《南華真經循本》Vol. 27

In the world, there are many scholars specializing in various fields of study, each believing their knowledge has reached the pinnacle of perfection. Here, "specialized techniques" (方术) refer to specific skills and methods—every practitioner considers their mastery unsurpassable by others.

What the ancients called the "art of the Dao" (道术)—the study of comprehending the supreme Way—transcends these specialized techniques. When asked: Where does the Dao reside? The answer is: It permeates all things. Another question: From where do the divine spirits descend? How does wisdom arise? The answer: The birth of sages and the achievements of emperors all stem from the same origin (this origin being the Taiji, the Supreme Ultimate). Those who never deviate from the root are called "heavenly humans" (天人, those united with the celestial Way); those who never stray from essential Qi are called "spirit humans" (神人, those with transcendent consciousness); those who never abandon their innate authenticity are called "perfected humans" (至人, those of the highest cultivation). They take nature as their foundation, virtue (De) as their basis, and the Great Dao as their gateway.

Those capable of foreseeing transformations are called "sages" (圣人). They extend benevolence as grace, govern with righteousness, guide conduct through ritual, and harmonize hearts with music. The gentle and compassionate are called "noble persons" (君子), who take laws as standards, reputation as models, integrity as proof, and evaluation as judgment—handling affairs with systematic clarity. Officials follow these principles in their respective duties, treating daily affairs as routine, prioritizing food and clothing production, emphasizing reproduction and accumulation, and caring for the elderly, weak, and orphaned—these constitute the principles of governing the people.

From heavenly humans to noble persons, this description encapsulates the complete system of ancient Daoist practice. The text then laments the difference between past and present: How supremely complete were the cultivations of ancient sages! They matched the divine luminaries, shared virtue with heaven and earth, nurtured all beings, harmonized the world, and showered blessings upon the people. They understood both fundamental principles and concrete methods, penetrating all spatial dimensions (the six directions—up, down, and the four cardinal points) and temporal cycles (the four seasons) with equal mastery.

This passage discusses the evolution and fragmentation of ancient scholarly thought and wisdom.

Originally, the Daoist teachings (Daoshu, referring to the complete wisdom of the great Dao) transmitted by the sage-kings and sages—from Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor to Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang of Shang, King Wen of Zhou, and Confucius—encompassed the holistic principles of heaven, earth, and all things. Just as the Book of Songs (Shi) expressed aspirations, the Book of Documents (Shu) recorded governance, the Rites (Li) regulated conduct, the Music (Yue) fostered harmony, the Book of Changes (Yi) elucidated the transformations of Yin-Yang, and the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) established proper distinctions, these classics together formed a complete system for governing the state and cultivating the self.

However, as the world later fell into chaos, the way of the sages became obscured, and moral standards were no longer unified. People clung to partial views, much like ears, eyes, noses, and mouths each have their own functions but cannot communicate with one another. Though the various schools of thought and specialized arts each had their strengths and were useful in certain contexts, they were all fragmented perspectives. These "one-sided scholars" (yi qu zhi shi) fractured the holistic beauty of heaven and earth and fragmented the complete principles of all things. Few could truly grasp the comprehensive wisdom of the ancients or attain the perfect state of communion with the divine (referring to the highest spiritual realization).

Thus, the great Dao of "inner sagehood and outer kingship" (neisheng waiwang—cultivating sagely virtue within while achieving kingly governance without) became obscured and stifled. The people of the world each established doctrines based on their own preferences. Tragically, the various schools of thought strayed further and further from the path, making it increasingly difficult to return to the unity of the Dao. Later scholars were even more unfortunate, unable to perceive the pure essence of heaven and earth or the complete system of ancient wisdom. In this way, the study of the Dao was fragmented by the world.

The author laments: Nowadays, people are obsessed with the differences among the various schools of thought, like someone holding a torch while walking under the sun—unable to see the brilliance of the sunlight itself (a metaphor for clinging to partial views while overlooking the wholeness of the Dao).

This passage elucidates the core tenets of the Mohist school and their divergence from ancient ritual and musical traditions.

The Mohists advocated rejecting later extravagance, eschewing material indulgence, and disdaining elaborate ceremonial music systems. They disciplined themselves with strict regulations, focusing solely on addressing urgent social problems while avoiding trivial pursuits. Though this philosophical tradition existed in antiquity, figures like Mo Di (Mozi) and Qin Guli took these principles to extreme lengths.

The Mohists established doctrines of "anti-music" (opposing musical enjoyment) and "frugality": no singing during life, no mourning garments after death. Their excessive emphasis on self-restraint completely negated pleasure. Mozi promoted "universal love" and "mutual benefit," opposed conflict, advocated peace, and was both diligent in study and broadly knowledgeable. His teachings differed from both common people's ways and the traditions of ancient sage-kings.

Mohism criticized ancient ritual systems like the Yellow Emperor's "Xianchi" music, Yao's "Dazhang" melodies, and hierarchical funeral rites (seven-layered coffins for emperors, five for lords, etc.). Mozi proposed using only three-inch-thick paulownia wood coffins without outer shells as standard practice. The author suggests such teachings hardly demonstrate true love for others, nor self-love when applied to oneself—yet people didn't thereby reject Mohist philosophy.

The passage concludes with a pointed question: When one refrains from singing when one should sing, weeping when one should weep, or rejoicing when one should rejoice—can such behavior truly accord with human nature? This implicit critique suggests Mohist thought, in its extremism, violates fundamental human emotions.

This passage critiques the extreme practices of the Mohist school. Zhuangzi argues that Mohism violates fundamental human nature: refusing to sing when one should sing, to weep when one should weep, or to rejoice when one should rejoice. Their lives were marked by excessive toil, and their funeral rites were overly austere. Such an ascetic lifestyle (the term "dahu" refers to extreme frugality) brings only sorrow and hardship, making it truly difficult to practice. Even if Mozi himself could endure it, how could ordinary people bear such a lifestyle? This departure from worldly norms stands far removed from the governing principles of the ancient sage-kings.

The text specifically mentions Mozi's admiration for the legendary Yu the Great, who dredged rivers and regulated the waterways of the Nine Provinces, carrying his own food vessels ("tuolu") and laboring until the hair on his legs wore away, toiling through wind and rain. Later Mohists emulated this self-mortification, wearing coarse garments and straw sandals, tormenting themselves day and night, believing that those who failed to meet such standards were unworthy of being called Mohists.

By that time, Mohism had splintered into different factions ("biemo"), such as the disciples of Xiangli Qin, the followers of Wu Hou, and southern adherents like Ku Huo, Ji Chi, and Deng Lingzi. Though they all recited the Mohist Canon, their interpretations diverged, using logical debates like "hardness and whiteness" or "sameness and difference" to accuse one another. Each faction elevated its own leader ("juzi") as a sage, vying for legitimacy as the true inheritors of Mohist teachings—yet these disputes remain unresolved to this day.

(Note: "Hardness and whiteness" and "sameness and difference" were famous propositions from the School of Names, debating the relationship between an object's attributes and its existence; "juzi" was the Mohist term for their highest-ranking leader.)

Mozi and his disciple Qin Guli (key figures of the Mohist school) held correct principles, but their methods were problematic. They demanded that later Mohist followers live in extreme austerity—with atrophied calves and hairless legs—competing to see who could endure greater hardship. Such practices created more disturbances than benefits for governing a state. Nevertheless, Mozi was truly a virtuous man sincerely devoted to bringing order to the world. Even when his ideals remained unfulfilled and his body became emaciated, he never abandoned his mission—a rare talent indeed.

Song Jian (a Warring States philosopher) and Yin Wen (representative of the School of Names) inherited the ancient Daoist principle of "remaining unburdened by worldly affairs, avoiding excessive ornamentation, refraining from harsh criticism, and not opposing the will of the masses." They envisioned a peaceful world where people lived contentedly, believing that meeting basic life necessities was sufficient. To symbolize this egalitarian ideal, they wore the Mount Hua Crown (modeled after the mountain's symmetrical peaks to represent equality).

In human interactions, they first distinguished good from evil while forgiving unintentional faults. They termed mental states as "the movement of the heart" (xin zhi xing), comparing the mind to cooking—requiring harmonious blending of elements to genuinely persuade others. This approach aimed to reconcile worldly relationships, establishing it as their guiding principle.

They felt no shame when insulted, mediated civil disputes, opposed warfare, sought to eliminate military disasters, and rescued war-torn civilians. Traveling between states, they advised rulers above and educated commoners below. Even when rejected, they persisted tirelessly in persuasion. Though often met with irritation, they still pressed their counsel. Living with minimal needs, they famously said, "Five sheng of rice suffice." While their teachers went hungry and disciples starved, they never ceased caring for the world, rushing about day and night declaring, "I must keep the people alive!" This was their way of shaming those scholars who merely paid lip service to saving the world.

(Note: "Bie you" refers to distinguishing good/evil while forgiving unintended faults; "xin zhi xing" describes psychological states; the Mount Hua Crown was a symbolic hat representing equality)

This passage elucidates the wisdom of ancient Daoist thought concerning mental cultivation and the art of living.

It begins by describing the attitude of a noble person (one who possesses De, or Virtue) in navigating the world: they do not demand perfection in trivial matters, nor allow themselves to be enslaved by external things. They recognize that actions which bring no benefit to the world are better left undone. Externally, they advocate for the cessation of warfare; internally, they restrain their desires. Whether dealing with grand matters or minor details, their conduct remains perfectly balanced.

Next, it portrays an ideal state of being: impartial and free from bias, tranquil and devoid of selfish desires, accepting circumstances without preconceptions. When acting, they focus wholeheartedly, without divided thoughts, neither hesitating nor resorting to petty cleverness. They refrain from imposing distinctions on things, instead following their natural course. It is as if, when faced with a situation, they act directly without predetermined stances; when devoted to a task, no extraneous thoughts arise.

The text references the teachings of ancient Daoist scholars such as Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao (thinkers from the Jixia Academy in the Warring States period of Qi, whose philosophy originated from the Yellow Emperor and Laozi). They held that all things have their limitations: Heaven can cover but cannot support, Earth can support but cannot cover, while the Dao encompasses all yet makes no distinctions. Thus, they advocated abandoning cunning intellect and eliminating the self, instead yielding to nature. They treated all things with an attitude of "lingtai" (meaning pure detachment), feigning ignorance even when knowing, for excessive pursuit of knowledge ultimately brings harm.

Finally, the passage describes a transcendent attitude: enduring disgrace while standing apart from the crowd, doing nothing yet mocking the worldly veneration of worthiness, indulging in carefree spontaneity unbound by ritual. This reflects the Daoist transcendence of conventional values.

This passage discusses the philosophies of ancient Daoist figures Shen Dao, Tian Pian, and Peng Meng, along with contemporary critiques from prominent scholars of their time.

Shen Dao's doctrine advocated living like an inanimate object—moving naturally as feathers swirl in the wind or millstones roll, without establishing a deliberate sense of self or employing intellectual cunning. By aligning movement and stillness with heavenly principles in this way, one could avoid both praise and blame throughout life. Yet contemporary scholars ridiculed this, saying: "Shen Dao's theory isn't fit for living beings—it's a doctrine for the dead, utterly bizarre."

Tian Pian studied under Peng Meng, receiving the "wordless teaching" (不言之教). Peng Meng's own master had instructed that ancient Dao attainers neither affirmed nor denied anything, their methods being unfathomable and beyond verbal description. Thus Peng Meng himself spoke sparingly, though Tian Pian frequently returned from their sessions visibly transformed. Over time, people stopped gathering to observe them, yet criticism persisted.

