《南華真經拾遺》

Supplementary Notes on the Zhuangzi, Volume 11 (Compiled by Wang Yuanze, Song Dynasty)

On the Sacrificial Ox for the Imperial Ancestral Temple:

Zhuangzi (Zhou) expressed profound ideas through allegory. To focus solely on the literal meaning without probing deeper is why people debate his philosophy. He stated that "the ruler should govern the world through wuwei (non-action), while ministers should serve the ruler through action," yet he himself lived in an era of corrupt rulers and chaotic governance, leaving him trapped and unable to realize his potential. His words are indeed difficult to apply directly to conventional relationships like ruler-subject or father-son. Facing such times and rulers, he ultimately found it impossible to act. When Zhuangzi used the metaphor of the sacrificial ox to decline King Chu’s invitation, he was merely employing stark warnings to reject the mediocrity of a decaying world. With Zhuangzi’s brilliance, how could he truly be confused about worldly affairs and fear becoming a sacrificial ox? He was likely what Confucius called "one who withdraws from the world yet speaks freely."

On "The Spring and Autumn Annals as a Guide to Governance":

The discourse of sages emphasizes principles rather than argumentation, while the Hundred Schools of Thought delight in debate but lack depth. "Discussion" clarifies viewpoints, "evaluation" analyzes and judges, and "disputation" argues over right and wrong. Regarding matters beyond heaven and earth, sages acknowledge their existence without discussion; within the realm of heaven and earth, they discuss but refrain from arbitrary judgment. Even in composing The Spring and Autumn Annals, a classic of governance, sages evaluated without descending into disputes. Their judgments were made out of necessity—unlike the masses, who argue merely to show off.

On the Fable of the Shadow and the Penumbra (Wangliang):

The Zhuangzi twice recounts the penumbra questioning the shadow. The shadow appears to depend on the body, yet in truth, it does not. Those who do not understand assume the shadow follows the body’s movements—how could they know the shadow is fundamentally independent? If the shadow must rely on the body, and the body must rely on a creator, this fails to grasp the mystery of "independent transformation" (duhua, the spontaneous unfolding of things). Understanding duhua reveals that the shadow does not depend on the body, nor does the body depend on a creator—all ultimately return to emptiness. Hence the saying: Why seek the reasons behind it?

On Dreaming of Becoming a Butterfly:

Zhuangzi used "dreaming of transforming into a butterfly" to express unconstrained ease and "the joy of fish" to illustrate self-contentment. Though small, the butterfly flutters freely without restraint; though in deep water, the fish preserves its life. Both metaphors illuminate the state of carefree liberation.

(Note: "Wangliang" refers to the faint penumbra at the edge of a shadow, a famous metaphor in Zhuangzi’s philosophy for the relativity and natural essence of things. "Independent transformation" (duhua) is a concept from Guo Xiang’s commentary on the Zhuangzi, describing the self-generating and self-transforming state of existence.)

This passage elucidates the core concepts about the Dao (the Way) and the attitude toward life in Zhuangzi's philosophy:

Zhuangzi imbued all things with his carefree and self-contented spirit. What he called "goblet words" (zhiyan) are unfixed, ever-changing expressions that continuously generate new meanings precisely because they remain unconstrained. Such discourse has its fundamental basis in the "heavenly grindstone" (tianni, the mysterious origin of nature). By grasping this root principle, one can respond to infinite transformations. Thus although Zhuangzi's words may appear unrestrained, they never deviate from the essence of Dao. Guo Xiang, the Wei-Jin period Neo-Daoist scholar, regarded Zhuangzi as one who truly understood the fundamental.

The Dao permeates all things—no matter how great or small, all beings contain the Dao. This explains why Zhuangzi's writings discuss everything from giant kun-peng birds to tiny sparrows, from fish and insects to oxen and horses. The essence of Dao existed before heaven and earth took form. It is neither lofty nor deep, neither ancient nor recent, having eternally existed since time immemorial. The diversity of all things constitutes "abundance," while the capacity to embrace differences represents "greatness."

