《莊子》Vol. 11

Commentaries on Chapter Eleven of “Being at Ease in Forbearance” (Zaiyou), from the Zhuangzi:

I have heard of letting the world dwell in ease and spaciousness—a way of governing that does not interfere, but follows things as they are. I have never heard of governing the world. “Dwelling” means being concerned that people may lose their inborn nature; “forbearance” means being concerned that they may alter their natural De (Virtue/Power). If everyone in the world could preserve their nature without deviation and their De without change, what need would there be for anyone to govern the world?

In ancient times, when Yao governed the world, he made its people joyful and exhilarated. They took pleasure in their own nature, but this in turn made them lose their calm. When Jie governed the world, he made its people anxious and distressed. They suffered over their own nature, and this in turn made them lose their joy. Neither a state without calm nor one without joy accords with the natural Way. Nothing that goes against the natural Way has ever endured for long.

What happens when people become excessively joyful? They harm their Yang Qi (vital energy); what happens when they become excessively angry? They harm their Yin Qi. This points out that extreme emotions disrupt the body’s balance of Yin and Yang.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes the harm caused by an imbalance between Yin and Yang and by human interference with the natural order.

When Yin and Yang clash, the seasons can no longer change in their proper course, and cold and heat lose their balance, harming the human body. People fall into states of erratic joy and anger, disordered living, restless thought, and abandoning tasks halfway through. This leads people throughout the world to accuse and attack one another. It is this condition that gives rise to such starkly different examples of conduct as Robber Zhi, the legendary bandit, and the virtuous men Zeng Shen and Shi Yu.

For this reason, all the rewards in the world would not be enough to reward good conduct, and all the punishments in the world would not be enough to punish evil. Ever since the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, people have been ceaselessly using rewards and punishments to govern society. How could they find time to settle into the true condition of life?

Moreover, indulging the eyes leads to fixation on beauty; indulging the ears leads to obsession with music; and making too much of benevolence disrupts people’s natural De (Virtue).

This passage expresses Zhuangzi’s idea of governing through Wuwei (non-action). He holds that human-made moral standards and systems of reward and punishment disrupt natural harmony. The contrast between Robber Zhi and Zeng Shen and Shi Yu suggests that standards of good and evil are shaped by human judgment. “The true condition of nature and life” refers to the way people exist in their original, uncontrived state.

Zhuangzi criticizes several values that worldly people hold in high esteem.

As for “righteousness,” or moral rules, it goes against the natural order. “Propriety,” or ritual institutions, is like showing off one’s technique. “Music,” or the arts, encourages indulgent pleasure. The “Way of the sage” becomes a display of talent, while “knowledge and wisdom” only give rise to all kinds of trouble.

Zhuangzi believes that rules imposed by people distort our natural nature.

If everyone under Heaven could rest in a natural, uncontrived state of life, it would make no difference whether these eight things—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, music, and the like—existed or not. But if people cannot rest in their own nature, these rules begin to twist and change. They become shackles that constrain human nature and, in the end, throw the world into disorder.

How sad that people have begun to honor and cherish these things. The people under Heaven have been led astray so deeply!

Could it be enough simply to go through the motions? No. One should speak of it solemnly after fasting and bathing, offer it with reverence while kneeling, and celebrate it with drums, song, and dance. Why do I do this? This describes the solemn preparations made before ancient sacrifices and important rites, expressing reverence for what is sacred.

Therefore, if a virtuous gentleman has no choice but to govern the world, the best way is to follow nature and refrain from forcing things—Wuwei (non-action). Only through Wuwei can the people’s nature and life find peace. One who values self-cultivation above governing the world is fit to be entrusted with it.

Only one who treasures self-cultivation more than governing the world can be entrusted with the world. Thus, if a gentleman can avoid dissipating the vital essence of the Five Viscera—that is, by not overtaxing his inner energies—and avoid flaunting his cleverness, he may seem still as a ritual effigy, yet be as responsive as a dragon appearing; outwardly silent and profound as an abyss, while inwardly rumbling like thunder. Through these contrasting images, the passage expresses the Daoist ideal of governing through Wuwei and the state of self-cultivation.

These two passages from the Zhuangzi present the Daoist political philosophy of governing through Wuwei (non-action).

The first passage means that when the spirit accords with the natural course of Heaven and follows its patterns without haste or strain, all things move of themselves, like steam rising from a cooking pot. Why, then, would I need to govern the world deliberately?

