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Chapter 8 of 33
庄子
Webbed toes and extra fingers grow from nature, yet they are superfluous to virtue;附属的赘瘤和悬垂的疣子 arise from the body, yet they are superfluous to innate nature. To apply benevolence and righteousness in manifold ways and regard them as essential, arraying them alongside the five organs, is not the proper way of the Way and its Virtue. Therefore, webbed toes on feet are but connections of useless flesh; extra fingers on hands are but growths of useless digits. Those who multiply webbed and branched elements within the sentiments of the five organs indulge excessively in the practices of benevolence and righteousness and overextend the uses of cleverness and discernment.
Thus, those who are excessive in sight disturb the five colors, confound elaborate patterns—does not the dazzling brilliance of azure and yellow, with embroidered ceremonial robes, exemplify this? Such is Li Zhu! Those who are excessive in hearing disturb the five tones, misuse the six pitch-pipes—are not the sounds of metal, stone, silk, and bamboo, from the Yellow Bell to the Great Lü, examples of this? Such is Shi Kuang! Those who branch out in benevolence uproot virtue and stifle nature to win renown, causing all under heaven to be stirred like reeds and drums in pursuit of unattainable standards—is this not so? Such are Zeng and Shi! Those who are webbed in argumentation pile up words like tiles, knot phrases like cords, and stray into sophistry about “hard and white” and “same and different,” exhausting themselves in praise of useless discourse—is this not so? Such are Yang and Mo! Therefore, these are all paths of excess and branched byways, not the truest correctness under heaven.
That which is truly correct does not lose the reality of its innate nature and life’s endowment. Hence, what is joined is not considered webbed, and what branches is not considered superfluous; the long is not considered surplus, and the short is not considered deficient. Thus, though the wild duck’s legs are short, lengthening them would cause distress; though the crane’s legs are long, shortening them would bring sorrow. Therefore, what nature has made long should not be cut, and what nature has made short should not be extended—there is no need to remove what causes no worry.
Alas! Are benevolence and righteousness not contrary to human nature? How fraught with worry are those benevolent men! Moreover, one with webbed toes weeps when they are separated; one with extra fingers cries when they are gnawed off. Of these two cases, one has excess in number, the other has deficiency, yet their worry is the same. The benevolent men of today gaze with haggard eyes, anxious over the world’s ills; the unbenevolent destroy the truth of their life’s endowment to greedily pursue wealth and rank. Ah, are benevolence and righteousness indeed against human nature? Since the Three Dynasties of old, how the world has clamored and seethed!
Furthermore, relying on hooks, plumb lines, compasses, and squares to straighten things is to shave away their nature; relying on cords, bonds, glue, and lacquer to secure things is to invade their virtue; bending and twisting with rites and music, soothing and coaxing with benevolence and righteousness, to comfort the hearts of the world—this is to lose their constant natural state. The world has a constant natural state. That constant state means: the crooked needs no hook, the straight needs no line, the round needs no compass, the square needs no square, adhesion needs no glue or lacquer, restraint needs no cords or ropes. Therefore, the world is gently born, yet knows not why it is born; all are equally fulfilled, yet know not why they are fulfilled. Thus, past and present are one, beyond diminution. So why should benevolence and righteousness wind like glue, lacquer, cords, and ropes through the realm of the Way and its Virtue, disturbing the world?
Small confusions turn one from his direction; great confusions turn one from his nature. How do we know this is so? Since the time of Lord Yu (Shun) who revived benevolence and righteousness to agitate the world, none under heaven has not rushed headlong after them. Is this not exchanging one’s nature for benevolence and righteousness?
Therefore, I try to discuss this: Since the Three Dynasties, none under heaven has failed to exchange their nature for external things! The petty man sacrifices himself for profit; the scholar knight sacrifices himself for fame; the high minister sacrifices himself for his clan; the sage sacrifices himself for the world. These various individuals differ in their undertakings and their titles of renown, yet in harming their nature by sacrificing themselves, they are alike.
Zang and Gu, two men, shepherded sheep together, and both lost their flock. When asked what he was doing, Zang said he was holding a book and reading; when asked, Gu said he was playing a game of dice for amusement. The two differed in their deeds, but in losing the sheep they were equal.
Bo Yi died for fame at the foot of Mount Shouyang; Robber Zhi died for gain on the heights of Dongling. These two men died for different reasons, yet in destroying their lives and injuring their nature they were equal. Why must one praise Bo Yi and condemn Robber Zhi?
All under heaven are sacrificial: if they sacrifice for benevolence and righteousness, the vulgar call them gentlemen; if for goods and wealth, the vulgar call them petty men. Though their sacrifice is alike, one is called a gentleman and the other a petty man. Yet from the perspective of destroying life and injuring nature, Robber Zhi is Bo Yi, and Bo Yi is Robber Zhi—how can one distinguish gentleman and petty man among them?
Moreover, those who attach their nature to benevolence and righteousness, even if they become as penetrating as Zeng and Shi, are not what I call good; those who attach their nature to the five flavors, even if as discerning as Yu Er, are not what I call good; those who attach it to the five tones, even if as acute as Shi Kuang, are not what I call hearing; those who attach it to the five colors, even if as keen as Li Zhu, are not what I call sight. What I call “good” does not refer to benevolence and righteousness but to being excellent in one’s own virtue; what I call “good” does not mean the so-called benevolence and righteousness but simply letting one’s innate nature and life run its course; what I call “hearing” does not mean hearing others but hearing oneself; what I call “seeing” does not mean seeing others but seeing oneself. Not seeing oneself yet seeing others, not attaining oneself yet attaining others—this is gaining what others gain but not gaining what one ought to gain; this is pleasing what pleases others but not pleasing one’s own truth.
To bend toward what pleases others and not to one’s own bend—even Robber Zhi and Bo Yi alike fall into depravity. I feel ashamed before the Way and its Virtue, therefore above I dare not uphold the creed of benevolence and righteousness, and below I dare not pursue depraved excess.
The "Webbed Toes" chapter presents a profoundly subversive ethical proposition: morality itself may be a form of alienation.
We typically assume morality is "good" and benevolence and righteousness are "virtuous." But Zhuangzi's question is: when benevolence and righteousness become external norms, when morality becomes the standard of social evaluation, when "being a good person" becomes a task requiring exhausting effort—does it still qualify as "good"? This touches a deep philosophical issue: the distinction between intrinsic and extrinsic value.
In Zhuangzi's view, "virtue" (de) is the inner endowment one receives from the Dao, and "nature" (xing) is the spontaneous state inherent from birth. True goodness ("zang") is not conformity to external moral standards, but "letting your nature and life's feelings run their course." This means: morality should not be externally imposed standards, but the natural expression of inner nature. Once morality becomes an external "hook, rope, compass, and square," it instead becomes a tool for "carving away one's nature."
This line of thought coincides with certain insights from existentialism. Heidegger distinguishes between "authentic" and "inauthentic" existence; Sartre emphasizes that humans should not be enslaved by external definitions—ultimately they all say the same thing: don't let others decide who you are. What is unique about Zhuangzi is that he points not only to "freedom," but also to "naturalness"—freedom is not doing whatever one pleases, but returning to one's inherent nature.
Another question worth pondering: the paradox of difference and equality. Zhuangzi says, "What is joined is not webbed; what grows extra is not superfluous; the long is not excess, the short is not deficiency"—this cancels out the very concept of "normal." What we call "normal" is merely a statistical average packaged as a norm. The duck's short legs and the crane's long legs are each "correct" in their own way. This suggests a more thoroughgoing stance than modern pluralism: not merely tolerating difference, but fundamentally dissolving the "normal/abnormal" dichotomy. This thought retains its liberating power today.
This content is based on classical Daoist texts and is provided solely for traditional culture study and life reference; it does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice.