《莊子》Vol. 5

In Chapter Five of the “Sign of Fullness of Virtue” from the Zhuangzi:

A man in the state of Lu named Wang Tai had lost one foot in punishment; “one-legged man” here refers to someone whose foot had been cut off as a penalty. About as many people studied with him as studied with Confucius. A man named Chang Ji asked Confucius, “Wang Tai is disabled, yet the number of people who take him as their teacher is almost equal to yours. He doesn’t teach when he stands, and he doesn’t discuss anything when he sits. His students come to see him with empty minds, yet leave full. Can there really be teaching without words, a way to transform people without outward signs? What kind of person is he?”

Confucius replied, “That gentleman is a sage! I simply haven’t yet had the chance to seek his guidance. I would take him as my teacher—how much more so should those less capable than I? It is not only the people of Lu: I intend to lead the whole world in following him.”

After hearing this, Chang Ji said, “Though he is disabled, he has surpassed ordinary people and become a spiritual leader. It seems his state is indeed far removed from that of everyday people.”

This chapter presents the story of Wang Tai, a wise man with a disability, to explore the Daoist idea of teaching without words. Zhuangzi suggests that someone whose De (Virtue) is truly full needs neither outward appearance nor speech: the power of their inner spirit can naturally transform others. This contrasts with the Confucian emphasis on teaching through words and example. “Sign of Fullness of Virtue” refers to the outward evidence of De flourishing within.

This dialogue presents Zhuangzi’s idea of “making all things equal” through the voice of Confucius (Zhongni). Here is a modern explanation:

Confucius said, “Life and death are great matters, aren’t they? Yet they do not alter the state of mind of someone who has attained the Dao. Even if heaven collapsed and the earth sank, he would not perish with them. He has seen through the eternal, unchanging truth—the unborrowed—and so is not affected by external things. He can follow the changes of the myriad things while holding fast to the root, the Dao.”

Chang Ji asked, “What does that mean?”

Confucius explained, “Seen from the standpoint of difference, the liver and gallbladder are as far apart as the states of Chu and Yue. Seen from the standpoint of sameness, all things are one. A person like this does not even know what the ears and eyes ought to hear and see—he has gone beyond the limits of the senses. His mind wanders in the harmony of the Dao. Seeing the unified nature of the myriad things, he is unconcerned with loss: losing a leg seems to him as ordinary as losing a clod of earth.”

Here, “the unborrowed” means the eternal, unchanging truth. “The harmony of De” refers to the harmonious state of the Dao, an ideal in Zhuangzi’s thought in which all things coexist naturally.

Through wisdom, a person comes to know their original mind and, from there, to grasp the constant, unchanging Dao. How could external things disturb them?

Confucius said: People do not use flowing water as a mirror; they look into still water to see themselves clearly. Only when the mind is settled can restless thoughts come to a stop.

Trees draw life from the earth, yet only pines and cypresses stay green through the winter cold. Human beings receive their nature and life from Heaven, yet only a sage like Shun truly holds fast to the right way. Those who can set their own lives in order can guide all living beings.

Those who preserve their original, unspoiled nature have no fear in their hearts. They are like warriors who charge alone into the midst of vast armies. If people seeking fame can do this, how much more can those who have attained the Dao? They are one with Heaven and Earth, embrace all things, regard the body as a temporary dwelling, remain unmoved by the senses, preserve undivided wisdom, and keep their spirits from ever running dry.

Such a sage may ascend to immortality at any moment—“ascending to the far beyond” means attaining the Dao and rising to the heavens—and people will naturally follow them. How could worldly trifles hold them back?

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells the story of Shentu Jia and Zichan, the prime minister of Zheng.

Shentu Jia had lost one of his feet, and he studied under Bohun Wuren, a Daoist recluse, alongside Zichan. Zichan said to him, “If I leave first, wait a while before you go; if you leave first, I’ll wait a while.” The next day, they sat on the same mat during their lesson. Zichan repeated the rule: “I’m planning to leave first today. Shouldn’t you wait a while? You see an official in charge”—meaning Zichan himself—“and don’t step aside. Do you think your standing is as high as an official’s?”

Shentu Jia replied, “Among our teacher’s students, who puts on airs of office like that? Do you think being a prime minister gives you the right to become conceited and look down on others? I’ve heard it said: ‘A clear mirror gathers no dust; once dust gathers, it is no longer clear.’” Here, the mirror stands for the human heart, suggesting that power has clouded Zichan’s original nature.

Their exchange illustrates the Daoist idea of “equalizing things”: in the eyes of someone who has realized the Dao, a person with a disability and a high official are fundamentally equal. Zichan values worldly rank, while Shentu Jia looks beyond his bodily impairment and seeks equality of spirit.

This dialogue from “The Sign of Virtue Complete” in the Zhuangzi is a debate between Zichan and Shentu Jia, two wise men with physical disabilities.

Zichan, a statesman of the state of Zheng, says, “Compared with a sage like Yao, how do you measure up? Weigh your own virtue—shouldn’t you reflect on yourself?”

Shentu Jia, a reclusive man whose foot had been cut off, replies, “Most people in the world make excuses for their own faults and think they should not be punished. Few truly admit their mistakes and change their ways. To understand that fate cannot be changed and accept it calmly—only a person of genuine virtue can do that.”

He uses archery as an analogy: standing at the center of Yi the Archer’s target range, the most dangerous place, and not being hit is simply luck. Then he shares a deep realization: he used to feel angry when people mocked his missing foot. But after coming to study with Bohun Wuren, a master of the Dao, his anger naturally faded.

As background, “within Yi’s target range” is a metaphor for danger, and “the Master” refers to Bohun Wuren, a realized figure in the Zhuangzi. The dialogue expresses the Daoist wisdom of accepting one’s lot as fate, and emphasizes cultivating oneself beyond the body’s outward form.

“Are you saying that you have cleansed my heart and mind with the good Dao (the Way)? I have studied with you for nineteen years, and you have never minded that I am a man with a severed foot. Now that our hearts and minds are in communion, you reproach me over my outward appearance. Isn’t that going too far?” When Zichan, the chief minister of Zheng, heard this, his face changed and he felt ashamed. “Please, say no more!” he said.

This passage explores the Daoist idea that one’s inner life transcends the body. It gives priority to spiritual cultivation over physical completeness.

In the state of Lu there was a man named Shushan Wuzhi whose toes had been cut off as punishment. He went to visit Confucius, walking on his heels. Confucius said, “You were careless in the past and brought this misfortune upon yourself. Now you have come to see me—what can still be done?”

Wuzhi replied, “It was because I did not understand how the world works and used my body recklessly that I lost my toes. I have come to see you because something more precious than my feet still remains—my moral cultivation—and I want to do all I can to preserve it. You should know that Heaven covers everything and Earth supports everything.”

The term “the footless” refers to people whose feet were cut off as punishment. “That which is more precious than the feet” refers to inner cultivation, which matters more than the body. The image of Heaven and Earth embracing all things reflects the Daoist idea of seeing things as equal.

This dialogue comes from the Zhuangzi. It tells of Confucius’s encounter with a man named Toeless, whose feet had been amputated as punishment, and of Toeless’s later conversation with Laozi (Lao Dan):

When Toeless met Confucius, he said, “I took you, Master, to be as great as Heaven and Earth. I never imagined you would judge people by their appearance!”

Confucius replied with embarrassment, “My understanding is shallow. Why don’t you come in and sit down, Master, and share your views?” But Toeless turned and walked away.

Confucius said to his disciples, “You should all strive to learn. Toeless, though he has lost his feet, still works hard to make up for past mistakes. How much more should those of you who are physically whole do so?”

Later, Toeless said to Laozi, “Confucius has probably not yet reached the state of the perfected person. Why is he always so eager to learn from others? He pursues unusual and remarkable fame, unaware that the truly perfected person sees such things as shackles.”

Laozi replied, “Why not simply help him understand that life and death are one, and that what can be accepted and what cannot are fundamentally connected?”

This dialogue reflects the Zhuangzi’s criticism of the Confucian attachment to ritual and reputation. It advocates breaking down dualities such as right and wrong, and life and death, to reach the state of making all things equal.

These passages from the Zhuangzi tell two stories about how De can transcend outward appearance.

In the first, a man named Shushan Wuzhi, whose toes had been cut off as punishment, goes to see Confucius. Confucius says, “You failed to act carefully and so were punished. Isn’t it too late to come seeking instruction now?” Wuzhi replies, “I was foolish before. I’ve come now because I want to preserve what is more precious: my spiritual life.” Confucius tells his disciples to take Wuzhi as a warning. Wuzhi responds that Confucius uses ritual teaching to bind people’s hearts—and that this is what true “Heavenly punishment” means.

The second story is about Aitai Tuo of the state of Wei, a man of strikingly ugly appearance. Men love his company and do not want to leave him; women would rather become his concubines than marry anyone else. More than a dozen women have made this request. He never puts himself forward or insists on his own views, but simply goes along with others. Duke Ai of Lu hears about him and summons him. The duke finds that Aitai Tuo has no power, yet can relieve people’s suffering; receives no stipend, yet can make people feel secure and well fed; and has a frightening appearance, yet draws people close. His wisdom goes no further than the everyday, yet men and women alike are drawn to follow him. He must, the duke concludes, possess a virtue beyond the ordinary.

These stories express Zhuangzi’s idea that when De has strength, outward form is forgotten. They emphasize that inner virtue matters more than physical appearance. Those who cultivate the Dao seek a spiritual realm that transcends appearances.

This story from the Zhuangzi tells of an ugly-looking man who came to the state of Wei. At first, the ruler found his appearance frightening. But before a month had passed, he had come to admire the man’s character. Within a year, he trusted him completely. Later, when the state had no chief minister, the ruler wanted to entrust the government to him.

At first the man said nothing. Then he declined almost casually. The ruler felt ashamed, but in the end still handed the state over to him. Before long, however, the man left the ruler and journeyed far away. The ruler felt bereft, as though he had lost something, and believed that no one else could share with him the joy of governing the state.

Confucius commented: “I once traveled to the state of Chu on a mission and saw a group of piglets suckling at their dead mother. Before long, they fled in alarm. They had realized that their mother no longer looked at them and was no longer as she had been in life. The piglets loved their mother not for her physical form, but for the spirit that had given that form life.”

This passage uses the story of the ruler and the ugly man to illustrate the Daoist idea of valuing spirit over physical form. The piglets love their mother’s vitality, not her body, just as the ruler admires the man’s inner De rather than his appearance. Through this story, Zhuangzi argues that the spiritual value beyond the physical body is greater than outward form.

This passage from the Zhuangzi uses several vivid examples to explain the profound ideas of “complete form” and “complete De.”

When someone who has died in battle is buried, the feathered ornaments for the coffin are not buried with them. Someone whose feet have been cut off no longer cares about the shoes they once wore. In both cases, something fundamental has been lost. Likewise, the palace women who serve the Son of Heaven may not trim their nails or pierce their ears, and a married man may no longer serve as a palace eunuch. These examples show how important it is to keep the body whole. How much more important, then, is it for a person to have complete De?

The passage then turns to Ai Taituo, a fictional sage, to illustrate the point. He wins people’s trust without speaking and earns their affection without performing any notable deeds. Even a ruler would entrust an entire state to him. This is the state of “complete capacity, with De left unseen”: one’s capacities are whole, yet they do not show themselves outwardly.

When Duke Ai of Lu asks what “complete capacity” means, Confucius replies that life and death, survival and ruin, hardship and success, poverty and wealth, worthiness and unworthiness, praise and blame, hunger and thirst, and the changes of cold and heat are all natural transformations of things. They follow the workings of fate.

Day and night continually alternate before us, yet human wisdom cannot penetrate the origin of the cosmos. So do not let these things disturb the heart’s peace, or let distracting thoughts enter the heart (the lingfu, or “spirit’s dwelling”). Let the mind remain joyful and open, like a flowing river that does not become blocked at a bend (dui, a turning point). Let time pass without interruption, always sharing in the springlike harmony of all things. This is the fitting way for the mind to meet the world. It is called “wholeness of capacity” (cai quan).

Later, Duke Ai of Lu said to Minzi, “At first, as ruler of the realm, I held authority over the laws for governing the people, yet I was always anxious about their life and death. What does it mean for De not to take visible form?” Minzi replied, “Stillness is like water when it is perfectly calm; it can serve as a model. When the heart is settled, things outside do not stir. De is the cultivation through which harmony is reached. When a person does not deliberately display De, all things naturally remain close to them.”

I once thought I understood things thoroughly. But after hearing the words of someone who has truly attained the Dao, I worry that I may have no real ability or learning at all. I have simply been spending my life recklessly, and this may ultimately bring about the country’s ruin. Confucius (Kong Qiu) and I were not ruler and subject; we were friends who came together through De.

A hunchbacked, lame man with no lips went to persuade Duke Ling of Wei, who greatly admired him. Looking at people with sound limbs, the duke instead thought their necks were too slender. Then a man with a huge swelling on his neck went to persuade Duke Huan of Qi, who liked him very much. Looking at people without such a swelling, the duke thought their necks were too slender, too. This shows that when someone’s De stands out, people overlook flaws in their appearance. If people keep in mind what they ought to forget—the flaws of appearance—and forget what they ought to remember—inner De—that is true forgetfulness.

So the way a sage who has attained the Dao moves through the world is to regard cleverness as a source of trouble, restraint as a form of confinement, De as a means of social connection, and craftsmanship as a matter of buying and selling.

A true sage has no need to make plans. What use, then, would cleverness be?

Here, “the Perfected” means someone whose moral cultivation has reached the highest level; a “friend in De” is someone who forms friendships through De; and “sage” in Daoist thought refers to one who has awakened to the Dao. Through these parables, Zhuangzi shows that true value lies in inner De rather than outward appearance, and that excessive pursuit of cleverness can lead one away from the Dao.

If wood were not cut and shaped by human hands, where would glue be needed to join the pieces? If nothing had been lost—that is, if things kept their natural nature—where would anyone need to make a display of virtue? If people did not pursue goods—that is, covet material gain—where would there be any need for trade? These four conditions—not cutting and shaping, not losing one’s nature, not coveting goods, and not trading—are all ways in which Nature, the natural Way of Heaven, nourishes us.

What is called “Heaven’s nourishment” is Nature’s act of raising and sustaining us. Since we have already received Nature’s care, why add human contrivance? Though we have human bodies, we need not have the feelings of worldly people. Our human form allows us to live among others; without worldly attachments, disputes over right and wrong cannot take hold of us. How small are the things made by human effort! How great is the natural Way, complete in itself!

Hui Shi, a leading thinker of the School of Names during the Warring States period, asked Zhuangzi, “Are people naturally without feelings?”

This passage contrasts human contrivance with the natural Way, emphasizing the importance of preserving one’s original nature and following Nature. Zhuangzi holds that deliberately pursuing virtue, material gain, and other worldly values runs counter to Heaven’s nourishing way. He urges people to rise above worldly judgments of right and wrong and return to their natural, original state.

Zhuangzi said, “That is indeed so.”

Huizi, a leading figure of the School of Names, challenged him: “If a person has no feelings, how can they be called a person?”

Zhuangzi replied, “The Great Dao (the Way), the source of the universe, gives people their appearance, and Nature gives them their form. How could they not be called people?”

Huizi pressed him further: “If they are called people, how could they possibly have no feelings?”

This exchange presents a debate between Zhuangzi and Huizi about the nature of being human. Huizi starts from common sense, taking feelings to be a basic human trait. Zhuangzi defines human nature from the more fundamental perspective of the Dao, suggesting that what makes a person human lies not in their feelings, but in their attunement to the Dao.

Zhuangzi said, “You misunderstand. That is not what I mean by ‘no feelings.’ By ‘no feelings,’ I mean that people do not harm their own bodies and minds because of personal likes and dislikes. They follow their natural nature and do not deliberately strive to preserve their health.”

Huizi asked, “If people do not deliberately preserve their health, how can they keep their bodies healthy?”

Zhuangzi replied, “The Dao (the Way), the source of the universe, gives people their form, and nature shapes their bodies. Do not let feelings of like and dislike harm your inner life. Yet you now let your spirit wander outward and wear away your Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). You lean against a tree trunk, chanting, and doze beside a withered parasol tree. Nature gave you your body, yet you are absorbed in pointless disputes such as the ‘hardness and whiteness’ debate”—a dispute among the School of Names about the properties of objects.

This dialogue shows what Zhuangzi truly meant by “no feelings”: not having no emotions, but going beyond personal likes and dislikes and following nature. Huizi represents the ordinary view of preserving health, while Zhuangzi advocates the more fundamental principle of following the Dao and nature. The final phrase, “crying out about hardness and whiteness,” mocks the School of Names for straying from the essence of life.