《莊子》Vol. 6

This passage from the Zhuangzi, “The Great Ancestral Teacher,” describes the highest level of understanding.

First, it says that to grasp the workings of nature (tian) and understand the limits of human action is to reach the pinnacle of knowledge. Those who understand nature’s patterns live in accordance with their inherent nature. Those who understand human affairs use what they know to nurture what remains unknown. In this way, they can live out their natural lifespan without dying prematurely. This is the highest form of wisdom.

But there is a problem: human understanding depends on particular conditions, and those conditions are themselves uncertain. How can you be sure that what I call “nature” is not something shaped by human action? And how can you be sure that what I call “the human” is not part of nature?

Zhuangzi then introduces the idea of the “True Person” (zhenren): only by reaching this state can one attain genuine wisdom. What were the True Persons of antiquity like? They did not bully the weak, boast of their achievements, or scheme against others. Even when they made mistakes, they felt no regret.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes the extraordinary state and way of living of the ancient “True Person,” someone who has reached the highest level of Daoist cultivation.

The first section says that such a person remains at ease in every setting. They are unafraid when climbing to great heights, stay dry when entering water, and feel no heat when leaping into fire. This is because their wisdom has reached a state of unity with the Dao—the source and pattern of the cosmos.

The second section describes the True Person’s daily life. They sleep without dreaming, wake without worry, eat without seeking fine flavors, and breathe deeply and steadily. Ordinary people breathe only as far as the throat, while the True Person’s breath reaches the heels—a way of describing exceptionally deep, long breathing. Those bound by desire speak as though each word were being brought up with difficulty; the deeper their desires, the shallower their inborn spiritual nature.

The third section describes the True Person’s attitude toward life and death. They neither cling to life nor loathe death. They do not rejoice at entering the world or resist leaving it, but come and go freely and naturally. They do not ask where life began or insist on how it must end. This reflects the Daoist view of accepting the moment and following what comes, in which life and death are as natural as the alternation of day and night.

These passages from the Zhuangzi describe the Daoist ideal of the “Perfected Person.”

The first passage says: When one accepts things, one is glad; after forgetting, one finds them again. This refers to following the natural changes of things. It is called not using the mind to force the Dao, and not using human intervention to disrupt nature. A person who can do this is a “Perfected Person,” the highest ideal of Daoist cultivation.

The second passage describes the Perfected Person’s state: inwardly clear and empty, free of self, with a calm and peaceful expression and a broad, full forehead. They are cool and solemn like autumn, yet warm and gentle like spring. Their joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness arise as naturally as the changing seasons. They live in harmony with all things, yet no one can fathom the limits of their capacity.

The third passage draws a contrast: When a sage wages war, even if they destroy an enemy state, they do not lose the people’s support. Their beneficence reaches across generations, yet they do not deliberately set out to love others—this means acting naturally through Wuwei (non-action). So, deliberately seeking to unite with all things is not the way of a sage; showing favoritism is not true benevolence; and clinging to favorable times and places is not wisdom.

These passages express the Zhuangzi’s central ideas of governing through Wuwei (non-action) and the unity of Heaven and humanity. The Perfected Person embodies the aim of cultivating oneself through natural non-action and becoming one with the Dao. Here, “Perfected Person” means the highest model for a Daoist cultivator, distinct from the immortal beings of later Daoism.

This passage from the Zhuangzi describes how the ancient Realized Person conducted themselves and criticizes several mistaken ways of living.

The first section says that someone who cannot tell benefit from harm cannot be considered a true gentleman. Someone who loses their own nature in pursuit of reputation cannot be considered a true person of integrity. And a person who has lost their original nature cannot truly govern their own life.

The second section names several famous recluses from history: Hu Buxie, Wu Guang, Boyi, Shuqi, Jizi, Xuyu, Jita, and Shentu Di. Though they may seem lofty and detached, they were still living for other people, seeking what others regarded as satisfying rather than living in accordance with their own nature.

The third section describes the bearing of the ancient “Realized Person,” the Daoist ideal of someone who has attained the Dao. They were upright without forming factions. They seemed to lack something, yet never made a show of it. They stood apart without being stubborn, and their minds were empty and still, free of ostentation. Their expressions were joyful, as if their delight came from within; their movements were unhurried, as if they followed the natural course of things. Their gentle faces reflected inner cultivation, and their composed bearing showed the depth of their Virtue (De).

Through this contrast, the passage presents the Daoist ideal of the Realized Person: preserving one’s true nature, following what is natural, and living free from domination by external things.

The Daoist adept appears grave and dignified, much like an ordinary person, yet stands apart from the world and is bound by nothing. He may seem taciturn, but in truth he has simply forgotten about words without intending to. He takes punishment as his guiding principle, ritual propriety as a supporting measure, wisdom as a way to respond to changing circumstances, and De (Virtue) as the standard for his conduct.

He takes punishment as his guiding principle so that discipline can be applied with due measure, neither too harshly nor too leniently. He relies on ritual propriety so that he can act in the world. He uses wisdom to respond to changing circumstances because he has to deal with worldly affairs. He follows De as naturally as someone with sound legs climbs a hill. Yet ordinary people think this is the result of deliberate effort.

So whether he likes or dislikes something, his attitude remains the same; whether he agrees or disagrees, he remains in the same state. When he is at one with the Dao of Heaven, he is a companion of nature; when he does not deliberately seek sameness, he lives among people.

This passage expresses Zhuangzi’s idea of “equalizing things”: the adept can follow worldly conventions, such as punishment and ritual propriety, while also standing beyond them through wisdom and De. He remains in natural harmony between “oneness” and “difference.” “A companion of Heaven” means following nature; “a companion of people” means going along with customary ways.

Heaven and humanity fulfill one another rather than stand in opposition. A person who reaches this state is a “True Person” (zhenren), one who has realized the Dao (the Way). Life and death alternate like day and night; both follow the laws of nature. People cannot interfere with these natural laws, for they are the nature of all things. People revere Heaven as they would a father—how much more, then, should they revere the supreme Dao? The world considers a ruler more worthy than oneself, and some are even willing to die for him—how much more, then, should they value the true Dao?

When a spring runs dry, fish are stranded on the land. They breathe on one another with damp air and moisten one another with spit. Rather than struggle to survive like this, they would be better off swimming freely in rivers and lakes, forgetting one another. Rather than praise Emperor Yao, the sage ruler, and condemn King Jie, the tyrant, it would be better to forget the distinction between good and evil and become one with the Dao.

Nature gives us our bodies and makes us work to sustain ourselves. It brings us old age so we may rest, and death so we may find repose. Those who truly cherish life must also cherish death—that is, follow the natural order. The earth bears our bodies; life makes us labor, old age brings us ease, and death grants us rest.

This passage comes from the Zhuangzi and explores Daoist ideas about life, death, and change.

Hide a boat in a ravine and a mountain in a great lake, and people may think they are safe. Yet in the middle of the night, a strong person might carry them off without anyone asleep noticing. Whether you hide something large or something small, it may seem secure, but nothing escapes change.

But if you place “all beneath Heaven” within “all beneath Heaven”—that is, if you follow the natural course of the Dao—then there is nothing to lose. This is the truth that never changes. People happen to receive human form and take delight in it, but human form is only one link in the transformations of the myriad things. These transformations go on without end. How could the joys within them ever be counted? The sage, therefore, wanders among what does not pass away and endures forever.

One who can meet an early death or a long life with equanimity, and regard the beginning and ending of life calmly, is already worthy of emulation. How much more so is the fundamental Dao, which sustains the workings of the myriad things and governs all transformations!

This passage expresses Zhuangzi’s idea of “equalizing things”: life and death, like great and small, are relative. Only by following the natural course of the Dao can one attain true freedom. “Hiding all beneath Heaven within all beneath Heaven” is a metaphor for fully merging with the patterns of nature.

The Dao is real and trustworthy. Though invisible and intangible, it operates of itself. One can realize it, but it cannot be directly taught; one can attain it, but not see it with the eyes. The Dao has its own source and has existed eternally since before Heaven and Earth took shape. It can reveal the powers of spirits and gods, and it can bring forth all things in Heaven and Earth.

