《莊子》

The opening of the Zhuangzi: Free and Easy Wandering tells a wondrous story. In the deep northern sea lives a huge fish called Kun, so immense that no one knows how many thousand li long its body is. The fish later transforms into a giant bird called Peng, whose back is likewise so vast that no one knows how many thousand li wide it is. When Peng spreads its wings and rises high into the sky, they look like clouds hanging at the edge of heaven. Whenever winds rise over the sea, this divine bird flies south to the “Heavenly Lake.”

A book of strange tales called the Qixie records: “When the great Peng flies to the Southern Sea, its wings beat the water into waves three thousand li high. It rides a whirlwind straight up ninety thousand li into the sky, and can complete its journey only by relying on the great wind of the sixth month.” The “wild horses”—the drifting mists over the fields in spring—and the swirling dust are natural phenomena produced by the interplay of Qi between heaven and earth.

Zhuangzi then raises a profound question: Is the boundless sky we see when we look up really its true color? Or is it so high and distant that we simply cannot see where it ends? And if we looked down from high above, what would we see?

This passage comes from the Jing (classic) Zhuangzi: Free and Easy Wandering. Through vivid comparisons, it illustrates the importance of “accumulation.”

The analogy of water

If there is not enough water, it cannot float a large boat. Pour a cupful into a hollow in the floor, for example: a blade of grass can serve as a boat, but set down a cup and it will run aground. The water is too shallow for so large a “vessel.”

The analogy of wind

If the wind has not built up enough force, it cannot support the great Peng bird’s enormous wings. To fly ninety thousand li into the sky, Peng must rely on the powerful wind below. Then, borne by the wind and with the blue heavens at its back, it can fly south without hindrance.

The cicada and little birds mock Peng

The cicada and the small birds laugh at Peng: “We spring into the air and stop at an elm tree. If we can’t reach it, we drop back to the ground. Why fly ninety thousand li all the way south?” It is like this:

Someone traveling to the outskirts can go and return with three meals’ worth of food. Someone traveling a hundred li must prepare food for the night. Someone traveling a thousand li must stockpile food for three months.

How could these tiny creatures understand Peng’s aspiration?

Note: “Building up the wind” refers to accumulating wind force, while “being hindered” refers to obstruction. The contrast shows that those with a narrow outlook cannot understand why great undertakings require deep and sustained preparation.

This passage from the Zhuangzi uses vivid comparisons to show how understanding and the conditions of life can differ.

The limits of understanding: “Small cleverness cannot match great wisdom; a short life cannot comprehend a long one. How do we know this is so?” A fungus that lives from dawn to dusk cannot grasp the passage of a month. A cicada that lives for a single season cannot understand the changes of a whole year. Each is limited by the brevity of its life.

Different scales of life: South of the state of Chu, there was a great tree called Mingling. One spring of its life lasted five hundred years, and one autumn lasted another five hundred. In ancient times, there was also a great Chun tree: one spring lasted eight thousand years, and one autumn lasted another eight thousand. Yet people compare themselves with Pengzu, who lived for only eight hundred years, and hold him up as a model of longevity. Is that not tragic?

A vastness of space: When Tang of Shang questioned Ji, a worthy man of ancient times, Ji spoke of a deep sea in the barren lands of the far north, called the Celestial Lake. In it lived a fish called Kun, thousands of li across, whose length no one knew. There was also a bird called Peng, with a back as large as Mount Tai and wings like clouds hanging across the sky.

This passage shows how different forms of life perceive time and space on different scales, revealing that understanding is relative. Mingling and the great Chun represent forms of life that exceed ordinary human comprehension; Kun and Peng suggest beings that surpass spatial limits. Zhuangzi uses these examples to unsettle a human-centered view of the world.

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi: Wandering Beyond the Bounds (Xiaoyao You), and describes the different realms of the great Peng bird and the little sparrow, drawing from them a lesson about life.

The great Peng rides a whirlwind, spiraling upward to a height of ninety thousand li. It passes through the clouds, bears the blue sky on its back, and only then turns south toward the Southern Sea. But the little quail (chiyan) laughs at it: “Where does it think it’s going? I leap into the air and fly a few yards before dropping back down. I flit among the mugwort bushes—that is the height of flight! Where could it possibly be going?” This is the difference between the small and the great.

Zhuangzi then uses this image to show how people differ in their outlook. Some are capable of holding an official post; their conduct earns the approval of their home district; or their virtue meets a ruler’s expectations and wins the trust of an entire state. They are as satisfied with themselves as the little quail is. But Song Rongzi, a worthy man of the state of Song, would find this amusing. Even if the whole world praised him, he would not strive harder; even if the whole world criticized him, he would not be discouraged.

The contrast between the great Peng and the little quail illustrates the Daoist idea of “the distinction between the small and the great”: people of different realms perceive things in entirely different ways. Song Rongzi’s composure embodies the Daoist ideal of remaining unmoved by external things.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes several different levels of human attainment.

The first part says that a person who can distinguish the mind from external things, and understand the boundary between honor and shame, has already reached a considerable level. Yet they are not fully free of the world; there are still higher realms they have not reached. Liezi, a legendary immortal who could ride the wind with effortless grace and return only after fifteen days, was already remarkable.

The second part goes on to say that someone like Liezi, who seeks blessings, is still not fully free. Though he need not walk, he still depends on the wind. Those of true distinction follow the natural patterns of Heaven and Earth, master the changes of the six Qi—Yin and Yang, wind and rain, darkness and light—and roam through boundless realms. What, then, would they still need to depend on?

The passage concludes that the “Perfect Person” forgets the self, the “Spirit Person” seeks no accomplishments, and the “Sage” seeks no fame.

The third part tells a story. Yao wants to yield the empire to Xu You, a legendary hermit, and says: “When the sun and moon have risen, why keep a torch burning? To compete with their brightness would be difficult indeed. When timely rains have fallen, why irrigate by hand…?” The point is that, before a higher realm, worldly achievements and fame are superfluous.

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi, “Free and Easy Wandering” (Xiaoyaoyou). It tells the story of Xu You refusing Emperor Yao’s offer to hand over the throne. Here is a modern-language interpretation:

Emperor Yao said to Xu You, “If you became the Son of Heaven, the world would be governed well at once. But I still occupy this position, and I feel unworthy of it. Please let me hand the world over to you.”

Xu You replied, “You have governed the world very well already. If I were to take your place, would it be for the sake of an empty name? Fame is merely an accessory to real gain. Why should I pursue such an accessory?”

Then Xu You made an analogy: “A bird nesting in a deep forest needs only one branch. A field mouse drinking by a river is content once its belly is full. Go back, then. What would I do with the world?”

Finally, he offered another vivid example: “Even if the cook does not prepare the meal, the person presiding over the sacrifice will not overstep his role and take over the cooking.” Here, “the person presiding over the sacrifice” refers to someone who represented the deity and received offerings during ancient rituals; the “wine vessels and sacrificial dishes” were used in those rites.

This passage expresses the Daoist idea of governing through Wuwei (non-action). Xu You holds that a truly worthy person does not crave rank or power. Just as everything in nature has its proper place, people should be content with their own place. His examples of the bird and the field mouse show that people need very little; there is no need to pursue empty fame or power beyond what is necessary.

Shenwu asked Lianshu for advice. “I once heard Jieyu, the hermit of Chu, say some things that struck me as wildly exaggerated and impossible to believe. His words had no bounds or measure. They left me unsettled, like the distant Milky Way, and were so far from ordinary sense that they seemed utterly unreasonable.”

Lianshu asked, “What did he say?”

Shenwu replied, “He said that on the distant Mount Gushe, a mythical mountain of immortals, lives a divine being. The being’s skin is as white as ice and snow, and the body as graceful as a young girl’s. He eats no grains, living only by breathing the pure air and drinking dew. Riding the clouds and mounting a flying dragon, he wanders beyond the four seas. When his spirit is fully concentrated, he can keep all things free from disaster and ensure the harvests ripen of themselves. I think this is sheer madness, utterly unbelievable.”

This dialogue presents Zhuangzi’s extraordinary image of the divine being and reflects the Daoist ideal of a person who transcends worldly concerns and lives in free and effortless ease. Descriptions such as “eating no grains” later became important elements in Daoist beliefs about immortals.

Lian Shu replied, “That is indeed so.”

“A blind person cannot appreciate the beauty of patterns;

a deaf person cannot hear the music of bells and drums.

Could blindness and deafness exist only in the body?

The mind, too, can suffer from these limitations.

These words

describe people like you.”

“The spirit-like person—that is, one who has attained the Dao—

has a De

that embraces all things and unites them as one.

The world pursues disorder;

why would such a person wear himself out trying to govern it?”

“Nothing external can harm such a person.

Even when floods rage across the land, he will not drown;

even when a great drought melts metal and stone and scorches the hills, he will not feel the heat.

Even the dust and dregs on his body

could bring forth sage rulers like Yao and Shun.

How could he concern himself with worldly affairs?”

“People from Song went to Yue to sell ceremonial caps called zhangfu,

but the people of Yue cut their hair short and tattooed their bodies,

so they had no use for them.

Yao governed the people of the realm,”

In the past, a man governed the world with great success. Later, he went to Mount Miaoguye—a legendary mountain of immortals—to visit four sages who had attained the Dao (the Way). When he reached the northern bank of the Fen River, he suddenly felt that all his achievements in ruling the world had become meaningless. (Here Zhuangzi uses a parable to describe the realm of those who cultivate the Dao and transcend worldly concerns.)

Huizi, a representative of the School of Names, said to Zhuangzi: “The King of Wei gave me seeds from a huge gourd. I planted them, and the fruit they bore could hold five shi—an ancient unit of capacity. It was not sturdy enough to bear its own weight when used as a water container. Split open to make a ladle, it was too large to fit into any suitable vessel. Though this gourd was astonishingly big, I thought it was useless and smashed it.”

Zhuangzi replied: “You really don’t know how to make use of something large. In the state of Song, there was a family skilled in making a medicine to prevent hands from cracking in the cold. For generations, they had earned their living helping people wash silk floss. An outsider heard about it and offered a hundred jin of gold to buy the recipe. (Through this story, Zhuangzi shows that an object’s value depends on how it is used.)”

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi and tells several parables about making full use of things. Here is a modern interpretation:

The story of the medicine that prevents cracked hands

Someone knew a formula for preventing hands from cracking in the cold. For generations, the family used this skill to earn only a little money. Later, a man paid a high price for the secret formula and presented it to the King of Wu. When the state of Yue invaded, the king sent the man to lead troops in a winter naval battle. Because the soldiers’ hands did not crack in the cold, they defeated the Yue army. The man was rewarded with a fief. The same formula could earn one person a living washing silk floss, while another used it to gain a noble title and military rank. What mattered was how it was put to use.

The lesson of the huge gourd

You have a gourd large enough to hold five shi (a traditional unit of volume). Why not make it into a floating vessel and roam the rivers and lakes, instead of worrying that it is too large to put anywhere? This shows that your thinking is still as narrow as a patch of weeds!

The useless tree

Huizi said to Zhuangzi, “I have a large tree that people call a chu (a kind of ailanthus). Its trunk is so gnarled that it does not fit a carpenter’s ink line; its branches are so twisted that they do not fit a compass or square. It grows beside the road...” Zhuangzi’s later reply develops the idea of “the use of what seems useless,” showing that things that appear useless may have great value in another way.

Through these three examples, the passage suggests that a thing’s value depends on how it is used. The same formula can lead to very different outcomes; a huge gourd can be put to a new use; and a tree that seems useless may have a purpose of its own. Together, they invite us to think beyond convention.

Zhuangzi said, “Have you never seen a wildcat or a weasel? They crouch low and lie in wait for passing prey. They dart this way and that, paying no heed to high or low, and end up caught in a trap and dying in a snare.

“Now consider the yak, as huge as a cloud on the horizon. It may grow very large, yet it cannot even catch a mouse. You have a great tree and worry that it serves no purpose. Why not plant it in an empty, open field? You could stroll at ease beside it or lie carefree beneath its branches. No axe would fell it, and nothing could harm it. Since it serves no purpose, how could it bring you hardship?”

In this parable, Zhuangzi uses what seems useless to explain the value of “uselessness.” The wildcat and weasel represent those who seem clever but end up harming themselves; the yak stands for something that appears powerful but is of little practical use. Zhuangzi urges people to follow the natural course of things, suggesting that what seems useless may, in fact, preserve one’s life.