Loading...
Chapter 26 of 33
庄子
There is nothing in the external world that is absolutely necessary or bound to be a certain way. Thus Long Feng was executed, Bi Gan had his heart cut out, Ji Zi was forced to feign madness, E Lai met his death nonetheless, and Jie and Zhou ultimately lost their kingdoms. Rulers all wish their ministers to be loyal, but loyalty is not necessarily trusted—thus Wu Yuan's corpse was cast into the river, and Chang Hong died in Shu, his blood stored for three years before turning into green jade. Parents all wish their children to be filial, but filial piety is not necessarily cherished—thus Xiao Ji lived in sorrow all his life, and Zeng Shen grieved bitterly without end.
Wood rubbing against wood produces fire; metal in proximity to fire melts. When yin and yang energies run amiss, heaven and earth quake violently—hence thunder and lightning, fire within water, even the burning of great locust trees. Some people fall into deep anxiety, pressed from both sides, with no place to flee. Within, the heart is trapped and restless, suspended as if between heaven and earth, vexed and listless. Benefit and harm grind against each other, kindling much inner fire, and thus the masses incinerate their own vital harmony. Moonlight cannot match firelight, and so the spirit decays, and the Way is exhausted.
Zhuang Zhou was poor at home, so he went to the Marquis of Jianhe to borrow grain.
The Marquis of Jianhe said, "Certainly. When I collect the taxes from my fief, I will lend you three hundred in gold—will that do?"
Zhuang Zhou's face turned red with anger, and he said, "When I came yesterday, someone called out to me halfway along the road. I turned and looked in the wheel ruts, and there was a crucian carp. I asked it, 'Crucian carp, what are you doing here?' It replied, 'I am a minister of the waters of the Eastern Sea. Would you perhaps have a pint or a quart of water to save my life?' I said, 'Certainly. I am just about to travel south to persuade the kings of Wu and Yue, and I will channel the great waters of the Western River to welcome you—will that do?' The crucian carp turned red with anger and said, 'I have lost the water that sustains me, and have nowhere to abide. A pint or a quart of water is all I need to live. If you speak like this, you might as well go early to the shop that sells dried fish and look for me there.'"
Lord Ren made an enormous fishhook with a thick black line, used fifty castrated oxen as bait, crouched on Mount Kuaiji, cast his rod into the Eastern Sea, and fished every day—for a whole year, no fish took the hook. Later a great fish swallowed the bait, pulled the great hook down to the bottom and surged back up, raising its fins, with white waves like mountains, the sea rocking and roaring like the cries of ghosts and gods, terrifying everything a thousand leagues away. Lord Ren caught this fish, sliced and dried it into jerky; from east of the Zhe River to north of Cangwu, there was no one who did not eat their fill of this fish. Later generations of shallow-minded people who have heard things secondhand all exclaim and spread the tale to one another. For those who raise small poles with fine lines, go to small ditches, and wait for crucians and minnows—to catch a great fish is very difficult! Adorning shallow talk to seek a fine reputation—that is also very far from the通达 of the Way. And thus those who have never heard of Lord Ren's bearing are very far from ordering the world!
The Ru used the Odes and the Rites to rob tombs.
The senior Ru called down from above, "The east is growing light—how goes the matter?" The junior Ru said, "We have not yet undone the skirt and the jacket, but there is a pearl in the mouth." The senior Ru said, "The Odes indeed contain these words: 'Green are the wheat shoots, growing on the slopes. Alive, he did not give alms; dead, why does he hold a pearl in his mouth?' Grab his temples, press down his chin, use a metal awl to pry open his cheeks, slowly work his mouth open—do not damage the pearl within."
The disciples of Lao Laizi went out to gather firewood and met Confucius. Returning, they reported, "There is a man there, tall in the upper body and short in the lower, with a slightly hunched back, ears pressed back, and a gaze as if he were managing the whole world. I do not know whose son he is."
Lao Laizi said, "That is Kong Qiu. Call him over." Confucius came.
Lao Laizi said, "Qiu, set aside your pride and the cleverness on your face, and only then can you become a gentleman." Confucius bowed, stepped back, and changed countenance with unease, asking, "Can my studies advance?"
Lao Laizi said, "You cannot bear the pain of one age, yet you slight the calamities of ten thousand generations. Is that because you are inherently mired in narrowness, or is your wisdom not far-reaching? To make a career of winning people over with favors—this brings lifelong disgrace, and is merely what mediocre people accomplish! Mutual attraction by reputation, mutual bonding by secrets. Rather than praising Yao and condemning Jie, better to forget both and close the mouth of praise. Whatever goes against things is harm, whatever is rash is depraved. The sage is careful in initiating undertakings, and so he always succeeds. What gain is there in clinging to that proud bearing after all?"
Duke Yuan of Song dreamed one night of a man with disheveled hair peering in at the side door, who said, "I come from the deep of Zai Lu. I am a messenger from the Qing River, on my way to the Lord of the River, and the fisherman Yu Qie has captured me." When Duke Yuan awoke, he had someone divine the dream, who said, "This is a sacred turtle."
Duke Yuan asked, "Is there a fisherman named Yu Qie?" Those around him replied, "There is."
Duke Yuan said, "Summon Yu Qie to court." The next day, Yu Qie came. Duke Yuan asked, "What have you caught fishing?" He replied, "My net caught a white turtle, five spans around." Duke Yuan said, "Offer up your turtle." When the turtle was delivered, Duke Yuan several times wished to kill it, several times wished to release it, hesitated in his heart, and so had it divined.
The result was: "Killing the turtle for divining is auspicious." So he cut open the shell and used it for divination seventy-two times, and not once did it fail to answer.
Confucius said, "The sacred turtle could appear to Duke Yuan in a dream, but could not escape Yu Qie's net; its wisdom made seventy-two divinations infallible, yet it could not escape the calamity of having its belly cut open. From this we see that wisdom has its times of blockage, and the spirit has places it cannot reach. Even with the highest wisdom, one cannot match the schemes of ten thousand people. Fish do not fear nets but fear pelicans. Cast off small cleverness, and great wisdom shines clearly; cast off deliberate virtue, and goodness comes naturally. An infant is born without being taught by a great teacher, yet it learns to speak, because it abides with those who speak."
Hui Shi said to Zhuangzi, "Your words are useless."
Zhuangzi said, "If you understand what 'useless' means, then I can discuss 'useful' with you. The earth is not small in breadth, yet what a person actually uses is only the small patch under his feet. But if you dig away the patch around his feet down to the Yellow Springs, is there any use left for him?"
Hui Shi said, "No use."
Zhuangzi said, "Then the use of the 'useless' is quite clear."
Zhuangzi said, "If a person can wander through the world with the spirit, how could he not wander! If a person cannot wander through the world with the spirit, how could he wander! A mind that flees the world, conduct that is cutoff and solitary—alas, how could that be the bearing of supreme wisdom and profound virtue! Falling and toppling without looking back, like fire blazing without turning around. Though sometimes there is the relation of ruler and minister between them, that is a matter of circumstance. When the times change, there is no basis for mutual contempt.
Thus it is said: The utmost person does not cling to traces. Esteeming the ancient and scorning the present—this is the illness of scholars. If one looked at the present age through the eyes of the age of Xiwei, who would not be stirred to waves! Only the utmost person can wander through the world without leaning aside, follow others without losing himself. He patterns himself after no one's doctrines, takes up intentions without blind obedience. Eyes that see through clearly are called bright; ears that hear through clearly are called acute; noses that smell through clearly are called sensitive; mouths that taste through clearly are called knowing flavor; minds that think through clearly are called wise; wisdom that passes through clearly is called virtue. The Way does not like obstruction—obstructed it chokes, choked without release it pushes against itself, pushing against itself gives rise to all kinds of harm.
Knowing creatures depend on breath. When the breath is not abundant, it is not the fault of Heaven. Heaven pervades all things day and night without stopping, but a person blocks up his own apertures. When the fetal cavity has its spaces, the heart has its heavenly wanderings. If a house has no emptiness, mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law quarrel; if the heart has no heavenly wandering, the six senses encroach upon one another. The forests and mountains make people feel at ease, also because the spirit needs room to stretch. Virtue overflows beyond its name, fame exceeds what is manifest, schemes arise from urgency, cleverness is born of contention, stubbornness comes from holding fast, and offices succeed by suiting everyone in common. When spring rains arrive at the proper time, plants grow abundantly, the hoe begins its work, and more than half the weeds are cut down—yet people do not know why. Silence can nourish illness, closing the eyes can slow aging, serenity can quell agitation. Even so, these are the preoccupations of the busy; the at-ease never ask after them. What the sage uses to astonish the world, the spirit-person never asks after; what the worthy uses to astonish the age, the sage never asks after; what the gentleman uses to astonish the state, the worthy never asks after; what the petty man uses to pander to the times, the gentleman never asks after.
At Yammen there was a man who lost a parent, and because of his excellence in grieving he was made a master of officials. His neighbors imitated his grief, and half of them died. Yao yielded the empire to Xu You, and Xu You fled; Tang yielded the empire to Wu Guang, and Wu Guang was angry; Ji He heard of this, crouched with his disciples by the water of Kuan, and all the feudal lords came to console him. Three years later, Shen Tudi threw himself into the river because of it.
A fish-trap is for catching fish; catch the fish, and forget the trap. A rabbit-snare is for catching rabbits; catch the rabbit, and forget the snare. Words exist to carry meaning; get the meaning, and forget the words. Where can I find one who has forgotten words, to speak with him!
The heart of the "External Things" chapter can be summed up in the opening two words: nothing is certain (bu ke bi) . Everything external—loyalty, filial piety, intelligence, reputation, even life itself—offers no guarantee of "thus it must be." You may be loyal and still not trusted; you may be filial and still not cherished; you may be wise and still not spared calamity. This uncertainty is not a defect of the world; it is the world's true nature. Zhuangzi does not call us to despair because of this, but to liberate ourselves from the obsession with "must" and turn toward an inner roaming and forgetting.
The chapter proceeds through a series of fables layer by layer: from the tragic fact that "external things cannot be counted upon," to the dialectic of "the usefulness of the useless," to the ideal of worldly conduct in which "the utmost person wanders through the world but does not lean aside," and finally to the epistemological terminus of "getting the meaning and forgetting the words." This is a full arc from negating fixation on the external, to affirming inner freedom, to transcending the prison of language.
"External things cannot be counted upon" is, in contemporary terms, an almost precise diagnosis of the root of modern anxiety. We are anxious because we project "must" onto too many external things: effort must bring promotion, sincerity must bring love, goodness must bring reward, investment must bring returns. When the "must" fails, inner fire burns—what Zhuangzi calls "the masses incinerating their own harmony" is nothing other than a classical portrait of modern mental exhaustion. He does not ask us to abandon effort, but to release the fixation on "must," letting action move from freedom rather than from compulsion.
"The usefulness of the useless" is the most elegant rebuttal to utilitarianism. In an age when everything must be "useful," everything must be "monetized," Zhuangzi points out: the patch of ground beneath your feet is useful because a vast surrounding expanse of "useless" land supports it. Sleep produces nothing, idleness produces no value, aesthetic appreciation has no KPI—yet these are precisely the "useless places" that keep the spirit from collapsing.
"Getting the meaning and forgetting the words" is strikingly sharp in an age of information overload. We are drowned in words, lost in an endless torrent of opinions, labels, and arguments. Zhuangzi reminds us: language is a tool, not a destination. True understanding occurs after language, in the silence of "forgetting words."
Release the obsession with "must": Remain open to outcomes. Effort is yours; results are not. This is not passivity; it is allowing action to become pure.
Leave blank spaces beyond the "useful": Do not cram every hour with "useful" activity. Staring into space, taking a stroll, doing nothing at all—these are the heavenly wandering places of the mind. Without emptiness, there is no breath.
Beware the trap of "small cleverness": The sacred turtle could appear in dreams and make seventy-two divinations unfailingly, yet could not escape the net. Small cleverness solves small problems but cannot solve root problems. Rather than being excessively shrewd in tactics, better to set the right direction in scale.
Learn from the infant, not the Ru school: The infant cannot speak, yet learns to speak by abiding among those who speak. Rather than clinging doggedly to dogma, better to place oneself in a good environment and let growth happen naturally.
Get the meaning, forget the words: When interacting with others, do not cling to the literal surface. Listen for overtones, look for subtext. And above all, do not let your own thought be imprisoned by language.
The most profound point of External Things is its deconstruction of knowledge itself. The fable of the sacred turtle shows: every knowledge has its boundary, every wisdom has its blind spot. The turtle could know the future, yet could not know that it would die in a net. This is not incidental oversight but a structural deficiency of cognition—you cannot use the same cognitive system both to focus on one domain and at the same time stay alert to every external force that might overturn you. Hence Zhuangzi's "cast off small knowledge, and great knowledge shines bright:" great knowledge is not knowing more, but knowing that one does not know.
"Getting the meaning and forgetting the words" points to the essential difficulty of language: language is at once a bridge for communication and a cage for understanding. Zhuangzi's closing line—"Where can I find one who has forgotten words, to speak with him!"—expresses a profound loneliness: he seeks someone who can transcend speech and meet directly at the level of meaning. It brings to mind Wittgenstein's aphorism: "What can be said, can be said clearly; what cannot be said, must be passed over in silence." Zhuangzi had already arrived at this place long before Wittgenstein.
Related Concepts:
Further Reading:
This content is based on Daoist classical texts and is provided solely for learning traditional culture and reflecting on life; it does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice.