《莊子》Vol. 29

Confucius and Liu Xiaji (a virtuous scholar of the Lu State during the Spring and Autumn period) were close friends. Liu Xiaji had a younger brother named Dao Zhi (a legendary bandit), who commanded nine thousand followers. They rampaged across the land, harassing feudal lords, breaking into homes to plunder, seizing livestock from commoners, and abducting women. Insatiably greedy, Dao Zhi disregarded even familial bonds, showing no affection for parents or siblings and neglecting ancestral rites.

Wherever Dao Zhi and his gang went, people in large states barricaded their city gates in defense, while those in smaller states took refuge in fortified strongholds. Communities everywhere suffered greatly under their tyranny.

Confucius said to Liu Xiaji: "A father ought to discipline his son, and an elder brother ought to guide his younger brother. If a father cannot control his son, nor a brother instruct his sibling, then the bond between parent and child, between brothers, holds little value."

This passage comes from the “Robber Zhi” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It recounts a discussion between Confucius and Liu Xia Ji (also known as Liu Xia Hui) about Robber Zhi:

Confucius said, “Sir, you are a worthy and capable man of our time, yet your younger brother Robber Zhi has become a scourge to the world, and you have been unable to restrain him. I feel ashamed on your behalf. Allow me to go and try to persuade him.”

Liu Xia Ji replied, “You say that a father must be able to teach his son, and an elder brother must be able to discipline his younger brother. But if a son will not heed his father’s instruction, or a younger brother will not accept his elder brother’s discipline, what can anyone do about it—even someone as eloquent as you?”

He continued, “Besides, Robber Zhi’s thoughts surge and shift like a spring, and his intentions are as hard to predict as a gale. He is strong enough to stand against his enemies, and eloquent enough to disguise his faults. He is pleased when things go his way and angry when they do not; he readily insults people. You would be better off not going.”

This exchange presents Zhuangzi’s challenge to the Confucian ethical ideals of a loving father and a filial son, and of affection between brothers. Through Liu Xia Ji, it suggests that human nature cannot be forcibly restrained by moral rules. Robber Zhi is portrayed as someone who follows his natural disposition entirely and is bound by neither conventional morality nor ritual rules.

This passage comes from the “Robber Zhi” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It tells the story of Confucius going to meet the notorious bandit Zhi.

Ignoring the warnings against it, Confucius had Yan Hui drive the carriage and Zilu ride as his assistant, and set off to visit Robber Zhi. At the time, Zhi was resting with his followers south of Mount Tai. They were chopping human livers into pieces and eating them.

Confucius got down from the carriage and went forward. He said to the messenger, “I am Kong Qiu of the state of Lu. I have long heard of the general’s great reputation, and have come to pay my respects.” The messenger went inside to announce him.

When Robber Zhi heard this, he flew into a rage. His eyes blazed like bright stars, and his hair stood on end beneath his cap.

This passage from the Zhuangzi depicts an imaginary dialogue.

(Ascribed to Robber Zhi): “Isn’t this that affected, self-important Kong Qiu from the state of Lu? Tell him this for me: ‘You make up all sorts of sayings and make wild claims about the rites of King Wen and King Wu of Zhou. You wear a hat as showy as a tree branch and a belt made from the hide of a dead ox. Your mouth is full of nonsense. You eat without farming and dress without weaving. All day long you wag your tongue, stir up disputes, and confuse the rulers of the world, leading scholars everywhere astray from their true nature. You pretend to promote filial piety and fraternal duty, but really you’re just hoping to win a noble title and a fortune. Your crimes are too great! Get out of here at once, or I’ll use your liver as a snack to go with my wine!’”

Confucius asked again for an audience: “I am honored to have been introduced by Liu Xiaji, Robber Zhi’s elder brother. I hope I may come before your tent and seek your instruction in person.”

In this exchange, Robber Zhi is a fictional bandit chief created by Zhuangzi to voice a critique of Confucian ritual. “King Wen and King Wu” refers to the sage kings of Zhou, whom Confucians revered. Through Robber Zhi, Zhuangzi mocks the hypocrisy of Confucian ritual, portraying it as contrary to human nature. Confucius refers to himself humbly as “Qiu,” and the phrase “I hope to come before your tent” expresses his respectful request for an audience.

(Scene note: Confucius goes to persuade the notorious bandit Zhi, a legendary and ferocious outlaw chief.)

After the messenger reported back, Zhi said, “Let him come in!”

Confucius hurried inside, deliberately avoiding the place of honor. Instead, he stepped back several paces and respectfully bowed twice to Zhi. Zhi flew into a rage. He sprawled with his legs stretched out, gripped the hilt of his sword, and glared, his voice roaring like a tiger cub:

“Confucius, come here! If what you’re about to say suits me, I’ll spare your life. If it goes against my thinking, you’re dead!”

Confucius replied, “I have heard that people in the world possess three kinds of virtue. The first is to be naturally tall and handsome, with a striking appearance unmatched by anyone. Young or old, noble or humble, everyone who sees such a person likes them. This is the highest virtue. The second is to be wise enough to understand Heaven and Earth, and capable enough to discern the nature of all things. This is the middle virtue. The third is to be bold and resolute, able to gather people together and command an army...”

This passage comes from the “Robber Zhi” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It depicts Confucius trying to persuade the notorious robber Zhi to abandon his way of life:

“Your conduct now belongs to what Daoists call ‘inferior De’—virtue pursued by deliberate effort. Ordinary people need only possess one of these qualities to rule their own domain. Yet, General, you possess three virtues at once: you stand eight feet and two inches tall, about 1.9 meters; your face is radiant, your lips red as cinnabar, your teeth even as shells, and your voice rings out in tune with the Yellow Bell, the ancient standard pitch. Yet you are called Robber Zhi. In private, I feel ashamed on your behalf, General.

“If you are willing to heed my advice, let me serve as your envoy to the various states. I will go south to Wu and Yue, north to Qi and Lu, east to Song and Wei, and west to Jin and Chu, and ask them to build you a walled city hundreds of li across and grant you a fief of tens of thousands of households. They will honor you as a feudal lord. Then you can make a fresh start with the whole world: end the wars, give the soldiers rest, gather your brothers and kinsmen around you, and join them in making offerings to your ancestors. This is what a sage ought to do.”

The Zhuangzi uses Confucius’s voice here to satirize the reversal of social values in his time. Though Robber Zhi is a legendary bandit, he has the appearance of a ruler, hinting at a conflict between virtue and reputation. Confucius’s proposal would let him gain power through legitimate means, reflecting the Confucian idea of “rectifying names.”

Robber Zhi, the legendary bandit, flew into a rage when he heard this. “Confucius, come here! Anyone who tries to persuade people with promises of profit or admonish them with words is merely an ignorant, shallow commoner. I was born tall and handsome, and people like me when they see me. My parents gave me this fine appearance. Even if you don’t praise me, do you think I don’t know it myself?

“Besides, I’ve heard that people who flatter you to your face are the very ones most eager to slander you behind your back. Now you’re tempting me with a great city and a large population. You want to buy me with profit and keep me like an ordinary commoner. How could such a relationship last?

“As for great cities, none is greater than the whole world. Yao and Shun once possessed the world, yet their descendants became so poor they had no land even for a single stake. Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou held the throne as Son of Heaven, yet their lineages died out. Isn’t this because the gains they coveted were too great?”

This exchange shows Robber Zhi’s criticism of worldly values. He argues that the pursuit of fame and profit ultimately brings calamity, and that even sage rulers such as Yao, Shun, Tang, and Wu could not escape this pattern.

Zhuangzi describes two stages of society in ancient times.

In the earliest age, there were more wild animals than people. To escape them, people built nests in trees and lived there by day, sleeping in the trees at night as well. They gathered acorns to eat, and this age was therefore called the time of Youchao, or “the Nest Builders.”

Later, people still did not know how to make clothes. They gathered firewood in summer and used it to keep warm in winter. This stage was called the people who “knew how to preserve life.” In the age of Shennong, people lived at ease: they rested peacefully when they lay down and went about their lives leisurely when they rose. They knew who their mothers were, but not their fathers, and lived in harmony with deer and other animals.

People grew their own food and made their own clothes. They harbored no desire to harm one another. This was the age when De (Virtue/Power) flourished most fully. But in the time of the Yellow Emperor, De began to decline. The Yellow Emperor and Chiyou fought on the plains of Zhuolu, and the blood they shed reddened the land for a hundred li.

Note: Youchao and Shennong are legendary leaders from high antiquity, representing different stages in the development of human civilization. Through this contrast, Zhuangzi expresses his longing for the simplicity of ancient society.

Yao and Shun established a court and appointed officials. Tang of Shang drove out his ruler, Jie of Xia, and King Wu of Zhou killed the tyrant Zhou of Shang. From that time on, the strong began to bully the weak, and the many to oppress the few. Men like Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou were, in truth, the culprits who threw society into disorder.

Now you, Confucius, study the methods of rule practiced by King Wen and King Wu of Zhou. You claim to hold the standards by which the world’s right and wrong are judged, and seek to instruct generations to come. You wear the broad robes of a Confucian and tie a loose sash, using false words and affected conduct to mislead the rulers of the various states and win wealth and status. If anyone deserves to be called a bandit, surely it is you. Why, then, do people in the world not call you “Bandit Qiu,” but call me “Bandit Zhi”?

With honeyed words, you persuaded Zilu, your disciple, to follow you. You had him take off his high, warrior’s cap and unfasten the long sword he carried for self-defense, so that he could receive your instruction.

People often claim Confucius could suppress violence and prevent wrongdoing. Yet what was the outcome? His disciple Zilu attempted to assassinate the ruler of Wei but failed, ending up minced at the eastern gate of the capital—clear proof Confucius's teachings were ineffective.

You proclaim yourself a sage of extraordinary ability? Yet you were twice expelled from Lu, barred entry to Wei, left stranded in Qi, and besieged in Chen and Cai. The vast world offered you no refuge. With your disciple Zilu meeting such a fate—unable to preserve himself above or aid others below—is this doctrine you champion truly worth valuing?

Among the models revered by the world, none stands loftier than the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi). Yet even he couldn't maintain perfect virtue, battling Chiyou at Zhuolu until blood flowed for miles. Emperor Yao lacked paternal kindness, Emperor Shun failed in filial duty, Yu the Great crippled himself through overwork controlling floods, Tang of Shang exiled his sovereign Jie, King Wu of Zhou waged war against King Zhou, and even King Wen was imprisoned at Youli.

Among the virtuous men admired by the world, none were held in higher esteem than Boyi and Shuqi. They gave up their positions as rulers of the state of Guzhu and eventually starved to death on Mount Shouyang, without even receiving a proper burial. Bao Jiao deliberately made a display of his virtue to condemn worldly customs, and in the end died clinging to a tree. When Shentu Di’s remonstrance was rejected by his ruler, he tied a stone to himself and threw himself into a river, where fish and turtles devoured him.

There was also Jie Zitui, who was utterly loyal to Duke Wen of Jin. He cut flesh from his own thigh to feed the duke when he was hungry. Later, when the duke abandoned him, Jie Zitui left in anger and was burned to death while clinging to a tree. Weisheng arranged to meet a woman beneath a bridge. When the flood came, he stayed where he was, clinging to a bridge post until he drowned.

Zhuangzi argues that these men may seem noble, but worldly concerns had obscured their true nature. They forced themselves to act against their natural dispositions, making their conduct shameful. This is Zhuangzi’s critique of the Confucian ideal of “sacrificing life for righteousness”: he argues that people should follow the natural way of the Dao.

The passage from the Zhuangzi tells several thought-provoking stories.

A woman waited devotedly for her beloved. Even when a flood came, she refused to leave and was eventually drowned while clinging to a roof beam. The six kinds of people mentioned afterward—those fixated on a particular belief—are as pitiful as slaughtered dogs, dead pigs drifting in the water, and beggars holding broken bowls. They all made light of their lives for the sake of empty fame, forgetting that preserving life is what matters most.

