simply maintaining dignified composure was enough to awaken them, causing their delusions to dissolve naturally. Such a person, Tian Zifang felt, was beyond his ability to praise.

Marquis Wen was deeply moved and remained silent the entire day. Later, he confided in his ministers, marveling at how lofty the realm of a truly virtuous gentleman was. He had once believed that the words of sages and the conduct of benevolence and righteousness represented the highest attainment, but now realized that what he had learned was merely superficial—like clay figurines and wooden puppets—and that even his status as ruler of Wei had become a burden.

The text elaborates on the characteristics of a "True Person": inwardly upright and free from dependence on external things, preserving innate genuineness and following nature—hence described as "human in appearance but heavenly in essence" (人貌而天); empty and still in Wuwei yet never deviating from the true path, thus able to "remain empty yet preserve authenticity" (虚缘而葆真); pure and all-embracing, thus capable of "clarity that accommodates all things" (清而容物). When facing those who are misguided, simply revealing the source of the Dao is enough to dispel their delusions. All this aligns with the nameless nature of the Dao, which cannot be forcibly described in words. That is why Tian Zifang felt unworthy to praise his teacher, and why Marquis Wen lamented that what he had learned was not the Dao—even his royal position had become an encumbrance.

Wen Boxue, a Daoist hermit, was traveling to the state of Qi and stopped for a while in Lu. A man from Lu asked to meet him. Wen Boxue declined, saying, “I have heard that the gentlemen of the Central States are well versed in ritual and righteousness, but do not understand the human heart. I do not wish to meet him.” Later, on his return from Qi, Wen Boxue stayed in Lu again, and the man asked to see him once more. After meeting him, Wen Boxue returned and sighed; the following day, after seeing a visitor, he sighed again. His attendant asked why he sighed each time he received a guest. Wen Boxue explained, “I said long ago that people of the Central States understand ritual and righteousness but do not understand the human heart. The person who met me before behaved stiffly, as if measured with compass and square. When he admonished me, he treated me like a son addressing his father; when he instructed me, he was like a father lecturing his child. That is why I sighed.”

Confucius met Wen Boxue but did not say a word. Zilu asked, “Master, you have long wanted to meet Wen Boxue, yet when you met him you said nothing. Why?” Confucius replied, “With a person like him, a glance is enough to reveal where the Dao lies; there is no need to communicate through words.” One who has truly attained the Dao is simple and unadorned, like an uncarved block of wood; open and receptive, as empty as a valley; and profound, like the source of all things. Such a person cannot be measured by cleverness or reached through speech. Confucius saw him and said nothing because they understood one another inwardly. Since their hearts were already in accord, what need was there for words? That is why it is said, “There is no need for sound.”

Yan Yuan asked Confucius about the relative levels of cultivation attained by Tian Wuzi, a hermit, and Wen Boxue. Tian Wuzi’s teacher was inferior to Wen Boxue, Wen Boxue was inferior to Confucius, and Confucius had once studied under Laozi (Lao Dan). Their levels of cultivation thus formed a progression. Zhuangzi uses the line of teachers linking these figures to explain the subtle stages of cultivating the Dao.

Yan Yuan said, “When the Master walks slowly, I walk slowly too; when the Master walks quickly, I walk quickly too; when the Master runs, I run too. But when the Master speeds off and vanishes in a cloud of dust, I can only stare in amazement, left far behind.” Through this metaphor of Yan Yuan learning the Dao, the passage shows that the highest realm of the Dao cannot be mastered through simple imitation.

This passage contrasts Confucius and Yan Hui to illustrate different stages of enlightenment in Daoist cultivation. Confucius had completely merged with the Dao (the "True Ruler," or cosmic origin), attaining the state of "absolute emptiness" (zhenkong) — a realm of perfect clarity that grants complete freedom from constraints. While Yan Hui understood the principles of the Dao intellectually, he had not yet realized this state of absolute emptiness, thus could only follow in careful steps. This distinction explains why Confucius became the eternal teacher of humanity, while Yan Hui remained the "secondary sage" who inherited the master's wisdom.

Those who truly embody the Dao need no words to earn trust (achieving credibility without speech), require no forced intimacy to care for others (extending warmth without contrivance), and attract people naturally despite holding no official authority (drawing followers without instruments of power). Their state resembles the sun's natural course — rising in the east and setting in the west — as all things follow this rhythm: emerging into being and withdrawing into non-being, with life and death being part of nature's cyclical flow. Confucius reached sagehood precisely by treating all things with sincerity and receiving others with profound integrity.

The concluding section contemplates life's essence: Once we receive our physical form, it remains unchanged until life's end. Though we move with external things through day and night's alternations, our ultimate destination remains unknowable. Life takes shape as naturally as swirling mist — even those who comprehend Heaven's mandate cannot foresee what comes next. Confucius laments: Though we interact throughout life, we pass each other like strangers, never truly knowing one another. Yet he consoles: "Though my past self has vanished, do not grieve, for the eternal Dao endures — we all received our present forms and existence from the True Ruler (cosmic origin)."

When a person acquires physical form, they cannot alter it at will but must await life's natural conclusion. Yet even this does not free one from worldly afflictions. Therefore, the sage perceives the fundamental essence, forgets the physical form, and attains the state of selflessness (Wuwei).

When Confucius visited Laozi (Lao Dan) who had just washed his hair, he found him drying his disheveled locks, appearing trance-like and unlike ordinary men. Waiting outside before their meeting, Confucius said: "Are my eyes deceived? Or did you truly resemble withered wood in stillness just now, as if transcending all things and leaving the mundane world behind?" Laozi replied: "My spirit (Shen) was wandering in the origin of all things." When Confucius sought deeper meaning, Laozi explained: "This is the ineffable state of 'non-being' (Wu), the true essence of the Dao (the Way), which transcends all particular phenomena."

Laozi's condition exemplified liberation from ordinary human states, embodying unity with celestial Dao. Extreme Yin-Qi manifests as frigid austerity, while extreme Yang-Qi blazes with luminous intensity. Yin-Qi emanates from heaven, Yang-Qi arises from earth—their harmonious intermingling generates the ten thousand things. Though no visible ruler's traces appear, the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang and the alternation of sun and moon follow inherent patterns. Life has its beginning, death its return—an endless cycle without terminus. This constitutes the foundation of the great Dao.

The alternation of Yin-Yang is the Dao itself. The Dao manifests through Yin-Yang: neither Yin nor Yang alone can create; only their mutual interaction generates all beings. Heaven belongs to Yang, earth to Yin—the principle of their interaction manifests in the dynamic where "Yin-Qi descends from heaven while Yang-Qi ascends from earth."

When Confucius inquired how to attain this state, Laozi responded: "Comprehending this realm brings supreme aesthetic perception and joy. Those who achieve perfect beauty and dwell in perfect bliss may be called 'the perfected ones' (Zhiren, highest adepts of the Dao)."

Only those who fully comprehend the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe) can preserve their heavenly mandate. Preserving this mandate brings the greatest joy. This is what Laozi meant by "supreme beauty and supreme happiness."

The Dao is the most perfect existence in the world, while the heavenly mandate is the ultimate source of happiness for all things. This perfection originates from the Dao yet remains invisible; this joy stems from the mandate yet remains inaudible. Only by deeply understanding the Dao can one preserve the heavenly mandate; only by realizing this perfection can one attain true happiness. These dual states can only be fully embodied by those who have reached the level of "the Perfected" (those at the highest stage of cultivation). Thus it is said: Those who master supreme beauty and wander freely in supreme happiness may be called the Perfected.

When Confucius sought instruction, Laozi replied with a metaphor: Grass-eating beasts do not worry about changing pastures, and aquatic insects do not fear changing waters, because their way of survival remains fundamentally unchanged. Those who truly comprehend the Dao remain undisturbed by emotions like joy or anger. All things in the universe are fundamentally one—understanding this truth allows one to regard the body as dust, and life and death as the alternation of day and night. Even lesser matters like gain and loss or fortune and misfortune cannot trouble their hearts. They dismiss worldly concerns as easily as discarding dirt, knowing their true self is far more precious than external things.

All things between heaven and earth originate from the Dao and return to "the One" (the unified source). Those who grasp the mystery of the One can achieve the state of Wuwei (non-action, or effortless action); achieving Wuwei enables transcendence of the self; transcending the self allows one to regard the body as worthless as dung and view life and death as natural cycles. How could matters of gain and loss then disturb their hearts?

Confucius praised Laozi's virtue as matching heaven and earth, saying he still relied on supreme principles to cultivate his mind. But Laozi replied: Just as water flows naturally without deliberate action, the virtue of the Perfected requires no conscious cultivation—all things follow them spontaneously. Like heaven's natural height, earth's natural thickness, or the sun and moon's natural radiance, true virtue manifests effortlessly.

