Penumbra-and-shadow

SHADOW PLAY

In the following short essay I will compare two fragments of Zhuangzi and one myth of Plato, which present some similar elements – “shadow” being the central element –, but which are construed very differently.

1. Zhuangzi’s story about penumbra and shadow.

Penumbra inquired of Shadow, saying, “A moment ago you were looking downward, but now you are looking upward; a moment ago you had your hair tied up, but now it is disheveled; a moment ago you were sitting down, but now you’re standing up; a moment ago you were walking, but now you’ve stopped. Why is this?”

Shadow said, “I just flit about. Why ask about something so trivial? I have movement but don’t know why. I seem like cicada shells or snake sloughs but am not. I coalesce when there’s fire or sun; I dissolve when there’s yin or night. Are these what I must depend upon? How much more so is it like this when there’s nothing upon which to depend![1] When they come, I come with them; when they go, I go with them. When they are powerful, then I am powerful along with them. Since they are so powerful, why ask about them either?” (Mair 1994: 281-282)

眾罔兩問於景曰：“若向也俯而今也仰，向也括而今被髮，向也坐而今也起，向也行而今也止，何也？”

景曰：“搜搜也，奚稍問也？予有而不知其所以。予，蜩甲也，蛇蛻也，似之而非也。火與日，吾屯也；陰與夜，吾代也。彼，吾所以有待邪？而況乎以有待者乎！彼 來則我與之來，彼往則我與之往，彼強陽則我與之強陽。強陽者，又何以有問乎！” (76/27/21-25)

It is connected with another story from chapter 2, which belongs to the Inner chapters:

The Penumbra asked the Shadow, saying, 'Formerly you were walking on, and now you have stopped; formerly you were sitting, and now you have risen up - how is it that you are so without stability?'

The Shadow replied, 'I wait for the movements of something else to do what I do, and that something else on which I wait waits further on another to do as it does. My waiting, is it for the scales of a snake, or the wings of a cicada? How should I know why I do one thing, or do not do another? (Legge 1891)

岡兩問景曰：“曩子行，今子止，曩子坐，今子起，何其無特操與？”

景曰：“吾有待而然者邪！吾所待又有待而然者邪！吾待蛇蚹、蜩翼邪！惡識所以然？惡識所以不然？”

2. Plato’s myth of the cave

In respect to several elements, Zhuangzi’s first fragment seems quite similar to the famous Plato’s myth of the cave:

Picture men dwelling in a sort of subterranean cavern with a long entrance open to the light on its entire width. Conceive them as having their legs and necks fettered from childhood, so that they remain in the same spot, able to look forward only, and prevented by the fetters from turning their heads. Picture further the light from a fire burning higher up and at a distance behind them, and between the fire and the prisoners and above them a road along which a low wall has been built, as the exhibitors of puppet-shows have partitions before the men themselves, above which they show the puppets. (...) See also, then, men carrying past the wall implements of all kinds that rise above the wall, and human images and shapes of animals as well, wrought in stone and wood and every material, some of these bearers presumably speaking and others silent. (...) [D]o you think that these men would have seen anything of themselves or of one another except the shadows cast from the fire on the wall of the cave that fronted them?” (Plato, Republic 514 a-515a)

ἰδὲ γὰρ ἀνθρώπους οἷον ἐν καταγείῳ οἰκήσει σπηλαιώδει, ἀναπεπταμένην πρὸς τὸ φῶς τὴν εἴσοδον ἐχούσῃ μακρὰν παρὰ πᾶν τὸ σπήλαιον, ἐν ταύτῃ ἐκ παίδων ὄντας ἐν δεσμοῖς καὶ τὰ σκέλη καὶ τοὺς αὐχένας, ὥστε μένειν τε αὐτοὺς εἴς τε τὸ πρόσθεν μόνον ὁρᾶν, κύκλῳ δὲ τὰς κεφαλὰς ὑπὸ τοῦ δεσμοῦ ἀδυνάτους περιάγειν, φῶς δὲ αὐτοῖς πυρὸς ἄνωθεν καὶ πόρρωθεν καόμενον ὄπισθεν αὐτῶν, μεταξὺ δὲ τοῦ πυρὸς καὶ τῶν δεσμωτῶν ἐπάνω ὁδόν, παρ᾽ ἣν ἰδὲ τειχίον παρῳκοδομημένον, ὥσπερ τοῖς θαυματοποιοῖς πρὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πρόκειται τὰ παραφράγματα, ὑπὲρ ὧν τὰ θαύματα δεικνύασιν. (...) ὅρα τοίνυν παρὰ τοῦτο τὸ τειχίον φέροντας ἀνθρώπους σκεύη τε παντοδαπὰ ὑπερέχοντα τοῦ τειχίου καὶ ἀνδριάντας καὶ ἄλλα ζῷα λίθινά τε καὶ ξύλινα καὶ παντοῖα εἰργασμένα, οἷον εἰκὸς τοὺς μὲν φθεγγομένους, τοὺς δὲ σιγῶντας τῶν παραφερόντων. (...) τοὺς γὰρ τοιούτους πρῶτον μὲν ἑαυτῶν τε καὶ ἀλλήλων οἴει ἄν τι ἑωρακέναι ἄλλο πλὴν τὰς σκιὰς τὰς ὑπὸ τοῦ πυρὸς εἰς τὸ καταντικρὺ αὐτῶν τοῦ σπηλαίου προσπιπτούσας;

