What The Most Carefree Philosopher Can Teach Us | ZHUANGZI
Many centuries ago, a curious Taoist philosopher named Zhuangzi sat by the riverbank, absorbed in the gentle flow of the water, as his fishing rod lay nearby. Unexpectedly, two vice-chancellors appeared before him, having been dispatched by the Prince of Chu to offer Zhuangzi the esteemed position of prime minister. Without a worry on his face, Zhuangzi continued to observe the river’s serene motion and said to his visitors: “I’ve heard of a sacred turtle that was removed from its natural habitat, only for its shell to be draped in silk and enshrined within the royal palace. Now, let me ask you,” Zhuangzi continued, “which do you think is preferable? To be revered by the masses in the company of royalty, all while being sacrificed as a lifeless object of worship? Or to live as an ordinary turtle, freely dragging its tail through the mud?”
After a moment of contemplation, one of the vice-chancellors replied, “For the turtle’s well-being, it is surely better to live and drag its tail in the mud.” “Ah,” said Zhuangzi, “There you have it. Please return to your prince and tell him that I prefer to remain here, dragging my tail in the mud.”
The story about Zhuangzi, who rejected a powerful position to maintain his peaceful, obscure life by the riverside, characterizes the light and laid-back vibe surrounding the eponymous philosophical work, the Zhuangzi, which is one of the main Taoist scriptures, containing many thought-provoking parables, allegories, and anecdotes. As a character, Zhuangzi embodies a sense of calm, playfulness, and humility. He saw the world differently. As opposed to many of his contemporaries, he manages to break through conventions, let go of fixed views, and look beyond the human scope and understanding of right and wrong. He saw the usefulness in uselessness, beauty in ugliness, and order in chaos.
And by seeing and approaching the world in his unique and, sometimes, upside-down ways, he exudes a strong sense of contentment and ease in the midst of an ever-changing and often chaotic existence. Zhuangzi reminds us to go with the flow and see the silver lining of whatever happens. He didn’t take life too seriously and embraced living spontaneously. Instead of living according to a set of constraining, fixed, dogmatic rules, like the Confucianists with their rituals and etiquette, Zhuangzi preferred an existence in harmony with nature, in agreement with Tao, the underlying principle of the universe.
In this video, we delve into the philosophy of Zhuangzi, examining several philosophical concepts from the Taoist text and how they can inspire us to live more spontaneously and carefree. Please note: the Zhuangzi is a vast, comprehensive work, so this essay highlights only a selection of ideas and perspectives. Zhuangzi, both the philosopher and the text bearing his name, have left a lasting mark on Chinese culture. Living around the 4th century BCE, during the Warring States period, Zhuangzi has become synonymous with parables and anecdotes that show the joy of simplicity, the relativity of all things, and the harmony and ease achieved by aligning oneself with the all-encompassing force known as Tao.
His teachings diverge from Confucianism, which is a social and ethical philosophy – or social ritual – which focuses on teaching morality, maintaining social hierarchy, and strict codes of conduct. While Confucianism can be seen as effective, in the eyes of the Taoist sages, it’s inflexible and artificial. Zhuangzi’s teachings, on the other hand, come across as playful and unconfined. He mocks rigid principles, structured social order, hierarchy, and any form of dogmatic thought and practice.
After all, the universe is ever-changing, our views of reality are extremely limited, and so the only true experience of life is through direct, spontaneous engagement with the present moment, not through some fixed man-made collection of beliefs and convictions. The stories in the Zhuangzi show this typical Taoist playfulness and open-mindedness in viewing and approaching the world and put emphasis on subjective experience rather than a rigid set of views and ideas on ‘how things should be.’
Take, for example, probably the most famous story from the Zhuangzi, the “Butterfly Dream,” which shows how one’s whole reality and identity can change through subjective experience, questioning the validity and existence of objective reality altogether. Or, take the lesser-known story about the “Useless Tree,” which shows how even the most useless things have a place in the world and how every disadvantage comes with an often hidden advantage. We’ll explore this story later in this essay.
Also, Zhuangzi encouraged living in harmony with nature, or the natural flow of existence, and not going against it or altering it. He stated: When all men do not carry their nature beyond its normal condition, nor alter its characteristics, the good government of the world is secured. End quote. Like his predecessor Lao Tzu, the life of this ancient philosopher is veiled in mystery. Despite the many stories about him and attributed to him, did he actually exist? And if so, what was his role in writing and compiling the book that carries his name?
Some scholars argue that Zhuangzi was a real historical figure, while others believe that he may be a fictional character or a composite of several philosophers. Ultimately, the question of Zhuangzi’s historical existence remains open and may never be definitively resolved. One day, Zhuangzi and his friend Huizi took a stroll along the waterfront. Their eyes fell upon a gathering of men, utterly entranced by a stunning woman who graced the area with her presence. “She is so gorgeous,” Huizi said.
As the pair continued their walk, Zhuangzi observed how the fish in the river and the birds in the sky would hastily flee at the sight of the woman. Turning to Huizi, Zhuangzi remarked, “Observe how the fish and birds are disturbed by this woman’s presence, while humans find her alluring and simply can’t keep their eyes off her.” Huizi nodded thoughtfully, and Zhuangzi added, “This illustrates how beauty is a matter of perspective. What one creature finds captivating may not hold the same appeal for another. Which of these beings knows what is truly beautiful in the world? Indeed, beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.”
In this story, Zhuangzi underscores the relativity of not only beauty but also of all things in the world. Our perceptions and judgments don’t make facts. In regard to beauty, our perceptions and judgments are shaped by factors like individual experiences, cultural norms, time periods, and environments. However, there are also scientific data showing that across different cultures and time periods, people consider specific traits beautiful, like youthfulness, symmetrical faces, clear skin, and physical fitness.
So, could we then speak of objective beauty? Even if the woman at the waterfront would be considered attractive by all humans, then, according to Zhuangzi, we still cannot say that she’s objectively beautiful. The fishes and birds found her atrocious. A dog probably doesn’t even care about or notice her beauty. And what could we say about trees and plants? Even though it’s disputed whether these organisms are sentient or not, if they are, they may be utterly indifferent to how she looks in the eyes of men.
So, what we might call ‘universal’ beauty standards, are, in reality, just human beauty standards; they’re only true in the human experience. The thought that many (if not all) things are relative can be a source of calm. Our ideas, how important and ‘true’ they may seem, are nothing more than the perspectives coming from a species living on a tiny little dot in an endless universe. From a human perspective, what appears to be vast in size may seem minuscule when viewed from the vantage point of a star. Likewise, actions deemed immoral and unethical within human society may not hold the same negative connotations when considered through the eyes of a hungry lion.
The realization that everything is relative can lead to a more carefree approach to life as we learn to let go of rigid beliefs and put subjective experiences, opinions, personal tastes, and views in perspective. They aren’t as definitive and all-encompassing as they might seem. So, the less reason we have to cling to them and take them so darn seriously.
One day, Cook Ding demonstrated his exceptional butchery skills by carving an ox, his blade gliding effortlessly through the meat without dulling. In awe, a nobleman asked how he managed such mastery, to which Cook Ding explained that he relied on wu-wei (or effortless action) by following the natural order of things and following his instinct. Thus, his craft became an elegant dance, harmonious with the universe and unencumbered by resistance and over-intellectualizing his actions. Wu-Wei is a central concept within Taoism, often translated as non-doing, doing nothing, and effortless action.
If we’re engaged in a specific activity, we may experience being ‘in the zone,’ so to speak, in which our intellectual activity is minimal, and whatever we’re doing seems to go automatically without thinking and effort. When we’re in the zone, there’s hardly any worry about the future or reminiscing the past; it’s pure clarity and immersion in our actions, like a dancer becoming the dance or a painter becoming the painting. Cook Ding achieved wu-wei after years of practice, so he was able to let his intuition (or the natural flow) take over.
He stated: When I first began to cut up an ox, I saw nothing but the (entire) carcase. After three years I ceased to see it as a whole. Now I deal with it in a spirit-like manner, and do not look at it with my eyes. The use of my senses is discarded, and my spirit acts as it wills. End quote. Driving a car is another fitting analogy to illustrate the concept of wu-wei. When we first learn to drive, our minds are preoccupied with every detail - the positioning of our hands on the wheel, the pressure applied to the pedals, and the constant need to check our mirrors.
However, as we become more proficient, we begin to drive more instinctively, no longer consciously thinking about each action. It’s as if we’ve switched to autopilot, smoothly navigating the roads without excessive intellectual activity. Huizi complained to Zhuangzi about a large tree totally unfit to make wooden planks of. The tree was extremely crooked, the main trunk was gnarled and knotted, and the branches were twisted. The was no carpenter that could use the tree, as opposed to the straight trees, so the woodcutters never touched it.
Then, Zhuangzi said: “Have you ever observed the wildcat? It crouches concealed and waits for its prey to wander in range – then it springs left or right, heedless of heights and chasms. And yet wildcats spring our traps and die in our nets. Or take the yak, big as a cloud hung from the sky – it’s skilled at being huge, but it can’t even catch a rat. Now you have this big tree but its uselessness is a trouble to you. Why don’t you plant it in the village and amble beside it doing nothing at all, or wander free and easy lying asleep beneath it?
No ax will ever cut short its life, nothing will ever harm it. If there’s no use for it, what hardship could ever befall it?” End quote. Many people overlook the usefulness of uselessness. It seems that we’re only interested in what’s useful while scorning what we deem useless. But the crooked tree story shows that seemingly useless things can be very useful; the tree became a spot to relax, have a romantic time with a lover, and hide from the sun, and eventually, people considered it a holy place because of its longevity and unique shape.
Moreover, the perceived uselessness (from a human standpoint, the use of the tree for wooden planks) served as a ticket for survival, as people were not motivated to cut it down. But there’s more to the usefulness of uselessness. From the Taoist point of view, the thing we perceive as useless is necessary for things to function. As Lao Tzu mentioned, everything is interdependent. There can’t be high without low, there can’t be before without after, and, reasoning from the same principle, there can’t be usefulness without uselessness.
A cup cannot be used without the empty space within it. A door is useless without the emptiness through which one can walk. The same sentiment is shared in the Zhuangzi, in which the Chinese philosopher argued that even though only a few acres of the Earth’s surface are suitable for farmland, these pieces of farmland wouldn’t serve any purpose, nor would they ‘operate’ if the rest of the Earth didn’t exist. So, if we ever feel useless (or are considered useless), we can always think of the usefulness of uselessness.
Useful people can’t be useful without those that have no use within a specific context. There can’t be doctors without patients, there can’t be gossipers without despicable people to gossip and complain about. For example, philosophical entertainer Alan Watts mentioned in one of his talks the people we tend to complain about have a function, which is not only that they generate a great portion of our conversation but also as a reference point to make ourselves feel better than others.
The reason there are ‘good people’ is that there are ‘bad people;’ without bad people, or at least the concept of what makes a bad person, good people would not exist. If there isn’t ‘bad,’ what makes something else ‘good?’ So, if you’re perceived as a bad, useless person, you can always think: “Well, at least I make others feel good about themselves.”
The impermanent nature of the universe is another topic Zhuangzi seems to be concerned with. Once, the Taoist sage demonstrated how he embraced the ever-changing nature of life when his wife passed away. His friend Huizi paid him a visit to offer condolences and was taken aback to find Zhuangzi sitting on the ground, tapping on a basin and singing. Huizi couldn’t help but express his bewilderment, questioning Zhuangzi’s seemingly inappropriate behavior.
Zhuangzi, in his typically calm and insightful manner, explained to Huizi that, initially, he was indeed saddened by his wife’s passing. However, he soon began to contemplate the nature of her existence. Before she was born, she had neither life nor form and even before that, she didn’t even have breath. Over time, changes occurred, giving rise to breath, form, life, and eventually, her death. Zhuangzi recognized that these transformations were as natural as the progression of seasons, and her death was just another part of this cosmic dance.
As he gazed upon her peaceful face, Zhuangzi understood that to weep and wail would be to reject the inherent impermanence of life. Instead, he chose to celebrate the ever-changing nature of existence and embrace the ebb and flow of life’s journey. In doing so, Zhuangzi showed us that by accepting the impermanence of all things, we can more easily cope with life’s many transformations; the loss of loved ones, the aging of our bodies, gain and loss, fame, and disrepute.
Just before Zhuangzi died, he stopped his disciples from organizing a marvelous funeral. “What more is necessary for a proper goodbye than Heaven and Earth as a coffin, the stars and planets as decorations, and all beings present as company?” he stated. But his disciples protested, arguing that without a coffin and burial, the crows and vultures would eat their beloved sage. Characterizing his carefree and playful attitude, Zhuangzi replied: “Above ground, crows and vultures will consume me, while below ground, ants and worms will feast upon me. In both situations, I will be devoured. What makes you favor ants and worms so much?”
Thank you for watching.