《南華真經新傳》Vol. 15

When the Great Dao (道) dissipates, all things come into being. Once things emerge, the roots of fortune and misfortune, honor and disgrace become intricately intertwined, making their inevitable outcomes impossible to predict. It was for this reason that Zhuangzi wrote the chapter "External Things" to explore this principle.

The development of external affairs is often unpredictable. For example, Long Feng (a loyal minister of the Xia dynasty) and Bi Gan (a loyal minister of the Shang dynasty) were executed, while Jizi (a virtuous minister of Shang) feigned madness. Though E Lai (a sycophant of King Zhou of Shang) died, tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang ultimately met their downfall. Rulers all desire loyal ministers, yet loyalty does not guarantee trust—Wu Zixu (a loyal minister of Wu during the Spring and Autumn period) was cast into the river, and Chang Hong (a loyal minister of Zhou) met a tragic end in Shu, where his blood transformed into jade after three years. Parents all wish for filial children, yet filial piety does not always bring affection—Xiao Ji (son of King Gaozong of Yin) died of sorrow, and Zeng Shen (a disciple of Confucius) often dwelled in grief.

Just as friction between pieces of wood can produce fire and metal melts when exposed to flames, when Yin and Yang (阴阳) are thrown into disorder, the heavens and earth are thrown into upheaval, giving rise to thunder and lightning. Fire in water can burn down a great locust tree, and excessive worry can trap a person in dilemmas, leaving the spirit (神) unsettled and restless. People who obsess over gains and losses burn with inner turmoil, ultimately consuming their peaceful state of mind—just as moonlight cannot withstand fire, leading to spiritual exhaustion and the loss of the Dao (道).

Fortune and misfortune, honor and disgrace may seem to follow cause and effect: good deeds bring blessings, evil deeds invite calamity—this is the usual principle. Yet Long Feng and Bi Gan, though upright, were executed; Wu Zixu and Chang Hong, though loyal, suffered tragedy; Xiao Ji and Zeng Shen, though filial, endured sorrow; while E Lai, Jie, and Zhou, though tyrannical, enjoyed wealth and power—how can this be called inevitable? Thus, external circumstances cannot be forced. People who fail to understand this cling stubbornly to delusions, scorching their inner peace and leaving their lives incomplete. Only the perfected sage (至人) who comprehends the Dao (道) understands that nothing can be forced, and thus maintains a mind of emptiness, stillness, and self-forgetfulness, ensuring that fortune and misfortune, joy and anger, sorrow and delight cannot affect him. Serene and at ease, he preserves the true nature of life.

Once, Zhuangzi, finding himself in poverty, sought to borrow grain from the Marquis of Jianhe. The Marquis replied, "When I collect the taxes from my fief, I will lend you three hundred pieces of gold—how does that sound?" Zhuangzi immediately flushed with indignation.

This passage illustrates Zhuangzi's use of parables to convey profound truths.

First comes the "Fish in the Dried Rut" story: Zhuangzi encounters a carp trapped in a carriage rut, who claims to be a denizen of the Eastern Sea and begs for water to survive. Zhuangzi responds that he'll travel south to persuade the kings of Wu and Yue to divert the Western River to save it. The fish angrily retorts: "I just need a gourd dipper of water to live now! Your distant solutions are useless—you might as well find me at a dried fish shop!" This satirizes those who indulge in grandiose theories while ignoring immediate problems.

Next is "Lord Ren's Fishing": Using a giant hook baited with fifty oxen, Lord Ren fished in the Eastern Sea for a year until he caught a colossal fish that could feed the entire nation. Meanwhile, those fishing with small rods in ditches never catch anything substantial. This shows that great achievements require grand vision—petty minds can't accomplish great things.

Finally, the passage mocks Confucian hypocrisy in "Grave Robbers Quoting Classics": While robbing a tomb, senior and junior Confucian scholars cite texts solemnly. When the junior discovers a pearl in the corpse's mouth, the elder quotes the Book of Songs: "Why clutch pearls after death when you wouldn't share them in life?" before prying it out. This exposes the absurdity of scholars who preach ritual propriety while pursuing selfish gains.

Through these stories, Zhuangzi teaches: solve problems practically (like giving water to the fish), pursue ideals boldly (like Lord Ren), and maintain genuine integrity (unlike the grave-robbing scholars). Empty theorizing, shortsightedness, and hypocritical posturing are all to be rejected.

Ren Gongzi (an ancient master angler) used giant hooks and thick ropes to catch enormous fish, much like the ancient sage kings who cultivated the world through compiling the Book of Songs and establishing rituals. Yet when Confucian scholars attempt the same, it risks becoming grave-robbing—this shows how the outcomes of worldly affairs are unpredictable, and only those truly attuned to the Dao (the Way) can grasp their underlying principles.

