《南華真經循本》Vol. 24

Peng Yang traveled to the state of Chu and sought an audience with the king through the recommendation of Yi Jie, but the king refused to meet him. After Yi Jie returned, Peng Yang approached Wang Guo and asked, "Why didn’t you recommend me to the king?" Wang Guo replied, "I am not as capable as Gong Yuexiu." Peng Yang asked, "What kind of person is Gong Yuexiu?" Wang Guo said, "In winter, he spears turtles by the river; in summer, he rests in the mountain forests. When asked where he lives, he simply says, 'This is my home.'"

This passage, through the lifestyle of the recluse Gong Yuexiu, subtly criticizes Peng Yang’s excessive eagerness for official advancement. Wang Guo continued, "If even Yi Jie couldn’t accomplish this, how could I? I am not even as capable as Yi Jie. Though Yi Jie is clever, he lacks virtue (De) and does not flaunt his spiritual abilities. He associates with the powerful, indulging in wealth and status, not truly aiding others with virtue but merely engaging in superficial interactions."

The text then uses metaphors to illustrate: a freezing man longs for spring as if it were warm clothing, while someone suffering from heatstroke yearns for winter’s cold winds. The king of Chu is stern and unyielding in punishing faults, fierce as a tiger. Unless one is either a smooth-talking sycophant or a person of upright virtue, who could sway him? Therefore, when a sage faces hardship, he can make his family forget their poverty; when he attains prominence, he can make nobles forget their titles and salaries, humbling themselves instead.

The sage harmonizes with all things. In interactions, he delights in communication while maintaining his integrity. Sometimes, without words, he conveys peace; in companionship, he influences others, fostering harmony even in familial bonds like father and son. In seclusion, he is content and at ease, yet his influence on others is profound. Thus, it is said one must wait for someone like Gong Yuexiu.

Annotations:

1. "不自许以之神其交" (bù zì xǔ yǐ zhī shén qí jiāo) means not deliberately displaying spiritual prowess in social interactions.

2. The metaphor of "a freezing man longing for spring" suggests that though the king of Chu is mired in desire, he can still be guided toward change.

3. "佞人" (nìng rén) refers to smooth-talking flatterers like Yi Jie, while "正德" (zhèng dé) denotes upright individuals like Gong Yuexiu.

4. These two types influence others differently: the flatterer uses clever words, while the virtuous person follows the true Dao.

This passage elucidates how sages align with natural disposition, transcend worldly concepts, and attain unity with all things.

It begins by describing how sages dissolve hierarchical distinctions between people, allowing naturally equal relationships to develop familial intimacy akin to father and son. Such individuals remain unmoved by worldly desires for profit or status whether in seclusion or public service, far surpassing ordinary people.

The text then cites Gong Yuexiu and Yi Jie as examples, illustrating how sages maintain their intrinsic nature undisturbed even in adversity. They penetrate the complex principles governing worldly affairs while fully embodying these principles themselves, yet remain unaware of how this occurs—this constitutes following heavenly nature. Whether in stillness returning to the source or in action initiating transformation, they take nature as their teacher, earning them the title of sage.

The passage observes that naturally beautiful people remain unaware of their beauty unless told by others. Similarly, when sages love others, this love flows forth spontaneously without conscious awareness, never ceasing. Like returning to one's homeland where familiar affection persists despite changed scenery, how much more profound is this connection with things directly experienced?

Finally, the example of Ran Xiangshi (a legendary realized sage) demonstrates how those who attain the Dao grasp the core patterns of existence, flowing with the transformations of all things. Their interaction with creation has neither beginning nor end, unconstrained by time. Though daily adapting to circumstance, their inner nature remains constant and unchanging.

Through multiple metaphors, this scripture emphasizes the sage's state of aligning with nature, transcending convention, and preserving authenticity, revealing the Daoist pursuit of cosmic unity as its essential teaching.

This passage expounds the Daoist philosophy of conforming to nature and transcending worldly attachments.

When people see their homeland, they naturally feel joy—even if nine-tenths of the view is obscured by overgrown vegetation, they still rejoice. How much more so when witnessing and hearing things directly? It's like hanging various musical instruments on a high platform: who could fail to see or hear them? Ran Xiangshi (a legendary Daoist adept) comprehended the principle of "emptiness at the center," spending each day transforming alongside all things yet never truly changing.

The text rhetorically asks: When was this principle ever abandoned? Meaning it has never been severed from engagement with phenomena. Those who deliberately try to emulate nature actually lose their naturalness because they become bound by external things. The sage (one who has realized the Dao) maintains a mind free from distinctions between heaven and humanity, beginnings and the myriad things. They walk the world without being affected by it, acting with perfect accommodation yet never sinking into attachment—this is the state of union with the Dao.

When King Tang of Shang obtained Men Yin Dengheng (possibly referring to Yi Yin) as his teacher, he followed no rigid rules but achieved success through natural accord. Yet what was accomplished merely helped Tang gain reputation—an empty external fame. Confucius's disciples, however, exhausted themselves serving rulers—a fundamental error. The passage concludes with words attributed to Rong Chengshi (an ancient Daoist figure): "Remove the counting of days and there are no years; eliminate the division between inner and outer." This points to dissolving artificial conceptual boundaries and returning to natural authenticity.

The Nanhua Zhenjing Xunben passage employs several parables to elucidate the Daoist core teachings of "releasing attachments" and "returning to original authenticity."

The opening section uses "calendar years" as a metaphor: The concept of a "year" is constructed from the accumulation of 360 days—remove each individual day, and the notion of a year vanishes. The human mind operates similarly. When fundamental attachments are dissolved, one becomes unbound by external labels and forms. Inner purity naturally dispels outward entanglements.

The text then recounts the story of King Hui of Wei's betrayed alliance with King Wei of Qi. When King Hui contemplates assassination in retaliation:

• General Xishou advocates mobilizing 200,000 troops for vengeance, proposing to "make the enemy ruler's internal heat burn through his back" via pillaging
• Minister Jizi objects, comparing this to building a 100-foot city wall only to demolish it—war would destroy seven years of accumulated national resources
• The sage Huazi observes that both warmongering and pacifism represent attachment to extremes
• The philosopher Hui Shi introduces Dai Jinren, who enlightens the king with the "snail's horn" parable: Within the infinite cosmos, the Wei kingdom differs little from the warring tribes on a snail's antenna

The passage concludes with Confucius lodging overnight among commoners (the "Ant Hill" representing market streets, "wine-sellers" denoting ordinary households), illustrating how sages maintain transcendent awareness even in mundane surroundings. Like the faint sound produced by blowing across a sword's hilt compared to proper flute music—even the achievements of sage-kings Yao and Shun appear insignificant before one who has realized Dao (embodied by Dai Jinren).

Through progressive layers, the text demonstrates how attachments to grievances, territorial boundaries, and reputations stem from limited perception. Only by relinquishing discriminatory thinking can one apprehend the boundless realm of Dao.

This passage contains two parables from the Zhuangzi that illustrate principles for navigating life and self-cultivation.

The first story recounts an encounter between Confucius, his disciple Zilu, and the recluse Shinan Yiliao. When Zilu noticed a crowd gathering on a rooftop and asked about their purpose, Confucius explained: "These are followers of sages. They live in seclusion among common people, hiding themselves in field ridges. Though they withdraw their reputation, they harbor great aspirations within. While occasionally speaking, their inner silence remains unbroken, deliberately maintaining distance from worldly affairs." Recognizing one figure as possibly being the recluse Shinan Yiliao, Confucius stopped Zilu from inviting him, saying: "He has long known of my reputation and anticipates my journey to Chu. Surely he suspects I would have the King of Chu summon him. For such a recluse, even hearing flattering words would bring shame—how much more an actual meeting?" When Zilu went to look, the man had indeed departed. (Note: "Land submerged" metaphorically describes reclusion within mundane society, while "South Market" indicates the recluse's dwelling in the southern part of town.)

The second parable features an official from Changwu advising Zilao on governance through farming analogies: "When plowing is careless (crude and rash), the harvest proves meager; when weeding is haphazard (destroying carelessly), the fruits grow poorly." The following year, after adopting meticulous methods of deep plowing and careful cultivation, his crops flourished abundantly. Zhuangzi extends this metaphor: "Modern people's approach to nurturing body and mind often resembles that official's initial farming—recklessly violating natural principles, losing their inherent nature, abandoning true feelings, and dissipating vital spirit." When desires (yu) and aversions (wu) first sprout, they appear to nourish the body but quickly disrupt one's fundamental nature. (Note: "Reeds and rushes" represent weeds, symbolizing harmful desires.) Ultimately, these fester like abscesses that erupt internally, causing various physical and mental ailments.

Both stories demonstrate that whether engaging with the world or cultivating oneself, one must follow natural principles with meticulous care, avoiding careless approaches. The recluse's choice to withdraw from worldly temptations and the farmer's wisdom of deep cultivation both embody this truth.

This passage comes from the Nanhua Zhenjing (True Scripture of Southern Florescence), specifically the chapter "Following the Root," presenting two allegorical stories that convey Daoist philosophy.

The first story recounts how Bai Ju sought advice from Laozi (Lao Dan) on governing the world. Laozi replied that the world was already in chaos and beyond governance. Undeterred, Bai Ju insisted on visiting the state of Qi, where he encountered a condemned criminal. Removing his official robes to cover the prisoner, he wept to the heavens: "When great calamity befalls the world, you suffer first!" He then criticized contemporary rulers: establishing distinctions of honor and disgrace makes people compete for fame and profit; hoarding wealth provokes contention; and oppressive measures leave common people with no way out. Ancient sage-kings attributed achievements to the people and faults to themselves, whereas modern rulers do the opposite—enacting harsh laws then blaming the people for failing to comply, forcing them into deception. When strength proves inadequate, people feign; when wisdom falls short, they deceive; when resources are lacking, they steal—all compelled by circumstance!

The second story describes how Qu Boyu, even at sixty, continued revising his understanding, realizing that what he now deemed correct might have been considered wrong at fifty-nine. All things grow without revealing their roots, emerge without showing their gateways. People value acquired knowledge yet fail to recognize that true wisdom depends on engaging with the unknown—is this not delusion? Though Qu Boyu knew his past forty-nine years were mistaken, this awareness alone doesn't constitute genuine wisdom.

The passage concludes abruptly with Confucius inquiring about Duke Ling of Wei from several historians, learning of his indulgence in wine and women while neglecting governance, his obsession with hunting while ignoring state affairs (this sudden dialogue insertion may result from textual corruption or commentary mistakenly incorporated into the main text).

This passage recounts several stories about Duke Ling of Wei and a philosophical discussion on "the discourse of the village" (qiu li zhi yan).

Regarding Duke Ling of Wei:

Da Tao explained that the posthumous title "Ling" (a historical honorific for rulers) was truly fitting for the duke. Bo Changqian added that although Duke Ling lived extravagantly—even bathing with his three wives—he showed utmost reverence when the virtuous minister Shi Qiu arrived bearing gifts. Xi Wei then recounted an omen: After Duke Ling's death, divination forbade burial in the ancestral tomb. When reburied at Shaqiu, workers uncovered a stone coffin inscribed "not relying on sons," proving the title "Ling" had been destined for him.

On "the discourse of the village":

Shao Zhi asked Da Gongdiao to explain this concept (referring to folk wisdom or universal principles). Da Gongdiao responded: Just as diverse clans unite to form customs, differences merge into unity, while unified things also separate. Consider how individual horse parts don't constitute a horse—only combined do they form the whole. Similarly, earth mounds accumulate into mountains, streams converge into rivers, and collective effort achieves great deeds.

True wisdom requires: Openness to external views without fixation, inner principles without rejection of others. As seasons have distinct climates and officials separate duties, rulers practice impartiality to govern through Wuwei (non-action). All things transform—fortune and misfortune intertwine like diverse trees coexisting in forests, or stones and timber sharing mountain slopes. This embodies the essence of "village discourse."

The core philosophy emphasizes wholeness through diversity, unity in multiplicity, and the Daoist principles of inclusive openness and natural harmony in human conduct.

This passage illustrates the principle that misfortune and fortune are interdependent. What appears to be calamity on the surface may actually conceal blessings; what seems like loss might ultimately prove beneficial. Just like the old man who lost his horse only to gain unexpected fortune later (alluding to the proverb "A loss may turn out to be a gain"). People often cling stubbornly to their own views—just as every face differs, forcibly demanding uniformity only creates distortion.

Shao Zhi (the questioner) asked: "Then is the Dao (the supreme truth) the most impartial principle?" Da Gong Diao (the respondent) replied: "Not exactly. The myriad phenomena in this world are collectively called 'the ten thousand things'—we use the largest numerical concept to name them. Thus we describe 'Heaven and Earth' as the greatest forms, 'Yin-Yang' as the most fundamental Qi (vital energy), and the 'Dao' as the universal principle encompassing all. While these grand designations are appropriate, comparing the Dao to specific phenomena would be as inadequate as comparing dogs to horses—the disparity is too vast."

Shao Zhi continued: "Then how do all things between Heaven and Earth come into being?" Da Gong Diao explained: "Through the mutual resonance, interaction, and harmonization of Yin and Yang Qi, through the cyclical succession of the four seasons. All beings emerge through mutual generation and restraint, through attraction and repulsion, through union of male and female principles, through the transformation between safety and danger, the interdependence of fortune and misfortune. These are all observable, recordable phenomena. But those who truly comprehend the Dao don't pursue questions about the ultimate origins of things, for such discussions have no end."

Finally, regarding Ji Zhen's doctrine of "Wuwei (non-action)" and Jie Zi's theory of "youwei (deliberate action)," Da Gong Diao used the analogy of chickens crowing and dogs barking: these phenomena are known to all, yet even the wisest cannot fully articulate their essential nature through words.

This passage explores the relationship between "natural transformation" and "human intervention." Zhuangzi believes that when things change naturally, human will cannot predict their direction of development. It's like splitting wood with an axe—though the pieces seem to divide into ever finer fragments, they ultimately reach a state of immeasurable subtlety; conversely, when viewed from the opposite perspective, even the largest extremes cannot be gauged by conventional measures.

Mencius once said, "What accomplishes itself without deliberate action is the Dao (the Way) of Heaven." Here we encounter two perspectives: one posits the existence of some driving force ("something compels"), while the other maintains there is no external force at all ("nothing acts"). These two arguments are like dissecting a whole into parts for analysis—yet the finer the analysis, the further one strays from the truth. As the Book of Songs states, "The movement of Heaven is soundless and traceless"—this represents the highest realm, while debating whether "an external force exists" remains confined to the material level.

The "something compels" theory leans toward substantiality, while the "nothing acts" theory tends toward emptiness. Things with names and forms belong to the realm of concrete phenomena, while the nameless and formless reside in the void. Expressing this through language only distances us from the truth—what is unborn cannot be prevented, what has died cannot be obstructed. Life and death may seem distant, yet they follow invisible laws.

When I (Zhuangzi) observe the origin of things, I find its past extends without end; when I investigate its future, its progression continues limitlessly. Within this boundless transformation, the notions of "external compulsion" and "absence of action" are merely labels people create for convenience of discussion. The Dao (cosmic principle) can neither be said to exist nor not exist. Even the term "Dao" is used provisionally. To confine discussion to questions like "is there an external force?" is like trying to see the whole leopard through a tube—how could one possibly comprehend the complete manifestation of the Great Dao?

Attempting to fully express the Dao through language—even speaking all day—only scratches the surface. When language proves inadequate, a day's discourse can only describe concrete phenomena. The ultimate truth of the Dao and phenomena is neither fully conveyable through speech nor entirely containable in silence. All discussions have limitations, just as the phenomena of life and death can neither be prohibited nor obstructed.