Then the dwellers of the cave compete with each other in predicting the shadows. Then one of them is released, so that he sees the fire behind him and the objects that threw the shadows (he is “turned toward more real things”, 515 d). Then he is driven by force along the rough and steep ascent up to the sunshin in the outside. His eyes are dazzeled due to the bright sunshine.

At first he would most easily discern the shadows and, after that, the likenesses (eidola) or reflections in water of men and other things, and later, the things themselves, and from these he would go on to contemplate the appearances in the heavens and heaven itself, more easily by night, looking at the light and is in some sort the cause of all these things that they had seen. (...) And that when seen it must needs point us to the conclusion that this is indeed the cause for all things of all that is right and beautiful, giving birth in the visible world to light, and the author of light and itself in the intelligible world being the authentic source of truth and reason. (Plato, Republic 516ab and 517c)

πρῶτον μὲν τὰς σκιὰς ἂν ῥᾷστα καθορῷ, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐν τοῖς ὕδασι τά τε τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων εἴδωλα, ὕστερον δὲ αὐτά: ἐκ δὲ τούτων τὰ ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν οὐρανὸν νύκτωρ ἂν ῥᾷον θεάσαιτο, προσβλέπων τὸ τῶν ἄστρων τε καὶ σελήνης φῶς, ἢ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν τὸν ἥλιόν τε καὶ τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου. (...) καὶ μόγις ὁρᾶσθαι, ὀφθεῖσα δὲ συλλογιστέα εἶναι ὡς ἄρα πᾶσι πάντων αὕτη ὀρθῶν τε καὶ καλῶν αἰτία, ἔν τε ὁρατῷ φῶς καὶ τὸν τούτου κύριον τεκοῦσα, ἔν τε νοητῷ αὐτὴ κυρία ἀλήθειαν καὶ νοῦν παρασχομένη, καὶ ὅτι δεῖ ταύτην ἰδεῖν τὸν μέλλοντα ἐμφρόνως πράξειν ἢ ἰδίᾳ ἢ δημοσίᾳ.

3. Similar elements, different structure.

In the cited fragments, Zhuangzi has several common elements with Plato: he also has the Sun (日), fire (火), shadow (景), seeming (似) and nonbeing or false being (非), knowing (知) – or more exactly, not-knowing (不知). Furthermore, he has metaphors that could very well fit into Plaot’s logic: serpent (蛇) and its skin (蛻), cicada (蜩) and its envelope (甲), which could indicate the relation of model to copy, favored by Plato. Zhuangzi’s story seems to be even richer in derivation by one step: in addition to the dyad of thing and shadow (model – copy), he has also penumbra (罔兩) as something derived from the shadow.

But let us take a closer look. In Plato’s myth there are two realms: outside of the cave, and inside. The first represents the sphere of pure ideas and intellectual knowledge, and the second stands for the sensible world and sense-cognition. Both domains have their inner dichotomy. In the outside, the Sun rules over the multiplicity of phenomena, i.e. the One idea over the plurality of ideas. In the inside there are the originals behind the curtain and their shadows on the wall, i.e. true sensible idea and mere appearance (e.g. that I recognize this thing before me as a “chair”, gathering together a bunch of fleeting sensations, although I don’t know the cause or ground of this recognition, which would be the idea of a chair). So we have first the distinction of outer world vs the cave (intellectual vs sensible) and second, inside the respective realms Idea vs ideas, and sensible things vs their shadows. First part of the dichotomy is higher and is related to the lower one as “the real” to “illusionary” or “more real” to “less real”.

Being freed from the fetters and exiting the cave (and later returning there) describe the process of knowledge. Our task is to see beyond merely changing sensible world that is corruptible and unstable, and contemplate with our “spiritual eye” the rational, unchanging, stable, everlasting world. We must see things beyond shadows, ideas behind things and the Idea through the ideas.

At the first sight it seems to be possible to draw similar relations in Zhuangzi. We would have (1) a certain absolute or primordial state of affairs, that he doesn’t name here but that he elsewhere calls “the creator of things” (zaowuzhe 造物者), “the Way” (dao道), “interpenetrating chaos” (hundun混沌), “emptiness” (xu虚) or “nothingness” (wu無). (2) Things or forms (xing形) that project (3) shadows that in turn have at their borders (4) the penumbra, which some translators (H. Giles) render in plural, penumbrae.

But it is important to note that these layers or levels are not so much related as “real-illusionary” or “true-false”, but rather as different aspects or phases of the same reality or process. All the subsequent levels of distinguished forms are like outgrowths from less distinguished situations. So, the shadow is not “seeming” or “apparent” in the sense that behind it there would be an “original”, a “real” thing; it is a border or limit that reaches into the realm of juxtaposing forms. So, if there is illusion involved here, it is to take one part of the process (the forms) for the whole process, without understanding the flow of things between interpenetration and juxtaposition.

It is stressed in Zhuangzi’s story that a being is essentially passive: “I have movement but don’t know why,” says the Shadow (and this applies also to things and a fortiori to penumbrae). The important thing is not to grasp causes behind events – as it has been general in Western philosophy (in Plato’s story, the Sun/Idea of Good as the cause of everything), but to live with one’s generative causes. It is important to “roam freely” with one’s part of Unknowable that can never be reduced to knowledge (if we bring some of it into knowledge, then other parts will inevitably fall into non-knowledge; I cannot at the same time both know something and the principle via which I know that something). Heidegger made a similar point in case of the Greek word aletheia (“truth”): the truth as aletheia cannot be separated from its concealment, hidden-ness (leth-). Every truth has been “brought to un-concealment”), that at the same time presupposes the concealment.

So that when the shadow says in Zhuangzi’s story that it “doesn’t know” why it does the things it does, then it can be considered as a wholly “positive” affirmation: it doesn’t inquire into trifles, into the particular “causes”, doesn’t seek the “knowledge” (which would be always partial). Perhaps we could say that what is important is not knowing or not-knowing by themselves, but the capacity to change between these two modes, the capacity to keep the knowledge in touch with the “not-knowing” (which remains always the ground of every knowing). Zhuangzi’s not-knowing is not the same as the ignorance of Plato’s prisoners, who are prey to the illusions of the sensible world. Zhuangzi’s sage is a not-knower, but s/he is not in a cave and hence doesn’t yearn to come out of it. S/he situates him/herself in the communication between obscure not-knowing and clear knowing; lets go of pieces of knowledge to oblivion (merges the “juxtaposed” ideas into the “interpenetration”), creating space for new pieces of knowledge to appear, in response to the environment (as shadows to light and forms).

This appearing is as swift as the appearance of shadow in the presence of light and an object. It is not a time-consuming rational reflection on some subject (cf the difficult way out of the cave, i.e. out of ignorance), but immediate reaction to the situation. It is possible to read the word dài待 both in the sense “to depend” (as in the preceding paragraphs, as well as in the first fragment, translated by V. Mair) and in the sense “to wait” (as in the second fragment, translated by J. Legge): the shadow doesn’t wait before it appears, and neither does the snake have to wait for its scales or the cicada for its wings to move them. The shadow just appears, the snake and the cicada just move. They react to the situation as quickly as a mirror reflects the image.[2]

Plato and Zhuangzi are different also motorically, so to say. In Plato’s myth the seeker of knowledge toils his/her way up to the mouth of the cave, to the light of the Idea-Sun. But Zhuangzi (in other places of the book) stresses “carefree roaming”, and his spiritual practice takes a very different outlook: it is “sitting and forgetting”, where the “body is like dried wood and the mind is like dead ashes”. So, no toiling and physical effort, but “stopping and looking” (zhiguan), if we use anachronistically the much later formula of Zhiyi. This does not lead to utter immobility and stagnation, but on the contrary, to ever greater mobility and flexibility of personality.[3]

There is much more to these metaphors than I discussed here; my idea was to give a hint, how similar metaphors can have very different meanings in Zhuangzi and Plato.

Sources:

Plato’s Republic in Greek: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3atext%3a1999.01.0167

Plato’s Republic in English: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3atext%3a1999.01.0168

Victor Mair 1994. Wandering on the Way. Early taoist tales and parables of Chuang Tzu, Bantam Books.

James Legge 1891. The Writings of Chuang Tzu, from: http://ctext.org/zhuangzi/inner-chapters

[1] I believe this place is dubious. Mair seems to accept an interpolation here, as several editions do (but not Zhuangzi yinde) “而況乎以無有待者乎！” I think it would be possible to find an interpretation without this addition, but I will leave it open here.

[2] The metaphor of mirror has also different meanings in Plato and Zhuangzi. In Plato it is another representation of the model-copy relation: the “real” thing in front of the mirror and the “mere image” in the mirror. But in Zhuangzi (as also later in Buddhism), mirror is used to convey the idea of immediacy, non-partiality and truthfulness: a clear mind reflects its surroundings as immediately and faithfully as a mirror.

[3] I do not mean to say that Zhuangzi’s strategy, his “free roaming” doesn’t imply any effort at all, but it is a different kind of effort, related more to undoing than doing (cf. the several steps of this process described in the story (towards the end of the chapter 6), where Yan Hui finally discovers how to “sit and forget”). Paraphrasing the Estonian poet Jaan Kaplinski (also a translator of Laozi), “it is hard to become supple”.