When the disciple of Lao Laizi (a Daoist recluse) encountered Confucius while gathering firewood, he reported: "That man had a long torso and short legs, a slightly hunched back with ears pressed close, and a gaze that seemed to survey the world—I wonder whose disciple he is." Lao Laizi immediately said, "It must be Kong Qiu (Confucius)." Summoning Confucius, Lao Laizi admonished him bluntly: "Only by shedding your contrived demeanor and artificial wisdom can you become a true gentleman." Confucius withdrew respectfully, his expression grave, and asked, "Can my cultivation still progress?"

Lao Laizi continued: "To act out of pity for human suffering only to bring calamity upon future generations—this is the shortsightedness of petty wisdom! Seeking favor through small kindnesses invites disgrace, just as ordinary people do—luring each other with empty reputations and bonding through selfish gain. Rather than praising Emperor Yao and condemning Jie of Xia, better to forget such judgments altogether. Forced action brings harm, and strained effort breeds wickedness. The sage succeeds through cautious action—why do you cling so stubbornly to pride?"

In truth, Confucius had already reached the pinnacle of cultivation: embodying supreme humaneness (Ren) without claiming sagehood, understanding the body as a fleeting assemblage without clinging to selfhood—how could he deliberately flaunt cleverness? He was a born gentleman. Yet Lao Laizi still demanded he "discard affected postures and displays of wisdom," implying Confucius remained imperfect—a critique that may be unfair. When sages promote humaneness and righteousness to benefit all things, who could foresee later generations twisting these ideals into tools of chaos? Hence the warning: "A moment’s compassion may curse ten thousand ages."

(Supplementary anecdote about Lord Yuan of Song’s dream turtle) Lord Yuan of Song dreamed at midnight of a disheveled man who said: "I come from the abyss of Zailu. As an envoy of the Clear River captured by the River Earl, the fisherman Yu Qie caught me." Upon waking, divination revealed this as an omen from a divine turtle.

This passage recounts the allegory of Lord Yuan of Song dreaming of a divine turtle, followed by the fisherman Yu Ju presenting a captured white turtle the next day.

The fisherman Yu Ju informed Lord Yuan that he had caught a five-foot-long white turtle in his net. Lord Yuan initially considered killing it but hesitated, ultimately deciding to use its shell for divination. They drilled seventy-two holes for the divination, all of which proved remarkably accurate. When Confucius heard of this, he lamented: "The divine turtle could appear in the lord’s dream, yet it could not escape the fisherman’s net. It could foresee the results of seventy-two divinations, yet it could not avoid being gutted. This shows that even the most extraordinary wisdom has its limits."

The divine turtle thought appearing in Lord Yuan’s dream would save it from the net, never expecting the ruler would dissect it for divination. In hindsight, it would have been better not to have the dream at all. Though the turtle possessed spiritual powers, even such abilities sometimes fail. Thus, wisdom always has its blind spots, and supernatural insight is not always reliable.

Later, Zhuangzi elaborates further: Even the most profound wisdom cannot outmatch the schemes of ten thousand people. Just as fish fear not the net but the cormorant (a fishing bird), one must relinquish petty cleverness to attain great wisdom, and abandon deliberate virtue to achieve true goodness. Like an infant who learns to speak without a teacher simply by living among those who speak—true understanding arises naturally.

Those with petty cleverness believe they know, yet their knowledge is limited. Those with great wisdom appear unknowing yet comprehend all. Ordinary people cling to "knowing," thus remaining confined; sages seem "unknowing," yet perceive everything. The key lies in abandoning small-minded cleverness to reveal true wisdom. Deliberately pursued virtue is merely superficial; only by letting go of such attachments can one attain genuine goodness.

Finally, Zhuangzi debates the value of "uselessness" with Huizi: Huizi claims Zhuangzi’s teachings are useless, to which Zhuangzi retorts, "Only by understanding what is useless can we speak of usefulness." Just as the earth is vast, yet a person needs only enough space to stand. But if everything beyond that standing space were dug away to the Yellow Springs, could one still stand? Huizi admits they could not, and Zhuangzi concludes, "Thus, the seemingly useless is precisely the foundation of the useful." As one can wander freely, why not wander? This illustrates how seemingly useless things often contain profound utility.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of the "Perfected Person" (one who has attained the highest spiritual cultivation). Those who stubbornly cling to singular viewpoints and persist unyieldingly in one direction are like someone plunging into an abyss without turning back or rushing into flames without evasion. Even if they temporarily gain power as rulers or ministers, their value will inevitably diminish with changing circumstances.

The core teaching revolves around the dialectical relationship between "usefulness" and "uselessness": Speech that constantly pursues practical utility will ultimately lose its effectiveness, while seemingly useless discourse may achieve the most profound results. When the logician Hui Shi criticized Zhuangzi's teachings as useless, he failed to comprehend the subtle wisdom of "the usefulness of the useless." Zhuangzi illustrates this with the example of footrests - seemingly insignificant objects that prove indispensable in practice.

The Perfected Person never adheres rigidly to fixed behavioral patterns. Scholars who venerate antiquity while disparaging modernity are like those judging contemporary affairs by the standards of the ancient Xiwei clan era - how can they avoid being swept away by the tides of time? Only the Perfected Person can navigate worldly affairs with effortless freedom, accommodating others without losing their authentic self.

The Perfected Person's senses operate with unobstructed clarity: Their eyes perceive essential truths, ears discern genuine meaning, noses detect subtle fragrances, tongues appreciate true flavors, and minds comprehend profound wisdom. This wisdom isn't acquired through learning but arises from innate nature, much like breathing is essential to life. If qi (vital energy) circulation becomes blocked, it's not heaven's fault but human self-created obstruction.

The Perfected Person's state represents complete integration, merging with nature's transformations. Their luminous mind adapts fluidly to worldly changes without stagnation or obstruction. Thus we say the Perfected Person leaves no traces - they respond appropriately to circumstances without rigidity, harmonizing with others while maintaining their true essence. Without deliberate study of others' teachings, they naturally comprehend profound truths; without forced observation, they penetrate to the heart of reality. This represents the supreme life state revered in Daoist philosophy.

When the mind is unobstructed, one can know what is unknowable—thus we say a luminous mind embodies true wisdom. True wisdom frees one from confusion, enabling self-contentment—hence we say luminous wisdom manifests as De (Virtue). When the inner and outer realms communicate without hindrance, this is the source of self-contentment—thus we say De represents the highest attainment. The perfected person (zhenren) abides in this state.

If the mind cannot wander freely, it resembles a house with no space—mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law will quarrel. When the mind cannot roam unrestrained, the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and thought) clash with one another. Lush mountain forests bring comfort precisely because the Shen (divine spirit) of nature surpasses artificial virtue. Excessive De breeds fame; excessive fame leads to tyranny. Schemes arise from urgency, wisdom emerges from contention, firewood grows under watchful eyes, and governance succeeds by aligning with the people’s needs.

When spring rains arrive timely, plants flourish, and plows begin their work. Even uprooted vegetation may revive, though none understand why. Silence can heal illness, closed eyes slow aging, and stillness soothes agitation—yet these are merely concerns for the toiling; the carefree pay them no heed.

The mind is the true sovereign of the body, dwelling in utter tranquility, harboring the most profound Shen. It acts through Wuwei (non-action) and cannot be bound. Thus, the mind must wander freely—once constrained, the six senses fall into chaos, enslaved by external things.

Sages may stir the world, yet the divine person (shenren) pays no mind. Worthies may move society, yet sages remain indifferent. Gentlemen may influence nations, yet worthies ignore them. Petty men adapt to trends, yet gentlemen disregard them.

In Yanmen, a man grieving his kinsman wasted away from sorrow and was made an official. His townsfolk imitated him—half died from excessive mourning. When Yao offered the empire to Xu You, Xu fled. When Tang offered it to Wu Guang, Wu angrily refused. Ji Ta, hearing of this, led disciples to seclusion by the Kuanshui River—lords came to console him. Three years later, Shentu Di drowned himself in protest.

One who fully embodies the Dao is called a sage; one whose sageliness transcends measure is called a divine person. Those who assist rulers and benefit the people are worthies; those who govern above and cherish the people below are gentlemen; those of inferior nature, falling short of gentlemen, are petty men. As for the divine person—they disdain to partake in such worldly affairs.

The sage differs from the worthy, just as the noble person's virtue differs from that of the petty person. When the sage acts in accordance with transformation, the divine person (one who has attained the Dao) does not interfere; when the worthy govern worldly affairs, the sage does not intervene; when the noble person takes action, the worthy do not meddle; and when petty people compromise to suit temporary circumstances, the noble person pays them no heed.

The term "startling" (hài, meaning transformation) here refers precisely to the way sages and worthies anticipate and adapt to the trends of the times. In matters of the world and the state, is there any that does not follow this natural principle? The key lies in each maintaining their proper role without mutual interference.

Just as the fish trap (quán) is used to catch fish, once the fish is caught, the trap can be forgotten; the rabbit snare (tí) is used to capture rabbits, and once the rabbit is caught, the snare can be discarded; words are used to convey meaning, and once the meaning is grasped, the words can be forgotten. How I long to meet those who "grasp the meaning and forget the words" for meaningful exchange!

Those who truly understand the great Dao do not cling to words, while those who cling to words do not truly comprehend. The teachings of the sage can only be inwardly realized in silence. Only when one has genuinely internalized the understanding is one qualified to discuss the Dao with others. Thus, Zhuangzi says he seeks those "who forget words" to converse with, showing that he himself resorts to words only out of necessity—his true aspiration is a realm beyond language.

(This passage contrasts the attitudes of people at different levels, pointing out that the highest state is transcending form to directly grasp the essence—the "meaning beyond words" state. Zhuangzi uses the metaphors of fishing and rabbit-catching to illustrate that tools are merely means, while realization is the true purpose.)