《南華真經新傳》Vol. 6

Hiding a boat in the mountain valley or concealing a mountain within the great marsh—people believe these to be utterly secure. Yet at midnight, a figure of immense strength may still carry them away, while the ignorant remain unaware of this truth. Whether concealing the small or the vast, though the method seems proper, all things ultimately shift and transform. But to hide the world within the world itself—this leaves no place for escape, and herein lies the fundamental nature of what is eternal.

The unchanging aspect of things is their constant nature, while their transformations follow inevitable laws. Nature cannot be altered, nor can change be obstructed. Thus, Zhuangzi employs the metaphors of hiding a boat and a mountain to illustrate this principle. The boat symbolizes transience, the mountain steadfastness; the valley represents depth, the marsh boundlessness. To conceal the transient boat in deep mountains or the immovable mountain within vast marshes may seem secure, yet neither escapes the transformations wrought by the workings of creation. The phrase "a figure of strength carries them away at midnight" refers to the silent operation of the cosmic process—hence "midnight." This process eludes perception—hence "the ignorant." Here, Zhuangzi laments the folly of those who lack true understanding.

Only the perfected person (zhenren) can merge with the workings of creation, coexisting with all things, entrusting life and death, glory and decay to the natural course. They conceal the subtle functions within formlessness, allowing the supreme Dao to operate eternally. Thus, "hiding the world within the world" is the fundamental law of what endures.

People, having by chance received human form, rejoice in it as if it were permanent. Yet the human body is but one of countless transformations, endless in their unfolding—how could such joy ever be fully measured? What lives does not necessarily escape death; what dies does not necessarily cease to live. Birth and death cycle without end. Precisely because life continuously arises from what appears lifeless, joy is inexhaustible.

The sage roams freely in the realm from which nothing escapes—the eternal. They are at peace with early death, with long life, with beginnings, with endings, and all people take them as their model. All things that have a beginning must have an end; all that is formed must dissolve. These are the inescapable laws governed by the workings of creation.

When practitioners enter the Great Dao (the supreme truth), they must relinquish self-consciousness and wander freely in accordance with the transformations of all things. Thus the fluctuations of Yin-Yang cannot shake them, nor can natural laws constrain them, for their spirit has already merged with the Dao, becoming omnipresent. This is why sages can roam freely in realms from which all beings cannot escape, becoming one with all existence.

All things depend on the Great Dao for their existence, and all transformations take the Dao as their foundation. Just as the heavens are responsible for nurturing life and the earth for bearing forms, neither can accomplish creation alone. Only sages can penetrate the functions of heaven and earth, unifying all things into one. This explains why all beings rely on the Dao, why all transformations await the Dao's guidance, and why the Dao naturally becomes the fundamental sovereign of all things.

The Great Dao truly exists yet has no concrete form; it governs through Wuwei (non-action), being formless and imageless. It can be comprehended through spirit but cannot be directly transmitted, realized but not seen with physical eyes. The Dao itself is the primordial source, existing eternally before heaven and earth came into being. It endows spirits and deities with their numinous qualities and gives birth to the myriad things of heaven and earth. The Dao dwells above the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) yet does not appear lofty; it exists below the six directions yet does not seem lowly. It predates heaven and earth yet does not appear ancient; it surpasses high antiquity in longevity yet shows no signs of aging.

Ancient sage-kings all achieved greatness through attaining the Dao: The Emperor Xiwei mastered the Dao to govern heaven and earth; Fu Xi comprehended the Dao to harmonize primordial Qi; the Northern Dipper attained the Dao to revolve eternally; the sun and moon obtained the Dao to shine without extinguishing. The mountain deity Kanhuai secured the Dao to guard Mount Kunlun; the river god Fengyi attained the Dao to roam freely through waterways; the mountain spirit Jianwu realized the Dao to dwell peacefully on Mount Tai. The Yellow Emperor achieved the Dao to ascend through the clouds; Zhuanxu attained the Dao to reside in the Mysterious Palace; the sea god Yuqiang obtained the Dao to guard the North Pole; the Queen Mother of the West realized the Dao to abide eternally on Mount Shaoguang. Peng Zu attained the Dao to live from Emperor Shun's era through the Spring and Autumn period; Fu Yue achieved the Dao to assist King Wuding in governing the realm, his soul transforming into constellations after death.

The Dao is the most refined existence in the cosmos—without fixed form yet omnipresent. All things follow the Dao's patterns in their operations, appearing to possess emotions and will; all beings are born from the Dao, seeming to embody trust and commitment. The Dao operates in silent tranquility, thus appearing Wuwei (non-acting); it is profoundly empty and numinous, hence formless. It can only be apprehended through spiritual realization, not ordinary understanding; it may be verified through the heart-mind but not analyzed through rational thought.

This passage elucidates the essential characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and methods for cultivating it, divided into two parts for understanding.

The first part describes the nature of the Dao: It is an invisible, intangible chaotic whole that existed before heaven and earth came into being, self-originating and self-sufficient. Eternal from ancient times to the present, it permeates all ages without cessation. When spirits attain the Dao, they gain numinous power; when rulers attain it, they acquire divine authority. Though all things in heaven and earth arise from the Dao, it itself exists independently of them. Immeasurably lofty and unfathomably deep, it neither renews nor decays. Ancient sages like Xiwei and Fuyue grasped both the substance and function of the Dao, thus becoming models for the world. The Dao shines eternally like the stars in the sky.

The second part presents a dialogue between Nanbo Zikui and the elder Woman Yu, illustrating the process of Dao cultivation: Though advanced in years, Woman Yu maintains a childlike complexion because he has realized the Dao. Cultivation requires both the innate capacity of a sage and profound insight. Woman Yu teaches Buliang Yi through a progressive method of "transcending the world - transcending things - transcending life": first detaching from worldly concerns (three days), then from material attachments (seven days), and finally from life-and-death itself (nine days). Upon reaching the luminous state of "dawn clarity" (zhaoche), one perceives the singular, unique Dao, surpassing temporal limitations to enter the deathless, birthless realm of eternity. This state is called "undisturbed tranquility" (yingning) - maintaining serenity amidst turmoil.

The passage concludes with the lineage of Dao transmission: from written records (offspring of the inked texts) to oral traditions (grandchild of Luo recitation), through progressive realization (Zhanming, Niexu), verified by practice (Xuyi), until reaching the mysterious realms (Xuanming, Canliao), ultimately tracing back to cosmic origins (Yishi). The Dao constitutes the sage's substance while talent manifests the sage's function - only through their union can one achieve sagehood.

This passage elucidates the stages of Daoist cultivation and the process of realizing the Dao.

It begins by pointing out that mere physical form without actual function cannot be considered complete, nor can function alone without form be deemed perfect. Only when form and function are united can the Great Dao be fully manifested. By attaining the state of selflessness, one transcends life and death. Maintaining this state for nine days allows liberation from external life; having liberated life, one preserves the clear Qi (vital energy) throughout the night. Preserving this clear Qi enables perception beyond ordinary sight, reaching the "morning clarity" state.

When one perceives the singular, non-dual origin, temporal limitations dissolve, revealing eternity as one. Beyond past and present, one enters the realm of neither birth nor death. The Great Dao is complete in this way - present in all things yet unconfined by them, hence its essence is beyond birth and death.

The text describes Dao's characteristics through phrases like "nothing it does not send forth," "nothing it does not receive," "nothing it does not destroy," and "nothing it does not complete": all things rely on Dao yet show no trace of it; all things deviate from Dao yet find no beginning to it; all things wither and flourish through Dao. Ultimately one attains the state of "Yingning" - tranquility achieved through turmoil, representing the complete sequence of Dao cultivation.

The narrative then recounts the story of four cultivators including Zisi and Ziyu, who made a pact: whoever could regard "nothingness" as the head, "life" as the spine, and "death" as the tailbone, understanding life, death, existence and cessation as one, would become their friend. Later when Ziyu fell ill and became deformed, he calmly accepted it as the Creator's arrangement, embodying the perfected person's realization of sublime emptiness and attainment of Wuwei (non-action).

These descriptions reveal Daoism's ultimate pursuit: transcending the dichotomies of form and function, life and death, time and space to achieve complete unity with Dao. Concepts like "Yingning" represent Zhuangzi's unique expression of ultimate tranquility attained through worldly turbulence.

This passage describes the Daoist ideal of the "Perfected One" (zhiren), one who transcends life and death by harmonizing with nature's rhythms.

It recounts four enlightened figures—Zisi, Ziyu, Zili, and Zilai—who realized the fundamental emptiness of all phenomena, attaining the state of Wuwei (non-action) where life and death hold no distress. A true Daoist master feels no burden even when physically impaired.

Zisi declares: "If my left arm were transformed into a rooster, I'd use it to herald the dawn. Were my right arm made a slingshot, I'd hunt birds for roasting. Should my buttocks become carriage wheels and my shen (spirit) turn to steeds, I'd ride them through the cosmos." This illustrates how all things reside within one's being. Understanding this truth liberates one from bodily constraints, allowing free passage between life and death, merging completely with nature's transformations.

What we gain comes through timely circumstance; what we lose follows nature's course. Those who dwell peacefully in the moment and flow with change remain unshaken by emotions—this is what the ancients called "suspended liberation" (xuanjie), freedom from all bondage. Since nothing escapes nature's laws, why resent transformation?

When Zilai fell gravely ill, his family wept at his bedside. Zili admonished them: "Do not disturb his metamorphosis!" Leaning against the doorframe, he addressed Zilai: "O mighty Creator! What will you become next? A rat's liver? An insect's leg?" Zilai replied: "As children obey parents, so must we yield to yin-yang's changes. Nature gave me form to labor through life, aging to grant me rest, and death to bring perfect repose. Thus, one who cherishes life equally embraces death."

What we "gain" arrives by nature's grace; what we "lose" departs by nature's will. When coming, none can prevent it; when going, none can detain it.

This passage describes the Daoist pursuit of spiritual freedom and harmony with nature. The core message conveys:

True sages accept destiny with equanimity, undisturbed by emotions like joy or anger. Because their minds remain unattached to external things, neither sorrow nor pleasure can affect them—this is what the ancients called "liberation" (xianjie). When the mind harbors no attachments, one attains clarity; when delusional thoughts arise, troubles inevitably follow. The mind is humanity's root, while external objects are burdens—by preserving one's essence and severing material desires, nothing in the world can disturb us.

The text employs a metaphor of a blacksmith forging swords: if metal were to leap up declaring "I must become a famous sword," the smith would consider this ominous. Similarly, when humans insist "I am human," the Creator (zaohua) would deem it inauspicious. True sages see themselves as mere matter within heaven and earth's furnace, completely yielding to natural transformations, merging indistinguishably with all things. Thus they move through life with effortless ease, like waking naturally from peaceful sleep.

Later passages describe the friendship between Zisanghu and two others, who sought "interaction without intention" and "action without striving"—neither artificially assisting nature nor being enslaved by external things, roaming the clouds while remaining indifferent to life and death. This state requires complete self-transcendence, becoming one with the cosmos.

Key principles:

1. A mind unshackled by material concerns

2. Perfect alignment with natural processes

3. Dissolving boundaries between self and cosmos

4. Attaining freedom beyond spatial constraints and liberation from生死 (life-death) duality

(Note: "Xianjie" denotes ultimate liberation; "Moye" refers to legendary swords; "Daye" means master smith; "Zaohua" is the Creator; "soaring through mists" describes transcendent freedom.)

This passage presents Zhuangzi's unique perspective on life, death, and ritual propriety. The narrative begins with the death of Sanghu, whose two friends—Mengzi Fan and Ziqin Zhang—instead of mourning, composed music, played the qin, and sang. When Zigong witnessed this, he found it improper and confronted them.

The two friends smiled and replied, "How could you understand the true meaning of ritual?" They explained: Ordinary people view death as the loss of one's true nature (the authentic state of being), hence they grieve. But those who have attained the Dao see death as a return to one's true nature, so sorrow is unnecessary. What's strange about singing and playing music?

When Confucius heard of this, he sighed and said, "They wander beyond the square (transcending worldly norms), while I wander within it (adhering to conventional rituals). The inner and outer do not communicate—it was shallow of me to send you to offer condolences." Here, the "square" refers to the framework of worldly conventions.

Through this story, Zhuangzi illustrates that worldly rituals are actually products of diluted loyalty and sincerity, becoming shackles that bind ordinary people. Common folk cling to superficial forms, while those who have attained the Dao perceive the essence and follow nature's flow. They accompany the Creator (the Dao), roaming freely within the Qi of heaven and earth, entirely unconstrained by worldly rites.

Confucius ultimately acknowledges his limitations, recognizing that those who pursue transcendence would indeed view his ritual-bound self as shallow. This reflects Zhuangzi's philosophy of "equating life and death"—seeing them merely as natural transformations that need not be met with excessive joy or sorrow.

This passage elucidates Zhuangzi's transcendent perspective on life and death as well as worldly rituals, alongside a dialogue between Confucius and Zigong concerning the Dao (the Way).

Those who regard life as an unnecessary burden and death as the bursting of a festering sore—how could they comprehend the true sequence of life and death? They treat their physical forms as temporary lodging, discarding the internal functions of liver and kidneys, neglecting the external perceptions of ears and eyes, lost in the endless cycle of existence. Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) transcend the mundane world, dwelling carefreely in the realm of Wuwei (non-action). Why would they trouble themselves to perform worldly rituals merely for public display?

Zigong asked Confucius, "Then what principles do you follow, Master?" Confucius replied, "I am one punished by Heaven. Yet, I am willing to bear this with you." Here, the "perfect person" (the highest realized being) shares in the work of nature's transformations, silently moving between heaven and earth. They regard life as something external and death as a return to the source. They neither seek the origin of life nor cling to the end of death. Understanding that all things and the self are fundamentally inseparable, they transcend and forget the distinction between subject and object. Internally, they settle their bodies; externally, they harmonize with their senses, roaming through infinite time and space without questioning origins. They wander freely beyond the six directions and abide serenely in the void—how could they be bound by rituals to conform to ordinary perceptions?

When Confucius called himself "one punished by Heaven," he meant accepting fate with equanimity, using rituals to discipline himself. To accept fate is to understand destiny; to discipline oneself with rituals is to fully manifest one's nature. This is precisely why Confucius became a sage.

When Zigong inquired further about the method, Confucius used the analogy of fish and water: fish need water, just as humans need the Dao (the Way). Fish survive when they have a pond; humans find stability in Wuwei (non-action) when they accord with the Dao. Thus, fish in rivers and lakes forget about the water; humans immersed in the Dao forget about the Dao itself. The Dao is omnipresent yet never constrains people—simply follow its principles, and life naturally finds peace. Just as fish can thrive in a pond without needing to swim to the ocean, so too does one who aligns with the Dao abide in Wuwei (non-action) and natural stability. This is the meaning of "those who accord with the Dao find peace effortlessly."

Water is the environment where fish survive, just as the Dao (the Way) is the foundation for human existence. When fish swim effortlessly without being conscious of the water, this is the natural expression of their innate nature; when humans follow the Dao without fixating on its presence, life continues naturally. Thus, it is said that fish forget each other in the rivers and lakes, just as people forget each other in the cultivation of the Dao.

Zigong once asked about the meaning of a "peculiar person" (someone who stands apart from the ordinary). The answer he received was: Such a person may appear different from common folk, yet they are in harmony with the heavenly Dao. Therefore, those deemed petty in the eyes of Heaven may be considered noble among humans, while those revered as noble in human society may be seen as petty by Heaven. A true sage has no attachment to self and exists in harmony with all things, naturally aligned with the Dao. Those transcendent individuals who dwell beyond worldly conventions, standing apart without conforming to mundane customs, are precisely those who embody solitary unity with the Dao. Figures like Zisang Hu, Mengzi Fan, and Ziqin Zhang exemplify what is called "noble among men, petty in Heaven's eyes."

Yan Hui once questioned Confucius: When Mengsun Cai's mother died, he wept without tears, felt no sorrow in his heart, and displayed no grief during the mourning period. Though he lacked these three conventional expressions of mourning, the people of Lu praised him as exceptionally skilled in funeral rites. Could it be that Lu harbors such hypocrites who gain empty reputations? I find this perplexing. Confucius replied: Mengsun Cai has already reached the highest state of mourning rites—he has transcended ordinary understanding. Life and death are but natural transformations, difficult to simplify through forced reasoning, yet he has effortlessly achieved this simplicity. Mengsun Cai neither knows whence life comes nor whither death goes. He clings neither to the state before birth nor to what follows death, simply following the natural course of change while awaiting the unknowable workings of creation. How can we know that what is transforming has not already changed? And how can we know that what appears unchanged has not already transformed? Both you and I are likely still dreaming, not yet awakened.

Those who truly embody the Dao forget the boundaries between life and death, understanding the impermanence of gathering and separation. They neither rejoice excessively in life nor grieve unduly in death. Thus, when Mengsun Cai's mother passed away, his tearless weeping, absence of sorrow, and lack of mourning grief were expressions of complete return to natural authenticity. This very absence of conventional grief earned him renown in Lu for mastering funeral rites. Yan Hui saw only the surface phenomenon without grasping the inner essence, hence his confusion; Confucius, perceiving the deeper truth, recognized that Mengsun Cai had attained the highest state—a return to fundamental truth achievable only by those who truly comprehend the great Dao.

This passage discusses Mengsun Shi's (a Daoist figure) transcendent attitude toward life, death, dreams, and waking. It states: Those who have truly attained the Dao have spirits that have already transcended, with even self-awareness dissolved. Mengsun Shi could maintain wakefulness within dreams—even Confucius acknowledged that neither he nor Yan Hui could match this attainment. When people mourned at funerals, he would weep along with them, but this was merely surface compliance; inwardly, he felt neither sorrow nor grief. He regarded the body as a temporary lodging, harboring no attachment toward death.

It's like when people dream of becoming birds soaring through the sky or fish swimming in water—who can definitively say whether the person speaking now is truly awake or still dreaming? Dreams and wakefulness, life and death are ultimately empty in nature; there's no need for joy or sorrow about them. True happiness requires no deliberate display, and natural smiles need not be forced. Mengsun Shi's weeping was like this spontaneous expression, not something artificially performed.

The passage concludes: By accepting the arrangements of fate and harmonizing with natural transformations, one can reach the state of unity with the heavenly Dao ("Liaotian yi" refers to the vast, boundless heavenly Dao). Living peacefully in the present moment while alive, and following the transformations of creation after death—understanding that life and death are fundamentally one—this is how one merges with the supreme Dao.

In the vast cosmos, life and death represent the greatest transformation, yet those who comprehend the Dao perceive them without attaching undue significance. They live in harmony with the currents of time, and when death comes, they accept it with equanimity, their hearts liberated from all attachments. This resembles the state of Zifan (Spring and Autumn period figure) playing his zither and singing, or Zhuangzi beating an earthen pot after his wife's death—just as Mengsun Cai's (Zhuangzi's fictional character) weeping resonates with Qin Shi's (Laozi's disciple) mourning ritual of only three cries. These are all manifestations of Dao-realized beings, comprehensible only to true sages.

The fictional seeker Yi'erzi visited the ancient recluse Xu You, who asked: "What did Yao teach you?" Yi'erzi replied: "Yao instructed me to personally practice benevolence and righteousness, and to clearly distinguish right from wrong." Xu You responded: "Then why come to me? Yao has already tattooed your face with benevolence and righteousness (symbolizing ideological constraints) and cut off your nose with distinctions of right and wrong (representing cognitive limitations). How can you now wander freely in the realm of carefree, unbound liberation?" Yi'erzi said: "Even so, I still wish to learn about the fringes of the great Dao." Xu You answered: "The blind cannot appreciate the beauty of brows and lashes; the deaf cannot hear the wonder of music. Just as the ancient beauty Wu Zhuang forgot her appearance, the mighty Ju Liang relinquished his strength, and the Yellow Emperor abandoned his cleverness—all attained Dao through the tempering of the cosmic forge. Who knows if the Creator won't restore my tattooed face and replenish my severed nose, making me whole to follow you?" Xu You sighed: "Hard to say! Let me outline the essentials: My teacher (the great Dao) harmonizes all things without counting it as benevolence, blesses all generations without claiming kindness, exists beyond antiquity without showing age, and fashions heaven and earth without deliberate action. This is true unbound liberation."

Yi'erzi represents non-attachment, Xu You embodies wuwei (non-action). Meeting the Dao of non-action with a mind free of clinging perfectly manifests Dao-realization. Through their dialogue, Zhuangzi illustrates: Benevolence and righteousness are but traces of the Dao; distinctions of right and wrong mere fragments of wisdom. When these remain undivided, they never depart from the Dao, but when deliberately emphasized, they become burdens. Yi'erzi's account of Yao's instructions to practice benevolence and righteousness exemplifies this forced externalization of the Dao—how could it not create bondage? Thus Xu You's metaphor of "tattooing and nose-cutting" questions how true liberation could ever be achieved this way.

The New Commentary on the Southern Florescence Scripture (Nanhua Zhenjing) presents two stories that illustrate core Daoist concepts like "no-mind" (wuxin) and "sitting in oblivion" (zuowang) through Zhuangzi's characteristic parable style.

The first story depicts the realm of Xu You's master (the Great Ancestral Teacher). Those who have truly attained the Dao (De) don't deliberately flaunt humaneness and righteousness when dealing with all things, nor do they claim virtue when benefiting countless generations, because their Dao exists in perfect unity with all creation. Though existing since antiquity, they never appear aged, having returned to the primordial Wuji (Ultimate Non-Being). They shape myriad beings without displaying skill, for all transformations occur through natural processes. This state originates from "no-mind" — allowing the spirit to wander freely while harmonizing with external phenomena. Names like "Yi'erzi" and "Wuzhuang" are Zhuangzi's fictional creations imbued with profound meaning.

The second story features the famous dialogue about "sitting in oblivion" between Yan Hui and Confucius. Yan Hui describes progressing through three stages: first forgetting humaneness and righteousness, then forgetting ritual and music, finally attaining "sitting in oblivion." When Confucius inquires about this state, Yan Hui explains: releasing bodily senses, abandoning cleverness and wisdom, transcending physical form, dissolving intellectual distinctions, and merging completely with the Great Dao. Confucius marvels that such unity with the Dao eliminates personal preferences, and such adaptability to things overcomes stubbornness—even expressing his willingness to learn from Yan Hui. Here "Zhongni" (Confucius) represents the egoless state, while "Yan Hui" symbolizes self-cultivation practices that gradually lead to egolessness.

The passage concludes with Zi Yu visiting the ailing Zi Sang: after ten days of continuous rain, Zi Yu brings food and hears Zi Sang alternately singing and weeping while playing the zither outside the door, calling out "O parents!" and "Is this Heaven's will or human doing?" in a voice so weak the melody barely holds. This vignette vividly captures the Daoist profound contemplation of life's vicissitudes.

Ziyu (a fictional character created by Zhuangzi) came in and asked, "Why are you chanting such verses?" The singer replied, "I'm contemplating what has brought me to such poverty. Did my parents wish me to be poor? Heaven covers all things impartially, and Earth bears all creatures without bias—could they have singled me out for destitution? Finding no reason for this plight, I can only attribute it to the workings of fate."

Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) submit completely to fate, unburdened by external circumstances. Whether facing wealth or poverty, honor or disgrace, life or death, they forget all distinctions and remain undisturbed. This is why Zisang spoke of fate in his poverty, declaring, "Such is destiny." In the chapter "The Great and Venerable Teacher," Zhuangzi first discusses understanding the Dao of Heaven, then explores comprehending human nature, and finally elucidates submission to fate. This progression reveals: understanding the Dao of Heaven is called exhausting principle; knowing human nature is called fulfilling one's innate character; submitting to fate is called reaching the Mandate of Heaven. To exhaust principle, fulfill one's nature, and thereby reach the Mandate of Heaven—this is the realm of becoming a Great and Venerable Teacher (the highest master). Thus, the chapter concludes with "fate." Zhuangzi's writings consistently demonstrate this careful structure, with each chapter beginning and ending in harmony. Students should diligently contemplate the profound meaning within.

The chapter "Responding to the Ruler" states: When heavenly De (Virtue) manifests and one enters the Dao, entering the Dao allows one to exhaust all mysteries—this is the shared destination and supreme standard of all things. Since all things return to the Dao, those who accord with it may become true rulers. Therefore, Zhuangzi placed "Responding to the Ruler" after "The Great and Venerable Teacher."

Nieque (representing incomplete understanding of the Dao) questioned Wangni (symbolizing the root of kingly Dao) four times, receiving only "I don't know" as answers. Yet Nieque leaped for joy and ran to tell Puyizi. Puyizi said, "Have you finally understood now?"

The essence of the ruler's Dao lies in Wuwei (non-action). Through Wuwei, no traces are left, and without traces, it cannot be described in words. This is why Wangni gave no answers to Nieque's questions. Nieque represents fragmented understanding of the Dao, while Wangni embodies its fundamental source. Precisely because of incomplete understanding does one ask questions, yet one who grasps the Dao's origin responds with "I don't know"—this very "not knowing" constitutes the deepest knowing. Suddenly comprehending the true meaning behind Wangni's "ignorance," Nieque departed in rapturous excitement to inform Puyizi. Thereupon, Puyizi expounded to him the profound mystery of Wuwei. Wuwei is the true essence of the Dao, which is why Zhuangzi emphasizes it at the chapter's outset.

This passage contrasts two ancient rulers—Tai Shi (Fu Xi) and Yu Shi (Emperor Shun)—to expound the Daoist concept of governance through Wuwei (non-action).

During Tai Shi’s reign, people lived in complete harmony with nature. He slept peacefully and awoke with ease, indifferent to whether others called him a horse or an ox. This state arose from his pure and genuine heart, untouched by distinctions of right and wrong, naturally merging with all things. This represents the ideal state of Wuwei governance, where all beings exist in spontaneous harmony without the need for human interference.

Yu Shi also practiced Wuwei, but his approach differed. He used benevolence to influence his people, achieving results but falling into the trap of moral distinctions—right and wrong, good and evil. This shift occurred because the times had changed: people had developed self-awareness, requiring virtues like humanity and righteousness to mediate social relations.

Through the words of Pu Yizi, the author points out that, from the perspective of the Dao, neither form of governance is superior—they simply reflect different eras. Tai Shi’s rule embodied pure, natural Wuwei, while Yu Shi’s required the supplementary use of benevolence and righteousness.

The later dialogue between Jian Wu and Jie Yu further illustrates this idea: forcibly regulating people with rituals and laws is as absurd as asking a mosquito to carry a mountain or digging a river to cross the sea. A true sage governs by first rectifying himself, then allowing capable individuals to fulfill their roles naturally. Just as birds instinctively fly high to evade arrows and mice burrow deep to avoid smoke, all beings possess innate wisdom—they do not need excessive intervention.

This passage encapsulates the core Daoist principle of "governing through Wuwei": the best rule follows nature, minimizing artificial interference. At the same time, it acknowledges that methods must adapt to the times. When pure natural harmony is no longer attainable, supplementary measures like benevolence may be employed—yet the spirit of Wuwei must always remain.

This passage elucidates the relationship between Wuwei (non-action) and youwei (deliberate action) in Zhuangzi's philosophy, as well as the fundamental nature of the Dao. Through a dialogue between two fictional characters—"Heavenly Root" and "Nameless Man"—Zhuangzi expounds profound philosophical truths.

First, let us examine the meaning of "Jing" (scripture): It represents the eternal Dao, the unchanging principle of existence. By persistently following this principle, one can transform the world. The concept of "guiding others through righteous models" requires balancing fundamentals with particulars, addressing both internal and external cultivation. The way of sovereign rulership takes Wuwei as its root and youwei as its branches—both are profoundly subtle, with the key lying in their timely application. The hermit Jieyu understood the fundamental but not the particular, comprehending "non-being" but not "being."

The text then employs the metaphor of birds flying and mice burrowing: Birds naturally take flight and mice instinctively dig holes—this is Wuwei. But if someone threatens them with arrows or smoke, the birds soar higher and the mice burrow deeper beneath sacred mounds—this is youwei. Yet such youwei can never surpass the innate capacities endowed by nature.

The second part unfolds through dialogue between Heavenly Root (symbolizing the Dao's foundation) and Nameless Man (symbolizing the Dao's primordial state). Nameless Man rebukes Heavenly Root for asking such a vulgar question as "how to govern the world," declaring that he is about to accompany the Creator, riding the bird of emptiness beyond the six directions to wander in the "land of nothingness" (referring to the realm of absolute void) and dwell in the boundless wilderness. These poetic images describe the supreme state of the Dao—transcending form and matter, entering the profound mystery of true emptiness, abiding in infinite space, and attaining the state of no-mind and non-action.

The "six extremities" mentioned refer to the spatial limits of up, down, and the four cardinal directions. The "land of nothingness" is Zhuangzi's philosophical construct representing the Dao's formless realm, while the "boundless wilderness" symbolizes the infinite expanse of the Dao's domain. These concepts all describe the transcendent state of cultivation that surpasses worldly concerns and returns to the primordial source.

The text expounds the Daoist political philosophy of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)."

An unnamed person said to Tian Gen: "To maintain a placid mind, harmonize one's vital energy (Qi) with emptiness, and follow natural laws without selfish desires—this is how the world naturally achieves order." The phrase "letting the mind wander in placidity" refers to maintaining spiritual detachment, while "harmonizing Qi with emptiness" describes aligning breath with the void—both representing advanced stages of Daoist cultivation.

Yang Ziju (a fictional character created by Zhuangzi) asked Laozi: "Can someone with keen intellect, sharp perception, and tireless diligence be considered an enlightened ruler?" Laozi replied: "Such a person is merely an ordinary individual exhausting mind and body. Just as tigers and leopards are hunted for their splendid fur, and monkeys captured for their agility, these external talents invite misfortune—how could they compare to an enlightened ruler?"

The text contrasts two archetypes: Jieyu (a Chu state hermit) understood only non-action, while Tian Gen (a fictional figure) knew only action. The truly realized person skillfully applies both non-action and action according to circumstances. Wandering the mind in placidity achieves supreme stillness; harmonizing Qi with emptiness returns to ultimate vacuity—only thus can one neither violate natural laws nor deviate from universal principles.

Yang Ziju respectfully inquired about the enlightened ruler's governing method. Laozi answered: "The enlightened ruler's achievements cover all under heaven yet seem unrelated to himself; he nurtures all things while the people feel no dependence; he claims no fame yet lets all beings find their own joy; he stands upon unfathomable ground and wanders through absolute emptiness." This describes how true enlightened rulers avoid claiming merit, allowing all things to develop naturally.

The text concludes by mentioning Ji Xian, a diviner from Zheng state who could predict life, death, and fortune—implying such external skills aren't fundamental to governance. True enlightened rulership lies in "dwelling in ultimate subtlety while practicing non-action," grasping the most profound principles yet governing through Wuwei. Yang Ziju's fixation on superficial intelligence and diligence shows he hasn't yet comprehended the Dao's essence.

In the state of Zheng, there was a divine shaman named Ji Xian who could foresee life, death, fortune, and misfortune. The people of Zheng would flee in terror at the sight of him. When Liezi encountered him, however, he was filled with admiration. Returning to his teacher Master Hu Zi, he said: "I used to believe your Daoist arts were the most profound, but now I see there are even greater masters."

Master Hu Zi replied: "What I've taught you so far are merely superficial techniques, not the essential teachings. How can you claim to have attained the Dao? It's like having only a hen without a rooster—how could eggs be hatched? When you confront others with these surface-level arts, of course you'll be seen through. Bring him to meet me tomorrow."

The next day, after observing Master Hu Zi, Ji Xian told Liezi: "Your teacher is dying—he won't last ten more days. I see his face like lifeless ashes." Weeping, Liezi reported this. Master Hu Zi said: "Just now I manifested the 'Earthly Pattern' state (entering stillness like the silent earth). He likely perceived my closed vitality. Bring him again tomorrow."

On the third day, Ji Xian declared: "How fortunate! Your teacher's condition is improving through meeting me—I see signs of reviving vitality." Master Hu Zi explained: "This time I revealed the 'Heaven-Earth Blend' state (qi circulating between sky and land), letting him perceive my activated vitality."

The fourth encounter left Ji Xian perplexed: "Your teacher's spirit is unsettled—I can't read him. Wait until he's calm." Master Hu Zi said: "Now I demonstrated the 'Grand Balance' realm (perfect yin-yang equilibrium in qi movement)—he couldn't penetrate this. The abyss has nine states; I've shown three."

On the fifth day, Ji Xian took one look at Master Hu Zi and fled in panic. Though Liezi gave chase, he couldn't catch him. Master Hu Zi remarked: "This time I manifested 'Not Yet Departed from My Source'—harmonizing completely with nature's transformations. Being utterly incomprehensible to him, he had to flee."

This experience awakened Liezi to his own lack of true understanding. He returned home and secluded himself for three years—personally tending cooking fires, feeding pigs, and doing manual labor (tempering his character)—completely abandoning his former arrogant assumptions.

This passage expounds the Daoist ideal of governance for rulers and the cultivated state of the perfected person. The core philosophy emphasizes aligning with nature's flow and maintaining serene non-action (Wuwei).

The narrative begins with the story of Huizi, a Daoist sage whose ordinary appearance belied his profound attainment. Though appearing commonplace, he embodied infinite transformations—so profound that even divine seers couldn't fathom his depths. This illustrates the state of "empty stillness and profound tranquility," where the mind becomes a clear mirror, undisturbed by external phenomena. Such is the model for rulers: governing with the same subtlety and natural spontaneity as Huizi.

Four essential principles of non-action are then presented:

1. Not becoming enslaved to reputation—letting fame arise naturally without pursuit

2. Abandoning scheming calculations—maintaining inner stillness free from contrivance

3. Avoiding entanglement in affairs—transcending attachment to external matters

4. Refraining from intellectual ostentation—preserving one's innate simplicity

The perfected person's mind resembles a mirror: neither welcoming nor rejecting, reflecting reality without retaining traces. This enables mastery over all things without suffering harm. Such attainment represents complete harmony with heavenly endowment—neither grasping for gain nor fearing loss, arriving at the ultimate state of empty purity.

The conclusion reveals the profound paradox of supreme governance: through apparent non-action, one responds perfectly to all transformations; within seeming emptiness resides boundless wisdom. This is the ultimate truth Zhuangzi illuminates—where the Way of rulership merges with the deepest mysteries of the Dao.

The Emperor of the Southern Sea was called Shu (meaning "swift"), the Emperor of the Northern Sea was called Hu (meaning "sudden"), and the Emperor of the Center was called Hundun (meaning "primordial chaos"). Shu and Hu often met in Hundun's territory, who treated them with great kindness. To repay his virtue (De), they consulted together: "All men have seven apertures (eyes, ears, mouth, nostrils) for seeing, hearing, eating and breathing, but Hundun alone has none. Let us try to bore some for him." They bored one aperture each day, and on the seventh day Hundun died.

The Dao (the Way) permeates all things without exception, yet when we experience it we see no form, when we employ it we perceive no function. All beings in the world depend on it for existence, yet none can truly know it. The Dao has no fixed position, no concrete form; it acts without deliberate action (Wuwei) and bears no name. Once positions are established, forms appear; once actions are taken, names arise—and with the establishment of names, the Dao's wholeness is lost. This is precisely why Zhuangzi employs the allegory of the three emperors: the Southern and Northern Seas represent positions, the emperors symbolize form, their meetings signify action, and their names Shu, Hu and Hundun represent naming. This parable illustrates how the Dao loses its integrity when dispersed.

Hundun represents the Dao's state of undifferentiated unity. Those who comprehend this mysterious realm can wander in absolute freedom, equalize all things, cultivate life, govern affairs, and perfect virtue (De) to become true masters—for this realm transcends positions and forms. As for becoming emperors, that already represents the Dao's dispersed state of action and naming. Once action and naming appear, how could the Dao possibly maintain its primordial unity? Therefore the parable concludes with Hundun's death. The "seven days" symbolize the seven inner chapters of the Zhuangzi, wherein the complete truth of the Dao is fully revealed. These inner chapters all explore the sagely learning of innate nature and heavenly Dao, beyond the comprehension of superficial understanding. The parable concludes with "Responding to Emperors" because emperorship represents but the remnants of sagehood, and kingly governance is already external manifestation—hence its placement at the end.

(Supplementary note: In this allegory, the artificial boring of apertures leading to Hundun's death symbolizes how excessive human intervention disrupts the natural Dao; the seven apertures represent sensory cognition, implying rational analysis disrupts holistic intuition; the seven days correspond to the seven inner chapters, reflecting the completeness of Zhuangzi's philosophical system.)