《莊子》Vol. 28

This passage from “Letting Go of the Throne” in the Zhuangzi tells of ancient sage rulers who tried to pass on their rule.

Emperor Yao wanted to hand the realm to Xu You, a legendary hermit, but Xu You refused. Yao then offered the throne to Zizhou Zhifu, another hermit. Zizhou Zhifu replied, “I would not be incapable of becoming Son of Heaven. But I am now afflicted by a grave illness of worry and distress, and must devote myself to recovering. I have no time to govern the realm.”

Zhuangzi comments: The realm is the most precious thing in the world, yet these men would not let it injure their lives. How much less would they care for other things beyond themselves? Only those who do not take the realm seriously are truly fit to be entrusted with it.

Later, Emperor Shun also wanted to hand the realm to Zizhou Zibo, perhaps Zizhou Zhifu’s brother. Zizhou Zibo gave the same reply: “I am afflicted by a grave illness of worry and distress and must attend to my recovery. I have no time to govern the realm.”

Zhuangzi concludes: Though the realm is the most important possession, a truly wise person will not trade their life for it.

This is what sets those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) apart from ordinary people.

Shun, the sage ruler of antiquity, wished to yield the realm to the hermit Shanjuan. Shanjuan replied:

“I live between Heaven and Earth. In winter I keep warm in animal skins; in summer I wear light garments woven from kudzu fiber. In spring I work the fields, exercising my body. In autumn I gather and store the harvest, enough to sustain me through rest and meals. I work when the sun rises and rest when it sets, living freely between Heaven and Earth, content in my heart. What would I want with the realm? How sad—you understand nothing about me!” He refused the offer and withdrew into the mountains, where no one knew what became of him.

Later, Shun wished to yield the realm to a farmer friend from Shihu. The farmer said, “You, my ruler, are busy and burdened all day long…” His implied meaning was that Shun spent too much effort on the affairs of government.

This passage recounts two stories that express Daoist thought.

In the first story, people who believed they were especially capable thought that Shun’s Virtue was not yet perfect. So they packed their belongings, took their children, and went to live on an island, never to return. Here, “those who prided themselves on their abilities” refers to people who trusted too much in their own talents. Shun was a sage ruler revered by Confucians; Daoists invoke this story to criticize those fixated on worldly standards of morality.

The second story concerns King Danfu, an ancestor of the Zhou dynasty and the grandfather of King Wen. When the Di people, a northern nomadic group, attacked Bin, Danfu first offered them furs and silk, then dogs, horses, and livestock, and finally pearls and jade. They refused everything. What they wanted was the land. Danfu said, “I cannot bear to kill other people’s brothers and children for the sake of land. You may settle here in peace. What difference is there between being my subjects and being the subjects of the Di? I have heard that one should not harm the people one ought to nurture in order to seize land used to sustain life.” Then he left Bin, leaning on his staff. The idea that “one should not harm those to be nurtured for the sake of what sustains them” expresses Daoist opposition to war and its concern for life.

Together, these stories illustrate a Daoist way of facing the world: valuing naturalness, opposing coercion, and maintaining detachment amid conflict.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells two stories about the value of life.

The first story says that long ago Danfu, the grandfather of King Wen of Zhou and leader of the Zhou people, led his clan to settle below Mount Qi. The people willingly followed him, and in time they established a state there. Zhuangzi praises Danfu as someone who truly understood how to cherish life: when wealthy and honored, he did not harm his body for the sake of pleasure; when poor and lowly, he did not burden body and mind for the sake of profit. Yet people who hold high office today attach great importance to rank and title, and at the sight of gain readily risk their lives. Isn’t that foolish?

The second story tells how, over three successive generations, the rulers of Yue were killed. Prince Sou, a member of the Yue royal house, feared he would meet the same fate and hid in a mountain cave called the Cinnabar Grotto. Unable to find a new ruler, the people of Yue tracked him down and urged him to come out. He refused, so they smoked him out with burning mugwort and prepared a splendid carriage decorated with jade. As Prince Sou gripped the reins and climbed aboard, he cried to the sky: “My lord, my lord! Why must you make me your ruler?”

Wangzi Sou was not averse to becoming ruler; he feared the dangers that came with the throne. A person like Wangzi Sou would rather give up kingship than put his life at risk. That is precisely the kind of ruler the people of Yue most hoped to support.