People praise loyal ministers such as Prince Bi Gan, a loyal servant of the Shang dynasty, and Wu Zixu, a minister of the state of Wu during the Spring and Autumn period. Wu Zixu was thrown into a river and drowned; Bi Gan was killed and had his heart cut out. Though later generations praised them as loyal ministers, they ultimately became objects of ridicule throughout the world. From a higher perspective, actions like theirs are not worthy of admiration.

Finally, Zhuangzi says: “If the teachings Confucius (Qiu) used to persuade me concern ghosts and spirits, then I truly do not understand them. But if they concern ordinary human affairs, then they amount to no more than this.”

This passage expresses Zhuangzi’s idea of preserving the body and keeping life whole. It criticizes sacrificing one’s life for empty fame and argues that following nature and preserving life are the true Dao (the Way).

Zhuangzi expresses his view of human nature here through dialogue:

These are truths I understood long ago. Now let me tell you what human nature is like: the eyes long to see beautiful colors, the ears to hear pleasing sounds, the mouth to taste delicious food, and the heart is always filled with desires of one kind or another. A person may live to the age of one hundred, eighty years on average, or sixty at the least. Yet after illness, disability, death, grief, and worry have taken their share, the days on which one can truly laugh with joy amount to no more than four or five in a month.

Heaven and Earth endure forever, while human life has an end. To place a finite life amid the boundless Heaven and Earth is like a fine horse flashing past an opening in the gate: it is over in an instant. If one cannot find true joy in one’s heart or care for one’s life, one does not truly understand the Dao.

The principles you, Confucius, speak of are things I intend to cast aside.

This passage reflects Zhuangzi’s criticism of worldly desires and stresses the importance of seeking genuine inner joy and preserving one’s life. The phrase “a fine horse flashing past an opening in the gate” is a traditional image of life’s brevity. “One who understands the Dao” refers to someone who has grasped the truth of the Great Way.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells of Confucius visiting Robber Zhi, a legendary bandit, and leaving in disarray.

Robber Zhi spoke to Confucius without a trace of courtesy: “Get back where you came from! Stop your rambling! The teachings you promote are nothing but deranged, affected posturing—deceitful tricks and empty pretenses. They cannot preserve a person’s true nature. What is there to discuss?”

After hearing this, Confucius was so frightened that he bowed repeatedly as he backed away. As he climbed into his carriage, he fumbled with the reins three times. His gaze grew vacant, as though he could see nothing; his face turned deathly pale. He leaned against the carriage rail with his head bowed, unable even to catch his breath. When he reached the eastern gate of Lu, he happened to meet Liu Xiajì, also known as Liuxia Hui.

Liu Xiajì asked, “I haven’t seen you for a few days. You and your carriage look as if you’ve been hurrying about. Surely you didn’t go to visit Robber Zhi?”

Confucius sighed toward the sky. “I did…”

Liu Xiajì continued, “Did Robber Zhi treat you just as I warned he would, without showing you the slightest kindness?”

The exchange presents Zhuangzi’s idea that “even robbers have their own way,” using Robber Zhi’s voice to satirize the hypocrisy of Confucian ritual teachings. Confucius is portrayed as utterly undone when confronted with genuine nature, in sharp contrast to the image of the “sage” found in historical accounts.

This passage from the Zhuangzi presents different Confucian and Daoist views of fame and profit.

Confucius said, “That is certainly true. I am like someone who, though not ill, burns moxa to treat an illness, or someone who rushes to touch a tiger’s head and stroke its whiskers. I nearly ended up in its jaws!” The images suggest the danger of deliberately pursuing a reputation for virtue.

Zizhang, a Confucian disciple, asked Man Goude, a fictional character, “Why not cultivate your De (Virtue/Power)? Without De, you will not gain people’s trust; without their trust, you will not be appointed to office; without office, you will not gain profit. So, if we consider fame and profit, practicing benevolence and righteousness is the right path. Even setting fame and profit aside and looking within, can a scholar afford to neglect cultivating De for even a single day?”

Man Goude replied, “Those without a sense of shame are often wealthy, and those skilled at winning people’s trust are often prominent. Most people who gain great fame and profit do so by being shameless and winning people’s trust. So, if we consider fame and profit, winning people’s trust is the right path.” His words expose the realities of the society’s pursuit of fame and profit.

Through these opposing views, the dialogue shows the difference between the Confucian emphasis on moral cultivation and the Daoist perspective that sees through worldly reputation. Man Goude’s words are especially sharp: they expose how morality and success often diverge in the pursuit of fame and profit.

Zizhang said, “If a person can set aside fame and wealth and return to their original nature, then their conduct will accord with the natural Dao (the Way).”

He then gave two contrasting examples. In the past, Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang were emperors who possessed all the wealth of the realm. Yet if you told even a petty thief today, “Your conduct is like that of Jie and Zhou,” the thief would feel ashamed and take offense. Even people of low standing despise such conduct.

Confucius (Zhongni) and Mozi (Mo Di), by contrast, were poor and lived as commoners. But if you told a prime minister, “Your conduct is like that of Zhongni and Mo Di,” he would show deep respect and feel that he fell short. This shows that the virtue of a true scholar is what deserves esteem.

The conclusion is that holding the highest position as emperor does not necessarily make someone noble, just as living in poverty as a commoner does not necessarily make someone base. The true distinction between nobility and lowliness lies in the quality of a person’s conduct.

In this passage, Zhuangzi uses biting satire to expose the hypocrisy of society in his time.

Petty thieves are arrested, while those who steal whole states become feudal lords. Above the gates of their residences, they even hang signs proclaiming “benevolence and righteousness.”

History offers examples of this. Duke Huan of Qi, Xiaobai—one of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period—killed his elder brother and took his brother’s wife, yet the renowned minister Guan Zhong served him. Tian Chengzi, a powerful official of Qi, murdered his ruler and seized power, yet Confucius accepted gifts from him.

People condemn such acts in words, but in practice they submit to power. Is it not absurd to have these contradictions battling within one’s own heart? As the Book of Documents says: “What is evil? What is good? The successful become leaders; the defeated can only follow.”

Zizhang, a disciple of Confucius, objects: “If no one observes morality, then distinctions between kin and strangers, high and low, young and old will all collapse. How could social order be maintained?”

Man Goude, a fictional figure, offers a counterexample: “Even the sage ruler Yao had his eldest son put to death…” This hints that the supposed standards of morality are themselves problematic.

Through contrast and irony, the passage exposes how rulers use “benevolence and righteousness” to disguise their violence. It reflects Zhuangzi’s profound critique of the values of his society.

Shun exiled his own younger brother. Can this really be called an ethic that respects degrees of closeness and distance? Shang Tang drove out Jie of Xia, and King Wu of Zhou killed Zhou of Shang. Did these acts truly follow a moral code that distinguishes between high and low status? King Ji of Zhou—the father of King Wen—was installed as the heir in place of his elder brother. And the Duke of Zhou, Dan, killed his elder brother Guan Shu. Where in these deeds do we find an order that honors the senior and defers to the junior?

Confucians speak endlessly of benevolence and righteousness, yet their words and actions do not agree. Mohists advocate universal care, yet find it hard to put into practice. Can the so-called Five Relations—fatherly duty, maternal kindness, fraternal affection, respect for an elder brother, and filial piety—and the Six Relationships—ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife, elder and younger brothers, and friends—really be clearly distinguished?

Besides, you pursue fame, while I pursue profit. The nature of fame and profit accords with neither Heaven’s principle nor the Dao. Our endless daily arguments are like disputes without any restraint: “The petty person gives up his life for wealth; the noble person gives up his life for fame. Though they alter their original minds and distort their natures in different ways, in the end both abandon what they ought to do and pursue what they ought not. In essence, they are the same.”

Do not become a petty person by worldly standards, for that would turn you away from your nature. Nor need you strive to be a gentleman; simply follow the patterns of nature. Whether your way of dealing with people is yielding or unyielding, take the Dao as your guide. Observe how things change in every direction, and advance or withdraw as circumstances wax and wane.

When faced with right and wrong, keep a flexible and balanced understanding. Fulfill your own purpose in solitude, and walk alongside the Great Dao. Do not act out of stubborn attachment to your own views, or make a show of benevolence and righteousness, for that will cost you your true self. Do not chase wealth and rank at all costs, or sacrifice yourself for achievement; doing so will make you lose your inborn nature.

