《莊子》Vol. 16

This passage from the “Cultivating the Nature” chapter of the Zhuangzi discusses how to cultivate oneself and one’s nature.

The first section says that people today try to refine their nature through worldly learning, hoping this will bring them back to their original state. They also try to restrain their desires through worldly deliberation, thinking this will make them wise. Such people are actually confused and deluded.

The second section describes how people who cultivated the Dao in ancient times acted. They nourished wisdom with inner stillness. They did not live in pursuit of cleverness; this was called using wisdom to nurture stillness. Wisdom and stillness nourished each other, and harmony and order then emerged naturally from one’s nature.

The third section explains the nature of De and Dao. De is harmony, while Dao is order. When De is vast and embraces everything, it is benevolence. When the principles of Dao flow freely and nothing is impeded, they are rightness. When rightness is understood, one can draw close to all things; this is faithfulness. When the heart is simple and sincere and returns to its original nature, this is joy. When one’s words and actions are trustworthy, one’s bearing is generous, and one conforms to the norms of ritual, this is propriety.

Here, De, Dao, benevolence, rightness, faithfulness, joy, and propriety are important Daoist concepts, referring respectively to inner cultivation, the natural order, care for others, what is fitting, sincerity, happiness, and ritual norms.

The passage from the Zhuangzi describes an ideal society in antiquity and the problems brought about by human-made rites and music.

The first section says that forcing the system of rites and music upon the world would instead throw it into chaos. A ruler of true virtue, the one who is truly upright, does not deliberately proclaim his own virtue. Once virtue is deliberately displayed, all things lose their natural character.

The second section paints a beautiful picture of antiquity. People in the distant past lived in a state of undivided simplicity, and the whole age was calm and free from desire. Yin and Yang were harmoniously at rest; spirits did not interfere; the seasons followed their proper course; nothing was harmed, and every living thing came naturally to the end of its life.

The passage continues: although people then possessed wisdom, they had no need to use it. This was the most complete state of unity. No one deliberately imposed their will; everything remained in its constant, natural state.

Here, “undivided simplicity” refers to the primordial chaos before Heaven and Earth were separated. “The most complete state of unity” is the highest state in Zhuangzi’s thought, in which all things form an undifferentiated whole.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes the gradual decline of moral life in human society.

When moral order first began to deteriorate, in the time when Suiren—the legendary ruler credited with inventing fire by drilling wood—and Fuxi, the ancestral culture hero associated with the creation of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), governed the world, people could still follow nature, though they could no longer remain wholly unified in themselves.

As morality declined further, by the time Shennong, the Divine Farmer who tasted the herbs, and the Yellow Emperor governed, society was peaceful, but people could no longer follow nature.

With morality further corrupted, in the reigns of Yao and Shun, various forms of political instruction began to flourish. People’s original simplicity faded away. They turned from the Dao (the Way) in pursuit of supposed “good deeds,” and practiced morality in perilous ways. As a result, they lost their innate nature and followed their private desires.

Once people began dealing with one another through self-interest and clever calculation, they could no longer bring peace to the world. Elaborate rituals and a vast body of knowledge were added in response. But ritual forms obscured what was essential, and learning buried the heart-mind. From then on, the people were confused and disordered, unable to return to their true nature and original state of natural simplicity.

This passage reflects the Daoist ideal of returning to simplicity and authenticity. It suggests that the development of civilization estranges people from their nature and advocates a return to an original, natural way of being.

These circumstances show that today’s society has turned away from the Great Dao—the natural order and truth—and that the Dao has faded from the world. When society and the Dao have become estranged from each other, how could someone who has attained the Dao rise to prominence in ordinary society? And how could ordinary people understand the Dao? The Dao cannot flourish in the world, and the world cannot give it wide expression. So even when sages do not withdraw to the mountains, their De (Virtue/Power) naturally recedes from view. This happens of itself; it is not done deliberately.

The recluses spoken of in ancient times did not hide on purpose to keep people from seeing them. They did not stay silent, nor did they deliberately conceal their wisdom. What mattered was whether the times were favorable. When the moment was right and they could put their abilities to full use, they followed the natural course of things and left no trace. When circumstances were against them and they met obstacles at every turn, they kept their nature hidden, remained still, and waited for the right moment. This is the way to preserve oneself in the world.

This passage reflects Zhuangzi’s idea of transforming with the times: one should respond to changing circumstances, appearing when the moment calls for it and withdrawing when it does not, while keeping inwardly detached and calm.

In ancient times, those who truly knew how to preserve life did not use clever arguments to dress up their wisdom, employ cunning to scheme against the world, or use stratagems to exhaust their Virtue (De). They lived peacefully as they were and returned to their natural nature. Why, then, would they deliberately force things?

The great Dao does not get caught up in petty actions, and true Virtue does not lie in small cleverness.

Here, “petty action” means deliberate human contrivance, while “small knowledge” means a calculating mind.

Small cleverness harms Virtue; putting on an outward show harms the Dao. So it is enough to set one’s nature aright. To preserve one’s natural nature is what it means to “fulfill one’s aspiration.”

In ancient usage, “fulfill one’s aspiration” did not mean holding high office and enjoying wealth and rank. It meant that nothing could add to one’s innate joy. Today, people use the phrase only to mean achieving fame, status, and wealth.

High office, wealth, and rank may come to a person, but these external things are not the essence of life.

Everything in the world comes to us by chance, as though it had only been left in our care for a while.

These things, held only temporarily, cannot be kept away when they arrive, nor held back when they leave. So do not let high office and generous rewards—“cap and carriage” here stand for official rank—make you lose yourself, and do not drift with the current just because you are poor and downcast. Whether rich or poor, keep the same joy within. Then you will have no troubles.

People today lose their happiness as soon as these things outside themselves depart. This shows that the happiness they speak of has long since been barren within. Those who lose themselves in pursuit of external things, and lose their nature amid worldly life, put the branches before the root. They are confused.