The Proper Role of Xu You
In Zhuangzi “Free and Easy Wandering” there is a story about Yao, the sage king of high antiquity in China, and the recluse Xu You.
King Yao wished to cede the state to Xu You and said humbly “the sun and moon have already risen; why should a little torch still burn? The seasonal rains have fallen; what need is there for human irrigation? With you present, the state would be well governed; how can I continue to occupy the throne? Please take my place and govern the state.” Xu You declined Yao’s goodwill and responded as follows:
You govern the kingdom, and the kingdom is well governed. If I in these circumstances take your place, shall I not be doing so for the sake of the my reputation? But the name is only the guest of the reality; shall I be playing the part of the guest? The tailor-bird makes its nest in the deep forest, but only uses a single branch; the mole drinks from the He (Yellow River), but only takes what fills its belly. You should return and rest in being ruler, and I will have nothing to do with the throne. Though the cook does not attend to his kitchen, the prayer would not crossing over the sacrificial vessels to take the cook’s place.
Some may criticize Xu You for lacking the sense of responsibility conveyed by the saying “when Heaven is about to lay a great task on someone.” Yet if we carefully unpack the passage above, it is not hard to see that what Xu You refuses to assume is the fame and profit that are not his own, what he holds fast to is his proper role and original intent. Xu You’s refusal did not worsen the world already well governed under Yao’s leadership, nor did it plunge him into busy clerical drudgery and deprive him of the joy of free and easy wandering. The world and the self each rested in its proper place—a precious serenity and balance.
Through the dialogue between Xu You and Yao, the Daoist attitude toward life is articulated: to establish boundaries through refusal, to hold fast to one’s proper role through self-knowledge, and to safeguard one’s original intent through knowing when to stop, thereby attaining a mutual fulfillment of one’s own life and the external world.
Boundaries, proper role, and original intent seem to express one and the same principle. The blurred-boundary act of “crossing over the sacrificial vessels to take the cook’s place” is by no means rare in any domain of the modern world. Driven by fame and desire, knowing when to stop becomes a luxury; the tentacles of power spread in all directions; the will to control and possess swells and flaunts itself, stirring up a chorus of lamentation. As people with people-pleasing personalities, we take on affairs that are not ours, equating the meaning of our lives with the magnitude of our instrumental value. Though our aspirations lie elsewhere, we are kidnapped by an inexplicable sense of responsibility and finally burn ourselves into a withered, dying lamp. The two take different inner paths, yet arrive at the same destination: both end up leaving self and world mutually betrayed. Fame and profit beat against the shore like tides; all beings are swept up in them and forget that the true resting place of the heart requires only the simple “perch of a single branch.”
Yao had Yao’s achievements, while Xu You had Xu You’s mountains and forests. Today’s “sense of boundaries” may well be the echo of this ancient wisdom amid reinforced concrete. Human desire is like the mole drinking from the river: a bellyful is enough. Excessive desire is of no practical use to oneself, yet readily becomes the root by which the guest usurps the host and life is harmed and nature injured. To master oneself and learn to refuse, neither overstepping one’s bounds to take another role nor being taken over by others, perhaps could help one attain the true peace of body and mind. Xu You’s obstinacy enabled him to guard firmly his hidden original intent. In an age when all vie to be first, to dare to uphold the values in one’s heart without being burdened by external things, and to dare to gently set down the fame and profit that others treasure, would be an awake in this world.
Perhaps Xu You’s story offers a possibility for meeting present confusions: for individuals, the world is not worth prizing, while one branch is enough to settle the body; fleeting fame need not weigh on the heart, while a plain heart is itself a home. Boundaries, proper role and original intent preserve both world and self. This is the simplest and rarest form of freedom.
