“Zhuangzi is putting forward a view in which distinctions are always in some way artificial”
I think this is correct. At one level there’s just a bunch of stuff making up the butcher-ox-knife system. At another level we can identify all these things and give them names (if we like, but that’s not the point here; we still identify them as things even without naming them).
As Zhuangzi says elsewhere:
“'This' is also 'that', 'that' is also 'this'. That there is one 'this' and 'not'; this here is also one 'this' and 'not'. Ultimately, then, are there 'that' and 'this'?! Or ultimately are there no 'that' and 'this'?!”
OK, at this point I thought I was having a stroke, or maybe the onset of a migraine, but reading it literally it does make sense.
There’s a Zen koan that asks what you should call a short staff. If you call it a short staff, you’re ignoring what it actually is. If you don’t call it a short staff, you’re ignoring a fact!
-
The story about the gourds reminds me of the practice of developing hacks, in the computer or hardware sense. You’re using the item for what it *is*, not for what everyone thinks it’s supposed to be *for*.
A paper clip might be *for* holding sheets of paper together, but it makes a very effective lock pick (and you can make a decent tension tool with another paper clip!).
First, it is crucial that we distinguish between Zhuangzi the thinker and Zhuangzi the collection of texts written by an uncertain number of unidentified authors. While there is no consensus on the matters of textual composition, organization, and authorship, a high level of confidence now exists amongst scholars that the so-called Inner Books (1-7) were written by Zhuangzi himself, whereas the rest, especially the last ten (23-33) so-called Mixed Books, were written by a mix of authors that included Zhuangzi himself; students of his; followers of Laozi, Confucius, and Mencius; and a variety of imitators of Zhuangzi. There are often striking differences in both the content and style between the Inner Books and the others; not to mention inconsistencies or contradictions.
Most scholars believe that a relatively coherent “Zhuangist philosophy” can be found in the 7 Inner Books; one that includes epistemology, ontology, ethics, and ideas about the formation and development of the subject. I share this belief. I would even argue that, if we want to divide the Inner Books further, Books 1-4 can form a useful core unit for our understanding.
Second, in my opinion, the key characteristics of Zhuangism (for lack of a better label)--a thoroughly naturalist monism, a decidedly perspectivist outlook on knowledge and morality, the primacy of transformation and becoming, the equality between the mind and the body, the condemnation of any willful violation of the Way, and the insistence on the essential unspeakability of the Dao–combine to make this outlook on life and the world diametrically opposite to the Platonic tradition. Instead, the two Western philosophers who come to my mind right away who share many of these characteristics are Nietzsche and Heidegger. (I read somewhere that Tao Te Ching, or Dao De Jing, was one of Heidegger’s favorite books.)
Finally, I feel sad that the beauty of Zhuangzi’s writing style (especially in the first 7 books) does not come through in the translations that we have so far. For all Chinese people, Zhuangzi is the ultimate symbol of the free spirit; and the title of the first book (“Freely Wandering About”) is an expression that is deeply entrenched in the Chinese language and culture. The writing style of these essays exudes this free spirit of Zhuangzi’s philosophy and is indispensable for a full appreciation of this important thinker who had fundamentally influenced Chinese culture for over 2,000 years (and other cultures through its reshaping of Buddhism when the latter entered East Asia).
For sheer readability in English, I like the Paul Kjellberg translation in the anthology Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy. Unfortunately, it's only selections (chapters 1-7, 12-14, 17-20, 22-24, 26, and 32), not a full translation.
I found myself turning to this translation when I was struggling with certain passages in the Fraser translation, especially in chapter 2.
Western and eastern philosophy are still very new to me, I hope by the end of Zhuangzi I have a better understanding of the aims of eastern philosophy. I know everyone’s thoughts and opinions will help me process this book better than I could on my own.
I had an interesting thought while reading which is that the “Waring States” period was existing at the same time as Peloponnesian war (roughly). The timelines of these two events are between the 400s-100s BCE. I find it so curious that both hemispheres are having a philosophical enlightenment at the same time. In this 300 year period we have thinkers like Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, and the collective works of Zhuangzi. I would love for there to be some abstract cause to explain why so many influential thinkers existed in this era but I’m sure that would be impossible to discern. I have no specific relatable point to this post but I thought it was an interesting thought and I wanted to share it with the group.
Great post Jared. I found the usefulness of uselessness a really neat idea when reading the text. I often get so wound up with Plato/Augustine's idea of evil as a lack/void, that I fail to recognize how voids are necessary to define what remains.
For people interested in a great visual experience, try C.C Tsai's rendition of the Zhuangzi as a series of comic strips. Incredibly true to the text, yet very approachable as well.
The useful/useless ideas also caught my eye, but I admit part of me took it as being rather poignant given what we know about human nature. If you're seen as useless, you don't have to worry about being used (by other people).
I liked the story about the "stink tree", because as soon as I read it, I knew exactly what the text was referring to. Ailanthus altissima, the Tree of Heaven, native to China and an aggressive invasive species in the US. I wage what seems like a never-ending battle against this vile plant, but now I will think of the Zhuangzi every time I do yard work.
I see the difficulty with translating a work from a time so alien to ours as finding words in our language for the ideas in the original when those ideas do not exist in our minds, or only vaguely. The Fraser translation does a very good job of moving our minds two millennia into the past. I read Hans-Georg Moeller’s <<Daoism Explained>> and came away thinking it is a mistake to try to fit Daoism into Western philosophical pigeon holes. Contrast the final lines of the butterfly allegory in Herbert Giles 19th century translation:
Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a barrier. The transition is called Metempsychosis.
and Fraser’s:
Yet surely there’s a difference between Zhou and the butterfly. This is a case of what’s called “things transforming”.
Many of the ideas of the later Heidegger are, although not borrowed, have the same focus in penetrating deeply into the nature of things as they exist in real world, not fitting things into one’s individual worldview or, Heaven forfend, ideology. In Chung-yuan Chang’s translation and commentary on the Laozi <<Tao: A New Way of Thinking>> Heidegger is quoted twice in Chapter 1. The bibliography has 15 Heidegger references. There is another book <<Daoist Resonances in Heidegger: Exploring a Forgotten Debt>>edited by David Chai, but I've read only the introduction.
I have only recently joined this group and haven’t caught up with the earlier readings so I don’t know how the discussion of Aristotle’s ethics developed. Just consider that Daoism doesn’t have ethics as such. Ethics are only needed when one has lost their Way.
I totally agree that "it is a mistake to try to fit Daoism into Western philosophical pigeon holes". But hope you won't mind if I amend it to "it is a mistake to try to fit Daoism into MAINSTREAM philosophical pigeon holes." I believe that over the years, all the way back to the ancient Greeks and Romans, ideas or ways of thinking that resonate with Zhuangzi's can be found. Figures that come immediately to mind include Heraclitus, Lucretius, Nietzsche, Rorty, and, as you mentioned, Heidegger. I was just reading THE SWERVE by Stephen Greenblatt which describes how Lucretius's poem ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, whose ontology is extremely similar to what Zhuangzi describes in Book 2, was deemed too heretical and was thereby ignored, even aggressively suppressed for centuries. I also find it mind-boggling that most of the ideas that Nietzsche is typically criticized for are ideas that Chinese culture has fully embraced for over two thousand years! Just a small, but important example: in China (and Japan and Korea), the conception of a transcendent, personal God-like figure has never existed; it was only brought in when Western nations tried to "carve up" China in the 19th Century.
I'll accept your amendment, reading MAINSTREAM as “academic silos.” I read THE SWERVE back when it came out (to some controversy, I recall.) I don’t remember if Lucretius considers Nature as an active agent or as the eternal background of all existence, or as something else. My own intuition is that there is something like a physical field that is eternal and unmoving, in which Being occurs. Beings are happenings. Or the Way is the Nothing from which all Things emerge.
One of the main ideas I perceived was the concept of perspective. The dove and cicada couldn't understand Kun-Peng's perspective due to their own limitations, while nature itself had to transform (changing air and water) to allow Kun-Peng to rise above his circumstances and expand his view.
This connects to the discussion of "this" and "that," where the distinctions we assign to things reflect our particular perspective, like whether something is useful or useless. Words themselves create distinctions that don't naturally exist, making language always a distortion (as suggested by "The Dao is hidden by the small perfection of language"). The problem with these distinctions is that they simultaneously constrain us. The example from the notes about walking across a grassy field illustrates this perfectly: establishing a path creates a perspective that both damages the grass and forecloses other alternative routes we might have chosen.
This perspectivism, the idea that all our concepts and judgments are relative and tied to particular viewpoints, fundamentally challenges the notion that knowledge can be built upon undeniable, foundational truths. When we master some narrow, partial set of norms or ways of doing things, we're essentially mastering just one aspect or corner of the Way, which blinds us to the wide range of other possible approaches.
I couldn't agree with your interpretation more! It's interesting to note that we can also find this perspectivism in such influential contemporary Western philosophers as Nietzsche, Heidegger, William James, and Thomas Kuhn, not to mention the so-called post-modernists. However, once we accept this perspectivism, we are immediately faced with two serious challenges: first, how do we overcome the charges of epistemological and ethical relativism? and second, how do we, as individual human beings, achieve freedom to “freely wandering about”? I’m trying to figure out how Zhuangzi answers these two challenges.
With regard to “Words themselves create distinctions that don't naturally exist, making language always a distortion”, I believe this is why both Zhuangzi and Laozi held that “The way that can be spoken of is not the constant way”.
My understanding (which is admittedly quite limited here) is that woven throughout ancient Chinese philosophy is the concept of wu wei ("ooo-way"), which is something like "effortless action," akin to being in flow, but probably not perfectly analogous. Wu wei is what one ultimately is trying to attain - to embody wu wei in everyday life as much as possible. I think it is what is being pointed to by much of what we've already read.
According to Edward Slingerland's book Trying Not To Try (which I highly recommend), Confucius, Laozi, and Zhuangzi represent different approaches to achieving wu wei. I think Zhuangzi's approach is seen well in the story of Butcher Ding. In the beginning, it takes much practice - in a trade, with a skill, and just in life in general - but over time one learns their craft, it seeps into their muscle memory, and they begin to know instinctively what to do in a given situation. Eventually, after much time and practice, one is able to live life in wu wei, as Butcher Ding effortlessly carves the ox, naturally sensing where to cut with no strain on his knife.
I think also Zhuangzi is clearly aware of the paradox here (of effortless action, of trying without trying), and that is why some passages leave you feeling like you understand a potential problem better, but didn't get a real answer. For example, setting too many rules is limiting and will not serve you in all situations, but having no guiding compass will lead to other problems. Where to find the balance? It's a tight needle to thread, and the answers can't simply be handed to you. Ultimately, one has to work it out for themselves.
I have never liked the usual translations of "wu wei" as "no action" or "non-action". While literally accurate, both make people think that to "follow Dao" you simply have to take no action; which is misguided. The name "effortless action" is much closer to the spirit of the concept. However, I feel it can still mislead us into thinking that it is the amount of physical effort that is determinative rather than the presence or absence of willful interference of Dao by the self that distinguishes wu wei.
Clint, I’m glad that you pointed out that it takes much patience and practice to achieve Butcher Ding’s level of skill. The question of how we learn Dao is often ignored in discussions of Daoism. To begin to answer this question, we need to remind ourselves of how the book Zhuangzi opens. Why does Zhuangzi begin with the parable of a fish transforming into a bird that then takes great effort to fly thousands of miles from the northern ocean to the southern sea? And why does this giant bird decide to undertake this tremendous feat? It seems that the only “benefit” for the bird is that it can experience seeing the ground level from the drastically different perspective of a super high altitude.
I agree with your suggestion that Zhuangzi doesn’t hold that any one perspective is necessarily “better” or “truer” than another, and that he argues against setting preconceived plans or fixed solutions. Dao changes constantly, and we must always adapt and act accordingly. However, “Small knowing doesn’t compare with great knowing”. By gaining knowledge of the inescapability of our relative perspectives, we can thereby achieve freedom by “freely wandering about” amongst them!
Yea, I agree that even "effortless action" probably isn't quite right. I think the concept of "flow" or being in the zone can help one to get a sense of the state being discussed, but that tells us little about what we can do to bring about such a state (not to mention that if I had to guess, I'd say the methods to bring about a flow state probably diverge quite a bit from the way the masters of the Dao would describe how to attain wu wei).
I am feeling at a loss with this text, not really understanding what I am reading, and consequently not engaging. I am wondering whether reading this without a good understanding of the cultural context, e.g. what stories are most important, what stories are typically used in particular real life situations, what are the conversations about the stories, etc., is worth the effort, given my casual interest in the subject. It sort of feels like trying to understand jewish theology by reading the Torah. That is clearly the most important book, but it would not likely give someone an accurate view of jewish thought (especially as a beginner).
Clearly, I could do a bunch of additional reading to help me understand, but I am not sure that sounds fun.
I'll push on with the rest of the inner books, but may bail after that.
It’s a rough read. My biggest complaint is the overdone notes with the flipping back & forth. I think it could have been constructed a little better with footnotes for crucial exegeses and then endnotes for longer discussions and translation remarks. I might try to just steam through no endnotes and see what I get out of it!
The texts describe the act of making distinctions (by choosing one Way out of the Great Way) as a destructive act: by loosing the opportunity of having made another distinction instead. The Cook Ding in Book 3 however cuts the oxen through its natural patterns in such a way that it doesn't damage his knife at all.
"I go along with the natural patterns, strike in the main gaps, and guide the knife along the major seams, working according to the inherent structure"
"'A good cook changes knives annually -this is cutting. A poor cook changes knives monthly -this is hacking. Now this knife of mine I've used for nineteen years," ... "and yet the blade is like it's fresh from the grindstone."
He describes that he used to see the whole ox and then had to cut it in a way which ruins his knife, but now he meets it with his spirit.
If it is fair to call this cutting of the ox a metaphor for following the Way, then I think the text is arguing that there is actually a natural distinction between "this" and "not-this"; a distinction which isn't forceful, but can't be grasped only by following the Way.
In other part of the texts it tells of following the Way differently: by withholding making distinctions or making them depending on how useful they are in a given context.
So is following the Way about finding the natural effortless distinction of things, or making them up as it suits different situations?
I interpret Zhuangzi to mean that all distinctions are artificial, because they are always made by humans. I think you're right that humans make up distinctions to suit different situations. In any case, this is how I make sense of the title of the second book, "Discourse on Evening Things Out."
Even if there are natural distinctions, I think the text is pointing to the idea that even those can change depending on situation, depending on perspective. Once you have enough experience, you don't even look for distinctions, you slice effortlessly through the obvious gaps without having to identify them as such.
Yeah I agree that most of the text argues that the distinctions we make depend on our own circumstances, are done without us being aware of how we make, and without us knowing we could have made them otherwise. Its just that this paragraph seems to argues that there can actually be natural distinction that are different from those we otherwise make.
Seems like when you start following the Way you make harmless distinction without being aware of them; then when you are a novice you make distinctions intentionally depending on the circumstances; then if you become a sage you make the distinctions effortlessly again: getting them correct now.
I think going along with the "natural patterns" doesn't necessarily imply that there are "natural" distinctions that exist on their own in nature (although it could be interpreted that way). I think the "natural" here could simply refer to something like a path of least resistance one can take when making artificial distinctions. For example, a wood worker might examine the grain of a piece of wood and find the most "natural" place to cut, but that doesn't mean nature actually placed a boundary there.
Your second paragraph is an interesting way to put it, and I think it still makes sense even if you change "getting them correct" to "making more natural ones" in the sense of "natural" I described above.
I'm still undecided whether Zhuangzi believes that humans can ever escape from distinctions of our own making, even with experience. It could be that he, like many Western philosophers we know, such as Wittgenstein, Nietzsche, or Rorty, also believes that this inevitability is simply a part of the human condition. This is one of the central questions that guide my readings of philosophy in general and Zhuangzi in particular.
It's a fascinating question, and I suspect at least on some level we can never fully escape them (as it's just how our brains work), but perhaps on some level we can.
However, I think we can certainly learn to be less constricted by our imposed distinctions, if only by being more aware of them. I think we can learn to meet the world with our spirit more, and examine it less with our eyes. To me, even meager improvements in this way are worthy goals.
“Zhuangzi is putting forward a view in which distinctions are always in some way artificial”
I think this is correct. At one level there’s just a bunch of stuff making up the butcher-ox-knife system. At another level we can identify all these things and give them names (if we like, but that’s not the point here; we still identify them as things even without naming them).
As Zhuangzi says elsewhere:
“'This' is also 'that', 'that' is also 'this'. That there is one 'this' and 'not'; this here is also one 'this' and 'not'. Ultimately, then, are there 'that' and 'this'?! Or ultimately are there no 'that' and 'this'?!”
OK, at this point I thought I was having a stroke, or maybe the onset of a migraine, but reading it literally it does make sense.
There’s a Zen koan that asks what you should call a short staff. If you call it a short staff, you’re ignoring what it actually is. If you don’t call it a short staff, you’re ignoring a fact!
-
The story about the gourds reminds me of the practice of developing hacks, in the computer or hardware sense. You’re using the item for what it *is*, not for what everyone thinks it’s supposed to be *for*.
A paper clip might be *for* holding sheets of paper together, but it makes a very effective lock pick (and you can make a decent tension tool with another paper clip!).
Just a couple of general comments.
First, it is crucial that we distinguish between Zhuangzi the thinker and Zhuangzi the collection of texts written by an uncertain number of unidentified authors. While there is no consensus on the matters of textual composition, organization, and authorship, a high level of confidence now exists amongst scholars that the so-called Inner Books (1-7) were written by Zhuangzi himself, whereas the rest, especially the last ten (23-33) so-called Mixed Books, were written by a mix of authors that included Zhuangzi himself; students of his; followers of Laozi, Confucius, and Mencius; and a variety of imitators of Zhuangzi. There are often striking differences in both the content and style between the Inner Books and the others; not to mention inconsistencies or contradictions.
Most scholars believe that a relatively coherent “Zhuangist philosophy” can be found in the 7 Inner Books; one that includes epistemology, ontology, ethics, and ideas about the formation and development of the subject. I share this belief. I would even argue that, if we want to divide the Inner Books further, Books 1-4 can form a useful core unit for our understanding.
Second, in my opinion, the key characteristics of Zhuangism (for lack of a better label)--a thoroughly naturalist monism, a decidedly perspectivist outlook on knowledge and morality, the primacy of transformation and becoming, the equality between the mind and the body, the condemnation of any willful violation of the Way, and the insistence on the essential unspeakability of the Dao–combine to make this outlook on life and the world diametrically opposite to the Platonic tradition. Instead, the two Western philosophers who come to my mind right away who share many of these characteristics are Nietzsche and Heidegger. (I read somewhere that Tao Te Ching, or Dao De Jing, was one of Heidegger’s favorite books.)
Finally, I feel sad that the beauty of Zhuangzi’s writing style (especially in the first 7 books) does not come through in the translations that we have so far. For all Chinese people, Zhuangzi is the ultimate symbol of the free spirit; and the title of the first book (“Freely Wandering About”) is an expression that is deeply entrenched in the Chinese language and culture. The writing style of these essays exudes this free spirit of Zhuangzi’s philosophy and is indispensable for a full appreciation of this important thinker who had fundamentally influenced Chinese culture for over 2,000 years (and other cultures through its reshaping of Buddhism when the latter entered East Asia).
For sheer readability in English, I like the Paul Kjellberg translation in the anthology Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy. Unfortunately, it's only selections (chapters 1-7, 12-14, 17-20, 22-24, 26, and 32), not a full translation.
I found myself turning to this translation when I was struggling with certain passages in the Fraser translation, especially in chapter 2.
Western and eastern philosophy are still very new to me, I hope by the end of Zhuangzi I have a better understanding of the aims of eastern philosophy. I know everyone’s thoughts and opinions will help me process this book better than I could on my own.
I had an interesting thought while reading which is that the “Waring States” period was existing at the same time as Peloponnesian war (roughly). The timelines of these two events are between the 400s-100s BCE. I find it so curious that both hemispheres are having a philosophical enlightenment at the same time. In this 300 year period we have thinkers like Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, and the collective works of Zhuangzi. I would love for there to be some abstract cause to explain why so many influential thinkers existed in this era but I’m sure that would be impossible to discern. I have no specific relatable point to this post but I thought it was an interesting thought and I wanted to share it with the group.
The late Helen De Cruz did a number of illustrations of parables from the Zhuangzi. https://helendecruz.substack.com/p/drawing-zhuangzi-with-colored-pencils
These are great, thank you!
Great post Jared. I found the usefulness of uselessness a really neat idea when reading the text. I often get so wound up with Plato/Augustine's idea of evil as a lack/void, that I fail to recognize how voids are necessary to define what remains.
For people interested in a great visual experience, try C.C Tsai's rendition of the Zhuangzi as a series of comic strips. Incredibly true to the text, yet very approachable as well.
Ah, thank you! “The Way of Nature”.
https://press.princeton.edu/books/paperback/9780691179742/the-way-of-nature
And I see it has a foreword by Edward Slingerland, author of “Trying not to try”, which I have read and enjoyed.
The useful/useless ideas also caught my eye, but I admit part of me took it as being rather poignant given what we know about human nature. If you're seen as useless, you don't have to worry about being used (by other people).
I liked the story about the "stink tree", because as soon as I read it, I knew exactly what the text was referring to. Ailanthus altissima, the Tree of Heaven, native to China and an aggressive invasive species in the US. I wage what seems like a never-ending battle against this vile plant, but now I will think of the Zhuangzi every time I do yard work.
I see the difficulty with translating a work from a time so alien to ours as finding words in our language for the ideas in the original when those ideas do not exist in our minds, or only vaguely. The Fraser translation does a very good job of moving our minds two millennia into the past. I read Hans-Georg Moeller’s <<Daoism Explained>> and came away thinking it is a mistake to try to fit Daoism into Western philosophical pigeon holes. Contrast the final lines of the butterfly allegory in Herbert Giles 19th century translation:
Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a barrier. The transition is called Metempsychosis.
and Fraser’s:
Yet surely there’s a difference between Zhou and the butterfly. This is a case of what’s called “things transforming”.
Many of the ideas of the later Heidegger are, although not borrowed, have the same focus in penetrating deeply into the nature of things as they exist in real world, not fitting things into one’s individual worldview or, Heaven forfend, ideology. In Chung-yuan Chang’s translation and commentary on the Laozi <<Tao: A New Way of Thinking>> Heidegger is quoted twice in Chapter 1. The bibliography has 15 Heidegger references. There is another book <<Daoist Resonances in Heidegger: Exploring a Forgotten Debt>>edited by David Chai, but I've read only the introduction.
I have only recently joined this group and haven’t caught up with the earlier readings so I don’t know how the discussion of Aristotle’s ethics developed. Just consider that Daoism doesn’t have ethics as such. Ethics are only needed when one has lost their Way.
I totally agree that "it is a mistake to try to fit Daoism into Western philosophical pigeon holes". But hope you won't mind if I amend it to "it is a mistake to try to fit Daoism into MAINSTREAM philosophical pigeon holes." I believe that over the years, all the way back to the ancient Greeks and Romans, ideas or ways of thinking that resonate with Zhuangzi's can be found. Figures that come immediately to mind include Heraclitus, Lucretius, Nietzsche, Rorty, and, as you mentioned, Heidegger. I was just reading THE SWERVE by Stephen Greenblatt which describes how Lucretius's poem ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, whose ontology is extremely similar to what Zhuangzi describes in Book 2, was deemed too heretical and was thereby ignored, even aggressively suppressed for centuries. I also find it mind-boggling that most of the ideas that Nietzsche is typically criticized for are ideas that Chinese culture has fully embraced for over two thousand years! Just a small, but important example: in China (and Japan and Korea), the conception of a transcendent, personal God-like figure has never existed; it was only brought in when Western nations tried to "carve up" China in the 19th Century.
I'll accept your amendment, reading MAINSTREAM as “academic silos.” I read THE SWERVE back when it came out (to some controversy, I recall.) I don’t remember if Lucretius considers Nature as an active agent or as the eternal background of all existence, or as something else. My own intuition is that there is something like a physical field that is eternal and unmoving, in which Being occurs. Beings are happenings. Or the Way is the Nothing from which all Things emerge.
One of the main ideas I perceived was the concept of perspective. The dove and cicada couldn't understand Kun-Peng's perspective due to their own limitations, while nature itself had to transform (changing air and water) to allow Kun-Peng to rise above his circumstances and expand his view.
This connects to the discussion of "this" and "that," where the distinctions we assign to things reflect our particular perspective, like whether something is useful or useless. Words themselves create distinctions that don't naturally exist, making language always a distortion (as suggested by "The Dao is hidden by the small perfection of language"). The problem with these distinctions is that they simultaneously constrain us. The example from the notes about walking across a grassy field illustrates this perfectly: establishing a path creates a perspective that both damages the grass and forecloses other alternative routes we might have chosen.
This perspectivism, the idea that all our concepts and judgments are relative and tied to particular viewpoints, fundamentally challenges the notion that knowledge can be built upon undeniable, foundational truths. When we master some narrow, partial set of norms or ways of doing things, we're essentially mastering just one aspect or corner of the Way, which blinds us to the wide range of other possible approaches.
I couldn't agree with your interpretation more! It's interesting to note that we can also find this perspectivism in such influential contemporary Western philosophers as Nietzsche, Heidegger, William James, and Thomas Kuhn, not to mention the so-called post-modernists. However, once we accept this perspectivism, we are immediately faced with two serious challenges: first, how do we overcome the charges of epistemological and ethical relativism? and second, how do we, as individual human beings, achieve freedom to “freely wandering about”? I’m trying to figure out how Zhuangzi answers these two challenges.
With regard to “Words themselves create distinctions that don't naturally exist, making language always a distortion”, I believe this is why both Zhuangzi and Laozi held that “The way that can be spoken of is not the constant way”.
My understanding (which is admittedly quite limited here) is that woven throughout ancient Chinese philosophy is the concept of wu wei ("ooo-way"), which is something like "effortless action," akin to being in flow, but probably not perfectly analogous. Wu wei is what one ultimately is trying to attain - to embody wu wei in everyday life as much as possible. I think it is what is being pointed to by much of what we've already read.
According to Edward Slingerland's book Trying Not To Try (which I highly recommend), Confucius, Laozi, and Zhuangzi represent different approaches to achieving wu wei. I think Zhuangzi's approach is seen well in the story of Butcher Ding. In the beginning, it takes much practice - in a trade, with a skill, and just in life in general - but over time one learns their craft, it seeps into their muscle memory, and they begin to know instinctively what to do in a given situation. Eventually, after much time and practice, one is able to live life in wu wei, as Butcher Ding effortlessly carves the ox, naturally sensing where to cut with no strain on his knife.
I think also Zhuangzi is clearly aware of the paradox here (of effortless action, of trying without trying), and that is why some passages leave you feeling like you understand a potential problem better, but didn't get a real answer. For example, setting too many rules is limiting and will not serve you in all situations, but having no guiding compass will lead to other problems. Where to find the balance? It's a tight needle to thread, and the answers can't simply be handed to you. Ultimately, one has to work it out for themselves.
I have never liked the usual translations of "wu wei" as "no action" or "non-action". While literally accurate, both make people think that to "follow Dao" you simply have to take no action; which is misguided. The name "effortless action" is much closer to the spirit of the concept. However, I feel it can still mislead us into thinking that it is the amount of physical effort that is determinative rather than the presence or absence of willful interference of Dao by the self that distinguishes wu wei.
Clint, I’m glad that you pointed out that it takes much patience and practice to achieve Butcher Ding’s level of skill. The question of how we learn Dao is often ignored in discussions of Daoism. To begin to answer this question, we need to remind ourselves of how the book Zhuangzi opens. Why does Zhuangzi begin with the parable of a fish transforming into a bird that then takes great effort to fly thousands of miles from the northern ocean to the southern sea? And why does this giant bird decide to undertake this tremendous feat? It seems that the only “benefit” for the bird is that it can experience seeing the ground level from the drastically different perspective of a super high altitude.
I agree with your suggestion that Zhuangzi doesn’t hold that any one perspective is necessarily “better” or “truer” than another, and that he argues against setting preconceived plans or fixed solutions. Dao changes constantly, and we must always adapt and act accordingly. However, “Small knowing doesn’t compare with great knowing”. By gaining knowledge of the inescapability of our relative perspectives, we can thereby achieve freedom by “freely wandering about” amongst them!
Yea, I agree that even "effortless action" probably isn't quite right. I think the concept of "flow" or being in the zone can help one to get a sense of the state being discussed, but that tells us little about what we can do to bring about such a state (not to mention that if I had to guess, I'd say the methods to bring about a flow state probably diverge quite a bit from the way the masters of the Dao would describe how to attain wu wei).
Good point about the way the book opens!
The post and the comments are helpful.
I am feeling at a loss with this text, not really understanding what I am reading, and consequently not engaging. I am wondering whether reading this without a good understanding of the cultural context, e.g. what stories are most important, what stories are typically used in particular real life situations, what are the conversations about the stories, etc., is worth the effort, given my casual interest in the subject. It sort of feels like trying to understand jewish theology by reading the Torah. That is clearly the most important book, but it would not likely give someone an accurate view of jewish thought (especially as a beginner).
Clearly, I could do a bunch of additional reading to help me understand, but I am not sure that sounds fun.
I'll push on with the rest of the inner books, but may bail after that.
It’s a rough read. My biggest complaint is the overdone notes with the flipping back & forth. I think it could have been constructed a little better with footnotes for crucial exegeses and then endnotes for longer discussions and translation remarks. I might try to just steam through no endnotes and see what I get out of it!
The texts describe the act of making distinctions (by choosing one Way out of the Great Way) as a destructive act: by loosing the opportunity of having made another distinction instead. The Cook Ding in Book 3 however cuts the oxen through its natural patterns in such a way that it doesn't damage his knife at all.
"I go along with the natural patterns, strike in the main gaps, and guide the knife along the major seams, working according to the inherent structure"
"'A good cook changes knives annually -this is cutting. A poor cook changes knives monthly -this is hacking. Now this knife of mine I've used for nineteen years," ... "and yet the blade is like it's fresh from the grindstone."
He describes that he used to see the whole ox and then had to cut it in a way which ruins his knife, but now he meets it with his spirit.
If it is fair to call this cutting of the ox a metaphor for following the Way, then I think the text is arguing that there is actually a natural distinction between "this" and "not-this"; a distinction which isn't forceful, but can't be grasped only by following the Way.
In other part of the texts it tells of following the Way differently: by withholding making distinctions or making them depending on how useful they are in a given context.
So is following the Way about finding the natural effortless distinction of things, or making them up as it suits different situations?
I interpret Zhuangzi to mean that all distinctions are artificial, because they are always made by humans. I think you're right that humans make up distinctions to suit different situations. In any case, this is how I make sense of the title of the second book, "Discourse on Evening Things Out."
Even if there are natural distinctions, I think the text is pointing to the idea that even those can change depending on situation, depending on perspective. Once you have enough experience, you don't even look for distinctions, you slice effortlessly through the obvious gaps without having to identify them as such.
Yeah I agree that most of the text argues that the distinctions we make depend on our own circumstances, are done without us being aware of how we make, and without us knowing we could have made them otherwise. Its just that this paragraph seems to argues that there can actually be natural distinction that are different from those we otherwise make.
Seems like when you start following the Way you make harmless distinction without being aware of them; then when you are a novice you make distinctions intentionally depending on the circumstances; then if you become a sage you make the distinctions effortlessly again: getting them correct now.
I think going along with the "natural patterns" doesn't necessarily imply that there are "natural" distinctions that exist on their own in nature (although it could be interpreted that way). I think the "natural" here could simply refer to something like a path of least resistance one can take when making artificial distinctions. For example, a wood worker might examine the grain of a piece of wood and find the most "natural" place to cut, but that doesn't mean nature actually placed a boundary there.
Your second paragraph is an interesting way to put it, and I think it still makes sense even if you change "getting them correct" to "making more natural ones" in the sense of "natural" I described above.
I'm still undecided whether Zhuangzi believes that humans can ever escape from distinctions of our own making, even with experience. It could be that he, like many Western philosophers we know, such as Wittgenstein, Nietzsche, or Rorty, also believes that this inevitability is simply a part of the human condition. This is one of the central questions that guide my readings of philosophy in general and Zhuangzi in particular.
It's a fascinating question, and I suspect at least on some level we can never fully escape them (as it's just how our brains work), but perhaps on some level we can.
However, I think we can certainly learn to be less constricted by our imposed distinctions, if only by being more aware of them. I think we can learn to meet the world with our spirit more, and examine it less with our eyes. To me, even meager improvements in this way are worthy goals.
Where do we find the Zoom link?