《莊子》Vol. 20

As Zhuangzi walked in the mountains, he saw a large tree with especially lush branches and leaves. Woodcutters had stopped beside it, but they did not cut it down. Zhuangzi asked why, and one replied, “This tree is no use.” Zhuangzi sighed, “It is precisely because this tree is useless, with no practical value, that it has lived out its natural span.”

Later, Zhuangzi came down from the mountain and stayed with an old friend. His friend was delighted and asked a servant to slaughter a goose for the meal. The servant asked, “There are two geese: one can call, and the other cannot. Which should I kill?” The host replied, “Kill the one that cannot call.”

The next day, a disciple asked Zhuangzi, “Yesterday, the tree in the mountains reached the end of its life because it was useless. Today, your host’s goose was slaughtered because it was useless. What do you think, Master—how should one conduct oneself?”

Zhuangzi replied with a smile, “I choose to stand between usefulness and uselessness. Though this may seem like a middle ground, it is not truly a way out, so one can hardly avoid being burdened. But it is different when one follows the natural course of the Dao and De, and wanders freely: one cares neither about praise nor blame, sometimes rising like a dragon and sometimes hiding like a snake, changing with the times and never clinging to one position.

“To yield and to extend, taking harmony as one’s guide, and to wander among the source of all things; to govern external things without being governed by them—how could one then be entangled in worldly affairs? This was the way of living practiced by Shennong and the Yellow Emperor, legendary sage rulers revered by Daoists.

“As for the ordinary patterns of things in the world, the laws of human relationships are quite the opposite: what comes together will eventually part, what succeeds will eventually be ruined, and what is sharply defined is bound to suffer setbacks...”

In this dialogue from the Zhuangzi, the hermit Yiliao of Shinan sees the ruler of Lu looking troubled and asks what is worrying him. The ruler replies, “I study the methods of governing used by the sage kings of antiquity and carry on the achievements of my forebears. I honor the spirits, respect worthy people, and put these teachings into practice myself, never daring to slacken for even a moment. Yet I still cannot escape calamity, and so I am deeply troubled.”

Through this exchange, Zhuangzi reveals the limits of worldly values: high status invites criticism; deliberate action can lead to loss; the capable are schemed against, while the incapable are mistreated. How could pursuits like these ever lead to certain outcomes?

In the end, Zhuangzi laments: “How sad! Disciples, remember this: only by returning to the realm of the Dao (the Way)—the state of natural Wuwei (non-action)—can one find a true home.”

This passage reflects Zhuangzi’s thought of Wuwei. It suggests that deliberately pursuing worldly values brings trouble, and advocates following the natural course of the Dao.

The recluse Shi Nanzi said to the Marquis of Lu:

“Your way of getting rid of trouble is far too shallow! Look at the foxes with their splendid coats and the leopards with their vivid markings. They live in mountain forests and hide in rocky caves: this is how they keep still. They roam at night and lie low by day: this is how they stay alert. Even when hunger and thirst become unbearable, they search for food among the rivers and lakes with great care: this is how they remain composed. Yet they still fall into hunters’ nets and traps. Is that their fault? Their splendid pelts are what bring disaster upon them!

“Isn’t the whole state of Lu now like a pelt wrapped around you? I urge you to cast off the constraints of your body, cleanse your heart of desire, and roam in the open wilderness, far from ordinary people.”

(He then describes an ideal realm.) In the south, in the land of Yue, there is a city-state called the Kingdom of Jian De. Its people are simple and sincere, with few selfish desires. They know how to work but do not hoard possessions; they gladly give to others without expecting anything in return.

(This dialogue comes from the “Shan Mu” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It tells how Shi Nanzi urged the Marquis of Lu to let go of worldly constraints and pursue the Dao.)

Shi Nanzi advised him: “There is no need to deliberately pursue the rules of benevolence and righteousness, or to be bound by ritual restrictions. What may look like wild and unrestrained behavior can, in truth, be stepping right along the Dao. Live this way and you will be free and happy; when you die, you will be laid to rest in peace. I hope you will give up the status of a ruler, cast off worldly entanglements, and walk alongside the Dao.”