Zhuangzi then gives several examples of historical tragedies. Bi Gan was disemboweled, and Wu Zixu had his eyes gouged out; both were loyal ministers who suffered for speaking frankly. These are the dangers of excessive loyalty. Zhi Gong reported his own father for stealing a sheep, while Weisheng drowned while keeping a promise; these are the drawbacks of excessive honesty. Bao Jiao stood rigidly until he died, refusing to eat the grain of the Zhou, and Shen Tudi drowned himself after his remonstrance went unheeded; these are the harms of excessive integrity.

Through these examples, Zhuangzi shows that clinging too tightly to a particular moral standard can violate the Dao and bring calamity.

This passage from the Zhuangzi presents several ideas.

The first section says that Confucius could not see his mother, and Kuangzi (Kuang Zhang) could not see his father, because their excessive pursuit of “rightness” led them to lose family bonds. Through these two historical figures, the passage shows how rigid attachment to moral rules can violate ordinary human relationships.

The second section points out that these stories were handed down from ancient times as lessons. Later scholars (shi) kept trying to make their words and actions conform perfectly to moral standards, and ended up suffering harm as a result. Zhuangzi suggests that deliberately pursuing moral perfection can bring misfortune.

The third section develops the discussion through a fictional exchange. Wuzu (symbolizing someone who is never satisfied) asks Zhìhé (symbolizing someone who understands equanimity): “Is there anyone in the world who does not pursue fame and profit? Once someone becomes rich and powerful, people gather around them. Those followers humble themselves, which in turn raises the rich person’s standing. Isn’t being admired in this way the key to peace of mind and body, and to enjoying wealth and status for a long time?”

Wuzu then presses Zhìhé: “If you alone have no interest in these things, is it because you lack wisdom? Or do you understand them but lack the ability to attain them? Or are you deliberately putting on a solemn air, unable to forget moral standards?” This exchange reveals the opposition between worldly pursuits and the Daoist attitude of detachment.

Zhihe, a wise figure invented by Zhuangzi, said:

Some people today believe that those who live in the same age and come from the same place as they do are sages who have risen above worldly concerns. In fact, such people have no firm views or principles of their own. Their judgments of right and wrong, past and present, simply follow the crowd; they have been absorbed into worldly conventions.

They cast aside life, the most precious thing, and abandon their natural character, the most worthy thing, yet imagine they are doing what is right. To speak of the way of nourishing life—of living long, seeing far, and enjoying well-being of body and mind—in these terms is surely far off the mark.

Whether one suffers intense illness or enjoys comfortable health, neither can truly affect one’s nature. Whether one is suddenly seized by fear or overwhelmed by joy, neither can truly unsettle one’s heart-mind.

These people know only how to act blindly, without knowing why they act as they do. So even if they are emperors, with all the wealth of the world, they cannot escape calamity.

This passage chiefly criticizes those who follow the crowd and lose their true nature. Zhuangzi holds that the genuine way of nourishing life lies in preserving one’s natural character, not in chasing worldly standards. Zhihe points out that even supreme power and immense wealth cannot keep people from falling into hardship if they have lost their original heart-mind.

In the Zhuangzi, a figure named Wuzu says:

“Wealth can do anything for a person. It can let people enjoy every luxury and honor, reaching a level that even sages cannot attain and the worthy cannot surpass.

By borrowing another person’s courage, you can display your own power. By using another person’s cleverness, you can make yourself seem wise. By relying on another person’s De (Virtue or Power), you can present yourself as worthy. Even if you are not a ruler, you can still carry yourself with the authority of a ruler or a father.

Then there are sensual pleasures and the trappings of power and status. The heart naturally enjoys them without being taught, and the body naturally grows accustomed to them without instruction. What to like or dislike, what to approach or avoid—none of this requires a teacher. It is simply human nature. Even if everyone under Heaven says these things are wrong, who can truly resist their allure?”

Note: Zhuangzi uses the fictional voice of Wuzu to mock people’s pursuit of fame, profit, and power. The name Wuzu itself hints at insatiable greed. Through this exaggerated speech, Zhuangzi criticizes how material desire distorts human nature.

Zhihe, a sage imagined by Zhuangzi, said:

A truly wise person acts in keeping with the people’s needs and does not go against the patterns of nature. Contentment leaves no cause for contention; Wuwei (non-action) leaves no desire for gain.

Only those who are not content keep asking for more. They struggle everywhere without recognizing their own greed. Those with wealth to spare give it up willingly; they could renounce the whole world and still would not consider themselves virtuous.

The nature of virtue and greed is not determined by pressure from outside. It depends on the standard one uses in examining oneself.

Even as emperor, one should not look down on others because of one’s rank. Even with the world’s wealth, one should not use money to toy with others.

The sage weighs gains and losses and considers the harmful consequences of things. Seeing that these would injure one’s original nature, the sage declines them—not to win a reputation.

When Yao and Shun ruled as emperors, the world was at peace. This was not because they deliberately promoted benevolent government, but because they did not let empty reputation damage the natural life within.

By contrasting contentment with discontent, this passage emphasizes the Daoist principle of following nature. True wisdom lies in preserving one’s original nature without being lured by fame or profit. Even the achievements of Yao and Shun in governing the realm arose through natural Wuwei.

This passage from the Zhuangzi presents two different ways of choosing how to live.

The recluses Shanjuan and Xu You, both renowned in antiquity for their integrity, had the chance to become emperors but declined. Their refusal was no empty courtesy: they did not want the demands of governing to damage their nature. They chose what benefited them and avoided what harmed them. Everyone praised them as wise, but they did not act to win a reputation.

Then Wuzu—whose name means “never satisfied”—objects: if a person clings to a reputation at all costs, making the body suffer, giving up pleasure, and practicing excessive restraint to prolong life, that person is like someone who remains gravely ill for a long time, unable even to die.

Zhihe—whose name means “understanding harmony”—replies that what is simple and moderate brings good fortune, while excess brings trouble. This is true of everything, and especially of wealth. The rich today spend their days listening to bells, drums, and music, and tasting fine wines and delicacies. Such pleasures unsettle their minds and make them forget their proper place; they are, one might say, thoroughly confused.

The passage reflects the Zhuangzi school’s critique of fame and gain. It suggests that excessive pursuit of things outside oneself can cause people to lose their nature, and advocates a simple life that follows the natural course of things. The names “Wuzu” and “Zhihe” themselves point to two opposing attitudes toward life.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes six conditions that harm human life.

The first is to become consumed by false pride, like carrying a heavy load uphill. It is truly exhausting.

The second is to seek comfort through greed for money and to wear yourself out chasing power. In solitude, you indulge yourself; when your body is at ease, you grow arrogant and wilful. This is a kind of sickness.

The third is to pursue wealth and profit until your desires rise like a wall before you, yet fail to see the need to turn aside. You stubbornly refuse to give them up and, in the end, bring humiliation upon yourself.

The fourth is to amass wealth without knowing how to use it, clutching it tightly with an anxious heart while constantly wanting more. It is truly a cause for sorrow.

The fifth is to fear that your family will plot against you and, outside the home, to fear that robbers will harm you. You fortify your home layer upon layer and dare not walk alone outdoors, living in constant terror.

These six conditions are among the greatest afflictions of human life. Through vivid comparisons, Zhuangzi warns that greed, fixation, and fear can rob people of inner freedom and peace.

This passage from the Zhuangzi speaks of how people often overlook what truly matters. They forget to observe and reflect on the most fundamental truths of life. When disaster strikes, even if they spend all their wealth and risk their lives, they cannot buy back a single peaceful day.

These things cannot be seen through the lens of fame, nor can they be gained by pursuing profit. Yet people rack their brains and wear themselves out striving for these illusory things. Is that not foolish?

The passage reflects Zhuangzi’s idea of Wuwei (non-action), criticizing people who chase empty fame and profit while neglecting the true nature of life. The phrase liaoyi juti describes the state of being mentally and physically exhausted from pursuing external things.