《莊子》Vol. 10

The opening of the “Rifling Trunks” chapter of the Zhuangzi says:

To guard against petty thieves who pry open trunks, rummage through bags, and pick locks, people tie things up tightly and reinforce the fastenings. This is what the world calls cleverness. But when a great thief comes, he simply shoulders the cabinet, carries off the trunk, and takes the bag, fearing only that you have not tied them tightly enough or made the locks secure enough. Seen this way, aren’t the world’s so-called clever methods just helping the great thief stockpile wealth?

So I ask: how many of the people the world calls clever are not accumulating wealth for the great thief? And how many of those called sages are not guarding the great thief’s possessions? How do we know this is so?

Note: “Rifling trunks” refers to prying open a chest and, by extension, to theft. Through the image of anti-theft measures making things easier for a great thief, this passage criticizes worldly cleverness for enabling greater harm and reflects Zhuangzi’s questioning of conventional values.

In the past, the towns of Qi stood close together, so people could hear one another’s roosters crowing and dogs barking. Fishing nets were spread across the waters, and farmland extended for more than two thousand square li. Throughout the country, the ancestral temples where people worshipped their forebears, the altars to the spirits of the land and grain, and the rules for governing towns and villages—which of these did not follow the methods of the sages?

Yet Tian Chengzi, a powerful minister of Qi, suddenly killed the ruler and seized the government. Did he steal only the state? He stole the sages’ wisdom for governing along with it. So although Tian Chengzi bore the name of a thief, he enjoyed a position as secure as that of Yao and Shun. Small states did not dare condemn him, and great states did not dare attack him. His family ruled Qi for twelve generations. Was this not a case of stealing not only the state of Qi, but also using the sages’ methods of governance to protect himself as a thief?

Let me try to explain this...

This passage from the Zhuangzi questions what the world calls “supreme wisdom” and “supreme sageliness.” Through satire, it exposes a troubling reality:

Do the wisest people whom the world praises not help great robbers amass wealth? And do so-called sages not guard the robbers’ possessions for them? How can we tell? Look to history: Guan Longfeng, a loyal minister of the Xia dynasty, was beheaded; Bi Gan, a loyal minister of the Shang, had his heart cut out; Chang Hong, a worthy minister of the Zhou, was torn apart by chariots; and Wu Zixu, a loyal minister of Wu, had his body thrown into the river. In the end, none of these four worthy men escaped a violent death.

Zhuangzi then develops his point through the story of Robber Zhi, a legendary bandit. Even robbers, he suggests, have their own “Way.” Robber Zhi’s followers ask him, “Can there be principles for being a robber?” He replies, “How could there be none?” Then he explains the robbers’ “five virtues”: guessing what is hidden inside a house is called “sageliness,” or wisdom; going in first is called “bravery”; being the last to withdraw is called “righteousness”; knowing whether a robbery can succeed is called “discernment”; and dividing the spoils fairly is called “benevolence.”

Zhuangzi ends with a barb: no one in the world has ever become a great robber without possessing all five of these “virtues.” The passage satirizes the “Way of the sages” upheld by society at the time, hinting that those who proclaim their own moral virtue may be less virtuous than robbers.

From these examples, we can see that a good person who does not understand the way the sages deal with the world will struggle to find a place in society. Even a villain such as Robber Zhi, the legendary bandit, could not run rampant across the land without the sages’ methods. But good people are few and bad people many. So the sages’ methods bring little benefit to the world and cause even greater harm.

That is why they say: when the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold—a reminder that things depend on one another. It is like the tribute wine from Lu that led to Handan being besieged, when a dispute over the wine between the states of Lu and Zhao sparked a war. Wherever sages appear, great bandits rise alongside them. Only when the sages’ methods are condemned and the bandits’ deeds forgiven can peace begin to return to the world.

It is like this: when rivers dry up, valleys lie empty; when hills are leveled, deep pools fill in. Once the sages are gone, the great bandits will disappear of their own accord, and the world will know peace.

(Note: This is Zhuangzi’s critique of the Confucian ideal of the “sage.” He argues that the so-called Way of the sages can be exploited by the wicked, and calls for abandoning man-made rules and returning to a natural state.)

This passage from the Zhuangzi says that as long as so-called “sage rulers” exist in the world, great thieves will never disappear. Even when we praise the sages’ methods of governing and use them to rule the world, we are actually creating more opportunities for people like Robber Zhi, the famous thief of antiquity, to profit.

Take measures for grain as an example: we make measuring vessels, and thieves steal the vessels along with the grain. We devise weighing beams, and thieves steal the beams too. We create seals and credentials to establish trust, and thieves steal those as well. We promote benevolence and righteousness to reform people’s hearts, and thieves steal the very language of benevolence and righteousness and use it for themselves.

How do we know this happens? Small thieves who steal hooks are put to death, while those who seize a state become its lords. The gates of these lords’ residences all bear the sign of benevolence and righteousness. Have they not stolen benevolence and righteousness, along with the wisdom of the sages?

So those who follow the great thief and set themselves up as lords have, in effect, stolen benevolence and righteousness, standards of measurement, and seals and tokens of trust, then turned these good things to their own advantage. Here Zhuangzi is mocking the society of his time: morality is preached on the surface, while those in power appropriate rules and institutions and use them to protect their privileges.

Zhuangzi uses a sharp contrast here to make a central point: external systems of reward and punishment cannot truly restrain human nature. They may even have the opposite effect.

