Sacred texts · Taoism
32 Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu) quotes, from the butterfly dream to the empty boat
Zhuangzi, also written Chuang Tzu, was a Chinese thinker of the fourth century BCE, and the book that bears his name is, with the Tao Te Ching, the other great text of Taoism. Where Lao Tzu works through maxims, Zhuangzi tells stories: a butterfly dream, a cook, an empty boat, fish in a river. Humor and paradox are his tools for loosening fixed ideas.
This page gathers passages from those stories, each with its chapter number. The English quotes Herbert A. Giles’s Chuang Tzu: Mystic, Moralist, and Social Reformer (1889); the French page quotes Léon Wieger (1913). Giles wove a running commentary into the text, and only Zhuangzi’s own words are kept here. Both translations are in the public domain and every passage was checked word for word. For Lao Tzu’s maxims, see the Tao Te Ching quotes.
The butterfly dream and the use of the useless
Zhuangzi’s most famous passage closes his second chapter: he dreams he is a butterfly, wakes up, and no longer knows who is dreaming whom. Around it are stories about the joy of living by your own nature, the tree too gnarled to be cut down, and poverty that is not misery.
Once upon a time, I, Chuang Tzŭ, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly, I awaked, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man.
The tit, building its nest in the mighty forest, occupies but a single twig. The tapir slakes its thirst from the river, but drinks enough only to fill its belly.
There it would be safe from the axe and from all other injury; for being of no use to others, itself would be free from harm.
I too will wag my tail in the mud.
See how the minnows are darting about! That is the pleasure of fishes.
The raison d’être of a fish-trap is the fish. When the fish is caught, the trap may be ignored. The raison d’être of a rabbit-snare is the rabbit. When the rabbit is caught the snare may be ignored. The raison d’être of language is an idea to be expressed. When the idea is expressed, the language may be ignored.
Now I am merely poor; I have nothing the matter with me.
A man who has TAO cannot be miserable. Ragged clothes and old boots make poverty, not misery.
The cook who carved the ox
In chapter 3, a cook tells his prince how his chopper carves an ox without ever going blunt: it follows the openings instead of forcing through the bones. The prince learns from it how to take care of his life. Other stories show the same effortless skill, in the swimmer or the man catching cicadas.
I follow such openings or cavities as there may be, according to the natural constitution of the animal. I do not attempt to cut through joints: still less through large bones.
But I have had this chopper nineteen years, and although I have cut up many thousand bullocks, its edge is as if fresh from the whetstone.
From the words of this cook I have learnt how to take care of my life.
Plunging in with the whirl, I come out with the swirl. I accommodate myself to the water, not the water to me.
Heaven and earth and all creation may be around me, but I am conscious only of my cicada’s wings. How should I not succeed?
To be unconscious of one’s feet implies that the shoes are easy. To be unconscious of a waist implies that the girdle is easy.
Stillness, the mirror of the mind
For Zhuangzi, a mind at rest becomes like still water or a mirror, reflecting without holding on to anything. This group gathers passages on rest, inner listening, the weariness of a mind never at ease, and the story of the empty boat that bumps into a ferry without making anyone angry.
You hear not with the ears, but with the mind; not with the mind, but with your soul. But let hearing stop with the ears. Let the working of the mind stop with itself. Then the soul will be a negative existence, passively responsive to externals. In such a negative existence, only TAO can abide. And that negative state is the fasting of the heart.
For only what is itself still can instil stillness into others.
The perfect man employs his mind as a mirror. It grasps nothing: it refuses nothing. It receives, but does not keep.
And if water thus derives lucidity from stillness, how much more the faculties of the mind? The mind of the Sage being in repose becomes the mirror of the universe, the speculum of all creation.
If the body toils without rest, it dies. If the mind is employed without ceasing, it becomes wearied; and being wearied, its power is gone.
Pure water is by nature clear. If untouched, it is smooth. If dammed, it will not flow, neither will it be clear.
Repose gives health to the sick. Rubbing the eyelids removes the wrinkles of old age. Quiet will dispel anxieties.
The pure men of old slept without dreams, and waked without anxiety. They ate without discrimination, breathing deep breaths. For pure men draw breath from their uttermost depths; the vulgar only from their throats.
Suppose a boat is crossing a river, and another empty boat is about to collide with it. Even an irritable man would not lose his temper. But supposing there was some one in the second boat. Then the occupant of the first would shout to him to keep clear. And if the other did not hear the first time, nor even when called to three times, bad language would inevitably follow. In the first case there was no anger, in the second there was; because in the first case the boat was empty, and in the second it was occupied. And so it is with man. If he could only roam empty through life, who would be able to injure him?
Life, death and change
Zhuangzi speaks of death with a calm that still surprises: each of us comes at our time and leaves at our time, and life passes like a white horse glimpsed through a crack. These passages invite you to welcome change rather than fight it, like the fish that does not mind a change of pond.
The fuel is consumed, but the fire may be transmitted, and we know not that it comes to an end.
The Master came, because it was his time to be born; he went, because it was his time to die.
TAO gives me this form, this toil in manhood, this repose in old age, this rest in death. And surely that which is such a kind arbiter of my life is the best arbiter of my death.
Man passes through this sublunary life as a white horse passes a crack. Here one moment, gone the next.
Mountain forests and loamy fields swell my heart with joy. But ere the joy be passed, sorrow is upon me again. Joy and sorrow come and go, and over them I have no control.
Creatures that live in water do not mind a change of pond. A slight change may be effected so long as the essential is untouched.
The universe is very beautiful, yet it says nothing. The four seasons abide by a fixed law, yet they are not heard. All creation is based upon absolute principles, yet nothing speaks.
TAO shall establish you, aimless as a new-born calf which recks not how it came into the world.
The sea does not reject the streams which flow eastward into it. Therefore it is immeasurably great. The true Sage folds the universe in his bosom. His good influence benefits all throughout the empire, without respect to persons. Born without rank, he dies without titles. He does not take credit for realities. He does not establish a name.
How to read Zhuangzi
Zhuangzi’s stories read like fables: a tale, then a question it leaves open. Read one, then ask what it shifts in the way you see something in your life right now, a conflict, a weariness, a failure. The empty boat, for instance, often sheds light on an anger you thought was justified.
Giles and Wieger translate very differently, because the Chinese is difficult and each reads it in his own way. Reading both versions of the same passage shows how much the translator shapes what you read.
In the Selfia app, the Taoism path (Settings › Spirituality) adds passages from Lao Tzu and Zhuangzi in a separate section.
Frequently asked questions
Who was Zhuangzi?
Zhuangzi, born Zhuang Zhou, was a Chinese thinker of the fourth century BCE, known through the book that bears his name. Little is certain about his life: he is said to have held a minor official post and turned down higher office. His book has 33 chapters; tradition credits the first seven to him above all.
What is the butterfly dream?
At the end of chapter 2, Zhuangzi dreams he is a butterfly, fluttering happily. When he wakes, he wonders whether he is a man who dreamed of being a butterfly, or a butterfly now dreaming it is a man. The passage questions the line between dream and waking, and the endless transformation of things.
What is the empty boat story?
In chapter 20, a boat crossing a river is struck by another boat. If the other boat is empty, even an irritable man stays calm; if someone is aboard, he shouts and curses. Zhuangzi concludes that if a person could go through life empty of self, no one could injure him. The full passage is in the third group on this page.