《無能子》Vol. 1

In the beginning, heaven and earth were a formless chaos filled with primordial Qi. This undifferentiated energy gradually separated to form the two poles of Yin and Yang: the light and pure Qi ascended to become the Yang heaven, while the heavy and turbid Qi descended to become the Yin earth. Heaven's nature is vigorous movement, earth's nature is yielding stillness—both follow the natural patterns of Qi's movement.

Once heaven and earth took their positions, the interaction of Yin and Yang energies gave birth to five categories of life: bare creatures (hairless humans), scaled creatures (fish), furry creatures (beasts), feathered creatures (birds), and armored creatures (turtles). Humans are merely one type among bare creatures, equally nurtured by the Qi of heaven and earth, fundamentally no different from other beings. Some claim humans are special simply because we think and speak. But observe birds, beasts, and insects—they too understand survival and avoiding death, building nests, seeking food, reproducing, and protecting their young. How is this different from humans constructing houses, pursuing sustenance, and raising children? Can we truly say they lack wisdom?

From birds and beasts to tiny insects, their calls all carry specific meanings. When humans cannot understand them, we assume they don't speak—but have we considered that birds likewise don't comprehend human speech? Would they then assume humans are mute? Their calls are language in their own right. As for wisdom and speech, humans and other creatures are fundamentally alike; the difference lies only in form. Scaled, furry, feathered, and armored beings vary in appearance, just as humans differ in height and looks—these distinctions are no more essential than the variations among the five life categories.

Heaven and earth are but vast manifestations of Yin and Yang energies. All five life forms arise from their harmonious interaction, just as rivers and seas nurture fish and turtles, or mountains and hills grow plants. In ancient times, humans lived among other creatures, mating naturally without notions of marriage or hierarchies between father and son. All beings coexisted as equals—how could there have been distinctions of nobility or baseness?

In ancient times, people lived like animals: dwelling in tree nests during summer and caves in winter, with no constructed dwellings; eating raw meat and drinking animal blood, unaware of grain cultivation; roaming freely while alive and collapsing naturally at death, devoid of competitive or harmful thoughts, leaving corpses unburied—comply wholly with their natural disposition. This state of primal simplicity persisted for ages.

Later, exceptionally intelligent individuals emerged among humans and began establishing rules: they taught other creatures (scaled beings, furred creatures, feathered animals, etc.) to cultivate grains, thus inventing farming tools; built dwellings from wood and earth, giving rise to axes and chisels; instituted marriage systems to distinguish genders, creating distinctions between husband and wife along with ethical norms for father-son and brotherly relationships; crafted coffins and burial garments for the dead, forming funeral rites; wove nets to trap animals, establishing cooking and dietary practices.

The original pure nature gradually dissipated as distinctions between strong and weak emerged. These clever individuals then selected leaders (called "rulers") from among themselves to govern the masses (called "subjects"), forming hierarchical relationships between superior and inferior. Later, they established systems of ranks and stipends, creating distinctions between noble and base that led to wealth disparities. These rule-makers came to be known as "sages."

Thereupon, people began coveting wealth and status, and competitive mindsets arose. These so-called "sages," concerned about such disorder, established teachings of benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trustworthiness, instituting rituals and music to restrain people: when subjects rebelled against rulers it was called "treason"; when fathers lacked affection for children it was "unkindness"; when children disrespected parents it was "unfilial"; when brothers failed to harmonize it was "undutiful." These artificially constructed moral norms caused people to lose their original authentic and spontaneous nature.

(Note: In the text, "naked creatures" refers to humans; "scaled, furred, and feathered creatures" generally indicates other animals; "burial" means interment; "leisi" refers to ancient farming tools; "jufu" indicates hunting nets.)

This passage reveals how human society has deviated from its natural authenticity. In the beginning, when people followed their innate nature, there were no concepts of fraternal discord or marital infidelity. To act without violating one's true nature was right; to do otherwise was wrong. Once notions of right and wrong emerged, the competitive mind became suppressed.

Later, as desires expanded, people began to stray from benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and trust, transgressing the norms of ritual and music in pursuit of conflict. The so-called sages (referring to rulers who established social norms) had no choice but to institute punishments and armies to enforce control—minor offenses were met with penalties, major crimes with war. Thus, prisons, shackles, exile, and flogging spread throughout the land, while weapons like swords, spears, and arrows filled the world. Disasters of broken families and lost lives followed one after another, and the suffering of the people—impoverished and short-lived—knew no end.

Alas! Even insects follow nature, yet humans forcibly defy it: building palaces and indulging in delicacies to provoke desires, dividing hierarchies to incite competition, imposing benevolence and ritual to distort innate nature, enforcing punishments and warfare to harm life. People chase after trivialities while forgetting the root, disturbing their true disposition and destroying their vitality. Generation after generation, they remain lost until death, never awakening from ancient times to the present—all due to the errors of these so-called sages!

The so-called root is the original mind that acts through non-action (Wuwei, the state of following the natural Dao). The body depends on it for existence, and it is eternally indestructible—like fire, which can burn without losing heat, or water, which can moisten without losing wetness. When applied, it can perceive the finest details and hear the faintest mosquito hum; when still, even the thunder of mountains goes unnoticed. Vast enough to encompass heaven and earth, yet subtle enough to enter an eyelash—dim and indistinct, neither coming nor going, sparse and empty, neither increasing nor decreasing.

Hermits like Chao Fu and Xu You (legendary recluses from the era of Yao and Shun), or recluses like Yuan Qi, focused on the root and cultivated themselves alone. Meanwhile, events like Yao and Shun abdicating their thrones, Tang of Shang exiling Jie, or King Wu overthrowing Zhou were acts of seizing the moment to benefit the world. Those who understand the root withdraw when they should and act when they must, handling affairs with transcendent detachment. The confused, however, indulge their desires, led astray by their senses, recklessly acting all day without self-awareness.

Whoever can observe with unobstructed clarity and harmonize with nature’s spontaneity will comprehend the nameless origin (the Dao) within the unseen.

These chapters of Wunengzi primarily explore the nature of life, concepts of birth and death, and the illusory nature of worldly desires.

On the relationship between innate nature (性) and physical form: Human spirituality (Shen) and vital energy (Qi) are interdependent, just as the ceramic xun and bamboo chi instruments resonate together, or as Yin and Yang energies naturally harmonize. The physical body is merely a vessel for containing one's nature and life force, much like fire requires firewood to burn. While innate nature manifests through physical form, nature itself flows naturally in an endless cycle of regeneration, whereas the physical body will inevitably stiffen and perish. People cling desperately to life and fear death, failing to recognize that life and death are simply natural patterns. The more one stubbornly tries to preserve what is destined to perish, the further one strays from the true source of life—this is as absurd as expecting stones to float on water or feathers to sink to the bottom.

On the essence of death: What people fear most—death—is actually just the cessation of bodily functions. What truly determines vitality is not the decaying flesh and blood, but the inner spirituality. While alive, what animates the body is precisely that undying essential nature; the physical form itself possesses no life. Since death is merely the stillness of the physical form while the true essence of life never perishes, then the fear of death is unnecessary. Why let such fear disturb the peace of one's heart-mind?

On the emptiness of worldly pursuits: The wealth, status, and fame that people blindly chase are essentially just accumulations of external things. What we call emperors are merely people wearing dragon robes (衮冕), dwelling in palaces, and using ceremonial paraphernalia (羽葆警跸); dukes and marquises are simply those wearing official hats (簪缨), riding in carriages, and possessing weapons (鈇钺). These status symbols are fundamentally external objects—when such material conditions are assembled, one is called wealthy and noble, and at their extreme, one becomes an emperor or noble. Strip away these trappings, and the so-called noble status vanishes. These external things are ultimately nothing more than human-made concepts and labels.

This passage from The Book of Non-Action (Wunengzi) exposes the delusions of worldly values and the troubles caused by artificial distinctions.

People always consider active doing as true action, yet fail to understand that wuwei (non-action, or following nature's course) is the most genuine form of action. The world regards material possessions as wealth and honor, while their absence signifies poverty and lowliness. Thus everyone chases wealth while despising poverty, resorting to unscrupulous means when unsatisfied. From ancient times to the present, people remain trapped in this delusion without awakening—such is the powerful grip of material desires.

What people call "good reputation" merely refers to qualities like filial piety, loyalty to rulers, keeping faith with friends, integrity toward wealth, or exceptional talents. These are nothing but doctrines sages devised to restrain foolish people. The human body is essentially just a bag of skin filled with blood and filth—intact in the morning, it may rot by evening. Where does "good reputation" reside? Modern people lose their natural disposition and become hypocritical precisely because they're misled by these so-called "sage teachings."

People invariably show special affection toward their relatives—joyful at reunions, longing at partings, worried during illnesses, and weeping at deaths. Yet all human bodies share the same structure: hands and feet, ears and eyes, mouths and noses. Why must we distinguish between "self" and "other"? The so-called difference between close and distant relations stems merely from different names and varying degrees of familiarity. If we addressed all people with familial names and treated everyone as familiar, the whole world would become our kin.

True filial piety and compassion should embrace all people equally. When limited only to one's own family, such virtues become emotional burdens that breed hypocrisy over time, eventually sowing discord and resentment among fathers, sons, and brothers. As Zhuangzi said: fish trapped in a drying rut exchange spit to survive—their mutual moisture appears touching, yet how much better would they fare swimming freely in rivers and lakes?

This passage from The Book of the Ignorant Sage expounds the Daoist philosophy of embracing naturalness and governing through Wuwei (non-action). Using the metaphor of fish and humans, it illustrates how fish swimming freely in rivers and lakes forget each other's existence, just as humans in their natural state can attain self-forgetfulness—the most comfortable and liberated condition. Deliberately clinging to certain emotions is something the wise would never do.

Regarding self-cultivation, the author employs scales and mirrors as metaphors: scales remain impartial because they harbor no selfish motives, and mirrors reflect clearly because they are free from distracting thoughts. If humans can achieve this state of no-mind, maintaining emptiness, stillness, and clarity, they will become as eternal as heaven and earth, merging with the cosmic Qi (vital energy) without ever tiring—a state no being in the world can rival.

The nature of water is used to explain the wisdom of softness: when obstructed, water settles and becomes clear; when channeled, it flows freely. Evaporating into clouds that bring rain, or seeping into soil to nourish all things, it neither strives to become vast like rivers and seas nor feels ashamed in small puddles. It nurtures all without claiming merit. Thus, Laozi said the soft overcomes the hard—only those who maintain a tranquil spirit and gentle breath can grasp nature's fundamental principles.

Natural correspondences exist in the world, just as water flows to damp places and fire seeks dryness, clouds follow dragons and winds arise with tigers. The same dynamic operates between Shen (spirit) and Qi within the human body. Understanding this principle of natural resonance and focusing on the source of life (the Mysterious Feminine, representing the root of vitality) brings one closer to liberation from constraints.

Birds are born to fly and fish to swim—they need not learn these skills. Similarly, human abilities like walking, grasping, hearing, and seeing are innate, requiring no thought to perform naturally. If every action demanded deliberate contemplation, exhaustion would follow. The human heart-mind should be as vast and natural as the open sky, yet modern people allow their limbs and senses to move freely while disturbing the natural state of the mind. This makes it difficult to attain harmony and spiritual clarity.