《南華真經循本》Vol. 1

The Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben is Luo Miandao's commentary on the Zhuangzi. At the outset, it explains that the original Zhuangzi contained fifty-two chapters, which Guo Xiang later edited down to thirty-three. Su Shi (Dongpo) further rearranged the sequence, merging the four chapters Rangwang, Dao Zhi, Shuo Jian, and Yu Fu into the end of Lie Yukou, believing this better reflected Zhuangzi's original intent. Luo Miandao, however, regarded Ke Yi and Shan Xing as shallow in content and likely not authentic works of Zhuangzi, proposing that the text be fixed at twenty-six chapters.

The book divides the chapters into three categories: Inner Chapters, Outer Chapters, and Miscellaneous Chapters. The Inner Chapters each have dedicated titles, with content tightly focused on their themes, while the Outer and Miscellaneous Chapters take their names from their opening words, serving primarily as expansions and elaborations on the ideas in the Inner Chapters.

Xiao Yao You ("Free and Easy Wandering") is the first chapter of the Inner Chapters, depicting the realm of spiritual freedom and unbound wandering. It begins by describing a colossal fish called Kun in the northern sea, its size spanning thousands of miles. This fish can transform into a giant bird named Peng, whose back is equally vast. When Peng beats its wings and soars, they stretch across the sky like hanging clouds. This divine bird migrates with the ocean currents to the southern sea, known as the "Heavenly Pool."

The commentary clarifies that Bei Ming ("Northern Obscurity") and Nan Ming ("Southern Obscurity") do not refer to ordinary northern and southern seas but to the farthest, most remote reaches of the ocean—so vast and profound that they are called Ming ("Obscurity"). Luo Miandao notes that the original meaning of Kun was "small fish fry" (citing the Erya and Liji: Neize as evidence), but Zhuangzi deliberately inverted this, describing the smallest thing as the largest, showcasing his playful style. The Peng bird does not appear in classical texts, though the Daoyi Zazhi records that in the Kunlun-Cengqi kingdom, there existed a giant Peng bird whose flight could blot out the sun and even consume camels; some people once used the hollow shafts of its feathers as water buckets. This imaginative leap from the smallest to the grandest exemplifies the distinctive character of Zhuangzi's philosophy.

This passage discusses the allegory of the giant Peng bird's southern migration from the Zhuangzi·Free and Easy Wandering and its profound implications.

The original text describes how the Peng bird, during its migration, beats its wings against the water, stirring waves three thousand li high, and rides a whirlwind to ascend ninety thousand li into the sky. The account is corroborated by the Qi Xie (a book from the state of Qi recording extraordinary tales). To journey from the Northern Sea to the Southern Sea, the Peng must rely on the great winds of the sixth lunar month to traverse such an immense distance.

Several key symbolic images are explained: the "Celestial Pool" (Tianchi) refers to the distant horizon where sea and sky merge, akin to the legendary Xianchi where the sun bathes; the "Southern Darkness" (Nanming) is the Celestial Pool of the Southern Sea; and the "Soaring Cyclone" (Fuyao) signifies the spiraling whirlwind. Through the majestic imagery of the Peng's flight, the author subtly conveys how human cultivation can lead to transcendent, sage-like states.

The opening reference to the "Kun fish transforming into the Peng bird" appears as a fantastical tale of a fish turning into a bird, yet it carries a deeper spiritual lesson—just as the Kun must transform into the Peng to achieve its grand migration, humans must undergo inner transformation to attain true freedom and ease. The later astronomical measurements (degrees of the celestial sphere, distances in li, etc.) reflect ancient methods of calculating cosmic dimensions, emphasizing the unimaginable heights of the Peng's flight.

This passage primarily discusses ancient Chinese astronomical calculations regarding celestial movements and the philosophical implications of the "Peng bird's journey to the Southern Abyss" from the Zhuangzi.

The ancients measured the diameter of the twenty-eight lunar mansions (ancient astronomical divisions of the sky) and further calculated that beyond these constellations, the celestial sphere extended fifteen thousand li in all four directions—up, down, east, and west—referred to as the "Four Extremes of Celestial Movement" (Si You Zhi Ji). The full diameter of the celestial vault reached 387,000 li, with a radius of 193,500 li from the center to the edge. The earth, positioned at the center, had a thickness of 30,000 li.

The text elaborates on the earth’s shifting position across the seasons: during the spring equinox, the earth was precisely centered, then gradually descended, sinking 15,000 li by the summer solstice, at which point the earth’s surface aligned with the celestial center. After the summer solstice, the earth ascended again, returning to the center by the autumn equinox. By the winter solstice, it had risen 15,000 li, bringing the earth’s base level with the celestial center. This "30,000-li earth movement" theory originated from the Zhoubi Suanjing (The Gnomon of the Zhou), though the armillary sphere (Huntian) school of astronomy did not fully endorse it.

Zheng Xuan (a Han dynasty Confucian scholar), in his commentary on the Rites of Zhou, used the Pythagorean theorem to calculate solar shadows, determining the distance between the sun and earth to be over 81,394 li. Meanwhile, the Zhuangzi states that the great Peng bird "rests only after six months of flight"—precisely because its journey from the Northern Sea to the Southern Sea spanned half the celestial circumference, requiring exactly half a year. This illustrates how the Peng’s flight mirrors celestial mechanics.

Later, the text explains the famous metaphor from the Zhuangzi: "Wild horses [galloping], dust and motes," which symbolizes the floating qi (vital energy) circulating between heaven and earth. Zhang Zai (a Northern Song Neo-Confucian scholar, also known as Hengqu) remarked that the ceaseless rising, falling, and swirling of qi in the Great Void (Taixu) aligns with the Book of Changes' description of "yin and yang qi intertwining" (Yinyun) and Zhuangzi’s phrase "all living things blow upon one another with their breath," both depicting this perpetual dynamism of qi-transformation. Zhu Xi (also known as Huian) further interpreted this creative function of floating qi through the Book of Changes' principle: "The Way of Qian forms the male, the Way of Kun forms the female"—the cosmic process by which heaven and earth generate all things.

This passage elucidates the imagery in Zhuangzi's "Free and Easy Wandering" about the roc soaring ninety thousand li. First, it clarifies that the azure hue (cangcang) we see when gazing at the sky is not the boundary of the cosmos, but an optical effect caused by floating particles in the atmosphere (referred to metaphorically as "wild horses and dust"). True emptiness extends infinitely, which is why the roc must ascend to such heights to harness sufficient wind force (peifeng, "cultivated wind").

Two analogies illustrate this principle: Just as pouring a cup of water into a hall's sunken spot (aotang) can only float a tiny grass seed (jie) as a boat—while a cup would run aground—demonstrating shallow water cannot bear large vessels; similarly, insufficient wind cannot lift the roc's massive wings. Only by accumulating wind layers thick enough (beneath the ninety-thousand-li altitude) can the roc "carry the blue sky on its back" (here noting the true sky's color is blue rather than hazy azure) and soar unobstructed (yao'e), ultimately achieving its southward journey.

The text highlights how Han astronomer Xi Meng's theory—that the sky has no substance and appears azure due to visual limits—aligns with Zhuangzi's view. Readers are cautioned not to oversimplify the phrase "ze yi yi" as mere "that's all," which would disrupt the textual coherence. Additionally, it notes classical texts often use connective phrases like "qie fu" ("moreover") to maintain narrative flow—a stylistic technique worth observing.

This passage presents the allegory of the Kunpeng (giant roc) and small birds from the Zhuangzi's "Free and Easy Wandering" chapter, which can be interpreted in modern terms as follows:

For the enormous Peng bird to soar ninety thousand li into the heavens, it must rely on sufficiently powerful wind currents to lift its massive wings. When it reaches those extreme heights, the wind forms a solid foundation beneath it, allowing the bird to ride the azure skies freely without obstruction. Yet this grand southern migration can only be achieved after accumulating adequate wind force.

Here, the cicada and little dove (xuejiu, a small bird resembling a magpie) mock the Peng, saying: "With one vigorous flap, we can reach the elm or sandalwood trees. Even if we sometimes fall short and land on the ground, it's no matter. Why must one fly ninety thousand li to the south?" (The text specifies that "tiao" refers to black cicadas that sing in the fifth month, while "xuejiu" are small birds called gudiao in the Jiangdong region—both creatures capable of minor transformations but far inferior to the Kunpeng's metamorphic power.)

Three analogies then illustrate differences in perspective: A day-tripper to the suburbs needs only three meals and returns with a full stomach; someone traveling a hundred li must pound grain overnight to prepare provisions; a thousand-li journey requires three months' advance food stores. How could cicadas and doves possibly comprehend the Peng's ambition? ("Mangcang" depicts the vast wilderness scenery, while "guoran" describes the satisfied state after eating.) This mirrors shallow-minded people who habitually mock grand visions with their limited understanding.

Through the Peng's need to accumulate great winds for high flight contrasted with small insects content with low fluttering, the passage demonstrates the disparity between great and petty realms. The cicada and dove represent those confined to small worlds who cannot grasp higher pursuits—just as ordinary people struggle to comprehend the realm of the Dao.

This passage vividly illustrates the philosophical concept of cognitive limitations through metaphorical comparisons. Just as a turtledove needs only scant provisions for its short flights while the roc must accumulate tremendous wind currents to soar at great heights, creatures with narrow perspectives (the "two insects" referring to the turtledove and cicada) cannot possibly comprehend the grand aspirations of the roc.

The text employs the contrast between "petty knowledge" and "great knowledge" to represent constrained versus expansive cognition. Like the morning mushroom (Zhaojun) that withers by dusk and thus never witnesses the moon's phases, or the summer cicada (Hui gu) whose brief lifespan prevents understanding of seasonal transitions, these are limitations imposed by ephemeral existence. Yet in the southern lands of Chu dwells the mythical Mingling turtle, measuring each spring and autumn in five-hundred-year cycles, while antiquity speaks of the great Toon tree that counts eight millennia as a single season. Against such cosmic timescales, how pitiful appears humanity's veneration of Peng Zu's mere eight centuries as the pinnacle of longevity!

The passage meticulously details these creatures' characteristics: the morning mushroom is a fungus that sprouts at dawn and decays by nightfall; the summer cicada is a small purplish insect emerging in late spring; the Mingling represents the sacred turtle of southern seas (one of the four numinous creatures in ancient lore). Through juxtaposing flora (morning mushroom vs. great Toon) and fauna (summer cicada vs. Mingling), the text demonstrates how lifespan determines cognitive breadth. Notably, the eight-thousand-year calculation derives from multiplying the decomposed strokes of the Chinese character "Toon" by ten—a seemingly absurd numerical play that conceals profound meaning.

Ultimately, the passage observes how people often dismiss these as mere fables, unaware they contain acute observations of existence. Just as worldly fixation on Peng Zu's longevity ignores its insignificance within vaster temporal frameworks, we are reminded to transcend our perceptual confines and embrace more expansive ways of seeing.

This passage reveals the distinction between "petty knowledge" and "great wisdom" by contrasting the cognitive limitations of different life forms. Just as an ordinary person's lifespan appears pitifully brief when compared to Pengzu (the legendary immortal said to have lived eight hundred years), so too is the vast gap between shallow cleverness and profound understanding.

The text cites the anecdote of Emperor Tang consulting the sage Ji, using the fable of a cicada and a small bird mocking the great roc as an analogy: In the barren northern lands lies a fathomless dark sea where swims a colossal fish called Kun, spanning thousands of miles wide. There also exists a gigantic bird named Peng, whose wings resemble clouds draping across the sky. When the Peng bird rides a whirlwind to ascend ninety thousand miles high, piercing through the clouds to reach the azure heavens on its southward journey, a tiny quail (the chiyan) living in salt marshes sneers: "Where could it possibly go? When I hop and flutter, I barely rise a few yards—circling among wormwood shrubs is my utmost limit." This exemplifies the difference between the small and the great.

Key symbolic images are explained in the commentary: "Sheep's Horn Wind" refers to a tornado spiraling upward like a ram's horn; "transcending the clouds" describes the roc soaring beyond the cloud layer; while "chiyan" denotes a small quail inhabiting coastal salt flats. The author observes that just as a cicada emerging from muddy water remains content flitting between elm trees, such creatures with limited vision naturally cannot comprehend the aspirations of the great roc—just as country folk struggle to grasp the breadth of a nobleman's mind. These metaphors collectively illustrate how beings constrained by their own realms often fail to perceive higher states of existence.

This passage is from Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben (A Guide to the Authentic Scripture of Southern Florescence), which discusses the contrast between the small and the great, as well as the differences in perspective among people of varying spiritual attainments.

The text first describes small birds like cicadas, doves, and quails living among brushwood. Though dwelling by the vast sea and witnessing the immensity of the cosmos, they presumptuously mock the great Peng bird. This parallels how some people, despite exposure to the teachings of sages, remain obstinately ignorant and self-abandoning.

Through the anecdote of "Tang's Question to Ji" and the earlier reference to Qi Xie's Records of the Strange, concrete measurements illustrate the Peng's colossal scale: the Kun fish spans thousands of miles, while the Peng's back resembles a great mountain, riding a whirlwind (depicted with the vivid term "sheep's horn" describing the vortex's shape) to soar ninety thousand li high. These descriptions highlight how insignificant creatures like cicadas and quails, with their trivial transformations, ironically ridicule the Peng's majestic flight.

The "ninety thousand li" figure specifically indicates the celestial pool's (legendary heavenly waters) actual distance from the sky. Within such boundless cosmic space (taixu), the spirit roams freely, shattering worldly narrow-mindedness to achieve expansive vision and carefree liberation.

The discussion then shifts to human capacities:

Some individuals' talents barely suffice for minor official posts, their influence limited to a village, their virtue only pleasing one ruler, and their abilities merely gaining one state's trust. They view themselves with the same complacency as those small birds. Master Rong of Song (a Warring States philosopher) would laugh at such people. He embodied this principle: neither striving harder when the world praised him nor becoming disheartened when criticized. He clearly distinguished inner cultivation from external judgment, discerning the boundaries of honor and disgrace. Yet though untroubled by worldly evaluation, he still hadn't reached higher realms.

The term "still like this" (youran) depicts Master Rong's smiling demeanor. Where petty men "mock greatness from smallness" (birds laughing at Peng), Master Rong conversely "laughs at smallness from greatness" (the advanced mocking the limited). Unaffected by praise or blame, he maintains clear inner discernment of right and wrong, considering such steadfastness sufficient.

Those who show little interest in worldly affairs have not yet attained true transcendence. Take Liezi (an ancient Daoist immortal) as an example—he could ride the wind with effortless grace, yet had to return to earth every fifteen days. His pursuit of blessings wasn't urgent; though spared the toil of walking, he still relied on external conditions (the wind).

The truly sublime state lies in harmonizing with the natural patterns of heaven and earth, mastering the six climatic transformations (yin-yang, wind, rain, darkness, and light—regarded in Daoism as fundamental forces of creation), and roaming freely through boundless realms. What need would such a person have for external dependencies?

Liezi's attainment surpassed that of Song Rongzi (another practitioner), yet he remained partially bound. Practitioners of this level have not achieved complete liberation. But if one takes the primordial qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth as their foundation, employs the six climatic forces as aids, and lets the spirit wander infinite realms, drawing all power from within—what external support would they require? Such a state represents absolute freedom.

Now consider three higher levels of realized beings: the Zhiren (Perfect Person) forgets the self, the Shenren (Divine Person) seeks no achievement, and the Shengren (Sage) covets no fame. These represent ascending stages: the Sage is already profound, the Divine Person more ineffable, and the Perfect Person embodies the pinnacle of divinity. Without chasing achievement, fame naturally fades; when even the self is forgotten, achievement becomes irrelevant. Later passages illustrate these states through the story of Xu You.

This scripture recounts two stories about Daoist hermits, illustrating the principles of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and "the sage being free from fame."

The first story tells of Emperor Yao wishing to abdicate in favor of the recluse Xu You. Emperor Yao said: "You are like lighting a torch when the sun and moon have risen, or irrigating fields after heavy rain—these are futile efforts. If you were to rule, the world would naturally be at peace, while I feel ashamed occupying this position." Xu You replied: "The world is already well-governed. Should I replace you, would it be for empty fame? Fame is but an appendage to reality. A small bird needs but one branch in the deep forest; a mole drinking from a river only needs to fill its belly. You should return, for a true gentleman has no need to govern the world. Just as the cook does not prepare meals, the ritual priest would never presume to take his place."

The second story involves Jianwu recounting Jieyu's words to Lianshu. Jianwu found Jieyu's speech grandiose and unfathomable, like the Milky Way stretching endlessly across the sky. Jieyu spoke of a divine being dwelling on the distant Mount Guye—with skin white as snow, a graceful maiden-like form, who consumed neither grain nor food, sustaining herself only on wind and dew.

Through these two narratives, the text expresses the Daoist reverence for "governing through non-action" and "returning to primal simplicity." Xu You's refusal of the throne embodies the Daoist attitude of shunning empty fame and finding contentment in sufficiency, while the image of the divine being on Mount Guye symbolizes the Daoist ideal of transcendent purity and harmony with nature.

This passage describes the transcendent realm of the Divine Human (shenren) as portrayed in Zhuangzi's writings. Jianwu (a fictional character) recounts to Lianshu (a Daoist practitioner) the words of Jieyu (the Madman of Chu): The Divine Human rides clouds and Qi, steering flying dragons to roam beyond the Four Seas. When concentrating their Shen (spirit), they can protect all things from disease and ensure abundant harvests. Yet Jianwu considers these claims too fantastical to believe.

Lianshu responds: The blind cannot appreciate intricate patterns, nor can the deaf hear bells and drums—but is this limitation only physical? The mind too can suffer such impairments. What Jieyu describes resembles the pure maiden (referring to the divine maiden of Mount Guye), whose De (Virtue) embraces all creation, bringing harmony to the world without the slightest concern for mundane affairs. Floodwaters cannot drown her; the heat that melts metal and scorches mountains cannot harm her. Even the dust from her body could fashion sage-kings like Yao and Shun (suggesting their achievements are but dross compared to her state).

Key Notes:

1. "Pangbo" describes the Divine Human's capacity to revolve all things; "qi hu luan" means pursuing universal order; "bibi yan" depicts a weary, strained manner.

2. The eight-character phrase "shi qi yan ye you shi nü ye" should be read continuously—it means Jieyu's description mirrors the virginal purity of Mount Guye's maiden.

3. The core teaching: The Divine Human achieves "wu gong" (non-meritorious action), effortlessly nurturing all things, surpassing even the realms of Yao and Shun.

This passage elucidates the profound Daoist principle of "the usefulness of the useless" through several vivid analogies.

The first story tells of a man from Song who traveled to Yue to sell ceremonial caps (zhangfu). The Yue people, accustomed to cropped hair and tattoos, had no use for such headwear. This mirrors the account of Emperor Yao who, after governing the realm, visited the four recluses (sizi) on Mount Miaogu and suddenly realized by the north bank of the Fen River that his imperial achievements were meaningless. This illustrates how true perfected persons (zhiren) transcend worldly concerns, and how even Yao forgot his imperial status after encountering these hermits.

Next comes the dialogue between Huizi and Zhuangzi. Huizi complains that the giant gourd (hu) gifted by the King of Wei, though capable of holding five dan of water, was too fragile for practical use, and when split to make ladles, proved unwieldy. Zhuangzi counters with the story of a Song family's frostbite remedy: while one clan used it merely for bleaching silk to earn meager wages, another purchased the formula to help Wu win naval battles and gained a fiefdom. The same remedy yielded vastly different outcomes based on application. Zhuangzi suggests Huizi could fashion the gourd into a floating vessel to roam rivers and lakes, criticizing his rigid thinking as being "like overgrown mugwort" that cannot grasp transformation.

These narratives collectively demonstrate how things deemed useless by conventional standards may hold greater value in the eyes of Daoist adepts. The key lies in transcending habitual thinking and embracing an open-minded perspective toward the potential of all things.

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi's chapter "Free and Easy Wandering" (Xiaoyao You), where the dialogue between Zhuangzi and Huizi illustrates the philosophy of "the usefulness of the useless." Huizi complains about having a large, gnarled tree (a chu tree) whose trunk is too crooked for carpenters' measuring lines and whose branches are too twisted for compasses—just like Zhuangzi's grandiose but impractical words.

Zhuangzi responds with two animal metaphors: The weasel (lixing), though skilled at catching mice, often dies in hunters' traps; while the massive yak (liu niu), as huge as a cloud hanging from the sky, cannot catch mice but preserves its life intact. This shows that small things have their dangers, while large things have their advantages.

He then suggests: Since this tree exists, why not plant it in the vast emptiness of the wilderness, where people can recline freely beneath its shade? Untouched by axes and unharmed by anything, its very uselessness becomes its protection.

The passage concludes by revealing the core theme of "Free and Easy Wandering": transformation (hua). All things transform differently—just as the roc (kunpeng) and the sparrow fly at different heights. Human natures, too, vary, and need not conform to a single standard. By following the natural order and placing seemingly useless things where they belong, they become useful, achieving a state of carefree wandering (xiaoyao).

In the Nanhua Zhenjing (commonly known as the Zhuangzi), this passage conveys that all people can comprehend the Dao (the Way) through specific paths, yet some remain as shortsighted as cicadas, turtledoves, and sparrows (蜩 tiao, 鸠 jiu, 斥鴳 chiyan), content with their limited perspectives.

The text concludes by revealing its core message: Though a person may appear as useless as an oversized gourd (瓠 hu) or a gnarled, foul-smelling tree (樗 chu), by following their innate nature and allowing things to unfold spontaneously, they too can attain the state of carefree wandering (xiaoyao). This echoes the central theme of the chapter "Free and Easy Wandering" (Xiaoyao You)—true freedom lies not in external circumstances but in the inner realization and alignment with the Dao.

(Note: 蜩 tiao, 鸠 jiu, and 斥鴳 chiyan are creatures Zhuangzi uses to symbolize narrow-mindedness; 瓠 hu and 樗 chu are classic examples in the text representing seemingly useless objects.)