The Marquis of Lu hesitated. “That road is too distant and dangerous. It crosses great rivers and high mountains. I have no carriage, boat, or other means of travel. How could I make the journey?”

Shi Nanzi offered this guidance: “You need only let go of your pride and stop clinging to your present way of life. That is the finest means of transport.”

The Marquis worried again: “That road is deep and remote, with no one around. Who could accompany me? I have not packed provisions—what would I eat along the way? How could I reach my destination?”

(Note: Through Shi Nanzi’s words, this dialogue presents Zhuangzi’s ideas of ‘sitting in forgetfulness’ and ‘depending on nothing.’ Pursuing the Dao requires no external conditions: one need only let go of attachments and follow nature. ‘Letting go of pride’ means removing an arrogant state of mind; ‘not clinging to one’s dwelling’ means not becoming attached to one’s present way of life.)

Zinan Zi, a wise man imagined by Zhuangzi, said:

“Spend less,

curb your desires,

and you can feel content even without food.

You might cross the great river and drift out to sea,

gazing into the distance where no shore can be seen.

The farther you go, the less you know where the end lies.

Those who came to see you off all return from the shore,

while you leave the world behind for good.

“So those who possess subjects feel burdened,

and those whom others depend on feel anxious.

That is why Emperor Yao, the sage king of antiquity,

neither possessed subjects

nor had others depend on him.

I would like to help you cast off these burdens

and dispel these anxieties,

so that you may roam alone with the Great Dao

through a boundless realm.

“When you are crossing a river by boat

and an empty boat comes drifting into yours,

even someone with a quick temper will not get angry.”

Someone stood on high ground, directing others and shouting commands such as “Zhang” (“spread out”) and “Xi” (“draw together”). At the first shout, no one paid attention. At the second, still no one responded. By the third, they were sure to answer with angry words. At first the man was not angry; now he was. At first he was inwardly still; now he was taking offense. If people could face the world with an empty, still mind, letting go of the self, who could harm them?

Beigong She, a minister of the state of Wei, collected taxes for Duke Ling of Wei to cast a set of bells. Outside the city gate, he built an altar for the work. In just three months, he had completed the construction and hanging of the bell frames, in two tiers, one above the other. When Prince Qingji saw them, he asked, “What special method did you use?”

These two stories illustrate the Daoist way of dealing with the world. The first shows the importance of maintaining an empty, still mind; the second presents the efficiency of acting in accord with nature. Beigong She’s ability to complete a major project in a short time suggests that he followed the natural course of the Dao rather than forcing matters.

This passage from the Zhuangzi expresses the Daoist idea of returning to simplicity and one’s original nature. She Yu says:

“Before the Dao—that is, the natural order—people dare not interfere recklessly. I have heard that ‘after being carved and embellished, one must ultimately return to a state of simple, original nature.’”

The passage describes the state of those who have attained the Dao. They seem dull and unaware, as though they know nothing; they appear unhurried, perhaps even hesitant. They blend completely with the myriad things, neither turning anything away nor holding anything back. They let things depart and welcome them as they come: they do not bar what arrives or detain what leaves.

The passage then offers an analogy about governing: yield to those who are forceful, adapt to those who are pliant, and respond to things as they are. In this way, even if taxes were levied every day, not a hair’s breadth would be taken from the people—how much less harm would come from following the Great Way?

The final section alludes to the story of Confucius being trapped between the states of Chen and Cai and going seven days without a cooked meal. It suggests that even sages cannot avoid hardship, but those who have attained the Dao can remain at ease wherever they find themselves.

This passage comes from the “Mountain Tree” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It tells how Taigong Ren, a fictional sage who had attained the Dao, offers guidance to Confucius.

Taigong Ren came to visit Confucius and asked, “You nearly died, didn’t you?” Confucius replied, “Yes.” Taigong Ren then asked, “Do you hate death?” Confucius admitted that he did.

Taigong Ren began to explain: “Let me tell you the way to preserve life. In the Eastern Sea there is a bird called Yidai, a made-up name meaning ‘sluggish.’ It flies slowly and awkwardly, seeming clumsy and incapable. It takes flight only after the other birds, and settles only after they do.” The bird serves as an image of how to move through life by following the natural course of things.

When moving forward, one does not dare to take the lead; when falling back, one does not dare to be last. At meals, one does not dare to reach for the food first, but waits for others to begin.

By keeping such a low profile, one avoids attracting attention. Outsiders then have no opening to do harm, and calamity can be avoided.

Two examples make the point: a straight tree is the first to be cut down, and a sweet well is the first to run dry.

Some people like to flaunt their intelligence to intimidate the foolish, or to proclaim their purity in order to expose the flaws of others. They parade about as though holding the sun and moon aloft. It is only natural that they invite trouble.

I once heard a person who had attained the Dao say: “Those who boast of themselves accomplish nothing. When achievement reaches its height, decline begins; when fame shines brightest, loss follows.”

Who can set aside the pursuit of fame and status, and return to the unadorned state of an ordinary person?

The Great Dao flows everywhere, yet leaves no trace. De (Virtue/Power) spreads widely, yet bears no name. One keeps a simple, ordinary heart and may seem like a wild, unconventional person. One removes every trace of deliberate display and lets go of the burdens of power and rank. This is true freedom from fame and status.

At its heart, this passage expresses the Daoist philosophy of “blending one’s light with the dust”: living humbly and peaceably, without striving or showing off.

This passage from the Zhuangzi, through a discussion between Confucius and Zisang Yu, presents a profound lesson about how to live.

Earlier, Zisang Yu says that a truly realized person does not make demands of others, and others do not make demands of him. Since such a person does not even care about fame, why do you, Confucius, still pursue it?

Hearing this, Confucius suddenly understands. “Well said!” he exclaims. He then takes leave of his friends, sends his disciples away, and withdraws to a remote marshland. He wears coarse clothes and eats wild fruits and grains. When he enters a herd of animals, he does not disturb them; when he walks among a flock of birds, he does not disrupt their formation. If even birds and beasts do not dislike him, how much less will people?

Later, Confucius confides in Zisang Yu: “Twice I was driven out of the state of Lu. In Song, people tried to cut down the great tree beneath which I taught. In Wei, I was forbidden to teach. I fell into hardship in the lands of Shang and Zhou, and was besieged between Chen and Cai. After so many trials, my relatives and friends have grown more distant, and my disciples and companions have scattered. Why has this happened?”

Through Confucius’s change of heart and his bewilderment, the passage conveys Daoist ideas of Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness: do not force others to approve of you, do not deliberately pursue fame, and live in harmony with all things. This is the true way to move through the world. At first, Confucius was attached to transforming others and met with obstacles at every turn. Later, when he let go of that attachment and returned to nature, he found genuine ease and freedom.

Zisang Yu told a story:

Have you heard about the people of the state of Jia, a fictional country, fleeing from danger? A man named Lin Hui abandoned a jade disc worth a thousand gold pieces as he fled, yet carried a baby with him. Someone asked him, “Did you do it for money? The baby is worth very little. Or were you worried the disc would slow you down? Carrying a baby would be even more tiring. Why abandon a jade disc worth a thousand gold pieces, yet run away carrying a baby?”

Lin Hui replied, “The jade disc and I were bound by self-interest; the baby and I are joined by our nature.”

Those joined by self-interest abandon one another when hardship and disaster strike. Those joined by nature instead support one another in times of hardship and disaster. The difference between these two bonds is immense.

The story then offers a comparison: the friendship between exemplary people is as clear and plain as water, while the friendship between petty people is as sweet as wine. Though plain, the friendship of exemplary people endures and keeps them close; though sweet, the friendship of petty people is easily broken.

Through Lin Hui’s choice while fleeing, the story shows that genuine affection rooted in nature is more precious than a bond based on self-interest. It uses water and wine to evoke two fundamentally different kinds of relationship.

When a relationship forms without any real cause, it may eventually come apart just as causelessly. This reminds us to let human relationships follow their natural course.

The passage then describes Confucius’s response after hearing the teaching. He respectfully says he has received it, then wanders slowly away. From that point on, he stops pursuing learning deliberately and puts aside his books. His disciples no longer bow and gesture to him, yet they respect him even more. This reflects the Daoist idea of “ending learning and being free of worry”: by letting go of deliberate striving, one may gain more.