Han and Wei were fighting over each other’s land. When Zihuazi went to visit Marquis Zhaoxi, he saw that the marquis looked troubled. Zihuazi said, “Suppose someone wrote this inscription in front of you: ‘Use your left hand to seize it, and your right hand will be crippled; use your right hand, and your left hand will be crippled. But whoever manages to seize it will gain all under Heaven.’ Would you reach for it?”

Marquis Zhaoxi replied, “I would not.”

“Excellent!” said Zihuazi. “From this, we can see…” Through their conversation, Zhuangzi shows that a wise ruler understands the importance of preserving his own life, rather than trying to seize all under Heaven by harming himself.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells two stories about what is weighty and what is light.

The first story says that a person’s two arms matter more than the whole world, and the body matters more than the two arms. Compared with the world, the state of Han—one of the Seven Warring States—was already insignificant. Yet what people are fighting over now is far less significant than Han. And still, you keep burdening yourself and harming your body with worry over these trivial things you cannot obtain!

After hearing this, Marquis Xi of Han exclaimed, “How well said! Many people have taught me, but I have never heard such a truth. Zihua Zi truly understands what is weighty and what is light.”

The second story tells how the ruler of Lu heard that Yan He was a man who had attained the Dao and sent an envoy bearing gifts to invite him. Yan He lived in a run-down lane, wore coarse clothes, and was feeding an ox himself. When the envoy arrived and asked, “Is this Yan He’s home?” Yan He replied plainly, “This is my home.” The envoy then presented the gifts.

Both stories express the Daoist idea that life should be valued above material things. They hold that life and inner cultivation matter more than external fame and fortune. Yan He’s contentment and steadfastness in his simple life are signs of someone who has attained the Dao.

Yan He replied:

“I’m concerned that the envoy may have misheard your words and, when he returns, you will blame him. It would be better to ask carefully and make sure before deciding.”

The envoy returned to confirm the invitation, then came back to invite Yan He again. Only then did Yan He feel compelled to accept. People like Yan He, then, did not reject wealth and rank; they acted cautiously because they valued life.

Thus the Zhuangzi says:

“The essence of the Great Dao is for cultivating oneself. What remains is for governing the state, and the coarsest remnants are for governing the world.” From this we can see that the achievements of emperors and kings are merely tasks sages take up in their spare time. They are not the essential work of preserving life and cultivating body and mind.

Today, those whom the world calls gentlemen are mostly willing to harm their bodies and sacrifice their lives in pursuit of external things. Is this not deeply regrettable?

Whenever a sage acts, we must examine why they act as they do and what purpose their action serves.

Zhuangzi gives a vivid example: if someone used the marquis of Sui’s pearl, a precious jewel from ancient times, as a sling stone to shoot a sparrow high in the sky, everyone would laugh at him. Why? Because he had traded something valuable for something of little worth. And is a human life not thousands of times more precious than the marquis of Sui’s pearl?

Next comes the story of Liezi (Lie Yukou). Liezi lived in poverty, his face gaunt with hunger. Someone said to Ziyang, the ruler of Zheng: “Lie Yukou is a man who has attained the Dao. He lives in your state, yet he is so poor. Does this not show that you fail to value the worthy?” Hearing this, Ziyang immediately sent someone to deliver grain to Liezi.

When Liezi saw the messenger, he bowed respectfully but declined the gift. After the messenger had left, Liezi’s wife beat her chest and complained: “I had heard that the wives and children of those who have attained the Dao live in comfort and enjoy themselves. Yet here we are, going hungry. The ruler has sent someone to bring grain, and you refuse it. Is this not simply our fate?”

This passage contrasts the preciousness of life with the ideal of a Daoist who accepts poverty and remains content in the Dao. Liezi’s refusal of the gift reflects the principle of taking no reward without having earned it.

These two stories in the Zhuangzi illustrate Daoist respect for what is natural and its rejection of favors imposed from outside.

In the first story, Liezi, a prominent Daoist figure, smiled at the man who had sent him grain and said, “You do not really understand me. You sent me grain because you listened to what others said. If people later blame me, it will surely be because you listened to what others said again. That is why I cannot accept it.” Later, the official Ziyang, who had sent the grain, was indeed killed in a popular uprising.