This passage presents several allegorical stories illustrating Daoist philosophy, revealing that true wisdom lies not in external forms but in inner cultivation.

Confucius realized that his understanding was as limited as a tiny insect in a vinegar jar. Had it not been for Laozi’s guidance, he would never have grasped the great principles of heaven and earth.

When Zhuangzi met Duke Ai of Lu, he pointed out that though the streets of Lu were filled with people wearing Confucian robes, there were very few true Confucian scholars. A genuine scholar should possess real ability, not just dress the part. After Duke Ai decreed that "those who wear Confucian robes without understanding Confucianism shall be executed," only one true Confucian scholar dared to keep wearing the robes. This shows how few truly learned people there are—most are merely putting on appearances.

Several other examples follow: Baili Xi paid no attention to titles or salaries but focused on tending cattle, which led Duke Mu of Qin to recognize his worth and promote him. The sage-king Youyu remained indifferent to life and death, yet his virtue moved others deeply. When King Yuan of Song sought a painter, only the one who disregarded etiquette and carried himself with natural ease proved to be a true master.

Finally, the story of King Wen of Zhou encountering a recluse (Old Man Zang) who fished without caring for the catch illustrates how true sages often appear ordinary. Wanting to appoint the recluse to govern but fearing opposition from his ministers, King Wen pretended to have a dream in which his ancestors commanded him to pass the throne to the old man. The ministers, believing it was the ancestors’ will, agreed. This tale demonstrates that genuine wisdom requires no deliberate display—it will naturally be recognized by those with discernment, and wise leaders know subtle ways to achieve their aims.

All these stories convey the same truth: The true Dao (the Way) is found not in outward forms but in inner refinement. Real talent needs no forced expression—it will be discovered by those with the vision to see it.

The physician stated that the late ruler had already left his final decree, so the king need not resort to divination. Thus, King Wen invited the elder of Zang (a recluse) to govern the state. During the elder’s administration, he neither altered the legal statutes nor issued biased decrees. After three years, King Wen inspected the kingdom and found: the warriors had disbanded their private militias, the officials no longer boasted of personal achievements, and non-standard measuring vessels from neighboring states no longer entered the borders. The disbanding of private militias showed unity between high and low; officials refraining from self-praise indicated dedication to public service; the disappearance of foreign measures signaled the allegiance of the feudal lords. King Wen then appointed the elder as Grand Tutor and respectfully inquired how to extend benevolent governance to all under heaven. Yet the elder remained silent and withdrew the next day, vanishing without a trace.

Yan Yuan asked Confucius: "Had King Wen not perfected his virtue (De)? Why did he resort to dream divination to seek worthies?" Confucius replied: "Be silent! King Wen had already reached the ultimate state—there is no need for critique. He merely adapted to the times by temporarily using divination."

Though Lu teemed with Confucian scholars and the Zhou court overflowed with officials, those who truly attained the Dao were few: in Lu, only one Confucian (Confucius himself), and in Zhou, only the elder of Zang. Thus, when Duke Ai of Lu consulted Confucius on statecraft, he received boundless wisdom; when King Wen entrusted governance to the elder, the feudal lords submitted. These two men had perfected their inner cultivation, so their outward actions flowed effortlessly. This exemplifies the state of "talent complete yet virtue (De) unmanifested"—a concept Zhuangzi employs to illuminate the Way of the Perfected (Zhiren).

When Bohun Wuren (one who has attained the Dao) demonstrated archery, he drew his bow to full tension, balanced a cup of water on his elbow, and fired arrows in rapid succession, each chasing the last, his posture steady as a wooden figurine. He said: "This is shooting with intention, not the archery of non-action (Wuwei). Dare to join me atop high mountains, treading perilous cliffs, shooting arrows over a hundred-fathom abyss?" With that, he ascended a sheer precipice, his feet dangling over the void, and calmly summoned Lie Yukou (the archery student) forward. Lie Yukou collapsed in terror, drenched in sweat. Bohun Wuren sighed: "The Perfected (Zhiren) gazes upon the blue heavens above and plumbs the yellow springs below, roaming freely in all directions without a change in countenance. Now, with your vision blurred and heart trembling, how could you possibly hit the mark?"

Those who have attained the Dao move through the world unobstructed; wherever they go, they find ease, for their minds remain ever carefree and unfettered.

The dialogue between Sunshu Ao and Jianwu reveals the transcendent spiritual realm of the Daoist "Zhenren" (True Person).

Sunshu Ao served three times as prime minister of Chu without feeling pride, and was dismissed three times without sorrow. He explained: The gain or loss of office is not determined by me—when it comes, I cannot refuse it; when it goes, I cannot retain it. Since neither gain nor loss depends on me, why should I rejoice or grieve over it? The real question is whether the office needs me or I need the office.

When Confucius heard this, he marveled: The ancient Zhenren could not be swayed by the wise, seduced by beauty, or coerced by bandits. Even sage-kings like Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor could not claim his friendship. Such a person remains composed even in the face of life and death—how much more indifferent must he be to rank and salary? His spirit can pass through Mount Tai without obstruction, dive into the deepest abyss without getting wet, and dwell in lowly stations without distress. His essence fills the space between heaven and earth.

The text also cites the examples of the King of Chu and the ruler of Fan: When a Chu attendant declared, "Fan has perished three times," the ruler of Fan replied, "The destruction of Fan cannot deprive me of my true existence." This shows that, to the ultimate person, the survival or fall of a state is merely relative.

The true sage regards the body as a temporary dwelling and life and death as ordinary comings and goings—how much more so for external things like rank, carriages, and horses? This is why Sunshu Ao could serve and be dismissed three times without disturbance. Honors, salaries, and material possessions arrive without being refused and depart without being retained. Their gain or loss is not up to me, so naturally, I neither grieve nor rejoice over them. Such detachment from worldly concerns is precisely how Sunshu Ao embodied the forgetting of external things.

In the story of "Knowledge Wanders North," Zhuangzi reveals the essence of the Dao. Here, a character named "Knowledge" seeks answers about attaining the Dao but receives three different responses.

First, Knowledge encounters "Non-Doer" (symbolizing pure natural Dao) and asks three questions: How should one think to understand the Dao? How should one act to abide in the Dao? What path leads to attaining the Dao? But Non-Doer remains completely silent, as the true Dao cannot be expressed in words. Next, Knowledge meets "Wildly Bent" (representing the intermediary state between nature and artifice), who wants to speak but forgets what to say. Finally, Knowledge consults the Yellow Emperor (symbolizing artificial wisdom), who provides clear answers: One understands Dao by neither thinking nor scheming, abides in Dao through non-action (Wuwei), and attains Dao by not deliberately pursuing it.

The Yellow Emperor explains that Non-Doer is the one who truly possesses Dao, Wildly Bent is close but not fully there, while both the Emperor and Knowledge remain far from Dao. True wisdom cannot be spoken—what can be articulated is not genuine knowledge. Therefore, sages practice "teaching without words."

The text then elaborates the hierarchy of Dao: Dao is fundamental, De (Virtue) manifests Dao, humaneness practices De, righteousness regulates humaneness, and rites formalize righteousness. Yet these are merely superficial forms of Dao, even the beginning of confusion. Cultivating Dao requires progressively reducing artificial efforts until reaching complete non-action—only then can one accomplish everything effortlessly.

All things follow the cyclical pattern of life and death. Human life is the gathering of Qi (vital energy)—when Qi gathers there is life, when it scatters there is death. Life and death are inseparable companions, so excessive worry is unnecessary. All things are fundamentally unified. What people consider beautiful becomes divine, what they loathe appears rotten, yet the rotten may transform into the divine—demonstrating the relativity of such distinctions.

This passage expounds on the Daoist philosophy of Wuwei (non-action) and comprehending the Dao. The Yellow Emperor engages in discussion with several sages about how to grasp the true meaning of the Dao.

The text mentions how miraculous things can transform into decay, illustrating that all things under heaven are essentially transformations of the same Qi (vital energy). The reason sages value "oneness" (the unity of the Dao) is because they understand this principle.

The Yellow Emperor recounts how he sought advice from Wuweiwei (a personification of the state of non-action), who gave no response; then asked Kuangqu (representing partial understanding), who wanted to answer but forgot. This demonstrates that those who truly comprehend the Dao do not deliberately explain it (Wuweiwei), while those with partial understanding attempt to explain but cannot articulate it clearly (Kuangqu).

The sage Zhi represents those who understand truth, while the north symbolizes obscurity. If one can refrain from deliberately displaying wisdom and naturally maintain obscurity, one approaches the profundity of the Dao. Wuweiwei's lack of response indicates he hadn't fully attained the state of non-action; Kuangqu's forgotten answer shows he too hadn't truly realized the Dao.

As a sage, the Yellow Emperor attained the highest state of Dao comprehension: requiring no deliberate thought (no-mind), being unconstrained by form (formless), and unlimited by method (methodless). This ultimate emptiness (supreme void) is where the Dao gathers, true stillness (genuine tranquility) is how the Dao exists, and supreme mystery is how the Dao manifests. Only sages can simultaneously grasp these three aspects and truly attain the Dao.

The Yellow Emperor said: "You and I understand this principle, but others do not know it." Those who appear mad or obstinate are actually fictional characters Zhuangzi used to convey profound meanings. Heaven and earth embody supreme beauty yet never speak of it; the four seasons follow clear laws yet never debate them; the ten thousand things operate according to their inherent principles yet never explain them. The true sage (one who has attained the Dao) can perceive the ultimate beauty of heaven and earth and comprehend the patterns of all things.

Thus, those who have attained the Dao do not act with deliberate intention, and the highest sages do not force creation—this is the conclusion drawn from observing the Dao of heaven and earth. The subtle spiritual forces (Shen) and the myriad phenomena of the world, the transformations of life and death, the forms of square and round—none can trace their ultimate origin. The ten thousand things exist spontaneously, as they have since ancient times. The vast cosmos cannot exceed the bounds of the Dao, while the tiniest autumn hair depends on the Dao to take form. All things under heaven are in constant transformation; the movements of Yin-Yang and the four seasons follow their own sequences. Though seemingly indistinct, they are truly present; though formless, they possess miraculous power. All things are nourished by the Dao yet remain unaware of it—this is the root of the Dao, which can be understood by observing heaven and earth.

Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak excessively, while those who chatter eloquently do not truly comprehend it. Heaven and earth arise from the Dao yet never boast of their merit in sustaining all life; the four seasons move with the Dao yet never announce the changes of cold and heat; the ten thousand things are transformed by the Dao yet never explain the principles of their generation. The virtue (De) of sages aligns with heaven and earth; their actions correspond to the four seasons. They subtly perceive the nature of all things, merging with the Dao as one, yet never prattle on to instruct others. Thus it is said that sages can embody the beauty of heaven and earth and penetrate the principles of all things. Those who have attained the Dao follow nature without reckless action; the highest sages let things complete themselves without forced creation—this is emulating the wordless virtue of heaven and earth.

Nie Que (a fictional character in Zhuangzi) asked Bei Yi (another fictional figure) about the Dao. Bei Yi replied: "Straighten your body and focus your gaze, and natural harmony will descend upon you; restrain your cleverness and unify your thoughts, and the spirit (Shen) will take residence within. Virtue (De) will make you beautiful, and the Dao will abide with you. Be as innocent as a newborn calf, asking no questions." Before he could finish speaking, Nie Que fell asleep. Delighted, Bei Yi left singing: "The body like withered wood, the mind like dead ashes—one who truly understands the Dao clings to no fixed views. Dull and muddled, seemingly without mind, beyond the measure of ordinary reasoning. What manner of person is this!"

Adjust your physical posture to remain naturally relaxed; focus your gaze without being tempted by external desires. When the body is free from exhaustion, it maintains its wholeness; when not led astray by desires, your vital essence (Jing) and energy (Qi) will return. With a complete form and abundant essence, you merge into oneness with nature. Thus it is said: the harmony of nature will descend upon you.

Gather your mind, neither thinking nor scheming, but following the natural course; maintain your Qi, neither forcibly increasing nor decreasing it. Without thought or calculation, you return to your original truth; without addition or subtraction, you preserve purity. Returning to truth and preserving purity ensures your spirit (Shen) remains undiminished. Thus it is said: the spirit will come to dwell within you, and Virtue (De) will shine upon you.

The Dao allows you to wander freely in self-contentment, settling in the realm of utmost emptiness and stillness. Your gaze should be as pure and desireless as a newborn calf—this is what is called returning to the original source. These are the true principles of cultivating the Dao. Thus, the ancient practitioner Nie Que suddenly attained enlightenment, his mind opening in clarity, so much so that he fell peacefully asleep before even finishing his instruction.

Emperor Shun asked the sage Cheng: "Can the Dao be possessed?" Cheng replied: "Even your body does not belong to you—how could you possess the Dao?" Shun asked: "If my body does not belong to me, then to whom does it belong?" Cheng said: "It is a form temporarily entrusted to you by Heaven and Earth. Your life does not belong to you—it is the harmonious Qi given by Heaven and Earth. Your nature and destiny do not belong to you—they follow the patterns of Heaven and Earth’s movement. Your descendants do not belong to you—they are the continuation of life by Heaven and Earth. Thus, when you walk, you do not know where you go; when you dwell, you do not know where you are; when you eat, you do not know the flavor—all these are the ceaseless transformations of Qi in the universe. How could they be personally possessed?"

Confucius inquired of Laozi: "Today I have leisure and wish to ask about the supreme Dao." Laozi said: "First, you must purify your mind through fasting, cleanse your spirit, and cast aside preconceptions. The Dao is profound and difficult to articulate! I can only give you a rough outline: Light is born from darkness, form arises from formlessness, spirit originates from the Dao, and physical bodies are rooted in vital essence (Jing). All things give rise to one another through their forms. Creatures with nine orifices are born from wombs; those with eight orifices hatch from eggs. The Dao comes without shadow and departs without trace—it has no gate or dwelling, yet penetrates all directions. Those who comprehend this will have strong limbs, clear thinking, sharp hearing, and keen vision. Their minds labor not, yet they respond to all things without constraint. Heaven cannot but be high; Earth cannot but be vast; the sun and moon cannot but move; the myriad things cannot but grow—all these are the natural manifestations of the Dao."

This passage elucidates the Daoist understanding of the Dao (the Way) and its approach to life. Laozi (Lao Dan) is revered as a sage who comprehended the celestial Dao, his wisdom being unfathomably profound.

The text observes that extensive knowledge does not necessarily yield true insight, nor does eloquent speech equate to genuine wisdom. The sage understands this principle: the true Dao (referring to the fundamental law of the universe) remains unchanged whether augmented or diminished. It is as profound as the ocean, as majestic as towering mountains, cycling endlessly without terminus. It nourishes all things yet never exhausts itself—this is the Dao that noble persons follow.

Human existence between heaven and earth is as fleeting as sunlight glimpsed through a door crack. All things undergo constant transformation: birth, growth, and death, following nature's course. While ordinary people grieve over mortality, the sage perceives the cyclical truth: the physical body ultimately returns to formlessness, and the formed inevitably dissolves into the formless. Though this is universally known, it holds no particular concern for those pursuing the supreme Dao.

True wisdom lies not in debate. Those who grasp this principle refrain from contention, while those who argue often lack understanding. The Dao cannot be fully expressed through language—rather than exhausting oneself in futile explanations, maintaining silence proves more fruitful. Herein lies the greatest attainment.

Laozi's exposition of the Dao progresses from the subtle to the manifest, from formlessness to form. He begins by stating that light emerges from darkness (symbolizing heaven and earth arising from primordial chaos), concluding that all forms ultimately return to formlessness. Only with heaven and earth established do human relationships and social order emerge; only with human relationships do the myriad things exist—the principles governing rulers and ministers are all contained within. Yet the Dao itself transcends verbal expression, making silence preferable to contentious debate.

This passage elucidates the Daoist understanding and realization of the Dao (the Way).

Regarding the hearing of philosophical teachings, both Laozi (Lao Dan) and Confucius believed that not hearing surpasses hearing, for abstaining from debate and auditory input leads to the state of Wuwei (non-action), allowing the mind to attain genuine tranquility—this is what is called the "great attainment."

The subsequent dialogue between Dongguozi and Zhuangzi illustrates the omnipresence of the Dao. When Dongguozi asked where the Dao could be found, Zhuangzi replied that it exists in ants, weeds, tiles, and even in excrement. This demonstrates that the Dao permeates all things, with the most humble and ordinary objects best embodying its universality. Zhuangzi criticized Dongguozi's question for failing to address the essence, likening it to a butcher judging a pig's fatness by pressing its legs—the deeper one presses, the more truth is revealed.

The Dao encompasses all things without boundaries yet exists everywhere. Seemingly opposing concepts like fullness and emptiness, decline and growth, roots and branches, accumulation and dispersion are merely different manifestations of the Dao.

Finally, the story of Lao Longji illustrates the difficulty of realizing the Dao. After Lao Longji's death, the legendary Emperor Shennong recognized that he hadn't grasped even one ten-thousandth of the Dao's profundity, yet maintained humility. Those who truly comprehend the Dao are revered by all noble-minded individuals. This shows that realizing the Dao requires supreme wisdom and cultivation.

The Dao is something that cannot be seen with eyes—it has no form; cannot be heard with ears—it makes no sound. When people speak of it, they call it "the obscure and mysterious," yet this is merely a description of the Dao, not the Dao itself. The Dao is the fundamental principle underlying the movement of all things. Manifested in form, it becomes form; manifested in function, it becomes function. It has no name, no trace, yet it permeates everywhere. Observing through tangible things, one may discern the boundaries of the Dao; contemplating the intangible, one may grasp its profound subtleties. Vast, tranquil, and boundless, without beginning or end—this is the most mysterious essence of the Dao.

Dongguozi failed to understand this truth when he asked where the Dao could be found, for he was blinded by partial phenomena. Those confined by partial phenomena cannot fathom the depth of the Dao. Thus, Zhuangzi replied to him: "The Dao is in everything."

Taiqing (a fictional figure) once asked Wuxiong (Boundless, another fictional figure): "Do you understand the Dao?" Wuxiong replied: "I do not know." Taiqing then went to ask Wuwei (Non-Action), who said: "I understand the Dao." Taiqing asked: "Do you have any concrete understanding of it?" Wuwei answered: "Yes. The Dao can be noble or humble, gathered or scattered—this is what I know of it." Taiqing took these answers to Wushi (Beginningless) and asked: "Between Wuxiong's 'not knowing' and Wuwei's 'knowing,' which is right and which is wrong?" Wushi replied: "Not knowing is profound understanding, while knowing is superficial. Not knowing is inner realization; knowing is merely external recognition." Upon hearing this, Taiqing sighed: "So not knowing is true knowledge, while knowing is actually ignorance! Who can comprehend this 'knowledge of not knowing'?"

The Dao is omnipresent—heaven, earth, and the myriad things all take shape because of it. It cannot be fully expressed in words, nor can it be confined. Thus, the sages, though they understand the Dao, do not speak of it; though they master it, they do not cling to it. This is why Wuxiong answered "I do not know"—for true "not knowing" is deep comprehension, arising from inner realization. This is what Wushi meant by saying, "Not knowing is profound; not knowing is internal." Taiqing, thinking Wuxiong truly did not understand, then turned to Wuwei. Yet Wuwei had not fully transcended the realm of deliberate action, hence his reply: "I know the Dao can be noble or humble," and so on. This kind of "knowing" is actually shallow understanding, derived from external observation, which is why Wushi remarked: "Knowing is superficial; knowing is external."

"Boundless" refers to having no limits, while "beginningless" signifies having no origin. These two concepts form the fundamental understanding of the Dao (the Way), which is why Taiqing (one who has realized the Dao) suddenly attained enlightenment and exclaimed in awe.

Wushi (a fictional Daoist sage) said: The Dao cannot be heard with ears—what is heard is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen with eyes—what is seen is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be spoken with words—what is spoken is not the Dao. One must understand that the Dao, which creates all things, has no form, and thus cannot be defined by names.

The Dao is soundless when heard, hence it is said to be "unhearable." It is formless when seen, hence it is said to be "unseeable." It is intangible when touched, hence it is said to be "unspeakable." Whatever can be perceived is not the true Dao. That which cannot be heard or seen is the formless origin beyond all shapes. That which cannot be spoken is the nameless essence beyond all definitions. This is why Wushi was able to comprehend the Dao.

Wushi further said: Those who answer when questioned about the Dao do not truly understand it, and those who ask such questions have never grasped the Dao itself. The Dao neither raises doubts nor requires answers. To forcibly question it only reveals the limitations of one's understanding. To reluctantly answer it demonstrates superficial comprehension. Approaching the fundamental with shallow knowledge means such a person can neither perceive the vastness of the cosmos nor grasp the mystery of Taichu (the primordial origin of the universe). Naturally, they cannot transcend the boundaries of Kunlun (symbolizing the immortal realm) or wander freely in the Great Void (cosmic space).

The Dao is supremely subtle—it cannot be exhausted by questioning. Having no form, it cannot be described with words. Forced questioning only leads to cognitive dead ends, while reluctant answers remain stuck on the surface. Without deep understanding, one's vision remains narrow. How could such a person ever penetrate the infinite? How could they ever comprehend the origin of the universe? How could they roam freely in the vast expanse of heaven and earth? Thus, those who approach the fundamental with shallow knowledge see neither the external cosmos nor the internal Taichu, and naturally cannot ascend to the immortal realm or wander in the Great Void.

This passage presents two allegorical stories about the Dao (the Way).

The first story features Guangyao (symbolizing illuminating wisdom) seeking guidance from Wuyou (symbolizing the realm of absolute emptiness). Observing Wuyou's state, Guangyao finds him seemingly void and insubstantial—unseeable, unhearable, and untouchable. Guangyao laments that while he can attain the states of "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), he cannot reach the higher realm of "non-non-being" (wu wu), which transcends both. The story then shifts to a master hook-maker from the Grand Marshal’s household, who, even at eighty, could craft hooks with flawless precision. This was because for twenty years he focused solely on hooks, excluding all else from his mind. The lesson is that total concentration—free from distracting thoughts—leads to profound mastery.

The second story involves Ran Qiu asking Confucius about the state of heaven and earth before their formation. Confucius replies, "Past and present are one," leaving Ran Qiu perplexed. Confucius explains that earlier understanding came from intuitive apprehension, while present confusion arises from rational analysis. Time inherently lacks distinctions of past/present or beginning/end—just as one cannot say grandchildren existed before ancestors. These points illustrate how the Dao transcends time, language, and conceptual thought, requiring direct realization rather than logical deduction.

The text emphasizes that intellectual pursuit alone cannot grasp true emptiness. The profound subtlety of the Dao is unattainable through study; one must surpass the duality of "being" and "non-being." These parables reveal the Dao’s ineffable nature, which demands relinquishing attachments and cultivating single-minded practice to awaken to its mystery.

This passage explores core Daoist perspectives on life-death and the relationship between self and phenomena.

Regarding the matter of life and death: The true Dao does not generate death simply because life exists, nor does it negate life because of death. These are relative concepts, as all things fundamentally share one source. That primordial origin (Dao) existing before heaven and earth took form is itself not a concrete entity, yet it gives birth to all phenomena. While no thing can precede the Dao, the Dao manifests through all things—this ceaseless generative state knows no end. Similarly, the sage's compassion for all beings flows without cessation.

The dialogue between Confucius and his disciples illustrates how ancient realized beings maintained inner constancy while outwardly adapting to change, whereas modern people exhibit inner restlessness beneath rigid exteriors. Those who truly attain the Dao become one with the transformations of all things while preserving their essential nature unchanged. Consider how the gardens and palaces of ancient sage-kings like Xiwei and the Yellow Emperor were later judged by Confucian and Mohist scholars using rigid standards—how much more so do ordinary people impose limitations. The sage interacts with all things without harming them, and in turn remains unharmed. Only those free from harmful intent can achieve true harmony with nature.

The text observes how people delight in mountain forests' beauty, yet before their joy fades, sorrow arises—revealing the fickle nature of worldly emotions. Most treat phenomena as temporary lodgings, focusing only on what they encounter while neglecting the unseen, pursuing only what they can do or know rather than exploring beyond those limits. Yet human understanding has inherent boundaries—forcing transcendence of these limits only deepens suffering.

The conclusion clarifies: Those outwardly adaptable yet inwardly steadfast achieve this through spiritual unity with the Dao. Those inwardly pursuing the Dao yet outwardly rigid fail because their physical form resists natural flow. True adepts merge with all transformations while preserving their essence—like standing equally with all phenomena yet remaining unshaken by external things.

This passage elucidates the Daoist cultivation state of "embracing Oneness and preserving authenticity" (baoyi shouzhen). "Holding fast to Oneness without change" refers to maintaining a mind of undivided purity undisturbed by external circumstances, remaining tranquil amidst worldly transformations ("letting all things transform naturally without being swayed by their changes"). The true sage allows the myriad things to follow their natural course while remaining unaffected by external influences ("wu xin yu wu" - being non-intentional toward things), like a blade passing without leaving traces ("not wearing down its edge through friction").

The text mentions the gardens of Xiwei (an ancient sage-king), the orchards of the Yellow Emperor, the palaces of Emperor Shun, and the towers of Kings Tang and Wu - all metaphors illustrating how the Dao itself is the true abode of sages. Those who attain the Dao dwell in non-intentional spontaneity, naturally roaming in boundless freedom within it.

The highest form of speech transcends words ("ultimate speech abandons speech"), and the highest action transcends deliberate action ("ultimate action abandons action"). When one deliberately pursues knowledge ("leveling all knowledge known"), it only reveals superficial understanding. True "ultimate speech" is wordless, and genuine "ultimate action" is wuwei (non-action). These two states cannot be achieved unless one has profoundly realized the ultimate Dao ("entered into the supreme Dao"). Thus, the author reserves this essential truth for the culmination of the entire text.