The second passage is a conversation between Cui Qu and Laozi:

Cui Qu asked Laozi, “If you do not govern the world, how can you bring peace to people’s hearts?”

Laozi replied, “Be careful not to forcefully interfere with people’s hearts. The human heart is like water: press it down and it sinks; lift it up and it surges. These artificial rises and falls only stifle its natural character.”

Laozi went on to explain the nature of the human heart. It can soften and overcome what is hard, yet excessive carving and polishing can drive it to extremes: it grows hot like a blazing fire or cold like ice. Its changes are swift; in the blink of an eye, it can travel beyond the four seas.

Here, “Wuwei” means following the natural order without acting against it. “Lao Dan” is another name for Laozi, and “naoyue” describes a state of softness that can accommodate and contain.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells of how difficult the human heart is to fathom and how the ancient sage kings tried to govern the world.

The first section says that the human heart is like a deep pool: still, it is impossible to measure; once stirred, it is as hard to grasp as something suspended in the air. Perhaps nothing is more unruly and difficult to restrain than the human heart.

The second section turns to history. From the time of the Yellow Emperor, rulers used benevolence and righteousness—moral rules—to restrain people’s hearts. By the time of Yao and Shun, they had labored until their thighs were thin and their calves bare, struggling to care for the people of the world. They exhausted themselves in body and mind to put benevolence and righteousness into practice, and spent their strength devising laws and regulations.

The next section says that even so, they could not govern the world well. Yao therefore exiled Huandou, a famously defiant figure, to Mount Chong; drove the Sanmiao people to Mount Sanwei; and banished Gonggong, a legendary water spirit who often opposed the rulers, to Youdu, a remote land in the north. These measures were taken because they could not bring the world under control.

The passage reflects Zhuangzi’s criticism of the Confucian idea of governing through benevolence and righteousness. In his view, forcing people’s hearts into line with moral rules can produce the opposite of what is intended. This reflects the Daoist teaching of natural Wuwei (non-action).

When this way of life spread through the Three Kings—the rulers of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties—the world fell into great disorder. Below, there were evildoers such as Jie of Xia, a tyrant, and Zhi the Robber, a notorious bandit; above, there were worthy men such as Zeng Shen, a representative of Confucianism, and Shi Yu, a model of loyalty. Confucianism, Mohism, and the other schools all sprang up. As a result, people became suspicious of and deceived one another. Good and evil accused each other, while truth and falsehood mocked each other, and society fell into decline.

People held different standards of morality, and their inborn nature became scattered. When everyone in the world pursued cleverness and skill, the common people were drained and exhausted. So instruments of punishment—the axe and saw—were made; rules and regulations, like the carpenter’s line and ink marker, began to kill; and instruments of torture—the mallet and chisel—decided who lived and died. The root cause of the world’s great disorder was the disturbance of people’s hearts and minds.

Thus the worthy withdrew into mountain caves, while rulers with armies of ten thousand chariots sat in their courts, consumed by worry.

This passage presents Zhuangzi’s criticism of the social disorder of his time. It suggests that conflict among competing doctrines and confusion over moral standards were sources of social turmoil, and advocates a return to a natural, unforced state.

This passage from the Zhuangzi criticizes the state of society at the time and reflects on Confucian and Mohist thought.

In this world today, the bodies of executed people lie piled together, prisoners in stocks stand shoulder to shoulder, and victims of torture and execution are everywhere. Yet Confucian and Mohist scholars still hold forth and raise their voices among these shackled prisoners. Alas, this is too much! They have reached the point of feeling no remorse and knowing no shame.

I truly cannot understand: are the wisdom of those so-called sages not precisely the mortise and tenon joints used to make stocks? Are their doctrines of benevolence, righteousness, and virtue not the tools used to forge shackles? Who can guarantee that worthy men like Zeng Shen and Shi Yu will not become accomplices of tyrants and villains like Xia Jie and Robber Zhi? That is why it is said: “Cast aside the so-called wisdom of the sages, and the world can finally be at peace.”

The text then tells a story. The Yellow Emperor had been Son of Heaven for nineteen years, and his decrees were carried out throughout the realm. Hearing that Guangchengzi, a legendary immortal, lived on Mount Kongtong, he went to visit him and said, “I have heard that you, Master, have grasped the supreme Dao…”

This passage comes from the “Zai You” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It recounts the Yellow Emperor’s visit to Guang Chengzi to ask about the highest Dao:

The Yellow Emperor asked, “May I ask about the essence of the highest Dao? I want to draw on the abundance of Heaven and Earth to help the five grains grow and nourish the people. I also want to bring Yin-Yang— the two opposing yet complementary forces of the cosmos—into harmony so that all things may grow and flourish. How should I do this?”

Guang Chengzi replied, “What you ask about is only the outward appearance of things; what you want to control is merely the dregs of the Dao. Since you began governing the realm, clouds have rained before they could gather, plants have withered before they could turn yellow, and the light of the sun and moon has grown dimmer and dimmer. With a mind so full of clever schemes, how could you be fit to speak of the highest Dao?”

After hearing this, the Yellow Emperor withdrew and gave up the affairs of governing the realm. He built a quiet room, laid it with a mat of white cogon grass—a clean material used in ancient rites—and lived there alone for three months, reflecting on himself. Then he went to visit Guang Chengzi again. This time, he found Guang Chengzi lying with his head facing south, in keeping with the ancient custom that honored figures of high standing by placing them in the south.

This passage expresses a central Daoist idea: governing through Wuwei (non-action). Guang Chengzi criticizes the Yellow Emperor’s attempt to interfere with natural patterns through human effort, arguing that realizing the highest Dao requires letting go of the desire to control. The Yellow Emperor’s later retreat for quiet cultivation reflects the Daoist practice of stilling and disciplining oneself in order to awaken to the Great Dao.

Yellow Emperor, the legendary ruler of high antiquity, approached from downwind, crawling on his knees. He bowed again and asked, “I have heard that you understand the supreme Dao (the Way). How should I cultivate my body and nurture my nature so that I may attain long life?”

Guangchengzi, a legendary immortal who had attained the Dao, sprang to his feet and said, “A fine question! Come closer, and I will tell you about the supreme Dao. Its essence is deep and obscure; its ultimate state is still and undifferentiated.”

“Do not look with your eyes or listen with your ears. Keep your spirit within and your mind calm, and your body will naturally become upright. You must remain calm and clear. Do not overstrain your body or disturb your Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). In this way, you may attain long life.”

“When your eyes do not look at external things, your ears do not listen to sounds, and your mind does not pursue knowledge and desires, your spirit can protect your body, and your body can naturally endure. Guard your inner spirit with care, and shut out disturbances from the outer senses.”

This passage from the Zhuangzi explains how Guangchengzi—a legendary immortal who was the Yellow Emperor’s teacher—taught the principles of self-cultivation and nourishing life.

The first section says that seeking too much knowledge can bring harm. Guangchengzi tells the Yellow Emperor: “I will lead you up to the highest realm of brightness, to the source of pure Yang; I will also lead you into the deep and mysterious gateway, to the root of pure Yin. Heaven and Earth each have their own ruler, and Yin and Yang each have their own proper course. Carefully guard your body, and all things will naturally flourish.”

The second section describes a method of cultivation. Guangchengzi says that he “holds fast to the root of the Dao and keeps Yin and Yang in harmony.” Through cultivating himself for twelve hundred years, his body has never grown old. Hearing this, the Yellow Emperor bows reverently and praises Guangchengzi for having become one with the Way of Heaven.

Guangchengzi then continues his teaching: “Come closer! I will tell you: the Great Dao is boundless, yet people all think it has an end. The Great Dao is unfathomable, yet people all think it has limits. Those who understand my way can become sage emperors above or worthy kings below.”

Note: “Guarding the One” (shouyi) is an important Daoist practice. It means focusing on and preserving innate vital energy. Yin and Yang are the two fundamental forces in the universe, opposed yet united.

Those who have lost the Dao (the Way) can see only the light of heaven above and the earth below. All things grow from the earth and, in the end, return to it. So I will leave you and enter the “Gate of the Infinite,” wandering through the boundless “Field of the Limitless.”

The realized one speaks: “I shine alongside the sun and moon, and endure with heaven and earth. Come near me, and I seem indistinct; move away, and I seem dim and obscure. All worldly people will eventually die, but I alone will endure.”

Cloud General traveled eastward. As he passed among the branches of the sacred Fusang tree, he happened to meet Hundun, the legendary spirit of nature. Hundun was slapping his thighs and hopping about like a bird, at play. This lively image portrays Hundun’s unselfconscious naturalness and reflects the Daoist esteem for nature as it is.

This passage comes from the “In the World” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It describes a conversation between Yunjiang (the cloud spirit) and Hongmeng, an embodiment of primordial Qi (vital energy):

When Yunjiang encountered Hongmeng, he suddenly stopped, stood respectfully, and asked, “Who are you, sir? Why are you here?” Hongmeng slapped his thighs and bounced about like a sparrow, answering with just one word: “Playing!”