Later, Sang Yu, a legendary musician in Shun’s court, recounts Shun’s final advice to Yu. In a state of clear awareness near death, Shun tells him to remember: let the body follow what is natural (“nothing is better for the body than following its proper course”), and let feeling be sincere and direct (“nothing is better for feeling than being unforced”). Following what is natural keeps one from straying from one’s nature; being sincere spares the spirit from exhaustion. When these two principles are put into practice, there is no need for outward adornment or dependence on external things. This expresses the Daoist cultivation principle of “taking the governor vessel as one’s constant guide.”

Zhuangzi went to visit the King of Wei wearing a coarse cloth robe covered in patches, with his worn-out shoes tied on by hemp rope.

The king asked him, “Why do you look so wretched, sir?”

Zhuangzi replied, “I am poor, not wretched. A scholar who possesses virtue but cannot put it into practice is wretched. My old clothes and worn-out shoes mean only that I am poor. It is simply a case of being born at the wrong time.”

Then Zhuangzi asked the king in return, “Have you ever seen monkeys that are skilled at leaping? When they are among the tall nanmu and catalpa trees, they seize the branches and lord it over everything. Even expert archers such as Hou Yi, the legendary marksman, and his student Feng Meng can do nothing against them.”

When a monkey finds itself among thorny shrubs such as the zhe tree, brambles, and trifoliate orange, it edges along with great care, trembling all over with tension. Its bones and sinews have not suddenly become stiff or clumsy; the surroundings simply leave it no room to use its abilities.

With this image, Zhuangzi explains that people today live under foolish rulers and chaotic governments. How could they avoid feeling exhausted and oppressed? Bi Gan, the loyal minister of the Shang dynasty who was killed when his heart was cut out, is clear proof.

The story then turns to Confucius, trapped between the states of Chen and Cai. For seven days he had no cooked food. Leaning his left hand against a withered tree, he tapped a dry branch with his right and sang a song from the age of the ancient ruler Shennong. His makeshift instrument kept no proper rhythm, and the sound did not form a tune. Yet the sounds of the wood mingled with his singing and, in a remarkable way, stirred a deep resonance in those who heard them.

These three scenes show how harsh surroundings can constrain a person’s abilities, and how the worthy are bound to suffer hardship in troubled times. Yet those with a lofty inner life can remain detached even in adversity.

This dialogue took place between Confucius (Zhongni) and his disciple Yan Hui. Yan Hui stood respectfully with his hands clasped, his gaze fixed on Confucius.

Confucius worried that Yan Hui might admire him so much that he became conceited, or cherish him so deeply that he fell into sorrow. So he said, “Yan Hui, it is easy not to be harmed by what comes from nature, but difficult not to accept what people add. Nothing in the world has either a beginning or an end; in their essential nature, humanity and Heaven are one. Who is it that sings now?”

Yan Hui asked, “May I ask what it means to be easily unharmed by what comes from nature?”

Confucius explained, “Hunger and thirst, cold and heat, poverty and hardship that leave one unable to go forward—these are natural conditions arising from the workings of Heaven and Earth and the changes of all things. We should follow these changes. A minister does not dare evade such natural patterns. If this is so even when following the way of a minister, how much more should we follow the Way of Heaven!”

Here, “harm from Heaven” refers to hardship brought about by natural patterns, while “benefits from people” refers to man-made fame and gain. Confucius emphasizes following the natural Way and not pursuing empty human fame too eagerly.

This passage from the Zhuangzi explains why it is difficult to refuse favors. Confucius (Zhongni) answers:

“When I first entered office, my career prospered, and rank and salary flowed in. Yet such benefits are external; they do not truly belong to me. They are only things that fate has placed in my keeping for a time. A virtuous gentleman does not steal, and a worthy person does not pilfer. If I accept what is not mine, how am I any different from a thief?”

The passage then uses birds as an analogy. The cleverest are the swallows, called yiyi: they know which places are unsuitable for nesting and never linger there. Even if they are already carrying food, they will drop it and fly away at once. Though swallows fear people, they choose to nest beneath human eaves because they understand that living in harmony with people is the only way to survive over time. “The altars of state” means the country; here it serves as a metaphor for the very basis of survival.

This passage comes from the “Mountain Tree” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It records Confucius (Zhongni) discussing the principles of the Dao with his disciples.

“What does ‘without a beginning that is not also an end’ mean?”

Confucius replied: “All things are constantly changing and transforming, and we have no way of knowing how one gives way to another. If we cannot even see the process of change clearly, how can we decide where a beginning ends and an ending begins? We need only keep our minds upright and follow the changes of nature.”

“What, then, does ‘human beings and Heaven are one’ mean?”

Confucius explained: “Human existence arises from nature (Heaven), and nature’s existence likewise rests in nature. Human beings cannot rule over nature (‘cannot possess Heaven’)…” The original passage is cut off here; what follows likely means that people should follow the patterns of nature.

The central ideas of this dialogue are that all things are always changing, so beginnings and endings are relative; that human beings, as part of nature, should let go of the delusion that they can control it by force; and that the point of the unity of humanity and Heaven is to follow nature rather than oppose it.

Here, “Heaven” is an important Daoist concept referring to the patterns of nature or the origin of the cosmos. “Transformation” refers to the changes through which things give way to one another.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells a fascinating fable.

As Zhuangzi walked through the garden at Diaoling, he saw an unusual magpie flying in from the south. Its wings spanned seven feet, and its eyes were an inch across. It skimmed past his forehead and landed in a grove of chestnut trees.

Zhuangzi wondered, “What kind of bird is this? Its wings are so large, yet it can’t fly far; its eyes are so large, yet it can’t see.” He gathered up his robes and hurried after it, ready to shoot with his slingshot. Then he noticed:

A cicada was resting comfortably in the shade, so absorbed in the coolness that it had forgotten the danger around it.

A mantis was hiding behind a leaf, poised to catch the cicada. It saw only its prey and had forgotten its own vulnerability.

The strange magpie was staring at the mantis, hoping to eat it. It too was focused on what lay before it and had forgotten its own nature.

(Note: Here, “the real” refers to a thing’s original state or natural nature.)

Through this chain of predator and prey—cicada, mantis, magpie, and human—the passage vividly shows how pursuing gain can make us lose sight of ourselves. Everyone who chases after things in the world may, in turn, be coveted by a greater danger. Just as Zhuangzi stood with his slingshot, there may have been a greater peril behind him.

Zhuangzi (Zhuang Zhou) suddenly came to his senses and said:

“Ah! All things are bound up with one another; things of the same kind are naturally drawn together!” This refers to the Daoist idea that things of the same kind resonate with one another.

He tossed aside his slingshot and turned to run. The forest keeper chased after him, shouting reproaches.

When Zhuangzi returned home, he stayed away from the garden for three full months. His student Lin Qie came to see him and asked, “Master, why have you hardly visited the garden lately?”

Zhuangzi replied, “I clung to outward form and forgot my inner nature. It was like looking at murky water and failing to see the clear depths beneath. And I once heard my teacher—perhaps Laozi—say, ‘When you enter a place, follow its customs.’” Here Zhuangzi is reflecting on how his attachment to external things led him to lose sight of his nature.

When I was wandering in the Diao Mausoleum grounds, I completely forgot myself. A strange magpie brushed against my forehead. As I wandered through the chestnut grove, I forgot my true nature as well. The official in charge of the grove thought I was there to steal chestnuts and scolded me, so I did not stay any longer.

Yangzi traveled to the state of Song and stayed at an inn. The innkeeper had two concubines: one was beautiful and the other ugly. Yet the ugly one was favored, while the beautiful one was neglected. Yangzi asked why. A young man at the inn replied, “The beautiful one knows she is beautiful, so I do not find her beautiful. The ugly one knows she is ugly, so I do not find her ugly.”

Yangzi said, “Disciples, remember this: if someone is virtuous but does not consider himself virtuous, where would he go and not be welcomed?” This reflects the Daoist principle that one who does not boast of their merits is the one who truly achieves them, and emphasizes a humble, reserved way of living.