The Dao existed before Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), yet it is not lofty. It extends beyond the Six Directions (Heaven, Earth, and the four quarters), yet it is not deep. It came before Heaven and Earth, yet it is not old; it has endured longer than the ancient past, yet it does not grow aged.

The sages of antiquity who attained the Dao all understood its truth. When Xiweishi grasped the Dao, he could set the workings of Heaven and Earth in order. When Fuxi, an ancient ruler, understood the Dao, he could harmonize the source of primordial Qi. The Northern Dipper follows the Dao’s patterns and therefore never strays from its course. The sun and moon move in accord with the Dao and therefore never cease. When Kanhuai, a mountain spirit, gained the Dao’s power, he could guard Mount Kunlun. When Fengyi, a river spirit, understood the Dao’s mysteries, he could roam freely through the great rivers. When Jianwu, a mountain spirit, attained the truth of the Dao… (the text continues).

After attaining the Dao (the Way), the ancient sages entered wondrous realms.

Once the Yellow Emperor, forefather of the Chinese people, had understood the Great Dao, he could ride the clouds up to heaven. Zhuanxu, one of the Five Emperors, mastered the Dao and dwelt in a mysterious heavenly palace. Yuqiang, the sea god, attained the Dao and stood at the northernmost place. The Queen Mother of the West, foremost among the female immortals, attained the Dao and sat in the immortal realm of Shaoguang. No one knew her beginning or her end.

After Peng Zu, the long-lived immortal, attained the Dao, his life stretched from the age of the ancient sage-king Shun to the era of the Five Hegemons in the Spring and Autumn period. Fu Yue, a worthy minister of the Shang dynasty, understood the Dao and assisted King Wuding in governing the realm. After death, his spirit became a constellation: he rode the stars Ji and Wei in the east and stood among the stars.

The passage then presents a conversation between Nanbo Zikui and Nüyu. Nanbo Zikui saw that Nüyu was very old, yet her face was like a child’s, and asked her why. Nüyu replied, “Because I have understood the Great Dao.” Nanbo Zikui then asked, “Can the Dao be learned?”

Here, “Dao” means the highest truth in Daoist thought. Those who attain it are said to transcend life and death and master the patterns of nature. In ancient belief, they could gain extraordinary powers, including longevity and supernatural abilities.

“Impossible! How could that be? You’ve come to the wrong person.” (The point is that Nüyu thinks Nan Bo Zikui is not suited to learn the Dao directly.)

The passage then introduces Bu Liangyi. He has the natural ability to become a sage, but lacks the way of cultivating sagehood. Nüyu herself knows that way, but does not have the same natural ability. She wants to try teaching Bu Liangyi and see whether he can truly become a sage.

Nüyu explains that teaching the way of sagehood to someone with a sage’s natural ability is not difficult. She uses a gradual method of instruction, “holding to it and then telling him”:

First, she spends three days helping Bu Liangyi reach “going beyond the world”—leaving worldly affairs behind. Once he reaches that state, she spends another seven days helping him reach “going beyond things”—leaving material desires behind. After that, she spends nine more days helping him reach “going beyond life”—letting go of attachment to life and death.

Once he has gone beyond life and death, he can attain “dawn-like clarity,” when the mind shines with the lucidity of the morning sun. With this clarity, he can “see the Unique”—directly experience the Dao, which is singular and without equal. Having experienced the Great Dao, he can become “free of past and present,” transcending the limits of time and attaining eternity.

This passage from the Zhuangzi presents two important Daoist ideas.

The first concerns a state beyond life and death. When a person can transcend the concept of time—when there is neither past nor present—they can reach an eternal state beyond both birth and death. The true sovereign, the Dao, can end life yet does not perish; it can bring life into being yet does not need to be created. In its dealings with the myriad things, there is nothing it does not send away and nothing it does not welcome; nothing it does not destroy and nothing it does not bring to completion. This state is called yingning (stillness amid disturbance): a calm reached by passing through turmoil.

The second part is a dialogue between Nanbo Zikui and another person. Nanbo Zikui asks, “Where did you hear these teachings?” The other person gives a peculiar line of transmission: he heard them from the “Son of Deputy Ink” (written records); the Son of Deputy Ink heard them from the “Grandson of Oral Recitation” (spoken transmission); the Grandson of Oral Recitation heard them from “Clear Sight” (seeing); Clear Sight heard them from “Listening Closely” (hearing); Listening Closely heard them from “Need and Service” (practice); Need and Service heard them from “Song and Chant” (singing); Song and Chant heard them from “Dark Mystery” (the unfathomably deep); Dark Mystery heard them from “Vast Emptiness” (the lofty void); and Vast Emptiness heard them from “Doubtful Beginning” (the origin of the cosmos).

Through this allegory, the passage suggests that the deepest truths do not come directly from books or from word of mouth. To attain true understanding, one must trace them back to the most primordial source, the Doubtful Beginning, and arrive at insight through successive stages of realization.

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells the story of four Daoist cultivators.

Zisi, Ziyu, Zili, and Zilai were discussing together. “Who can take nothingness—the essence of the Dao—as their head, life as their spine, and death as their tailbone, and truly understand that life, death, and survival are all one? We would make that person our friend.” The four looked at one another and smiled. Their thoughts were in accord, and they became friends.

Later, Ziyu fell ill, and Zisi went to visit him. Ziyu exclaimed, “How great the Creator is, to have transformed me into this twisted shape!” He described his severe hunchback: the points over his five organs protruded upward, his chin drew in toward his navel, his shoulders rose above his head, and his topknot stuck up toward the sky. Though the imbalance of Yin-Yang (yinyang) Qi (vital energy) had deformed his body, his mind remained calm and undisturbed.

Ziyu hobbled over to a well to look at his reflection and said, “Oh!” This description illustrates the Daoist idea of accepting one’s time and following what comes: even with a deformed body, one can remain inwardly at peace.

“The Creator”—that is, nature or the Dao (the Way)—has made me in this twisted, constrained form!

Zisi, a fictional character in the Zhuangzi, asked, “Do you resent being like this?”

He replied, “No. What is there for me to resent? If the Creator turned my left arm into a rooster, I would use it to announce the dawn. If it turned my right arm into a crossbow, I would use it to shoot turtledoves and roast them for a meal. If it turned my buttocks into wheels and my spirit into a horse, I would ride along that way. What need would I have for another carriage?

“To gain something is a matter of timing; to lose it is to follow nature. Be at peace with the moment and go along with change, and joy and anger, sorrow and delight will no longer disturb your heart. This is what the ancients called ‘release from suspension’—a state of freedom from constraint. Those who cannot free themselves are bound by external things. Besides, nothing in the world can escape the course of nature. Why, then, should I resent it?”

Through exaggerated imagery, this passage expresses Zhuangzi’s philosophy of accepting one’s circumstances and going along with change: by accepting whatever form nature gives us and remaining at ease wherever we find ourselves, we can attain spiritual freedom. “Release from suspension” evokes relief from the suffering of being hung upside down, and refers to a state of mind freed from the burdens of external things.

In this story from “The Great Ancestral Teacher” chapter of the Zhuangzi, Zilai is gravely ill and near death, while his wife and children gather around him weeping. His friend Li comes to visit and rebukes them: “Step back! Don’t disturb his transformation between life and death.” Then, leaning against the doorway, he says to Zilai:

“How great is the Creator—the workings of nature! What will it turn you into? Where will it send you? Will it make you into a rat’s liver, or an insect’s feeler?”

Zilai replies:

“Children must obey their parents’ commands, wherever they may be sent—to the east, west, north, or south. The transformations of Yin-Yang—the workings of nature—are closer to us than our parents. Now that they are making me die, to refuse would be to go against the natural order. What fault is theirs?”

Then Zilai offers these reflections:

“Nature has given me this body: in life, it makes me toil; in old age, it gives me ease; in death, it lets me rest. So what has treated my life well will surely treat my death well too.”

This passage from the Zhuangzi tells two parables that illustrate the Daoist idea of following the natural course of things.

The first story asks us to imagine a swordsmith forging a sword. If the metal suddenly sprang up and cried, “I must become a famous sword like Gan Jiang or Mo Ye,” the swordsmith would surely take it as an ill omen. By the same logic, if someone had only just been born in human form and spent all day shouting, “I am a human being! I am a human being!” the Creator would see that person as inauspicious. In truth, Heaven and Earth are like a great furnace, and the Creator is like a swordsmith. Why cling to the demand that we become something in particular? We should simply follow the natural course. Zhuangzi ends by describing this state of transcendence as “falling peacefully asleep and waking in sudden clarity.”

The second story recounts a conversation among three recluses: Zisang Hu, Meng Zifan, and Qin Zhang. They ask who can seem to associate with others without being attached to association, and seem to act without acting with intent; who can roam through Heaven and Earth in boundless freedom; and who can forget life and death and transcend the cycle of rebirth? The three look at one another, laugh, and understand each other without words; they then become close friends. The story presents the highest state of Daoist Wuwei (non-action) and the forgetting of the distinction between self and things.

(Note: Gan Jiang and Mo Ye are legendary ancient swords. “No deliberate association” refers to a natural way of relating without striving to do so; “no deliberate action” refers to acting without contrivance.)

This story from Zhuangzi, “The Great and Venerable Teacher,” tells of a reclusive Daoist named Zisang Hu who suddenly died, before he could be buried. When Confucius heard the news, he sent his disciple Zigong to help arrange the funeral. On arriving, Zigong saw Zisang Hu’s two friends, Meng Zifan and Qin Zhang. One was weaving a straw mat while the other played the zither. Together they sang, “Ah, Zisang Hu! You have returned to your original nature, while we are still here among the living!”

Zigong hurried forward and challenged them: “May I ask whether it is proper to sing in front of a corpse?” The two looked at each other and laughed. “How could he understand the true meaning of ritual?” they said.

When Zigong returned, he told Confucius: “What sort of people are they? They cultivate none of the virtues recognized by the world, and they disregard the body. They sing in front of a corpse without changing expression. I don’t know how to describe them. What sort of people are they?”

The story expresses the Daoist view that life and death are equal: death is simply a return to the natural Way, so there is no need to be bound by conventional funeral rites. This stands in sharp contrast to the Confucian emphasis on mourning ritual.

Confucius said, “That man stands beyond the bounds of the world, while I, Confucius, live within them. The realms within and beyond do not meet. Yet I sent you to mourn him—how shallow of me.”

“That man keeps company with the Creator, the Dao, and wanders amid the original Qi of Heaven and Earth. He regards life as an unnecessary growth, like a fleshy lump or hanging wart, and death as an abscess bursting and draining. How could someone like him care about the distinction between coming to life and passing away?”

“He sees his body as a borrowed shell. Though he inhabits a body like anyone else, he has forgotten the liver and gallbladder within and left behind the eyes and ears without. Life and death turn back and begin again in an endless cycle, with no beginning or end to be found.”

“So he drifts beyond the dust and grime of the world, at ease in the realm of Wuwei (non-action). How could someone like him muddle through the rites of ordinary life just to put on a show for worldly people?”

Here Zhuangzi presents the realized person as one who sees life and death as equal and sets aside the distinction between self and external things. True freedom, in this view, lies in going beyond worldly conventions and becoming one with the Dao. “Wandering beyond the bounds” and “wandering within the bounds” later became classic expressions for life apart from the world and life within it.

Zigong asked Confucius, “Then, Master, what principles do you follow?”

Confucius replied, “I, Kong Qiu, am one whom Heaven has punished. Even so, I am willing to share this teaching with you.”

Zigong pressed him: “Please tell me what the method is.”

Confucius explained with a metaphor: “Fish live freely in water; people find the truth in the Great Dao. Fish living in water need only a pond to thrive. Those who follow the Great Dao can settle their minds and spirits through Wuwei (non-action). So fish in rivers and lakes can forget one another and live freely; people who cultivate the Dao can forget the world and rise above its concerns.”

Zigong asked again, “Then what is a ‘different person’ (jiren)?”

Confucius replied, “A different person is unlike ordinary people, yet in harmony with the way of Heaven. Thus, someone Heaven regards as petty may be a gentleman in the eyes of the world; and someone the world regards as a gentleman may, in Heaven’s eyes, be petty.”

This dialogue conveys the Zhuangzian idea of seeing all things as equal. Through Confucius, it expresses the Daoist principle of following nature. A “different person” is someone who does not fit worldly standards but is in accord with the way of Heaven—a figure suggesting that those who truly cultivate the Dao are often misunderstood by society.

Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, asked him, “When Mengsun Cai of Lu lost his mother, he wept without shedding tears and felt no sorrow in his heart. During the mourning period, he showed no grief. None of these three things accords with the rules of mourning, yet he is renowned throughout Lu for observing them well. Can someone really gain a reputation without doing what that reputation implies? I find it strange.”

Confucius replied, “Mengsun Cai has truly grasped the essence of mourning. His understanding has gone beyond that of ordinary people. Mourning rites ought to be simplified, though it is difficult to simplify them completely; he has already simplified them to some extent. Mengsun Cai neither strives for life nor tries to escape death. He is attached neither to what comes before nor to what comes after. He sees himself as something in the midst of transformation and calmly faces changes whose course cannot be known. When change is taking place, how can we know it will not cease? And when things seem unchanged, how can we know that change has already occurred?”

This dialogue expresses Zhuangzi’s idea of regarding life and death as equal. Through Mengsun Cai’s mourning, it suggests that the truly wise rise above life and death and follow the natural course of change. His actions may seem to violate convention, but they reflect a deep understanding of the nature of life.

You and I are both still caught in an unawakened dream. Things that seem to undergo changes in form (haixing, “startling transformations”) have not, in truth, harmed the heart-mind; what seems like a change of dwelling (danzhai) is not genuine death. Mengsun Shi, a person who had attained the Dao, seemed to have awakened, yet when he saw others weeping, he wept along with them. This was simply a way of going along with worldly custom.

We both say “I,” but how do we know that this “I” is real? In a dream, you may become a bird and soar through the sky, or become a fish and dive into the depths. As we speak now, how can we know whether we are awake or still dreaming?

When one truly reaches a state of ease, there is no time even for a smile to appear. Laughter that comes from within needs no deliberate arrangement. By following the natural changes, one can become one with the boundless Dao of Heaven (liao tian yi).

This passage expresses Zhuangzi’s thought of “equalizing all things,” exploring the boundary between reality and illusion. It calls for seeing beyond appearances to understand what lies at their heart. “Liao tian yi” refers to the highest state of becoming one with the Dao.

Yi’erzi went to visit Xu You, a renowned hermit of ancient legend.

Xu You asked him, “What did Emperor Yao teach you?”

Yi’erzi replied, “Yao taught me: ‘You must put benevolence, righteousness, and virtue into practice yourself, and clearly distinguish right from wrong.’”

Xu You retorted, “Then why have you come to see me? Yao has branded your face with benevolence and righteousness—as though moral rules could bind you—and cut off your nose with his judgments of right and wrong—as though such distinctions could injure your natural nature. How, then, can you wander freely along the path of an unbound life?”

Yi’erzi said, “Even so, I hope I can at least travel along the edge of that realm.”

Xu You continued, “That will not do. It is like a blind person being unable to appreciate the beauty of the eyes and brows, or someone who cannot see being unable to admire the splendor of yellow and green robes.” He meant that people constrained by worldly ideas cannot grasp the truth of the Dao. Then he gave examples: “It is like Wu Zhuang, the ancient beauty, losing her beauty; Jiliang, the strongman, losing his strength; and the Yellow Emperor losing his wisdom.” These figures illustrate that attaining the Dao requires letting go of worldly attachments.

Through this parable, the Zhuangzi tradition challenges worldly norms such as the Confucian ideals of benevolence, righteousness, and judgments of right and wrong. It presents Xu You as a Daoist hermit who believes that moral rules can constrain our natural nature and obstruct a life of freedom.

（An Interpretation of Selected Passages from the Zhuangzi）

“It is all happening amid the smelting and hammering.” This means that all things in the world are like metal, repeatedly forged and shaped by the Creator—the Daoist term for the primal force that brings forth all things.

“How do you know the Creator will not mend what is broken in me”—“tattooing” refers to the ancient punishment of branding the face, and “nose cutting” to the punishment of removing the nose; here, both are metaphors for the flaws of human life—“so that I may follow you as a whole person?” Xu You replied, “Ah, that is hard to say. Let me give you a rough account.”

This passage praises the greatness of the Dao. “My teacher!”—meaning the Great Dao—“brings all things into harmony without claiming credit for righteousness; gives its blessings to generation after generation without claiming benevolence; is older than antiquity yet shows no sign of age; bears Heaven and Earth and shapes the myriad things without displaying its skill. This is the realm of the Great Dao.”

Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, said, “I have made progress.” Confucius asked, “What do you mean?” Yan Hui replied, “I have forgotten ritual and music.” Confucius said, “Good, but you have not gone far enough.” The passage describes the gradual letting go of worldly conventions in the cultivation of the Dao. “Forgetting ritual and music” is an early stage of practice.

The “Creator” here is not a personal god, but the natural power of creation and transformation. “Forgetting ritual and music” belongs to the practice of “sitting in forgetfulness” in the Zhuangzi, in which one gradually lets go of worldly perceptions. The dialogues often take the form of parables: figures such as Xu You and Yan Hui serve to express philosophical ideas.

This dialogue recounts Yan Hui’s report to Confucius on his progress in spiritual cultivation.

At their first meeting, Yan Hui said, “I have made progress: I have forgotten benevolence and righteousness”—meaning that he had moved beyond the constraints of conventional moral rules. Confucius replied, “That is good, but it is not enough.”

Some time later, Yan Hui said again, “I have made progress.” Confucius asked, “What do you mean?” Yan Hui answered, “I have attained sitting in forgetfulness (zuowang), a state of deep meditation.” Confucius asked in surprise, “What is sitting in forgetfulness?”

Yan Hui explained, “I have let go of my limbs”—meaning that he had freed himself from the constraints of bodily sensation—“and set aside cleverness,” meaning that he had gone beyond thought and cognition. “I have left behind form and cast off knowledge, transcending the limits of matter and reason. I have become one with the Great Dao. This is sitting in forgetfulness.”

Confucius praised him: “When you are one with the Dao, you have no preferences; when you respond to things as they change, you are no longer rigid. You have indeed reached the state of a worthy person! I, Kong Qiu, must learn from you and follow in your footsteps.”

Note: This dialogue presents “sitting in forgetfulness,” an important state of spiritual cultivation in Zhuangzi’s thought. It emphasizes transcending the limits of form and knowledge to attain a detached state of unity with the Dao. Confucius is portrayed here as embracing Daoist thought, a parabolic device commonly used by the Zhuangzi school.

This story presents a conversation between two friends, Ziyu and Zisang, as portrayed by Zhuangzi, a leading Daoist thinker.

It had rained continuously for ten days. Worried that his friend Zisang might be hungry and ill, Ziyu packed up some food and went to bring it to him. At Zisang’s door, he heard a voice from inside, at once like singing and weeping, accompanied by the sound of a zither. The voice cried out, “Was it my father’s fault? My mother’s? Heaven’s will? Human action?” Hoarse and almost unable to speak, it hurriedly repeated these words.

Ziyu went in and asked, “Why are you singing these words?”

Zisang replied, “I’m trying to understand what has brought me to such poverty, but I can’t work it out. Could my parents really have wished me to be poor? Heaven does not favor some people alone, and Earth does not bear only some people. Could Heaven and Earth have singled me out to suffer poverty? I’ve tried to find the reason for my circumstances, but I can’t. If that is so, then perhaps the reason I’ve come to this state is simply fate.”

This exchange expresses the Daoist idea of accepting one’s time and following circumstances. It treats the turns of life as akin to natural events: there is no need to fixate on their specific causes; instead, one can accept what comes with equanimity. In Daoist thought, “fate” is not a superstitious notion, but refers to objective patterns beyond an individual’s will.