The passage concludes that Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao didn't truly comprehend the Dao (道), though they likely grasped fragments of its periphery. The "wordless teaching" mentioned here represents a core Daoist concept—transmitting the great Dao through embodiment rather than verbal instruction. The critique reflects the tension between radical non-action (无为) and the Confucian emphasis on cultivated virtue, showing how early Daoist thinkers pushed behavioral paradigms to their logical extremes.

This passage discusses the differences among several Daoist thinkers. Zhuangzi assessed that while figures like Peng Meng, Tian Pian, and Shen Dao couldn't be considered true knowers of the great Dao (Da Dao), they had generally touched upon Daoist thought. Zhuangzi regarded Laozi (Lao Dan) as the one who truly comprehended the ultimate Way.

The fundamental teachings of Laozi and his disciple Guan Yin held that essence (Jing) represents refinement while material things are coarse; they believed accumulating external possessions only leads to dissatisfaction. They pursued serenity and detachment, dwelling alone in communion with the divine spirit (Shen). Guan Yin said: "Maintain inner emptiness without clinging to externals; move like flowing water, be still like a clear mirror, respond like an echo. In the liminal state between existence and non-existence, maintain clarity within stillness. Harmony with all things brings attainment; following nature (Ziran) ensures survival—never strive to lead but always follow."

Laozi proposed the famous theory of "knowing the masculine but guarding the feminine": understanding the principle of strength yet abiding in gentleness, willingly becoming the valley of the world. The valley symbolizes the void that contains all things—what's called the "Mysterious Feminine" (Xuanpin, the Daoist concept of the generative maternal source). While all others rush forward, he alone remains behind; while people seek substance, he preserves emptiness. By not accumulating, he appears abundant. His actions are unhurried, appearing as non-action (Wuwei) yet surpassing cleverness. Where others seek blessings, he only avoids misfortune. Taking profundity as foundation and frugality as principle, he recognized that hardness leads to breaking and sharpness to blunting. Always tolerant toward things and never encroaching upon others—this may be called the highest attainment.

Finally, the Dao itself is described: silent and formless, ever-changing yet constant, sharing life and death with heaven and earth, moving with the spiritual forces. Vast and indistinct, unknowable in direction; dim and hazy, unknowable in destination. It encompasses all things yet leaves no trace. When Zhuangzi encountered these teachings, he greatly admired them, expressing these profound truths through seemingly absurd and boundless language.

Zhuangzi believed the world of his time had sunk into turbidity, making it impossible to directly instruct people through solemn discourse. Thus he employed three rhetorical modes: using "goblet words" (zhiyan - spontaneous utterances) for casual conversation, "weighty words" (zhongyan - citations of sages) to transmit truth, and "imputed words" (yuyan - allegorical stories) to widely disseminate his ideas. He communed freely with the spiritual essence of heaven and earth, yet never disparaged the myriad things, remaining unattached to judgments of right and wrong while harmonizing with worldly conventions.

Though his writings appear bizarre and fantastical, they cause no harm; though his expressions seem uneven, they contain profound wisdom worthy of contemplation. Zhuangzi took pride in his unique literary style. His overflowing inner richness could not be constrained - above, he roamed with the Creator; below, he befriended those who saw through life and death, transcending beginnings and endings. His teachings establish broad foundations, presenting profound yet liberated thought that perfectly attains the supreme state in its fundamental principles.

However, when responding to transformations and explaining the myriad phenomena, the principles within his system remain inexhaustible, their origins difficult to trace - hazy and indeterminate, they seem perpetually beyond full articulation. As Zhuangzi inherits Laozi's teachings, and having already praised Laozi as the comprehensive True Man earlier, we need not repeat those commendations here. The final passage simply discusses matters of writing.