Zhuangzi maintained: First comes physical form, then names arise; with names come distinctions, and with distinctions come boundaries. He advocated maintaining equanimity toward unexpected events, just as one wouldn't blame a sword for cutting or resent a tile for falling. Heaven and earth possess supreme beauty yet remain silent; the four seasons follow their course without debate; all things operate by their principles without explanation. As Confucius said, "Does heaven speak?" Only those who truly comprehend the Dao can understand this truth.

Following one's innate nature is natural, while cultivating one's mind is artificial. Nature belongs to heaven, artifice to humanity. Only those in their natural state are truly authentic beings.

This passage elucidates Zhuangzi's philosophical concepts concerning "inherent nature" versus "artificiality," and the distinction between "inner" and "outer" dimensions:

On inherent nature: The natural endowments humans are born with constitute their true nature (性), while artificially added elements (侈) are superfluous. Like webbed fingers or superfluous tumors that grow on the body yet violate natural constitution, true Virtue (De 德) is innate—deliberate augmentation only ruins its perfection.

Regarding life attitude: While ordinary gentlemen experience fluctuating circumstances, the Dao of sages knows no hierarchy. Common people see only surface phenomena, yet true gentlemen maintain unwavering inner constancy. One should face prosperity and adversity with the same equanimity as observing the seasonal transitions.

On heavenly Dao versus human ways: Zhuangzi warns against using artificial means (故) to disrupt heavenly mandate (命). The Dao of heaven operates like the natural rhythm of seasonal changes, while human ways resemble specific temporal arrangements. Just as one cannot discuss ice with summer insects or the ocean with well frogs, limited minds cannot comprehend higher truths.

On cultivation stages: Yan Hui first forgot humaneness and righteousness (inner virtues) but still remembered rituals and music (outer forms). Zhuangzi advocates forgetting the inner before the outer, ultimately reaching the state of "sitting in forgetfulness" (坐忘) that transcends all dualities.

On the sage-commoner distinction: Sages hold no stubborn opinions yet naturally possess principles; they make no deliberate displays yet manifest authentic presence. They respond to external things passively rather than act upon them proactively—a view resonating with Xunzi's doctrine of "mastering external things without being mastered by them."

The conclusion reveals: Quiescence is fundamental while activity derivative. Sages maintain inner serenity while responding to external changes, whereas ordinary people easily have their inner peace disturbed by worldly affairs.

This passage contrasts Confucius' and Zhuangzi's (Zhuang Zhou) differing understandings of "Dao" (the Way) and "De" (Virtue/Power), while elucidating Zhuangzi's core philosophy:

Confucius believed gentlemen should pursue the Dao through study, yet Zhuangzi declared "the Dao cannot be summoned" (it cannot be deliberately pursued). Confucius considered the golden mean as the highest virtue, while Zhuangzi asserted "De cannot be attained." The distinction lies in their focus: Confucius spoke of human Dao (cultivated refinement), whereas Zhuangzi addressed heavenly Dao (natural law). The heavenly Dao exists spontaneously—it needn't be sought yet can be obtained; the human Dao requires constant cultivation, yet deliberate pursuit often leads to its elusiveness.

Zhuangzi's writings explore life's essence and synthesize the true meaning of Dao-De, aiming to dispel worldly delusions and return to original authenticity. This constitutes his theory of "returning to the root and restoring destiny." Though the Dao resides within the heart, complete silence fails to illuminate it, hence Zhuangzi reluctantly composed texts, hoping readers might grasp the essence beyond words.

Using the metaphor of a marsh pheasant losing its nature when caged, Zhuangzi illustrates how ancient Dao-realized individuals forgot contrived intentions, ceased external deliberations, and unified their spirits with the Great Void (cosmic origin). They flowed with Yin-Yang transformations, perceiving heaven-earth as momentary and myriad ages as instantaneous—neither pursuing novelty nor deliberately embracing or rejecting external things, utterly transcending worldly constraints.

Zhuangzi observed that ancient True Persons (Dao-realized beings) neither regretted their mistakes nor took pride in correctness. This reveals sages aren't faultless—they simply regard errors like heaven-earth's "flaws" (winter warmth or summer chill seeming anomalous) as natural phenomena. If even heaven-earth has "imperfections," how much more so sages? Here, major fears are termed "dread," minor ones "trepidation."

The Zhuangzi states: Extreme terror causes utter confusion, while mild fear brings restless anxiety.

This text comprehends the fundamental nature of life, remaining unmoved by life and death, fortune and misfortune—a state akin to that of a sage. Only those with genuine wisdom can attain such understanding. The teachings of sages can lead one to grasp this truth, but if one fails to comprehend it and instead becomes entangled in worldly doctrines (such as the rituals of Zhou), great confusion arises.

"Preserving the night’s Qi (气)" refers to a state where all thoughts and worries have settled. Those who cannot maintain this state fail to achieve "dawn clarity" (a lucid, awakened state akin to the purity of morning). Attaining dawn clarity means returning to the root of De (德, Virtue).

The divine spirit (神, Shen) is even more profound than the sage. What stirs the ten thousand things into motion is the divine; what shares in their joys and sorrows is the sage. If the divine lacks the virtue of the sage, it cannot function, and if the sage’s virtue does not function, it cannot be preserved. Zhuangzi revered the divine but undervalued the sage—this was an overcorrection.

Zhuangzi speaks of the relationship between the "trunk" and the "root": the "trunk" is the main stem of a tree, while the "root" is its foundation. The trunk grows from the root, yet the root depends on the trunk—the two are interdependent. Thus, the "trunk" symbolizes life, while the "root" symbolizes innate nature. Laozi’s statement, "Returning to the root is called stillness," refers to innate nature, while "Stillness is called returning to life’s source," refers to the origin of life.

The "True Person" (真人) and "Ultimate Person" (至人) mentioned in the Zhuangzi: "True" denotes pure innate nature, while "Ultimate" represents the highest attainment in human cultivation.

"Clarity" (明) is the radiance of the divine spirit (神), while the divine is the reservoir of light. Light originates from the divine, hence it is said, "Clarity cannot surpass the divine."

Laozi’s "opening and closing of the Heavenly Gate" is explained by Zhuangzi as the gate appearing to be "non-being" (无有). It is called "opening and closing" because all things emerge from it, and "non-being" because all things return to it.

Zhuangzi’s "boundless murk" refers to the infinite realm within the formless void. The ceaseless generation of things has no visible end, for Heaven and Earth naturally encompass all things without deliberate intent. Thus, nothing is more complete than Heaven and Earth, yet how could they ever strive for completeness? All things are complete within us—there is no need to force external seeking. Those who understand great completeness seek nothing, thus naturally aligning with the Dao (道). Why abandon oneself to chase external things? Hence it is said, "Neither lose nor discard"—do not alter innate nature for external matters.

Zhuangzi states: Names and realities are the forms in which things exist—what is called "in substance as..." (the original text is incomplete here, referring to the way things exist in form and essence).

This passage elucidates the essence of Zhuangzi's philosophy. The main ideas are:

The fundamental nature of the Dao (the Way) manifests as the origin of all things through its function, having neither specific name nor physical form. It exists as emptiness within all phenomena—though inaudible and invisible, it inevitably returns to nothingness. While we may attempt to describe it with words or contemplate it with thoughts, the more we verbalize, the further we stray from the Dao. Only by transcending language and conceptual thinking can one truly approach it.

Zhuang Zhou's writings record the profound mysteries of the Dao. His teachings aim to rescue people's innate nature before it becomes lost, awakening those drowned in worldly affairs. Is this not taking the Dao as the fundamental principle? The Dao resembles the ocean, while sages are like rivers; the Dao is like the cyclical year, while sages resemble the four seasons. Though rivers differ, all flow into the sea; though seasons change, all belong to the annual cycle. The teachings of Confucius, Mencius, Laozi and Zhuangzi may address different historical needs, yet ultimately none depart from this fundamental truth.

When reading the Zhuangzi (also known as the Nanhua Zhenjing, or "True Classic of Southern Florescence"), one should grasp its spiritual essence rather than clinging to literal interpretations. Only then can one be considered a true reader.

(Note: The "Dao" refers to Daoism's supreme philosophical concept—the cosmic origin and ultimate truth; "sages" denote those who have attained the highest state of moral cultivation; "Nanhua Zhenjing" is an alternative name for the Zhuangzi text.)