Yunjiang asked again, “I have a question I’d like to ask you.” Hongmeng looked up at him and said, “Oh?” Yunjiang continued, “The Qi of Heaven and Earth is out of harmony, and the seasons are running out of order. I want to bring the essences of the six Qi—Yin, Yang, wind, rain, darkness, and light—into balance to nourish all things. How should I do this?”

Hongmeng kept slapping his thighs and hopping about. He turned away and said, “I don’t know! I don’t know!” In the end, Yunjiang received no answer.

Through the encounter between the cloud spirit and primordial Qi, this dialogue presents the Daoist ideal of governing through Wuwei (non-action). Hongmeng represents the most primal state of nature. Faced with a question about human intervention in the natural order, he responds in the most uncontrived way, suggesting that following nature’s course is fundamental.

Three years later, Cloud General (the cloud spirit) was traveling east. As he passed through the outskirts of Song, he happened to meet Vast Obscurity (a personification of the primordial Qi of nature). Cloud General was delighted. He hurried forward and said, “Have you forgotten me? Have you really forgotten me?” Then he bowed deeply in respect, hoping to ask Vast Obscurity for guidance.

Vast Obscurity replied, “I drift wherever I please, with nothing to pursue. I roam freely, without a fixed direction, simply observing the world as it is. What could I possibly know?”

Cloud General continued, “I too feel that I live quite freely, yet the people always follow my lead. I truly don’t know what to do with them. Now they all imitate me. I hope you’ll share your advice.”

This exchange expresses Zhuangzi’s idea of natural Wuwei (non-action). Vast Obscurity represents the primordial state of nature, while Cloud General symbolizes a ruler entangled in worldly affairs. Their contrast presents the Daoist ideal of governing through Wuwei.

This dialogue comes from the Zhuangzi. It tells a parable in which Yunjiang, the spirit of clouds, asks Hongmeng, the spirit of the primordial Qi of nature, how to govern.

Hongmeng replies:

“When the patterns of nature are thrown into disorder

and the nature of things is violated,

even Heaven cannot bring them to completion.

The creatures are driven from their groups,

and the birds cry out in grief night after night.

Disaster spreads to plants and trees,

and even tiny insects cannot escape its harm.

These are all the evils caused by human attempts to govern!”

Yunjiang asks, “What should I do, then?”

Hongmeng sighs:

“Ah, you’re far too attached to this!

You’d be better off floating away and going home.”

Yunjiang persists:

“I face a problem as vast as Heaven itself.

Please give me a word of guidance.”

Hongmeng finally says:

“Quiet your mind and cultivate yourself.

Simply remain in a state of Wuwei (non-action),

and all things will develop and change according to their own nature.”

This dialogue expresses the central idea of governing through Wuwei: follow the patterns of nature and oppose human interference. Hongmeng represents the Dao of nature, while Yunjiang symbolizes those who seek to govern the world. Through their exchange, the story shows that forcibly changing the patterns of nature brings disaster.

Let go of your attachment to the body.

Set aside your cleverness and knowledge.

Become one with all things;

merge completely with the primordial chaos—the universe in its original state.

Free your mind and release your spirit,

attaining a selfless state beyond thought and worry.

The myriad things of the world are tangled and complex,

yet in the end they all return to their source.

When they return to their source, they do so without knowing it.

Remain in this state of undivided wholeness,

and throughout your life you will never stray from the Great Dao.

Deliberately pursuing knowledge,

by contrast, only leads you away from the Dao’s true meaning.

There is no need to ask its name

or investigate its nature.

All things grow of themselves.”

Cloud General, a fictional character, replied:

“Heaven granted me this understanding

and taught me through silence.

I have pursued it through my own practice,

and now at last I understand.”

He bowed respectfully in formal salute,

then rose and took his leave.

This passage describes Zhuangzi’s practice of “sitting in forgetfulness”: by letting go of subjective knowledge and returning to one’s natural, original state, one attains a transcendent union with the Dao. “Xingming” refers to the primordial chaos at the beginning of the universe, while “without a soul” describes a selfless state in which all thought has been set aside.

People in the world like others to think as they do and dislike those who disagree with them. They welcome people who support their views and reject those who challenge them. At heart, this is a way of making themselves seem superior. Yet among those who set out to be different, how many truly rise above the crowd?

Such people depend on the approval of the majority to feel secure. Their shallow understanding does not even match the skills of ordinary people. And yet they presume to rule an entire state. They are like the Three Kings of antiquity—Yu of Xia, Tang of Shang, and King Wen of Zhou—who saw the benefits of power but not its dangers. How many states governed by such wishful thinking have avoided ruin?

The chance that these rulers will preserve their states is less than one in ten thousand; the likelihood that they will destroy them is far greater than certain. How tragic that those who hold lands and rule over them do not understand this!

Those who possess land actually bear a great burden. People who truly possess something vast do not cling to particular things. They may possess all things without being bound by them; only then can they truly be master of all things. Those who understand this know that mastery over all things does not lie in the things themselves. Such people can do far more than govern the people of the world.

They can move freely through the six directions—the whole space of the universe, above and below and in the four cardinal directions—and roam across the Nine Provinces, the ancient divisions of China. They come and go alone and unaided: this is the true state of “possessing oneself alone.” Those who reach this state are the most noble.

The teaching of one who has attained the Dao (the Way) is as natural as a shadow formed by an object or an echo produced by a sound. When asked, they respond, sharing all they know and harmonizing with all things under Heaven. They dwell where there is no echo and act without a fixed direction. They lead you back to your original nature, so you may roam freely in a boundless realm.

Here, “the six directions” means the entire universe, above and below and in the four directions; the “Nine Provinces” refers to an ancient system of Chinese administrative divisions; and “boundless” describes a state of free roaming without limits.

These passages from the Zhuangzi explore the Daoist philosophy of “nothingness” (wu).

The first passage says that one who has truly attained the Dao moves freely, without obstruction—coming and going with no barriers—and that their spirit endures like the sun, having no beginning with it. Their bearing and physical form merge completely with the Great Dao. When they reach this state of great unity, they forget the self. And if even the self has been forgotten, how could they cling to possessing anything outside themselves?

The second passage uses a contrast: those who cling to “being” are the gentlemen of the past, while those who understand “nothingness” are the perfected people, at one with Heaven and Earth.

The third passage names four things that may seem lowly but must still be valued: all things, which may seem insignificant but cannot go unused; the people, whose status may be humble but on whom one must rely; affairs, which may be hidden from view but must still be carried out; and laws, which may seem crude and simple but must still be put into practice. The point is that those who cultivate the Dao should value what appears unremarkable on the surface but is essential in substance.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes how sages conduct themselves and cultivate their character. Here is a modern explanation:

Some principles must be upheld even when they seem far removed from everyday life. This is “rightness,” the principle of what is fair and fitting. One should extend care generously to those close at hand. This is “benevolence,” a compassionate heart. What calls for restraint yet must also be continually cultivated is “ritual,” the norms of proper conduct. What seems ordinary yet must be continually developed is De (Virtue/Power). What seems singular yet must remain responsive to change is the Dao (the Way), the natural order. What seems mysterious yet must be followed is Heaven, the laws of nature.

Thus, sages observe the laws of nature without forcing events, cultivate virtue without becoming bound by it, follow the Great Way without contriving plans, and practice benevolence without taking pride in it. They regard matters of rightness with detachment but do not neglect them; follow ritual without becoming rigid; take responsibility for affairs rather than evading it; observe laws without being inflexible; rely on the people without looking down on them; and respond to all things without straying from their nature.

This passage expresses the Daoist idea of governing through Wuwei (non-action), emphasizing the wisdom of following nature and avoiding deliberate striving. A sage’s cultivation lies in balancing different moral norms: upholding principles while remaining flexible, taking action without becoming constrained by it.

The passage from the Zhuangzi mainly discusses the difference between the Dao of Heaven and the human way.

The first section says that nothing in the world is wholly perfect, yet things must still be done. Those who do not understand the workings of the Dao of Heaven cannot keep their De (Virtue/Power) pure. Those who cannot grasp the Great Dao will find that nothing they undertake goes smoothly. And those who do not understand the Dao at all are truly to be pitied.

The second section explains what the Dao is: it has a heavenly aspect and a human aspect. What is naturally honored without deliberate effort is the Dao of Heaven, meaning the natural order. What requires human effort and brings weariness is the human way, meaning deliberate human action.

The third section develops the comparison: the Dao of Heaven is naturally exalted, like a ruler, while the human way requires toil, like the work of a minister. The distance between them is great, and we must distinguish them carefully.

Here, “the Dao of Heaven” means the natural order that operates through Wuwei (non-action), while “the human way” means deliberate human conduct. Zhuangzi argues that people should take Heaven as their model and follow the course of nature.