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Chapter 15 of 33
庄子
Overall Paraphrase
Those who deliberately flaunt their moral conduct, intentionally distance themselves from the worldly, and fill their lofty rhetoric with resentment and indignation—they merely work themselves into a state of isolated arrogance and feverish excitement. Such is the preference of those who dwell in mountain valleys, those who distance themselves from the world, those who waste away in emaciation, or even those who drown themselves in water to fulfill their ideals.
To speak at length of benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and faithfulness, to prize reverence, frugality, modesty, and deferral—this is merely for self-cultivation. Such is the preference of those content with peaceful times, those who make teaching their profession, and those who wander abroad lecturing and debating.
To pursue the establishment of great achievements and great renown, to regulate rulers and ministers through ritual and law, to order the hierarchy of superiors and subordinates—this is merely for governing the world. Such is the preference of court officials, those who honor their sovereign and strengthen the state, and those who build enterprises and annex territories.
To dwell in lakes and marshes, to live in wide-open idle places, to fish and wander at leisure, appearing non-deliberate and carefree—this is merely the preference of those of rivers and seas, those who shun the world, and those who seek leisure. [Translator's note: The "non-deliberate action" (wu wei) here refers to a way of living that avoids deliberate striving—not the cosmic level of wu wei discussed later in this chapter.]
To exhale and inhale deeply, to expel the stale and take in the fresh, to hang like a bear and stretch like a bird—this is merely for the sake of longevity. Such is the preference of those who practice guided exercises, those who nourish their bodily forms, and those who pursue the longevity of a Peng Zu.
However—without deliberately flaunting, yet naturally lofty; without voicing benevolence and righteousness, yet naturally cultivated; without chasing achievement and renown, yet naturally well-governed; without dwelling in rivers and seas, yet naturally at leisure; without practicing guided exercises, yet naturally long-lived—nothing is not forgotten, and nothing is not possessed. Utterly tranquil to the utmost degree, all excellence follows of its own accord. This is the Way of Heaven and Earth, and the virtue of the sage.
Therefore it is said: Calm stillness, solitude, vacuity, non-deliberate action—these are the level and true standard of Heaven and Earth, and the very essence of the Dao and its Virtue (the inherent qualities of the Way and its power, not modern ethical norms).
Therefore it is said: The sage, at ease and unhurried, becomes peaceful and simple. Being peaceful and simple, he becomes tranquil. Peaceful, simple, and tranquil in his dwelling—anxiety cannot enter his heart, nor can deviant energies invade his body. Thus his virtue remains complete and his spirit undiminished.
Therefore it is said: The sage in life moves in accord with the natural course of Heaven; in death, he is but one transformation among the myriad things. In stillness, he shares the virtue of yin; in movement, he rides the same waves as yang. He does not take the lead in bringing good fortune, nor does he initiate calamity. Stirred, he then responds; compelled, he then acts; having no choice, he then rises. He discards cleverness and preconceptions, following the natural patterns of Heaven. Thus he suffers no heavenly disasters, no entanglements from external things, no condemnation from others, no accusations from ghosts. In life, he drifts like floating foam; in death, he rests like one at ease. He does not fret over schemes, nor does he plan in advance. He has radiance without dazzling, sincerity without insistence on outcomes.
In sleep, he has no dreams; awake, he has no worries. His spirit is pure, his soul not wearied. Vacuity and tranquility—these accord with the virtue of Heaven.
Therefore it is said: Grief and joy are deviations of virtue; delight and anger are errors of the Way; fondness and aversion are losses of virtue. Thus, a heart with neither worry nor joy is the utmost of virtue; singleness without change is the utmost of stillness; contending with nothing is the utmost of vacuity; having no entanglements with external things is the utmost of tranquility; acting against nothing is the utmost of purity.
Therefore it is said: When the body labors without rest, it grows weary; when the spirit is used without cease, it becomes depleted; and depletion leads to exhaustion. The nature of water is this: if not mixed with impurities, it becomes clear; if not stirred, it becomes level. But if it is blocked and confined so that it does not flow, it likewise cannot remain clear. Such is the emblem of Heavenly virtue.