He says that offering high office and generous rewards cannot make people sincerely good, just as threatening them with execution cannot prevent wrongdoing. The reason great bandits such as Robber Zhi, the notorious thief of antiquity, keep appearing is that they are, in a sense, a side effect of the rites and laws established by the sages.

Consider this: fish cannot survive away from deep water, and the key means of governing a state should not be put on display. The so-called sages are like the state’s sharp instruments; they should not be paraded before people.

Zhuangzi therefore puts forward a radical proposal: abandon the sages’ teachings and clever schemes, and great bandits will disappear of their own accord; discard jade and smash pearls, and petty theft will cease; burn the tallies and destroy the seals, and the people will return to simplicity; break the measuring vessels and destroy the balance beams, and people will no longer compete for profit.

Here, “tallies and seals” and “measuring vessels and balance beams” symbolize the social rules and legal institutions of the time.

He goes further: only by abolishing the laws of the sages throughout the world can people speak freely. Disrupt the musical scales, destroy the instruments, and block the ears of Master Kuang, the famous musician, and people everywhere will retain their own hearing. Erase patterns, scramble the colors, and cover the eyes of Li Zhu, the legendary figure with extraordinary sight, and people everywhere will retain their own vision.

At a deeper level, Zhuangzi opposes the use of human-made standards to regulate people’s natural dispositions. He argues for a return to what is most genuine and uncontrived.

If the artisans’ compasses and ink lines were broken, their measuring cords and hooks destroyed, and the fingers of the ingenious craftsman Chui—said to have lived in the time of Emperor Yao—rendered useless, then people everywhere could truly keep the skills they were born with. As the saying goes, “The greatest wisdom seems clumsy.”

If the cultivated virtues of people such as Zeng Shen, a disciple of Confucius famed for his filial devotion, and Shi Yu, a worthy minister of the state of Wei, could be set aside; if the arguments of Yang Zhu, who advocated “living for oneself,” and Mozi, who advocated “universal love,” could be silenced; and if human standards such as benevolence and righteousness could be abandoned, then people’s De (Virtue/Power) could return to its natural unity. When people keep their minds clear, the world is not worn down by cleverness. When they keep their hearing natural, the world is not burdened by music.

When people keep their understanding true to its nature, the world does not fall into confusion. When they preserve their inborn De, the world does not stray into perversity. People such as Zeng Shen, Shi Yu, Yang Zhu, Mozi, the celebrated musician Shi Kuang, the craftsman Chui, and Li Zhu, famed in legend for his keen eyesight, all disrupted the world’s natural Dao by making a show of their outward virtue and skill. This is precisely what the law of the Great Dao rejects.

Zhuangzi describes his vision of an ideal society here:

Do you know what the age of perfect virtue was like? In ancient times, during the reigns of twelve early rulers such as Rongcheng, Dating, and Bohuang, ordinary people recorded events by tying knots in cords. People thought their food tasted delicious, their clothes looked beautiful, their customs brought them joy, and their homes were comfortable. Neighboring states could see one another, and the sounds of roosters and dogs carried between them, yet people lived out their lives without visiting each other.

Such an age was the best kind of government. But what about now? Ordinary people stretch their necks and rise onto their toes, asking everywhere, “Where can I find someone worthy?” Then they pack provisions and set off to seek that person.

The twelve early rulers mentioned here, including Rongcheng, are figures Zhuangzi invented to represent ideal rulers and an ancient age of simplicity and naturalness. “Tying knots in cords” refers to a method people used to record events before writing was invented. This passage expresses Zhuangzi’s longing for a simple, natural way of life and his criticism of people’s pursuit of fame and profit in his own time.

When a ruler places excessive value on cleverness and schemes, ministers neglect family bonds at home and fail in their duties abroad. They travel across the borders of the feudal states, their carriages and horses covering a thousand miles. These are the harms caused by those above who pursue cleverness too eagerly.

If a ruler truly prizes cleverness but does not follow the natural Dao, the world will surely fall into chaos. How can we know?

Look: when there are too many bows and snares for catching birds, birds fly about in confusion. When fishing gear grows ever more elaborate, fish dart wildly through the water. When traps and nets for catching animals become too numerous, beasts flee across the marshes. In the same way, when sophistry spreads through society—arguments such as “hard and white” and “same and different,” associated with the School of Names—the people are bewildered by claims that seem true but are not.

“Hard and white” and “same and different” were famous debating propositions of the Warring States School of Names. Zhuangzi held that such clever arguments could unsettle people’s minds.

The root cause of the world’s frequent turmoil is people’s excessive pursuit of cleverness and craft.

Everyone struggles to pursue what they do not understand, while neglecting the principles they have already grasped. Each person is busy pointing out others’ faults, yet fails to see the problems in what they themselves approve of. This is why the world falls into disorder.

As a result, the light of the sun and moon is obscured in the heavens; the vitality of mountains and rivers is depleted on earth; and the cycles of the seasons are thrown into disarray among humankind.

Even the tiniest crawling creatures and the lightest flying beings lose their natural nature.

The harm that excessive cleverness brings to the world is truly immense!

Things have been this way since the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou: people cast aside the simple and honest, yet favor the scheming and corrupt; they abandon the Dao’s quiet, effortless Wuwei (non-action), yet delight in ceaseless preaching. It is this incessant preaching that throws the world into disorder!

The note explains that “quiet simplicity and non-action” refers to the Daoist way of living in stillness and accord with nature, without forcing things. The phrase “tun tun” describes the sound of ceaseless preaching.