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Chapter 27 of 33
庄子
Overall Paraphrase
This chapter opens by summarizing the modes of speech used throughout the Zhuangzi: implied words (speaking through others and other things) account for nine-tenths, weighted words (borrowing the authority of elders and ancient sages) account for seven-tenths, and spillover words (speech that follows what is spontaneous, renewing daily without fixed intent) flow forth naturally each day, harmonizing with the natural distinctions (the balanced divisions of Heaven).
Why so many implied words? Because one must argue through external persons and things. A father will not act as matchmaker for his own son; a father's praise of his son is not as credible as praise from an outsider. This is not the father's fault, but rather the weakness of the world's partiality: what agrees with oneself is endorsed, what differs from oneself is opposed; what is the same as oneself is deemed right, what is different is deemed wrong.
Weighted words account for seven-tenths, in order to borrow the weight of elders to put an end to stubborn disputes. But those called "venerable elders"—if they are merely old in years, yet have no genuine knowledge of the warp and woof, the roots and branches of things—do not truly qualify as predecessors of wisdom. If a person lacks the wisdom and virtue to guide others, they have not fulfilled the Way of being human; without the Way of being human, they are called a "stale person" (one who has grown stale and obsolete).
Spillover words flow forth naturally each day, harmonizing with the balance of Heaven, and thus can circulate and spread widely, serving to carry one through life. When nothing is said, the ten thousand things are originally equal in their silence; but once words are spoken, the distinctions they introduce no longer match this original equality. Equality and speech can never fully coincide. Hence the saying: speak the "wordless speech." To speak wordless speech is to speak all one's life without ever clinging to words; to remain silent all one's life is not necessarily to have failed to convey the Dao.
Each thing has its "acceptable" and "unacceptable," its "so" and "not so," each grounded in its own reasons. Yet all things originally are as they are and have what is acceptable about them—nothing is not so, nothing is absolutely unacceptable. Were it not for spillover words renewing daily and harmonizing with the natural distinctions, who could abide long in such fluid, unobstructed responsiveness? All things are seeds, transforming and transmitting from one form to another, beginning and ending like a ring with no discernible starting point—this is called the heavenly equilibrium (the balanced apportionment of Heaven). The heavenly equilibrium is the natural distinctions.
Zhuangzi said to Huizi: "Confucius at sixty, over sixty years, never stopped changing. What he initially affirmed, he later negated. Who knows whether what he affirms today is not what he rejected at fifty-nine?" Huizi said: "Confucius was merely diligent in his aspirations, exerting his intellect." Zhuangzi said: "Confucius had long abandoned this 'diligent striving and intellectual effort'—only he did not say so explicitly. Confucius said: 'People receive their endowment from the Great Root (the Dao), recover their luminosity, and so live. Their utterance should accord with musical pitch; their speech should conform to proper measure. Profit and righteousness set before them—likes and dislikes, right and wrong only bring verbal acquiescence. Only when people are moved in their hearts and do not dare to resist can the stability of the world be established. Enough, enough! I cannot match him!'"
Zengzi held office twice, and twice his mind changed. He said: "When my parents were alive, my salary was only three fu measures, yet my heart was joyful; later, my salary was three thousand zhong, but I could no longer serve my parents, and my heart was grieved." The disciples asked Confucius: "Can one say of Zeng Shen that he was without fault in being entangled by gain and loss?" Confucius said: "He was already entangled! One who is truly without entanglement—how would such a one be grieved? He should regard three fu and three thousand zhong as he would watch birds, mosquitoes, and gnats fly past his eyes."
Yancheng Ziyou said to Dongguo Ziqi: "Since I heard your teachings, sir: in one year I returned to simplicity; in two years I became compliant; in three years I became fluent; in four years I became one with things; in five years the multitude of things came to me; in six years spirit entered into the profound stillness of the dark; in seven years I became one with the natural spontaneity of Heaven; in eight years I knew neither death nor life; in nine years I attained the great mystery."
Then it is said: "If one clings to deliberate action in life, that is the road to decay. Dissolve private intent into public equity [translator's note: the classical text here is obscure with many variant readings; the general meaning concerns contemplating the transformations of life and death]. Death has its source; life arises like the stirring of yang energy, without a fixed source. Is it truly so? Where is the fitting? Where is the unfitting? Heaven has the movements of sun, moon, and stars; earth has the patterns of human habitation—why must I deliberately seek them out? Not knowing the end, how can one say there is no destiny? Not knowing the beginning, how can one say there is destiny? If things respond to stimuli, how can one say there are no ghosts and spirits? If there is no response, how can one say there are?"
The faint shadow asked the shadow: "Just now you lowered your head, now you raise it; just now your hair was bound, now it is loose; just now you were sitting, now you rise; just now you were walking, now you stop—why?" The shadow said: "A trifling matter! Why ask? I move and do not know why. I am like a cicada's shell, a snake's slough—resembling a body yet not the body itself. In firelight and sunlight, I gather and appear; in darkness and at night, I wither and pass away. The formed body is itself what I depend on—how much more that which is without dependence? When it comes, I come along with it; when it goes, I go along with it; when it moves, I move along with it. As for movement itself—what is there to ask about?"
Yang Ziju was heading south to the Pei region; Lao Dan was journeying west to the state of Qin. Yang Ziju waited in the outskirts and met Laozi at Liang. Laozi, midway on the road, looked up to Heaven and sighed: "At first I thought you could be taught; now I see you cannot." Yang Ziju made no reply. When they reached the inn, Yang Ziju attended to Laozi's washing and combing, left his shoes at the door, and advanced on his knees, saying: "Earlier your disciple wished to ask you, Master, but you were occupied with travel and had no leisure, so I dared not ask. Now that you have time, I venture to ask: where is my error?" Laozi said: "You are arrogant and supercilious, looking down on everyone—who would wish to dwell with you! The purest white seems stained; the person of deepest virtue seems deficient." Yang Ziju's countenance changed at once, and he said respectfully: "I humbly receive your instruction!"
When he had first set out, the innkeeper received him with deference; the host arranged the mat, the hostess brought the towel and comb, the guests yielded their seats, and those by the fire yielded the hearth. When he returned, the people of the inn dared to contend with him for a seat—because he had laid down that lofty air of superiority.
This chapter is one of the most important "self-descriptions of method" and guides to mind-heart cultivation in the Zhuangzi. The core doctrines can be summarized in four points:
Three modes of speech break attachments: Implied words speak through external things, avoiding the self-promotion implicit in "a father acting as matchmaker for his son"; weighted words borrow the authority of elders to end disputation; spillover words follow what is spontaneous, renewing daily without fixed abiding. Taken together, these three constitute a dual dissolution of the limitations of language and of the stubborn attachment to right and wrong.
Speak the unspeakable—equality and inequality: The Dao is originally one and equal; once language intervenes, distinctions arise. True speech is "wordless speech"—one may say much without adhering; one may remain silent and yet convey the Way. This points toward the cultivation of the fasting of the mind (inner emptiness) and sitting and forgetting (dissolving distinctions and attachments).
The heavenly equilibrium and the cycle: The ten thousand things shift from one form to another in succession, beginning and ending like a ring. There is no absolute beginning or end, no fixed nobility or baseness, right or wrong—this is called the heavenly equilibrium, the natural balance. This deepens the doctrine of the equality of things.
Transformation and non-dependence: Confucius "at sixty transformed over sixty years"; Yan Cheng Ziyou progressed by layers over nine years; the shadow "depends" on the body, and the body in turn depends on something further—all are saying the same thing: do not abide in a fixed self, fixed right and wrong, fixed gains and losses. Follow transformation and rest at ease, moving toward non-dependence (freedom of the mind-heart that relies on no external condition).
This chapter is particularly fitting for our age of "expression anxiety" and polarized opinions.
"A father does not act as matchmaker for his son" reminds us: many people today constantly try to prove themselves, endlessly "recommending" themselves on social media—often with counterproductive results. Let others speak for you, let facts speak, let your work speak—this carries far more weight than self-promotion.
"What agrees with oneself is right; what differs is wrong" is nearly an exact portrait of online discourse. The problem is not a lack of information but a lack of the perspective of the equality of things: different viewpoints each have their causes; those who disagree need not be treated as enemies.
"Confucius at sixty transformed over sixty years" provides an ancient commentary on the "growth mindset." A person who can keep revising themselves at sixty is truly open-minded. Clinging to one's old self is the greatest aging of all.
"The purest white seems stained; deepest virtue seems deficient" offers real wisdom for modern workplaces and social life: those with true ability do not put on airs but relate to others as equals. When Yang Ziju arrived, everyone yielded their seats; when he returned, "the people of the inn contended with him for a seat"—not because he was treated worse, but because his interpersonal energy had become fluid and unobstructed.
Refrain from "fatherly self-praise": To win people's trust, better to let facts and others speak than to praise oneself.
Renew daily; do not cling: What you think is right today may be revised tomorrow. Treat viewpoints as spillover words—flowing with the present, allowed to move—rather than as markers of identity.
Gains and losses are like birds, mosquitoes, or gnats passing before the eyes: Zengzi's grief and joy over salary changes were symptoms of fastening his mind to external things. Modern people's salaries, positions, and others' evaluations are similar—one may experience them but need not be dragged along by them.
Set aside the airs of "deep virtue": One who is truly cultivated does not feel superior to others. Contending for a seat with others, meeting people as equals, is itself a greater ease.
Accept uncertainty: On destiny, ghosts and spirits, life and death, Zhuangzi makes no dogmatic conclusions. This is itself a kind of psychological resilience—one need not find certainty in everything to abide at peace.
Within this chapter lies the core of Zhuangzi's philosophy of language: the incoincidence between language and reality. The Dao cannot be spoken, yet one must borrow language to gesture toward it; once explained, distinctions appear and no longer coincide with the equal whole. Hence one must "speak without speaking"—using language itself to dissolve language. This is strikingly similar to the Chan (Zen) saying: "To say it is like a thing is already to miss the mark."
"All things are seeds, transmitting from one form to another" also implies an anti-essentialism: things have no fixed essence, only endlessly transforming forms. This dissolves the absolute boundaries between noble and base, life and death, completion and decay.
"The faint shadow asking the shadow" is an allegory of dependence and non-dependence. The shadow depends on the body, and the body in turn depends on something else—tracing back layer by layer, ultimately pointing to the Dao. True freedom is not the removal of all dependence, but the clear seeing of the illusoriness of dependence itself, no longer being dragged along by the stirring of the vital force.
Related Concepts: Equality of things (all things are originally one), fasting of the mind (inner emptiness), sitting and forgetting (forgetting distinctions), heavenly equilibrium (the balanced apportionment of Heaven), transformation of things (the transformation of all beings), dependence / non-dependence, "the purest white seems stained".
Further Reading:
This content is based on classical Daoist texts and is provided solely for the study of traditional culture and personal reflection. It does not constitute religious, medical, or investment advice.