Hui Shi (representative of the School of Names), whose extensive learning earned him the position of Wei state's prime minister, was Zhuangzi's contemporary. While previous discussions concerned the Great Dao, here we specifically examine his "technical methods" (fangshu - specialized knowledge). His personal library contained five cartloads of texts, yet his doctrines remained heterogeneous and impure, his statements often contradicting common reason. Expounding on the principles of things, he declared: "That which is supremely large has no periphery - we call it 'Great Unity' (dayi); that which is supremely small has no core - we call it 'Small Unity' (xiaoyi). What lacks thickness cannot be accumulated, yet may extend a thousand li. Heaven is as low as earth; mountains are level with marshes. The sun at zenith already begins declining; all creatures upon birth already move toward death. Similarities within categories and differences between categories constitute 'minor similarities and differences'; the complete sameness and complete difference among all things constitutes 'major similarities and differences'."

These statements violate common reason, representing merely his conjectures about phenomena. The claim that "what lacks thickness cannot be accumulated, yet may extend a thousand li" means that while dimensionless things cannot be stacked, through minute accumulation they may ultimately span vast distances. "Fangni" refers to viewing obliquely when the sun declines westward. Heaven-earth and mountain-marsh appear equally level when the sun stands at zenith.

This passage discusses the philosophical views of Hui Shi, a representative figure of the School of Names during the Warring States period, focusing primarily on the debates concerning "sameness and difference" and the concept of "the unity of all things."

Regarding the sameness and difference of things, we can understand it this way: when things are largely similar but differ in minor details, this is called "minor sameness and difference"; when things are completely identical or entirely different, this is called "major sameness and difference." Just as the south may seem boundless yet actually has its limits. If one sets out for the state of Yue today and arrives there, one could say, "I already came yesterday." Where is the center of the world? People from Yan consider the north as the center, while those from Yue regard the south as the center—in truth, every place can be viewed as the center.

Hui Shi advocated "universal love for all things, Heaven and Earth as one body," believing that all things are interconnected to form a unified whole. This perspective attracted much interest among debaters of his time.

The text then lists twenty-one seemingly paradoxical propositions that were topics of discussion among the debaters of that era. For example:

• An egg has feathers (because the chick that hatches has feathers)
• A chicken has three legs (the two physical legs plus the abstract concept of "walking")
• Though Chu (Ying) is a small state, it uses the title "possessing the world"
• Names are determined by humans—if we called a dog "sheep," people would refer to it as sheep
• Though horses are viviparous, their newborns have hair—how is this different from oviparous creatures?
• The shapes of characters like "ding" and "zi" resemble having tails
• Fire is not hot (heat is a human sensation)
• Mountains have mouths (echoes sound like the mountain speaking)
• The shadow of a flying bird does not actually move (it's a succession of different shadows)
• An arrow in rapid flight, at any given instant, is neither in motion nor at rest
• A foot-long stick, halved each day, can never be completely exhausted

These propositions may appear absurd at first glance, but they actually explore philosophical issues such as the relationship between names and reality, relativity, and infinite divisibility. Hui Shi and the debaters of his time engaged in discussions through these propositions, exploring them endlessly throughout their lives.

This passage discusses the dialectical views of ancient Logicians (Mingjia) such as Deng Xi and Hui Shi, primarily exploring the relationship between the names and essences of things.

The text presents numerous seemingly paradoxical yet philosophically rich examples: A hook has "whiskers" (its curved part resembles facial hair), and the character 丁 has a "tail" (its lower stroke resembles an animal's tail), illustrating how objects with similar shapes can share descriptive names. Fire isn't hot in winter, yet valleys can transmit sound, demonstrating how a thing's properties change with context. The most perfectly round wheel appears motionless when spinning, just as obscured eyes cannot see and missing fingers cannot fully touch—revealing the limitations of perception.

Other examples include: Though snakes are long, turtles possess divinatory abilities, making turtles "longer" in this aspect; compasses and squares aren't themselves circular or rectangular; a flying bird's shadow appears to move yet remains attached to the bird; an arrow's speed originates from the archer, not the arrow itself; among dogs, those with dewclaws are called "quan" while those without are "gou"; the same horse becomes two concepts when named "yellow horse" (horse + yellow); a black dog cannot be called white, yet a white dog may be called black; an orphaned foal can be said to have never had a mother; a one-foot stick halved daily remains perpetually divisible.

These paradoxes were employed by Logicians like Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long in endless mutual debates throughout their lives. Though skilled at using rhetoric to sway minds, they could only conquer mouths, not truly win hearts. Hui Shi daily exercised his wit in debates, deliberately proposing bizarre arguments while considering himself the supreme dialectician—boasting "Though heaven and earth are vast, in debate I reign supreme." In truth, he possessed mere eloquence without substantive scholarship.

This passage critiques the argumentative style of Hui Shi (a leading figure of the School of Names during the Warring States period). Those obsessed with debate often become trapped by their own words. Ordinary people's disputes remain confined to worldly views, while those who truly transcend the mundane in debate are like the sages universally acknowledged by all under heaven. Hui Shi daily employed his knowledge to debate with common folk, yet when suddenly confronted by formidable opponents like Huan Tuan and Gongsun Long, he appeared bizarre—like gnarled tree roots impossible to unravel.

Hui Shi considered himself supremely wise, boasting: "My strength rivals heaven and earth—how could any man surpass heaven and earth?" Such arrogance! Though he possessed a competitive spirit, he lacked the means to prevail. He began by claiming mastery of countless methods, yet ended by admitting he had none—even losing grasp of fundamental principles.

In the south lived an eccentric named Huang Liao, who questioned why heaven and earth don’t collapse and the origins of wind, rain, and thunder. Without hesitation, Hui Shi responded in a torrent of words, expounding endlessly on the myriad things, then feeling he hadn’t said enough, grew increasingly outlandish. He treated the violation of common sense as truth, seeking victory through rhetoric to win fame—thus alienating himself from others. Deficient in De (Virtue/Power), he excessively pursued debate, treading a path that was circuitous and unaligned.

Viewed through the lens of the Dao (the Way) of heaven and earth, Hui Shi’s talents were as insignificant as a mosquito’s hum—what use were they to the myriad things? Even if he had steadfastly upheld one principle, it might have sufficed; yet to claim this as the noblest Dao was perilous.

Hui Shi could not abide by his innate nature, instead drowning in the ceaseless interpretation of all things, gaining renown for his eloquence. Unable to focus on a single principle, he sought to encompass all phenomena to display his brilliance. Alas, Hui Shi’s talents were hollow and insubstantial—chasing after the myriad things without turning back, like pursuing echoes with sound or shadows with form. A pitiable futility!

When Hui Shi declared, "How vast and mighty heaven and earth are!"—this very discourse was his attempt to dissect them.

This passage examines Zhuangzi's critical stance toward Hui Shi (a prominent representative of the School of Names during the Warring States period). The scathing critique of Hui Shi at the conclusion of the Zhuangzi text fundamentally reflects Zhuangzi's disdain for the political strategists (a school specializing in political maneuvering and rhetoric) of his era.

The final chapter of Zhuangzi traces the lineage of Daoist practice (Daoshu, the cultivation system of Daoism): from the highest realms of the "primordial sage," "divine person," and "perfect person," descending to the worldly levels of the "sage" and "gentleman." It was only after the fragmentation of Daoist practice that various schools emerged. In Zhuangzi's view, Hui Shi's "specialized techniques" (referring to the School of Names' emphasis on logical debate) represent the lowest form of learning.

Although Zhuangzi positioned his own teachings after those of Laozi (Lao Dan), he never dared to elevate his philosophy above the Confucian Six Classics (Book of Songs, Book of Documents, Book of Rites, Book of Music, Book of Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals). Upon reaching this conclusion, it becomes clear that the Zhuangzi is complete as it stands, requiring no additional supplements.

This commentary highlights a key observation: While Zhuangzi critiques various schools of thought, he maintains reverence for classical traditions. His disparagement of Hui Shi is, in essence, a rejection of the prevailing sophistry of his time.