This story expresses the Daoist idea that one should not accept a reward one has not earned. Liezi foresaw that Ziyang’s gift did not come from his own conviction but was shaped by public opinion. Such an unnatural favor would eventually bring trouble.

In the second story, when King Zhao of Chu was in exile, a butcher who made his living slaughtering sheep followed him. After the king regained his throne, he wanted to reward those who had accompanied him. But the butcher said, “When Your Majesty lost the state, I lost my work as a sheep butcher. Now that Your Majesty has regained the state, I can go back to slaughtering sheep. My livelihood has been restored; I need no further reward.”

The butcher Yang Shuo’s conduct reflects the Daoist idea of accepting the times and following their course. He saw the return to his former way of life as the best outcome; deliberately seeking a reward would go against what is natural.

The Butcher Yang Shuo (a man who made his living slaughtering sheep) said to the King of Chu: "When Your Majesty lost the kingdom, it was not my fault, so I dare not accept punishment. Now that Your Majesty has regained the throne, it was not my achievement either, so I dare not accept reward."

The King of Chu insisted on summoning him. Yang Shuo further explained: "According to the laws of Chu, only those who have rendered great service and received substantial rewards are qualified to have an audience with the ruler. My wisdom was insufficient to protect the state, and my courage inadequate to die fighting the enemy. When the Wu army invaded Ying (the capital of Chu), I merely fled from danger out of fear, not out of any deliberate intention to follow Your Majesty. Now if Your Majesty wishes to violate the law and break protocol by summoning me, this is not something I would want the world to know about."

(This dialogue illustrates the Daoist principle of "not accepting rewards for unearned merits." Yang Shuo steadfastly adheres to the doctrine of refusing undeserved honors, maintaining clear self-awareness even when facing a royal summons. Through the words and actions of an ordinary person, the story embodies the Daoist advocacy for natural Wuwei (non-action) and the attitude of not claiming credit for achievements.)

This passage tells two stories about being content in poverty and finding joy in the Dao.

In the first story, the King of Chu says to his minister Sima Ziqi, “The man called Tuyang Shuo may be only a lowly butcher, but his character is noble. Go and invite him to serve as a high-ranking official, with the status of the Three Insignia.”

Tuyang Shuo replies, “The office of the Three Insignia is certainly more prestigious than a butcher’s stall, and a stipend of ten thousand measures of grain is certainly more than I earn from slaughtering sheep. But how could I covet rank and income and cause the king to be known for handing out rewards indiscriminately? I dare not accept. Please let me return to slaughtering sheep.” In the end, he refuses the appointment.

The second story is about Yuan Xian, a disciple of Confucius whose courtesy name was Zisi. While living in the state of Lu, he stayed in an extremely humble dwelling: its four walls were made of earth, and wild grass covered the roof. The woven reed door was in disrepair, with a mulberry branch for a hinge. A broken jar served as a window, dividing the room in two, and coarse cloth was stuffed into the gaps. Though rain leaked through the roof and the floor was damp, he sat upright, playing his lute and singing.

Both stories illustrate the Daoist ideal of being content in poverty and taking joy in the Dao: not yearning for wealth or status, but preserving one’s spiritual integrity through a simple life.

This story from the “Yielding the Throne” chapter of the Zhuangzi tells how Zigong, a student of Confucius, rode in a luxurious carriage and wore fine robes, dark blue beneath and plain white on top. When the carriage proved too wide to enter the alley, he got out and walked to visit Yuan Xian, another student of Confucius. Yuan Xian opened the door wearing a hat made of tree bark, with worn shoes slipping from his feet, and leaning on a goosefoot staff.

Zigong exclaimed in surprise, “Oh! Sir, how have you become so ill?”

Yuan Xian replied, “I have heard that lacking money is called poverty, while learning the Way (Dao) and failing to put it into practice is called illness. I am poor now, but I am not ill.”

The contrast between the two students turns on Yuan Xian’s distinction between “poverty” and “illness.” His words gently mock Zigong, who is wealthy and high-ranking yet has not truly put into practice the Daoist ideal of being content with poverty and devoted to the Way. Yuan Xian’s appearance expresses the Daoist preference for a simple life in harmony with nature.

After hearing Yuan Xian, a student of Confucius, Zigong felt awkward and uneasy, his face showing his shame. Yuan Xian smiled and said, “Those who conform to worldly ways and form cliques learn to show off before others, teach to seek private gain, invoke the name of benevolence and righteousness while doing evil, and prize the display of carriages and horses. These are all things I would disdain to do.”

When Zengzi, another student of Confucius, lived in the state of Wei, he wore a worn cotton robe that scarcely covered him. His face was puffy and sallow, and his hands and feet were covered in calluses. He often went three days without lighting a fire to cook, and for ten years bought no new clothes. When he adjusted his cap, its tie snapped; when he lifted his robe, his elbows showed; and the heels of his shoes split open as he put them on. Yet as he sang the “Hymn of Shang” in his worn-out shoes, his resonant voice filled heaven and earth, clear and ringing like the sound of bronze and stone instruments.

People like these could not be made ministers by an emperor or befriended by a feudal lord. Thus, those who cultivate their inner resolve forget the body; those who care for the body forget material gain; and those who pursue the Great Dao forget the calculating mind. These stories of Yuan Xian and Zengzi express the Daoist ideal of finding joy in the Dao despite poverty and transcending material desire. “Cultivating resolve,” “caring for the body,” and “pursuing the Dao” are three stages of Daoist self-cultivation, culminating in the forgetting of both self and things.

This passage recounts a conversation between Confucius and his disciple Yan Hui.

Confucius said to Yan Hui, “Come here, Yan Hui! Your family is poor and your social standing is low. Why don’t you take up an official post?”

Yan Hui replied, “I have no wish to become an official. I have fifty mu of farmland outside the city, enough to live on thin porridge, and ten mu inside the city, enough to grow mulberry and hemp for clothing. Playing the zither is enough to entertain me, and the teachings I have learned from you are enough to bring joy to my heart. I do not wish to take office.”

Confucius’s expression grew solemn. He said, “Yan Hui’s way of thinking is admirable! I have heard these words: ‘Those who know contentment do not let profit burden them; those who know how to find joy within themselves do not fear losing external things; and those who cultivate themselves inwardly do not feel ashamed when they hold no office.’ I have repeated these words for a long time, and today, at last, I have seen a person who embodies them in Yan Hui.”

This dialogue comes from the “Rang Wang” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It tells of Gongzi Mou, a nobleman from the state of Zhongshan during the Warring States period, seeking advice from the Daoist scholar Zhanzi about his troubles in life.

Gongzi Mou said, “Although I live in seclusion by rivers and lakes, far from the court, my thoughts keep returning to the wealth and splendor of Wei’s palaces. What should I do?”

Zhanzi replied, “You should value life itself. Those who truly value life naturally come to regard fame and profit as less important.”

Gongzi Mou sighed. “I understand the principle, but I can’t control my desires.”

Zhanzi continued, “If you cannot restrain your desires, then let things follow their natural course. Why torment your spirit? To know you cannot do something and still force yourself to suppress it is to harm yourself twice over. Those who suffer this double harm do not live long.”

The passage expresses the Daoist ideas of valuing life above profit and letting things follow their natural course. Zhanzi holds that forcibly suppressing one’s nature can be harmful; rather than struggle inwardly, one should accept oneself calmly. This stands in sharp contrast with the Confucian ideal of restraining oneself and returning to ritual propriety.

Wei Mou was a prince of a great state with ten thousand war chariots—that is, a nobleman of the state of Wei. His choice to live in seclusion in a mountain cave was harder to make than the same choice would be for an ordinary person. Although he had not fully attained the realm of the Dao (the Way), he could be said to be striving toward it.

Confucius was trapped between the states of Chen and Cai. For seven days he went without a hot meal, living on a thin soup of wild greens with no rice in it. His face grew gaunt, yet inside he continued to play the zither and sing. While Yan Hui was outside gathering greens, Zilu and Zigong spoke to each other:

“Our teacher has been driven out of Lu twice, forbidden to teach in Wei, and had the great tree where he taught in Song chopped down. He was left destitute in the old lands of Shang and Zhou, and now he is surrounded between Chen and Cai. Those who want to kill our teacher face no punishment; those who insult him are not restrained. Yet he still plays and sings, and the music never stops. Has a gentleman’s lack of shame really reached this point?”

By contrasting the plight of a noble recluse with that of a sage, this passage shows how Daoist thought rises above worldly values. For Wei Mou, giving up wealth and status to live in seclusion was already remarkable. Confucius, who remained spiritually free even in dire circumstances, went a step further. The disciples’ complaints show how difficult it is for ordinary people to understand such a state of being.

Yan Hui, Confucius’s disciple, did not know how to answer. He went inside to report what had happened to Confucius.

Confucius pushed his zither aside and sighed deeply. “Zilu and Zigong are both too narrow in their understanding. Have them come in. I have something to say to them.”

When Zilu and Zigong entered, Zilu said, “In circumstances like these, surely we can say we have reached a dead end!”

Confucius replied, “What are you saying? A noble person is said to be flourishing when they follow the Way, and to be in hardship when they are cut off from it. I hold fast to the Way of benevolence and righteousness, yet I have met the calamities of a troubled age. How can this be called a dead end? Only when I examine myself and find that I have not strayed from what is right, and when I face danger without losing my Virtue (De), can I see the pines and cypresses flourish—as winter’s bitter cold arrives and frost and snow fall. In the past, Duke Huan of Qi, one of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period, grasped the Way while trapped in Ju; Duke Wen of Jin, another of the Five Hegemons, found the truth while in exile in Cao.”

This story from the Zhuangzi says:

When the King of Yue succeeded at Mount Kuaiji (in present-day Shaoxing, Zhejiang), Confucius was caught in a perilous situation between the states of Chen and Cai. Yet Confucius felt that this hardship was, in fact, a kind of good fortune.

The scene is this: Confucius calmly tuned his zither strings and continued to sing, while his disciple Zilu excitedly danced with a shield in his hands. Zigong exclaimed, “Only now do I understand how high the heavens are and how deep the earth is!”

Through this contrast, Zhuangzi shows that people of the past who had attained the Dao (the Way) could remain joyful whether their circumstances were difficult or favorable. Their joy did not depend on whether things went well or badly. It came from understanding the Dao. Once they had grasped it, hardship and good fortune seemed as natural as winter giving way to summer, or rain and wind taking turns.

That is why the recluse Xu You could be content on the northern bank of the Ying River, and Gongbo, a worthy man of the Zhou dynasty, could live simply on Mount Shouyang and find joy in the Dao.

The passage also says that when Shun wanted to yield the realm to his friend Beiren Wuze, Beiren Wuze criticized him: “Shun is a strange man! He is plainly a farmer, yet he keeps going to Yao’s court!” This suggests that those who have truly attained the Dao do not covet power or status.

When Tang of Shang was preparing to attack Jie of Xia, he first went to consult the recluse Bian Sui. Bian Sui refused outright: “This has nothing to do with me.”

Tang pressed him: “Then who can advise me?”

Bian Sui replied: “I don’t know.”

Tang then went to consult another recluse, Wu Guang. The passage shows how Daoist recluses kept away from political conflict. Bian Sui and Wu Guang were both famous recluses. Faced with struggles for power, they chose to protect themselves, embodying the Wuwei (non-action) thought Zhuangzi admired. The later account that Wu Guang ultimately drowned himself underscores the recluses’ resolve: they would rather sacrifice their lives than become entangled in worldly strife.

This dialogue took place between Tang of Shang, the founding ruler of the Shang dynasty, and Wuguang, a recluse.

Wuguang replied at once, “This is not my responsibility.” His answer reflects the recluse’s reluctance to take part in government affairs.

Tang pressed him: “Then who would be suited to do it?”

Wuguang answered, “I don’t know.”

Tang then tentatively asked, “What do you think of Yi Yin, one of the founding ministers of the Shang dynasty?”

Wuguang remarked, “He certainly has great ability and can endure humiliation. Beyond that, I don’t know.” He acknowledged Yi Yin’s abilities while maintaining the recluse’s detached stance.

Tang of Shang and Yi Yin, one of the founding ministers of the Shang dynasty, discussed how to overthrow Jie of Xia. After they defeated the tyrant, Tang wanted to give the throne to the hermit Bian Sui.

Bian Sui refused. “When the king consulted me about attacking Jie of Xia, he must have thought I was a rebel. Now that he has won, he wants to hand me the throne; he must think I crave power and position. I was born into a troubled age, and these men, who care nothing for what is right, have twice tried to taint me with their corrupt actions. I cannot bear to hear such words again and again.” With that, he threw himself into the Chou River and died.

Tang then went to persuade another hermit, Wuguang. “The wise make plans, the brave carry them out, and the humane take office. This has been the rule since ancient times. Why will you not take the throne?” Wuguang, too, ultimately chose to drown himself to make his convictions clear.

As recorded in the “Rang Wang” (“Yielding the Throne”) chapter of the Zhuangzi, the story of these two hermits refusing the throne expresses the Daoist ideal of not yearning for power or status. Bian Sui and Wuguang were celebrated recluses of their time. They chose extreme measures to preserve their spiritual purity, embodying the Daoist philosophy of preserving life and avoiding harm.

This passage tells the story of two noble men who rejected ill-gotten gain.

Wu Guang, a worthy man of the Shang dynasty, replied, “To depose a ruler is contrary to what is right; to kill the people is not an act of benevolence. Others risk danger and hardship, while I sit back and enjoy the rewards. That would be deeply dishonorable. I have heard it said: ‘A stipend gained against what is right must not be accepted. In a lawless age, one should not even set foot on its soil.’ How much less should I allow myself to be honored as king! I cannot bear to watch a world like this for long.”

He then strapped a stone to himself and drowned in the Lu River.

The story next turns to the rise of the Zhou dynasty. Long ago, two worthy men lived in the state of Guzhu, a vassal state of the Shang. They were named Boyi and Shuqi, renowned recluses of the late Shang. The two said to each other, “We have heard that in the west there is someone who seems to have attained the Dao. Let us go and see him.”

This passage tells a story from the time of King Wu of Zhou.

After King Wen of Zhou died, King Wu heard that two worthy men were living in seclusion south of Mount Qi. He sent his younger brother, the Duke of Zhou, to visit them. King Wu offered them generous rewards to bring them into his service: two additional ranks of nobility and stipends, along with important official posts. The parties also held a solemn oath ceremony. They smeared animal blood on their lips as they swore their oaths, then buried the sacrificial offerings in the ground.

But the two recluses exchanged a smile and said, “How strange! This is not the Dao (the Way) we seek. In the time when the Divine Farmer, Shennong, governed the realm, people performed seasonal rites to show their respect, but did not pray for personal blessings. They cared for the people and governed them with dedication, yet asked for nothing in return.”

They went on to explain: “The true way to govern is for those who enjoy handling public affairs to enter government, and for those who enjoy governing to govern. One should not achieve success through another’s failure, raise oneself by putting others down, or exploit changing circumstances for personal gain.”

Note: “Dao” is a central Daoist concept referring to the natural order and the highest truth. Shennong is a legendary sage ruler of antiquity, said to have taught people agriculture and medicine.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells the story of Boyi and Shuqi and expresses the Daoist view of how to conduct oneself in times of turmoil.

When the Zhou saw that the Shang was in disorder, they hastened to seize power. In public, they used ritual and music to instruct the people; in private, they resorted to bribery. They upheld their authority by force, sealed alliances by sacrificing animals and pretending to be trustworthy, and praised their own Virtue (De) to win popular favor while pursuing gain through war. This was merely a case of replacing old disorder with a new tyranny.

I have heard that the worthy people of antiquity did not shirk their responsibilities when they lived under good rule, but neither did they cling to life at any cost when they encountered disorder. Now the world is in darkness, and the Zhou’s Virtue has declined. Rather than join them and sully themselves, it would be better to avoid them and keep their conduct pure.

So Boyi and Shuqi went north to Mount Shouyang and eventually starved to death there. People like them never relied on wealth and status, even when these were within their reach. They held fast to their noble principles, stood apart from others, and found joy in pursuing their own aspirations.

Note: Mount Shouyang was where Boyi and Shuqi withdrew from the world. “Holding to noble principles and acting unconventionally” describes steadfast adherence to high standards of conduct and behavior that sets one apart.

The conduct of these two people—the recluses mentioned earlier—was as follows: they took no part in worldly affairs, meaning they did not pursue fame or wealth, and they did not cater to popular tastes or go along with the crowd. They chose to withdraw from the noise of the world and live quietly in a state of Wuwei (non-action), the way of living esteemed in Daoist thought. This attitude toward life embodies the integrity upheld by genuine practitioners of the Dao: remaining true to moral principles and to the heart of one’s cultivation.