Therefore it is said: Pure without admixture, still and unified without alteration, tranquil without forced action, moving in accord with the natural course of Heaven—this is the art of nurturing the spirit.
Those who possess the swords of Wu and Yue treasure them in ornate cases, not daring to use them lightly, for they regard them as supremely precious. The spirit flows unobstructed in all directions, reaching every place—rising to touch the heavens above, extending across the earth below, transforming and nurturing the myriad things—yet without any concrete form. This is called being of same function as the creative process of nature. The Way of pure simplicity lies solely in guarding the spirit. Guard it and do not lose it, and you become one with the spirit. After this unity, the subtle penetration of the spirit naturally accords with the principle of Heaven.
The common saying goes: "The ordinary person values profit; the incorruptible scholar values reputation; the worthy people revere aspiration; the sage treasures purity." What is meant by "plain" (su) is that nothing is mixed with it; what is meant by "pure" (chun) is that the spirit is not diminished. One who can embody purity and simplicity is called a True Person.
The central act of this chapter is comparison. Zhuangzi first lays out five forms of human life: the mountain-valley scholar, the peaceful-world scholar, the court official, the river-and-sea recluse, and the exercise practitioner. Each has their pursuits, each has their convictions—but they all share one common trait: deliberate cultivation (ke yi). That is, they take a particular way of living, a particular value label, as the whole of their self, and moreover regard it as superior.
The sage dwells in none of these extremes, but rather is "lofty without deliberate flaunting, cultivated without benevolence and righteousness, well-governed without achievement and renown, at leisure without rivers and seas, long-lived without guided exercises." This is not a simple negation of the five types, but rather a pointer: true virtue is not propped up by any fixed form; true spirit-nurturing is not accumulated by external methods.
In the final analysis, it comes down to two words: purity and plainness (chun su). Purity means the spirit does not suffer loss; plainness means it is not mixed with extraneous things. Guarding the clarity of the spirit is more fundamental than building achievements, proclaiming virtue, or pursuing longevity.
This chapter is particularly suited to our age of labeling.
We easily categorize ourselves as a certain type of person: "I'm a minimalist," "I'm someone who refuses the rat race," "I'm a wellness enthusiast," "I'm a freelancer," "I'm someone who chose not to marry"... Then we unconsciously defend this persona, even looking down on other ways of living. Zhuangzi would call this deliberate cultivation: you have turned a way of living into self-performance.
Much of modern anxiety also comes from "I must be a certain way to be okay": I must be productive, I must grow, I must be emotionally stable, I must live out some particular image. Zhuangzi's response is: When you reach the utmost point of tranquility, all excellence follows of its own accord. It's not that we shouldn't make efforts, but that we shouldn't strangle ourselves with "musts."
Bugu (the commentator) observes: The key point of "long-lived without guided exercises" is not to deny the benefits of breathing practices or exercise for health, but rather to remind us: if the mind remains perpetually tense with "I must live long" or "I must be in great shape," it actually depletes the spirit. True nurturing of life begins with the spirit not being tortured.
"Nothing is not forgotten, and nothing is not possessed" is one of the deepest lines in this chapter. It does not mean that if you forget everything, everything will come to you. Rather: when you no longer cling to the possession of some virtue or state, that virtue truly belongs to you in full.
This raises a tension: non-deliberate action and action itself. Zhuangzi says, "Stirred, then respond; compelled, then act; having no choice, then rise"—this may sound passive, but its real thrust is against "private cleverness and forced doing." It is not about not acting, but about refusing to let action be driven by fear, vanity, or the urge to control.
"Being of same function as the creative process" (tong di) carries strong metaphysical overtones in the original text, but in a rational reading, it is better understood as a philosophical expression of "the spirit communing with the creative forces of nature"—not the worship of a personal god, and not a guarantee of mysticism. It speaks to this: when the spirit is no longer diminished by distracting thoughts, one experiences a clarity that no longer feels separated from the myriad things of heaven and earth.
This content is based on classical Daoist texts and is provided solely for the study of traditional culture and reflections on life. It does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice.