“Don’t for heaven’s sake, be afraid of talking nonsense! 

But you must pay attention to your nonsense”

(Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and Value).

The Inexpressible  ™  Fall 2012 

 Click here for an introduction to Chinese Thought

From Lyotard, we move to Chuang Tzu.  I argue that there is a deep affinity and immense similarity between these two thinkers, despite that Lyotard is a contemporary French philosopher (1924-1998) who synthesizes post-structuralism and phenomenology (not to mention critiques of Freud and Marx) into his unique postmodernism, that rewriting of modernity that takes up the call of the unpresented in presentation and incessantly tries to express that surplus of meaning to undo differends and Chuang Tzu is an ancient Chinese philosopher who likely lived between 369-286 bce, thus, within China’s “hundred philosophers” era, and is typically considered the most famous Taoist after Lao Tzu and who radically emphasizes the necessity of freeing oneself from the world. Even with the obvious differences of Western and Eastern thought and 2,293 years between their likely births, their parallels are striking. 

“The Dance of the Yi People” by Shan Yunlu

While very little is known about Chuang Tzu, a brief record in the Shih chi, the Records of the Historians, tells us that he was a native of Meng, likely in the State of Sung, an official in the “lacquer garden,” likely living between 369-286 bce, thus was a contemporary of Mencius (372-289 bce; perhaps the most famous Confucian after Confucius), and that he wrote a fable-like book of over 100,000 words. 

This means that Chuang Tzu was born into the “Warring States” period of the Eastern Chou dynasty, that is, living during a time known for its bloodshed and uncertainty and under a reign by the Chou, who had conquered the Shang kings, who ruled from the State of Sung, where Chung Tzu was a resident.  While his state continued to exist into the Chou dynasty, it existed in constant uncertainty: continually threatened by neighboring states, suffering a great deal of internal conflict, and composed of people characterized as full of despair, oppressed socially and politically, and generally born of weakness and anguish (by the end of the dynasty, the Sung-ian was a stock character representing the witless imbecile). 

If this was his homeland and his times, it provides a striking background for Chuang Tzu’s writings, which reveal a deep level of mystical detachment and a bitingly humorous skepticism that stands in glaring contrast to the optimistic and strong writings of Confucius and Mencius, who, in the face of extreme political turmoil, responded with a structured and practical philosophy that optimistically charted a course for China to reassume the greatness of its past “golden age.” 

Now, consider Lyotard.  Lyotard was born in 1925; consider what else happened before and around his birth—World War I, in which 70 million personnel were mobilized and was the sixth deadliest conflict in recorded history, ended in 1918; the “roaring 20’s” shook up American culture, its decadence matching the “Golden Twenties” of Germany’s Weimar Republic; in 1925, F. Scott Fitzgerald published The Great Gatsby and Adolf Hitler published Mein Kampf; and then both crashed with the stock market in 1929, setting off the Great Depression and the rise of the Nazi party.  Lyotard was asked, along with a handful of French intellectuals, to write an essay giving an account of life as someone born in 1925. 

The essay demanded him to speak on behalf of his generation, and he found that, trying to speak with a universal voice, he could only offer truthful contradictions:

“We will come out of war, the Twentieth Century’s most concrete product, with a monstrous poverty of thought and morals.  We are twenty years old when the camps disgorge that which they have had neither the time nor the appetite to digest.  Those hollow faces plague our thinking …”

--Jean-François Lyotard, “Nés en 1925,” Temps Modernes, 32 (May, 1948): 2052-7, 2053.  

Asked to encapsulate the experiences of his generation—those witnesses to post-war boom, world economic collapse, political turmoil, the rise of fascism, a second world war, the post-war revelations of the death camps and their some six million dead—he found himself unable to encapsulate it within either scientific discourse or linear narrative.  Lyotard, captures the we (all who were born in 1925) only as incongruity: we will come out of war the most concrete yet utterly impoverished generation; we will be most rooted in the real, brought down from metaphysical peaks to be fully aware of the horror that had taken place, but, also, we will be unable to respond, we will be “a monstrous poverty of thought” (ibid.).  We, like the tribunal trying to judge the revisionist and survivor, do not want narrative contradictions.  We want a narrative obedient to Socrates’ instruction to Phaedrus: one that is like a living being with a distinguishable head, body, and tail.  The conflict or the differend within testimonial narrative, however, is that the real often refuses to unfold like a proper argument and have an apodictic beginning, middle, and end or be a causal chain. 

Early in his life, and for a long time, Lyotard was politically radical and engaged in theoretical and practical acts seeking liberation and justice.  And then, he stopped.  After almost two decades of political activism, he turned, and received much perplexed scorn for doing so, to what political action will always fail to achieve.  He turned to the search for the unpresented in presentation: “… not in order to enjoy them but in order to impart a stronger sense of the unpresentable” (cf., Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition, 79-82).

From what we can establish, Chuang Tzu and Lyotard both had some engagement with the practical aspects of their chaotic and war-torn times, one as an official for the State, one as a political radical; both also ended up writing in manners equally challenging to logic about radical freedom—a tearing oneself out of the world, outside of the ‘situationing’ of reality, to try to capture the logically impossible: the unpresented in presentation.  Some may be angered or at least perplexed by their responses to practical horror being a sharp turning of attention away from the everyday to what all practical actions cover over.  We may also find greater perplexity in trying to even grasp what it is that they are seeking, for it is what is outside of understanding’s reach. 

Before we explore the indeterminate for Chuang Tzu, more contextualization of his thought into his vibrant intellectual milieu will help. 

To be historically correct, while the pre-Socratic Thales  (624-546 b.c.e.) lived before Confucius  (551-479 b.c.e.), we can also say that the Chinese “Hundred Philosophers” Period  (551-233 b.c.e.), into which, Chuang Tzu was born, began nearly a hundred years before Socrates (ca. 470-399 b.c.e.) was born.  Precise numbers aside, it is not inaccurate to think of the birth of philosophy to be about simultaneous in the East and West and the Chinese and Greek thinkers to be contemporaries, even if physically strangers to one another.  To label them contemporaries points towards the truthful insight that they intellectually share more than we may initially realize.  For both cultures, ancient philosophy flourished—it was the seeking of wisdom, what one does not know, in all areas about which one may be able to know something.  Thought was developing in all areas and did not draw sharp divides between disciplines, instead, making them all the worthy pursuits of the thoughtful. 

Chuang Tzu is known as the second greatest Taoist, after Lao Tzu, although his work reveals itself to have interesting differences from the writings of the school’s founder in both content and style.  He was a contemporary to Mencius, the second greatest Confucian after Confucius, who also modeled his teacher’s proud optimism for the possibility of a return to a Golden Age, no matter their pessimism about their current ages.  Thus, a sketch of the different main schools of philosophy in ancient China will benefit our understanding of Chuang Tzu.

For a longer biographical and theoretical sketch, cf. Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings, trans. Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 1-22

The main Chinese schools of philosophy can be briefly outlined as follows:

Confucianism

Confucius and followers (notably Mencius and Hsün Tzu) were the most pragmatic of this period’s thinkers.  The goal was a strong state, to be achieved through cultivation, not warfare.  Education was the prime means to cultivate the people.  They prized the intelligent and believed it was in the state’s best interest to educate all (in practice, however, only the aristocrats were intellectually educated: “…Those who are born with knowledge are the highest.  Next come those who attain knowledge through study.  Next again come those who turn to study after being vexed by difficulties.  The common people, in so far as they make no effort to study even after being vexed by difficulties, are the lowest” (Confucius, Analects, XVI:9); their system was highly structured and hierarchical based on five great relationships wherein the family as the microcosm of the state; the emphasis on structure extended to the idea of the rectification of names: “Let the ruler be a ruler, the minister be a minister, the father be a father, and the son be a son” (Ibid., 12:11) and “To govern [cheng] is to rectify [cheng].  If you lead the people by being rectified yourself, who will dare not be rectified” (Ibid., 12:17)?).  Great value was placed on history and they were, overall, a conservative and humanistic school that thought they could create highly moral great men (the noble man, chün tzu, who embody li and jen, ritual propriety and moral perfection or goodness: “The Master said, ‘In antiquity men were loath to speak.  This was because they counted it shameful if their person failed to keep up with their words’” (Ibid., IV:22)) who would return China to its Golden Age.  Confucius believed he was no innovator; rather, only an aide to help people regain what had been lost: a peaceful, enlightened state.  He advocated close family bonds (filial piety), rituals, and cultivation. 

Taoism

Taoism’s contrast to Confucianism is most intense.  Whereas Confucianism held an ideal of the perfect state to which cultivation was aimed, the Taoist ideal is fundamental to everything except the promotion of a state and intellectual cultivation (“…He who knows has no wide learning; he who has wide learning does not know” (Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, LXXXI).  Their ideal is the Tao (the Way): more than a goal, it is also the means to reach it and the way everything already is, i.e. it is a universal principle or force of the natural world (“The Way is a void, Used but never filled: An abyss it is, Like an ancestor From which all things come.  It blunts sharpness, Resolves tangles; It tempers light, Subdues turmoil” (Ibid., I:4)).  It is something felt, rather than reasoned about or defined (“The Tao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Tao.  The name that can be named is not the eternal name” (Ibid., I:1).  There is an implicit moral theory herein, that we ought to act in line with the Tao, but it lacks the laws for behavior (“morals” are only based in nature, not as human constructs, thus we cannot change them, only act in accord with them or not).  When one is attuned to the Tao, one cooperates with nature (human rule destroys it).  The emphasis is on action, not reflection, but this action is, actually, “non-action,” or wu wei.  The attunement is to not strive, but to be.  Under this model, government is best when it is least and people are best when they are natural.  Two most notable Taoists are Lao Tzu, its “founder,” and Chuang Tzu.

Mohists

The Mohists are Mo Tzu and his followers.  Mo Tzu is Confucian and Taoist without being either and challenging both.  Like the Confucians, he challenged the abstract and non-active Taoist positions.  Mo Tzu believed in standardization and upheld the utilitarian aim of the Legalists for money and power.  However, he also criticized the Confucians for their aristocratic pride and individualism of self-cultivation.  He promoted self-position for the welfare of all, the defense of the weak against the strong, and promoted an ideal of universal love (“The meaning is that one who loves will be loved by others, and one who hates will be hated by others” (Mo Tzu, III:16).  Thus, he held a strange genuine concern for the many with an elaborate plan for controlling them. 

Legalism

Legalism is also known as the School of Systems or Methods and primarily concerns making the State into a powerful means for satisfying the wants or needs of the ruler. Han Fei Tzu designates these to be wealth and power.  How one achieves them through the “Two Handles:” “The enlightened ruler controls his ministers by means of two handles alone.  The two handles are punishment and favor.  What do I mean by punishment and favor?  To inflict mutilation and death on men is called punishment; to bestow honor and reward is called favor” (Han Fei Tzu, §7)—the two handles are named such because reward and punishment permit the ruler to thus steer his population.  For such to work, human nature must be driven by greed and fear (rather than the traditional characteristics of faith, loyalty, and intelligence).  Legalism constructed numerous laws to determine who to favor or punish.  The school can be deemed cynical and emotionally cold, but its arguments resonate strongly with a need to control large populations in chaotic times.

“The Crying Cicada” by

A Chorus of Teenage Girls from Xiaohuang Village

 

Back to Chuang Tzu:    

 

If we could say all Chinese thinkers dealt with the question of how is one to live in a world that is in moral/social/political decline, in a world full of absurdity, chaos, and suffering?  We can then chart how the Confucians offered more or less concrete, pragmatic paths of action to take to rectify the situation, to reform the person, the family, the state, and the world.  The Legalists, like Han Fei Tzu, gave us a very concrete, normative rulebook for the model the ruler must enact to not reform, but control the individual and polish the operations of ruling.  Lao Tzu gave us more of an escape route as to how the individual ought to live in the corrupt state by embracing a lost simplicity and purity.  Although not as normative, Lao Tzu gives us at least a sketch of we ought not to desire, that we ought not to try to educate ourselves, and that we ought not to believe in the conventional morals.

 

Chuang Tzu, in contrast, is going to answer this question of how the individual ought to live in the messed up world by going even a step beyond Lao Tzu into the mystical, incommunicable realm:

 

Lao Tzu establishes the Tao as the principle of harmony; it is an ideal, a simplicity, to which humanity and society must strive (even if this striving is wu wei, a non-action). 

 

Chuang Tzu, on the other hand, while agreeing in the primacy of the Tao, that it is an underlying harmony of utmost value, he does not actively promote a return to it in simplicity, but, rather, his main theme is FREEDOM.  This is a freedom from external restraints that is not an asceticism, but a mental break from prejudice and conventional thinking.  Thus, to concretize his answer, it would be: Free yourself from the world!  The delivery of this message will attempt to enact a freeing by being conveyed through paradoxical quips, fanciful fables, incomprehensible logics, and pure humor. 

 

We must free ourselves from desires (as Lao Tzu taught us), but these desires are more than just impulses to action—they include the entire framework from which we view the constructed world.  We need to unload ourselves from the conventional “baggage” of values, concepts of time, space, place, reality, and causation.  We must refuse to see things as good, bad, desirable, undesirable, useful, useless, etc. 

 

Suspend prejudice and all predication:  Chuang Tzu recognizes society and the world to be full of war, poverty, and injustice; nevertheless, there is a way, he encourages, to view these as not just ills made by humans, but to view them as neither good nor bad: to render the judgment of these “ills” as invalid.  All suffering is suffering because we name it as such; thus, if we name it otherwise, it will be otherwise. 

 

Friedrich Nietzsche’s Genealogy of Morals taught us that the changing of the guard of values results from one group co-opting the power to name what is good and what is evil (from those who named things only good and not-good, or bad).  This co-opting is much like the paradigm shifts (referring to the theory so named by Thomas Kuhn and mentioned by Lyotard) in which the same action is reconceived, renamed, and thus radicalized (the sun and Earth did not change their patterns of rotation, we just learned to see it differently). 

Chuang Tzu’s abstention from judgment is must like a radical variation of an enactment of a “slave revolt of morals” on ourselves: by abstaining from judging X as suffering, we will not suffer; through abstention of names, we will rid ourselves of the baggage we carry—we will render ourselves free. 

 

This revision of our views, however, is not as easy as the “rectification of names” well-practiced by Confucius, Han Fei Tzu, and Mencius.  The Confucians sought to eliminate obscurity by bringing language into line with its referent.  To almost try and make a one-to-one correspondence between words and things, like we read about in Augustine, Wittgenstein, de Saussure, Derrida, and Lyotard. 

 

Instead, Chuang Tzu, again, more similar to Nietzsche, enacts this maneuver of abstention in order to undo the tight bind of reality, to show the truth that there is no truth.  This process is more than a changing of language, more than a changing of views, more than an awakening; it is an ontological change effected by a change in language and reality.  It is thinking the unthought that will invert our reality, our language, our actions, and our very being.

 

And, I purposefully include “actions” in this list of what will be changed.  Like Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu maintains wu wei, non-action, as a goal, but this is not isolation, asceticism, and sheer denial.  Non-action, for Chuang Tzu, is actually a course of action that is not instituted on any intention of striving: non-action as action sans striving.  Thus, human action will be spontaneous, mindless, and active (in Nietzsche’s terminology, in contrast to being logically reactive).  In this way, we will make our actions, ourselves, into a becoming-Tao, a becoming-Way, a becoming-nature.  We will merge with nature, with the Tao. 

 

 

 

Chuang Tzu’s Method:

 

—1—

Chuang Tzu’s purpose, then, is not to lead us step by step through a rendering-null our values and presuppositions, but more to try to jar us into a different consciousness so that we can realize the necessity of taking ourselves through the difficult process (note that there is something Socratic in this).  We must engage ourselves actively in this non-striving pursuit of non-action.  Like the pre-Socratic paradoxes, like Zen koans, like absurdist art or surrealist poetry, the purpose of Chuang Tzu’s anecdotes is to throw at us a nonsensical statement meant to jar us to a new way of thinking. *  Everyday logic will tell us the statements are meaningless, but there will be something else, if we listen closely, that will tell us that conventional logic itself is meaningless.  There is another way of truth. 

(*: Japanese Zen Koans are brief parables designed to provoke and convey a spiritual message; for examples: http://www.ibiblio.org/zen/cgi-bin/koan-index.pl or http://perso.ens-lyon.fr/eric.boix/Koan/Shoyoroku/index.html  or  http://www.thezensite.com/MainPages/koan_studies.html.)

 

—2—

Another method Chuang Tzu employs, besides the koan-like statements, is what has been called his “pseudological” debates (The term comes from Watson, 5).  What this means is that Chuang Tzu will start a debate with some very solid, sensible logic, but ends at the point where all logic and language is revealed as absolute gibberish.

 

 

—3—

The third method, although more style than method, is woven through the whole work—it is his use of humor.  The absurd is rather different than pure humor; Chuang Tzu employs both.  Chuang Tzu is writing a serious sort of mysticism, but it seems that he views a little humor as more effective a means of rendering all conventions null than page after page of “rational” diatribe.  It is effective, what better means is there to show the meaninglessness of our beliefs than to make us laugh at them?

 

 

Questions:

 

How would we define “reason” for Chuang Tzu?

 

What devices does he use to convey his thought, which are effective, which do you find to be less than effective?  Why?

 

How do these devices relate to his content?

 

How does he view or characterize the following:

Governing?

Usefulness?

The Tao?

Reality?

The Natural and Artificial? 

 

 

Section One:  “Free and Easy Wandering,” pp.23-30 (Watson)

aka “The Carefree Excursion,” pp.62-79, (de Bary)

Selections from Chuang Tzu, Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings, trans. Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 23-30, or:

Sources of Chinese Tradition, Vol. I, trans., ed., Wm. Theodore De Bary, Wing-Tsit Chan, and Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960), 62-79.

-- Revision in Progress --

A massively large fish, the leviathan, can turn into a massively large bird, the roc.

From the Northern Ocean, heads to the Southern Ocean, the Celestial Lake (on p.65 this becomes the name of the Northern Ocean).

Ch’i-hsieh, a collector of strange tales, tells of the flight.

“If there is not sufficient depth, water will not have the power to float large ships.  Upset a cup of water into a depression on the mud floor and a mustard seed will float like a boat.  Try to float the cup and it will stick because the water is shallow and the vessel is large” (64). 

“Small knowledge is not to be compared with great knowledge not a short life with a long one” (64, idea repeated at 65). 

We get the impression that the small and short is inferior, but then Chuang Tzu reports on a man, P’eng-tsu, who lived 800 years and that so many men wish to match him and adds “—isn’t that a pity?”  This is our first sign that his message may not be so straight forward. 

He then gives a slightly alternate account of the leviathan and roc.  In analogy, he offers how a man may have enough knowledge for the duties of an office versus one who may be capable of swaying the kingdom.  But, if the latter passes judgment on himself, he will be like the quail (or cicada or baby dove) and ask why one would be like the leviathan/roc, to which a modest sage would smile.  “He held fast to the difference between the internal and external, and he distinguished clearly the boundary of honor and shame, and that was all.  In the world such a man is rare, yet there is something which he did not achieve” (65).

Even one who could ride on the wind, though he dispensed with walking, he still depended on something. 

“… the perfect man has no self; the spiritual man has no achievement; the true sage has no name” (66).

Governing:

Yao [the Sage King] wanted to abdicate to Hsu-yü; the latter said no, “I have no use for the empire” for it is in order and its name is a mere accessory, and why would I want that; even if a chef leaves his kitchen, why would the priest start washing dishes? 

An Improbable Tale:

Chien-wu relates an improbable tale to Lien-shu about a divine man on a mystic mountain, saying such an account is so unbelievable it cannot affect humanity.  The latter says the former is the fool, “The blind cannot apprieciate the beauty of line and depth, the deaf cannot apprieciate the beauty of drums and bells.  But there is not only blindness and deafness of the body but of the understanding as well.  This applies to you” (66).  The divine man aims at the fusion of all into unity (the Tao, the underlying unity and harmony of all things) and does not concern himself with external things.

Moving to “Uselessness” :

Large Gourds:

Hui Tzu complains that his gift of large gourds is useless because they cannot hold water or be made into ladles.  Chuang Tzu tells him he is a fool, “You are certainly not very clever…” (67) and should have made them into “a great bouy whereby you could float around in rivers and lakes” (68) instead of regretting their uselessness, “Isn’t your mind a bit wooly?” (68).

Gnarled Tree:

Hui Tzu complains he has a tree that is so twisted and gnarled that no carpenter wants to cut it down and its branches are good for nothing.  Chuang Tzu asks why he would be worried about its uselessness, “…plant it in the realm of Nothingness, in the expanse of Infinitude, so that you may wander by its side in Nonaction (wu-wei), and you may lie under it in blissful repose” (68).

 

Section Two:  Discussion on Making all things Equal, pp.31-45; aka: The Equality of Things and Opinions

 

 

Vitiate: to make something ineffective, faulty, to debase something.

It debases the Tao to divide true and false.

It debases speech to divide right and wrong.

 

The Tao is debased by petty virtues; speech is debased by flowery eloquence (68).

 

“But if we are to decide on their several affirmations and denials [the contradictions between the Confucians and Mo-ists], there is nothing better than to employ the light of reason” (68).

 

But… how do we take this?  Employ reason?  He goes on to proffer a radical unification of all things:

“Everything is its own self; everything is something else’s other.  Things do not know that they are other things’ other; they only know that they are themselves.  Thus it is said, the other arises out of the self, Justas the self arises out of the other.  This is the theory that self and other give rise to each other.  Besides, where there is life, there is death; and where there is death, there is life. …” (69).

 

“This being the situation, the sages do not approach things at this level, but reflect the light of nature” (69). 

“When the self and the other … lose their contrariety, there we have the very essence of the Tao” (69). 

 

Thus, this being the case, one can affirm the self or deny the self, but we must employ the “light of reason” …

 

Perhaps, this light of reason is to teach us that the division of self and other, of affirmation and denial, is meaningless and thus, both choices are really only one or themselves nothing. 

 

To use and attribute to show that attributes are not attributes is not as good as using a non-attribute to illustrate this.  (Versus logician Kung-sun Lung Tzu’s writings arguing there is no essence, but all essence is attribution and yet attributions together are not essence).  Instead, Chuang Tzu offers us: “Actually the universe is but an attribute; all things are but a horse” (69).

 

In addition to erasing contrariety, he is affirming identity, starting the next paragraph with the affirmation: “The possible is possible; the impossible is impossible” (69).

 

The Tao brings variety to unity: “Division to one is construction to another; construction to one is destruction to another.  Whether in construction or destruction, all things are in the end brought into unity. …” (70).

 

Unity is already, we just may not grasp this. 

 

Harmonize and rest in nature: “This is called following two courses at once” (70).

 

There was once a golden age; currently, a decline of [his] modernity—classic perspective for both Taoism and Confucianism, but Chuang Tzu adds, “But was there really a growth and a decline?  Or was there no growth or decline?” (70).

 

He then (70-71) rants on right/wrong, beginning, and nonbeing: is this a mockery of theory, a demonstration of the lack of division, an affirmation of infinite regress proving the absurdity of divisions, or something else?  He ends: “Just now I have said something, and yet  I do not know whether what I have said really means something, or does not mean anything at all” (71).

 

“Since all things are one, what room is there for speech?  But since I have spoken of them as one, is this not already speech?  One and speech make two; two and one make three …” (71)—and quickly into infinity…   “Let us not proceed; we had better let it alone” (71).

 

Then, there is an encounter with one Ch’ü-ch’iao who offers an odd rendering of Confucius, expressing that he wishes the opposite, to which his interlocutor (in line with Chuang Tzu) reports that these points were so confused that that no one would understand them and that he was too hasty in forming a critique and opinion on what was the Way (71).

 

“Let me try speaking to you in a somewhat irresponsible manner, and may I ask you to listen to me in the same spirit” (71). 

 

Dreams and Delusions:

We do not know if this is all dream or not.  Chuang Tzu affirms it is a dream, this position of Confucius and the other, but, also, that his affirmation of that being the case is also a dream (72).

 

“Suppose that you argue with me.  If you beat me, instead of my beating you, are you necessarily right, and am I necessarily wrong? … Must one of us necessarily be right and the other wrong?  Or may we not both be right or be wrong?  You and I cannot come to a mutual and common understanding, and others, are all in the dark.  Whom shall I ask to decide this dispute?” (72).

 

There is no one authorized to judge the debate, they either agree with one or the other, disagrees or agrees with both would be just as problematic.  And even if we all come to an understanding, someone else can come along (72-3).

 

Harmonize things: harmonize the modulating voices of the disputants to nature; “… forget the lapse of time; let us forget the claims of right and wrong.  But let us find enjoyment in the realm of the infinite and let us abide there” (73).

 

Penumbra and Shadow:

The partial shadow asked the shadow why it moved so; it replied it was dependent upon many things moving, thus it moved, and how could it tell why? (73).

 

Butterfly:

Chuang Tzu dreamed of being a butterfly and greatly enjoying fluttering about; awoke, did not know if he were a butterfly dreaming of being Chuang Tzu or Chuang Tzu dreaming of being a butterfly (73). 

Three additional points; roughly phrased   ---under revision--- 

 --1—

Concerning the “piping of heaven” (Watson translation, 32) Chuang Tzu, through the voice of Tzu-ch’i, rhetorically asks “…but who does the sounding?” For the earth, the wind and trees in the hollow make the sound, for people, flutes and whistles make the sound—both of these suggest a certain level of instrumentalism, a cause of wind or breath making the effect of sound through the instrument of the hollow or musical instruments.  Heaven, however, the effect is individuation, the instrument is blowing ten thousand different ways, but who is the cause?  The answer here, that is not explicitly here, is similar to Nietzsche when he pleads with us to not separate cause and effect, to not divorce lightning from its brilliance or the strong from the manifestation of strength.  For Chuang Tzu and the Taoists, “heaven” is not separate from the earth and humans—it is rather the natural and immediate performance of the two together.  Thus, there is no cause divorceable from the blowing and individuation. 

--2—(Watson, p.32-3):

The condition of humankind is pointlessly busy, entangled in sheer business, mainly because we are embodied and entangled with the world.  Here we see a similar sentiment to Heidegger, with the exception that, for Heidegger, some moods are precisely what will allow us to reconvene the peacefulness necessary for an attunement with Being.  For example, consider how “What is Metaphysics” can serve as an introduction to “The End of Philosophy and the Task of Thinking:” anxiety can render our everyday seeming stability shaky enough to make us think otherwise.  This is precisely a maneuver here in Chuang Tzu, anxiety itself, however, seems to be like the other moods he wishes us to abandon.

--3—(Watson, p.37):

Chuang Tzu is speaking about what sounds like a development of reason according to someone like Hegel, thus, it also has a strong tint of Nietzsche: once we were natural and acted out of immediacy which was a healthy demonstration of the will to power.  Then, however, we recognized the existence of other things, thus requiring boundaries to be drawn for purposes of differentiation and comprehension.  This drawing of boundaries led to the drawing up of moral distinctions.  Moral distinctions harm the unity of the Tao.  The interesting point is that with this injury to the Tao, “love became complete.”  For Nietzsche, the invention of morals leads to the invention of hatred (which works under the guise of love).  For Chuang Tzu, however, it may not be love that is the problem, but its “completion,” thinking that a human form can trump, so to speak, the love that is one with the Tao, or “love” in the sense of human’s desires for things.

--4—(book, p.38):

Chuang Tzu is talking about beginning and non-beginning, being and non-being, and saying something or nothing.  This should sound a great deal like Heidegger, and this is not entirely to say that Heidegger is as absurd as Chuang Tzu may be intending this passage to be, but that precisely, for both, absurdity of thought is what is required to understand their respective works.  Heidegger, as we saw in several places, explains being to be nothing as well as being.  Also, the dynamicism of the beginning and no-beginning invokes the imagery of the circle that he relies on in his later works.  The concluding idea of saying something or nothing, for Chuang Tzu seems to act as a questioning of the notion of causation again, the separation of a cause from its effect, which may also work well with Heidegger because of the primordial quality of the thought, of Being, of the unspoken, etc. that are always already present, and are our words in only a precarious sense of ownership.

 

 

Section Three:  The Secret of Caring for Life, pp.46-49;

aka: The Fundamentals for the Cultivation of Life

 

“There is a limit to our life, but there is no limit to knowledge.  To pursue what is unlimited with what is limited is a perilous thing.  When, knowing this, we still seek to increase our knowledge, we are simply placing ourselves in peril” (73).

 

Chef   —  skill at meat cutting … work with the mind, not eyes … to which the prince replies, “… I have heard the words of this cook, and learned the way of cultivating life” (74).

 

Mourning  —  it was traditional to mourn demonstrably, at length; One says, after uttering only three cries at Lao Tzu’s funeral that that was proper, and the others who cried so much were forgetting his teachings, forgetting nature (75).

 

 Chapter Four:  In the World of Men, pp.50-63

--5—(Watson, p.54):

Chuang Tzu, manipulating the voice of Confucius to make him more Taoist than Lao Tzu, is schooling a disciple to not mess in the affairs of foreign states without a fasted mind.  The disciple, confused, asks what this means.  Chuang Tzu/Confucius answers that he must unify his will—perhaps an anti-Nietzschean theme, because trying to control one’s will leads to ressentiment—and explains that this is because “The Way gathers in emptiness alone,” which recalls Heidegger to mind—the gathering in the Clearing of Being, the clearing that is the nothing, where being appears and withdraws.  Then, the third paragraph later, Chuang Tzu counsels on the knowledge that does not know, and to look for the ‘understanding’ of this in “that closed room, the empty chamber where brightness is born!”  Again, this recalls the clearing as the nothing, that empty space cleared in a wood, and in the revelation of Being in this clearing, Heidegger uses the term Lichtung, which contain reference to “light,” he warns that he does not mean a physical light or a metaphoric light of reason, but something else—for Chuang Tzu, the “brightness” that is born in the emptiness may be of the same “something else” nature.

 Chapter Five:  “Sign of Virtue Complete,” pp.64-72;

In Lu, Wang T’ai (had a foot cut off) had as many followers as Confucius.

Ch’ang Chi asked Confucius, how?  “He doesn’t stand up and teach, he doesn’t sit down and discuss, yet they go to him empty and come home full.  Does he really have some wordless teaching, some formless way of bringing the mind to completion?  What sort of man is he?” (64).

Confucius: “this man is a sage.  It’s just that I’ve been tardy and haven’t gone to see him yet” (64). 

Why the flattery from Confucius?  The idea that he has lost a foot, yet it is no matter to him; sees clearly and does not ‘shift’ with things.

From point of view of difference, all is poor; from point of view of sameness, then there is all unity. 

“A man like doesn’t know what his ears or eyes should approve—he lets his mind play in the harmony of virtue” (65). 

“… he uses his knowledge to get at his mind, and uses his mind to get at the constant mind” (65).

“Proof that a man is holding fast to the beginning lies in the fact of his fearlessness” (65).

Chapter Six:  “Great and Venerable Teacher,” pp.73-88.

Sam Francis lithograph

L183 SF203, 1975

Comparison to Lyotard:

Chuang Tzu’s philosophy so far, for example, exemplified in statements like “but forget what cannot be forgotten—that may be called true forgetting” (71) and his promotion of being a “man without feelings” (72), seems very contrary to Lyotard, who is so actively striving by every means possible to express the surplus, the unpresented in presentation (which may be another good description for the Tao).  But, Lyotard’s constant striving moves through and beyond logic into the affective/aesthetic.  This is still feeling, which Chuang Tzu wants us beyond (but, specifically, Chuang Tzu wants us beyond feeling as a discrimination).  But…

If we recall Lyotard’s explanation of Sam Francis and promotion of the passivity of the activity, the pathos that accompanies passio, we see a pleasure that is not an active driving that can enslave us, but one in which we can actively rest.  This is like the second potentiality that is not destroyed in the actualization.  This may be Chuang Tzu’s being in forgetting, the forgetting of that which cannot be forgotten, which may be a non-intentional acceptance, a “letting be!”

This may be the end we don’t get to in Lyotard.  What he holds out to try and get to, but says it may be impossible.

So, Lyotard may pay more attention to the how in Chuang Tzu, than the end itself. 

So, how do we get it?  Via other voices (namely Confucius), he sometimes says how we do it (by not doing), sometimes says this by non-sense, pseudo-logic, and humor, and sometimes he shows us how—look at the form of the work, the undoing of Confucianism, the invocation of images that then mutate out of the fixed form itself (the fish that is a bird, yet then there is bird and there is fish), etc.

Sam Francis lithograph

L183 SF203, 1975

Chapter Seven:  “Fit for Emperors and Kings,”

pp.89-95;

Aphorism 1: p. 89; Nieh Ch’üeh, Wang Ni, and Master P’u-i:

Nieh Ch’üeh:  Same as interlocuter in “Discussion on Making all Things Equal” concerning the all taste is subjective discussion, and the “perfect man.”  Supposedly, Nieh Ch’üeg is not just being cruel here, his delight is the realization that there are no answers to questions.

Wang Ni: Same as interlocuter in “Discussion on Making all Things Equal” concerning the all taste is subjective discussion, and the “perfect man” (i.e. a sage).

Master P’u-i: teacher of Wang Ni.

Clansman Yu-Yü: is the Sage ruler Shun, the one the Confucians held up as a model of benevolence and virtue.

Clansman T’ai: is an unidentified ruler of later antiquity.

Note here that to be able to have a realm of “not-man,” one must have already identified what “man” is; so the gist is that Shun had categorized “man,” but not the other, the not-me category, whereas T’ai did not categorize the not-me and did not truly even categorize himself, or the realm of man, since sometimes he considered himself a horse or cow, thus, he transcended these categories altogether. 

Aphorism 2: p.89-90; Chien Wu and Chieh Yü (madman):

Chieh Yü: the mad man, talked about previously in the very end of “In the World of Men” section, Confucius also mentions him in Analects XVIII, 5.  Note the idea shown here of the wisdom of the insane—view madness as not a biological degeneracy, but as an aberration from societal norms.  (One could see a similar character in Shakespeare’s Fools, or a prophet who may be thought to be crazy instead of having a divine message).

Chieh Yü tells Chien Wu is reciting a bogus virtue—the sage does not govern what is external, the sage first makes sure of him/herself, then acts.  There are several unusual things herein; first, the ‘knowing self’ is a “sense” of self, but as we have seen, there is no promotion of a strong intellectual self-understanding  in Taoism; second, there is equally no strong promotion of action in Taoism, but only an active nonaction that is a being natural.  Hence, the examples from the non-rational animals, the bird who flies higher than arrows and the mouse that burrows below man’s smoking them out, as those with this sense and action. 

Aphorism 3: p.90-91; T’ien Ken and the Nameless Man:

T’ien Ken encounters and asks the Nameless Man about how to rule the world.  The Nameless Man replies “Get away from me, you peasant!” (90).  Granted, peasants do not rule, thus T’ien Ken is not a peasant, but someone concerned with ruling, thus one for whom such is in the realm of possibility; so, why does he call him a peasant?  Peasants are enslaved by lack of power, be it from class, name, money, etc.  Thus, for the Nameless Man, what is it that the elite, those who are or may be rulers, enslaved by?  Worldly concerns. 

In contrast, the Nameless Man says that he is about to “set off” with the Creator, may then ride on the Light-and-Lissome Bird, if he gets bored with the Creator, and wander in the village of Not-Even-Anything and live in the Broad-and-Borderless field.  Thus, he is going to commute with the inconceivable, do the inconceivable, move through the inconceivable, and live in the inconceivable.  Why are these all inconceivable?  They are all excessive than our capacity to think them because we only think things by differentiating them from other things, by categorizing them, so as to name and know them.  All that the Nameless Man names are things that are not differentiate-able or categorize-able as other than the negation of what we can know. 

But, T’ien Ken persists and asks the Nameless Man again about ruling and he replies: “Let your mind wander in simplicity, blend your spirit with the vastness, follow along with things the way they are, and make no room for personal views—then the world will be governed” (91).  This is standard Taoist depiction of the ideal rule: make no distinctions, be natural, unify with the Tao and come into harmony with it.

Aphorism 4: p.91-92; Yang-tzu Chü speaks to Lao Tan (Lao Tzu):

Yang-tzu Chü says, presumably of Lao Tzu, that he is “swift as an echo, strong as a beam, with a wonderfully clear understanding of the principles of things, studying the Way without ever letting up” and asks if such a man would not compare to an enlightened king.  Lao Tzu replies, no, “in comparison to the sage, a man like this is a drudging slave …” (91).  Why is this?  The flattery seems to be promoting a natural harmony with the Way, which would be positive.  Perhaps because the comparisons are a differentiation of the humanliness of Lao Tzu when setting up parallels to the natural?  Perhaps because the understanding of the Tao is too laden with an active striving?  Lao Tzu says such a man is like a slave, thus, beholden to the Way; he continues by explaining “… [such a man is like] a craftsman bound to his calling …” (91).  This is also perplexing, for we have gotten explanations of the perfect craftsman so in tune with his action that he simply is and does what he is and does, without thinking through it.  Here, the presumption seems to be that a craftsman is enslaved to his craft, bound to the differentiation of things in their creation.  Pages 128-9, in the section “Mastering Life,” there is a promotion of s/he who is beyond work, thus lives simply “free and easy,” and not tied to the practicality of profession or trade.  Presumably this is the derogation of the craftsman here.

Lao Tzu continues, “They say it is the beautiful markings of the tiger and the leopard that call out the hunters, the nimbleness of the monkey and the ability of the dog to catch rats that make them und up chained” (91).  Compare this back to the discussions of the usefulness of be not-useful of the massive gourds and gnarled trees on pages 28-30: there, “If there’s no use for it, how can it come to grief or pain” (30).  Likewise, that which enslaves the dog is his ability to catch rats, that which gets the tiger killed is the beauty of his fur, etc.  That which makes them useful, makes them prey to grief and pain by our making use of them.  Thus, we see the import of Lao Tzu’s comment about a man so great lends himself easy prey to be made into a ruler, thus bringing him pain and grief by tying him to worldly concerns.

As in the last aphorism, the interlocutor persists in questioning and Lao Tzu offers a pat explanation of the Taoist ideal ruler: “His achievements blanket the world but appear not to be his own doing …” (91): thus, active non-action; “… he lets everything find its own enjoyment” (92): thus, the people do not depend on him, thus do not harness him to the world and bring him grief, but that they, too, become natural and simply do. 

“He takes his stand on what cannot be fathomed and wanders where there is nothing at all” (92).  As with the teaching of the Nameless Man, Lao Tzu is promoting a way of being that avoids differentiation; he goes not with purpose, but wanders; his intellectual commitment is a taking a stand on what exceeds intellectual capture. 

Aphorism 5: p.92-95; Yang-tzu Chü speaks to Lao Tan (Lao Tzu):

This shows a debunking of shaman divination (debunking it as being superior to Taoism) (see page 136 for additional debunking of divination, re: turtle shells). 

Chi Hsien: a shaman in Cheng;

Lieh Tzu: Taoist student of Hu Tzu, who become enamored with shaman;

Hu Tzu: Sage teacher of Taoism.

Lieh Tzu reports his enamorment with shaman to his teacher Hu Tzu, promoting the shaman as wisest (92); Hu Tzu responds, you have not yet mastered Taoism, how can you judge it inferior to the shaman?  Hu Tzu asks Lieh Tzu to bring the shaman to see him (thus, to demonstrate to his student that the shaman is inferior). 

The shaman reports to Lieh Tzu that his teacher is going to die before the week is out.  Lieh Tzu goes in tears to Hu Tzu, who responds, no, I showed to the shaman the “Pattern of Earth,” and supposes that he saw in him “the Workings of Virtue Closed Off” (which would not be negative, strictly so, but that “virtue” as the earth’s vital force, thus, a stillness and silence).  Asks for the shaman to come back, which he does.  Reports that the master is well again, had signs of life, “the stirring of what had been closed off” (93).  The master reports that he showed him “Heaven and Earth—no name or substance to it, but still the workings … the Workings of the Good One” (93).  Asks for the shaman to come back, which he does.  Reports that “Your master is never the same!” (93).  The master reports that he showed him the “Great Vastness Where Nothing Wins Out.  He probably saw in me the Workings of the Balanced Breaths” (93).  Asks for the shaman to come back, which he does, but upon seeing the master again, he loses his wits and runs away; Lieh Tzu is unable to catch him, and comes back to the master, who reports that he showed him the “Not Yet Emerged from My Source” (94).  The empty horror of this scared off the shaman. 

“After this, Lieh Tzu concluded that he had never really begun to learn anything,” about the true mysteries of Taoism (94).  He went home, for three years, replaced his wife at the stove, cared for the pigs as if citizens, got rid of all differentiations; “and in this oneness he ended his life” (94).  Of course, this is ambiguous… did he die, or did just what was “human,” the endless attachment to the worldliness, die?  Regardless, if seems that this was positive.

Note that the debunking of shamanism shows the shaman to be truly skilled at seeing what others do not see; his gifts are not questioned.  The only debunking is that shamanism is better than Taoism.  Instead, the passage seems to suggest that the shaman can only read what is, whereas the Taoist sage can make the mysteries at his bidding that the other can read. 

Aphorism 6: p.95; Shu [Brief], Hu [sudden], and Hun-tun [chaos]:

Shu [Brief], emperor of the South Sea;

Hu [sudden], emperor of the North Sea;

Hun-tun [chaos], emperor of the central region.

Shu and Hu would meet in the realm of Hun-tun from time to time.  Hun-tun was very generous letting the two others meet in his realm; the others discussed how they could repay his kindness.  They decided that all human beings have seven openings (mouths, ears, etc.), but that Hun-tun had no openings; thus, they decided to drill him some; on the seventh day, with the drilling of the seventh hole, Hun-tun died.

Yes, this is a truly bizarre aphorism.  Something pat is clear: acts of kindness done in ignorance are not guaranteed to be as intended.  But, a deeper reading suggests something more bizarre for the context.  It seems to be promoting a very radical individualism: the “emperors” are personified as humans; they take Hun-tun to be human, although not configured in the ways of humans, and they presume that this configuration is best, thus they modify him to match it, and in the process kill him.  Seeing him as human, as a member of the category of humans, they suppose that every member of the category must have / should have the same attributes (or rights), and thus give them to him.  But, this is what kills him.  Thus, a suggestion that not all members of a category have equal ‘right’ to the same attributes or ought have the same by necessity for categorical equality.

Everything shared by “humans” in this “human category” is their nature determined by social convention (what we see them as all sharing).  Social convention goes against nature; it is an imposition upon nature.  They failed to recognize Hun-tun’s natural individuality. 

Of course, this is a bizarre reading, too; Chuang Tzu has, so far, been promoting the loosening of discriminatory practices, thus, that by which we could either discern Hun-tun as different or as the same.  Thus, the better suggestion is a “don’t mess with nature” message herein, where, without presuming all parties to share a category one would not need to try to ensure all members to have all the required aspects that constitute that category’s sameness, and then would not go messing with nature to ensure equality. 

 

Chapter Seventeen:  Autumn Floods

 

Jo, the god of the sea, or the “Spirit of the Ocean” is the speaker, lecturing P’ing-i, the lord of the river or the god of the Yellow River, on the Tao’s perspective (there is neither noble nor mean) versus everyday human perspective (things are relative and divided).

On Relativity: (from the point of view of differences) we calculate incessantly, and this is negative (“… muddled and confused and can never get anywhere” (99)); we call things great when they are greater, not acknowledging that all things must be great, then, because all things are greater than something else (97-101).

“If a thing has no form, then numbers cannot express its dimensions, and if it cannot be encompassed, then numbers cannot express its size.  We can use words to talk about the coarseness of things and we can use our minds to visualize the fineness of things.   But what words cannot describe and the mind cannot succeed in visualizing—this has nothing to do with coarseness or fineness” (99).

On Function: we call things useful when they fulfill functions, not acknowledging that all things must be useful, then, because all things are used for something (101).

On Preference: we approve of something/one approved by someone, not acknowledging that all things must be approved of, then, because no thing cannot be approved of somehow (101).

Battering Rams (101-2): can knock down walls, not fill holes—uses are different—difference in function;

Horses: can gallop, not catch rats—gifts of different creatures are different—difference in skill;

Owls: can see at night, not in the day—natures of different creatures are different—difference in nature (1021-2).

Much repetition of Tao Te Ching insights on the Tao (without beginning, without end, no permanence, empty and full, nature continues, etc., pp.103 ff).  Establishes the paradox of a normative ethics: nothing can be stopped, so, “What should you do and what should you not do?  Everything will change of itself, that is certain!” (103).

“‘If that is so,’ said the Lord of the River, ‘then what is there valuable about the Way?’” (103).  Jo, the god of the sea, responds: “He who understands the Way is certain to have command of basic principles … [which will permit one] “to know how to deal with circumstances. … [which will permit one] to deal … and not allow things to do him harm” (103-4).

Distinction between Heavenly (Natural) and Human (Artificial) (104 (77, de bary)):

Horses and Oxen have four legs: heavenly / natural

A halter on one a string in the nose of the other: human / artificial

“… do not let what is human wipe out what is Heavenly; do not let what is purposeful wipe out what is fated; do not let [the desire for] gain lead you after fame.  Be cautious, guard it, and do not lose it—this is what I mean by returning to the True” (104).  (“… do not let the artificial obliterate the natural; do not let effort obliterate destiny; do not let enjoyment be sacrificed to fame.  Diligently observe these precepts without fail, and thus you will revert to the original innocence” (77, de Bary).)

– note how this sounds more like the Tao Te Ching than the Chuang Tzu with the emphasis on return / reversion …

Envy:

A one-legged thing envies the millipede; the millipede envies the snake; the snake envies the wind; the wind envies the eye; the eye envies the mind (104). –all envious of the courage of the sage.

“Confucius” reappears; passing through K’uang, troops surround him; he keeps on playing lute and moves right through.  Tzu Lu asks him how he can be so carefree?  Confucius explains not striving, just acknowledging fate (time and circumstance / nature).  Then discusses courage of the sage: “To understand that hardship is a matter of fate, that success is a matter of the times, and to face great difficulty without fear—this is the courage of the sage” (106).

Sophists / Logicians:

Kung-sun Lung speaking / asking advice of Prince Mou of Wei:

“I confounded the wisdom of the hundred schools and demolished the arguments of a host of speakers.  I believed that I had attained the highest degree of accomplishment.  But now I have heard the words of Chuang Tzu and I am bewildered by their strangeness.  I don’t know whether my arguments are not as good as his, or whether I am no match for him in understanding.  I find now that I can’t even open my beak” (107).

Prince responds by telling of frog in a caved-in well.  For the Frog, it was fantastic.  The Turtle came to visit; he was too big, it was uncomfortable; he told of the Eastern Sea as fantastic.  “When the frog in the caved-in well heard this, he was dumbfounded with surprise, crestfallen, and completely at a loss” (108).

To Kung-sun Lung, Mou says: “Now your knowledge cannot even define the borders of right and wrong, and still you try to see through the words of Chuang Tzu—this is like trying to make a mosquito carry a mountain on its back or a pill bug race across the Yellow River.  You will never be up to the task!” (108).  Thus, the logician is like the frog; Chuang Tzu is like the turtle.  Adds that he best get going now, for there is a good chance he will forget what he was once so good at and knew if he stays and tries to understand Chuang Tzu (109).

Governing:

The King of Ch’u wished to give his kingdom to Chuang Tzu.  The latter, who was fishing, did not look up at the messengers (thus, not even tempted) but asked, the King has a sacred (dead) turtle wrapped up in the castle, right?  Yes.  Does it enjoy it more there or dragging its tail in the mud.  Dragging its tail in the mud [b/c then it would be alive].  “Go away!  I’ll drag my tail in the mud!” (109).

There is no moral obligation to govern.  This is also suggestive that there is no moral obligation to other people, as well (except to avoid mucking them up with artificiality). 

Chuang Tzu remarks, look at the minnows enjoying themselves swimming about!  Hui Tzu asks, how do you know they find that pleasurable?  You are not a fish!  (An argument from position of relativity.)  Chuang Tzu says, well, you are not me, so how do you know I do not know?  (A more radical relativity to counter relativity.)  Hui Tzu says, but I know you are not a fish, even if I am not you.  Chuang Tzu says, no, go back to the first question, you asked me how I know, not that they do or do not enjoy the swimming.  So, your question affirms the truth of their enjoyment and only asks about my knowledge—and I know it by standing here besides the Hao river (thus, suggestive of the validity of intuition, thus countering an absolute relativity) (110).

 

Section 18: “Supreme Happiness,” pp.111-117

“Is there such a thing as supreme happiness in the world or isn’t there?  Is there some way to keep yourself alive or isn’t there?  What to do, what to rely on what to avoid, what to stick by, what to follow, what to leave along, what to find happiness in, what to hate?” (111).

The world honors: wealth, eminence, long life, a good name;

World finds happiness in: a life of ease, fine food, fine clothes, beautiful sights, sweet sounds;

World looks down on: poverty, meanness, early death, bad name;

World finds bitter: life that knows no rest, mouth that gets no food, no fine clothes for a body, no beauty for the eye, no sweet sounds for the ear;

“People who can’t get these things fret a great deal and are afraid—this is a stupid way to treat the body” (111). 

Courageousness is seen as good; but not the best way to stay alive, “So I don’t know whether their goodness is really good or not” (112).

“Tzu-hsü wrangled and lost his body.  But if he hadn’t wrangled, he wouldn’t have made a name.  Is there really such a thing as goodness or isn’t there? (112). 

Wu Tzu-hsü, a minister to the King of Wu, warned the king over and again that they would be vulnerable to an attack from a neighboring state (Yüeh), but warned him so many times the king became annoyed and suspicious, forcing Tzu-hsü to commit suicide (approx. 484 b.c.e.).

“I” counter to “common people”—“I’m not happy with it [all that common people are happy with] and I’m not unhappy with it” (112) and “I take inaction to be true happiness, but ordinary people think it is a bitter thing” (112). 

Note that this “happiness” is sounding suspiciously like the Tao: inactive activity (keeping alive without acting at it), beyond praise, beyond ‘happiness’, can decide right and wrong (no matter being beyond differentiation), its creative (while inactive) because “the two inactions [of Heaven and earth] combine and all things are transformed and brought to birth” (112), wonderful and mysterious, from no place, having no sign …!

Concerning the report about Chuang Tzu singing over his wife’s death—

Recall that the Confucians held elaborate rituals for the death of a loved one, for example, Han Fei Tzu says that the Confucians will “bankrupt the family to carry out a funeral, wearing mourning robes for three years, reducing themselves to physical exhaustion and walking about with canes” (Han Fei Tzu, §50, p.119).  Mo Tzu talks condemningly about the Confucians as “… there are some gentlemen of later ages who maintain that elaborate funerals and lengthy mourning are manifestations of benevolence and righteousness and the duty of a filial son …” (Mo Tzu, part III, §25).  This touches on the importance of funerals—filial piety, duty, etc., but one should also note the emphasis on elaborate funerals in Confucians, and not as much in Confucius’ own writings.  Thus, Chuang Tzu can be seen as attacking the rites of mourning as not being natural.  Final note—both the later Taoists and Confucians became rather obsessed with elixirs for immortality, to be old was to be honored, and to live for ever was a mission (The Yellow Emperor, mentioned shortly after this, was said to be immortal).

Uncle Lack-Limb and Uncle Lame-Gait (113-4):

The willow in the elbow of Uncle Lame-Gait—first he is annoyed, then admits he is not resentful, “To live is to borrow.  And if we borrow to live, then life must be a pile of trash. …Why would I have anything to resent?” (114).  –although I really like the imagery of a willow in one’s elbow, seems a perfectly ‘reasonable’ situation for Chuang Tzu, but, in all fairness we can take note of the note that says that the character for “willow” can also be used prosaically for “tumor.”

Talking Skull:  Chuang Tzu went to Ch’u, saw an old skull (114-5):

How did you come to this, skull?  Used it for a pillow (likely never a good idea); it came to him in a dream and talked to him to offer a lecture on the dead.  The dead have no rulers, no subjects, no chores, all have nothing to do, this is pure happiness.  Would you come back to life, Chuang Tzu asked; no, replied the skull, why would I throw away happiness and take on the troubles of human life again?

James Ensor, “From Laughter to Tears,” 1908

Yen Yüan went to Ch’I, Confucius was worried:

Yen Yüan: aka Yen Hui, mentioned in the beginning of “In the World of Men,” was said to be Confucius’ favorite disciple.

Kuan Tzu: aka Kuan Chuang, statesman mentioned in Analects, Confucius seemed to admire him.

Sui-jen and Shen-nung: mythic heroes—the first is like a Chinese Prometheus, who discovered fire, the latter discovered agriculture.

Why so worried?  Telling the tales of Taoism to those who may think themselves better than they are will prompt them to seek greatness within, fail to find it, become distraught, and kill.

Bird (116):

The marquis of Lu tried to royally entertain a bird in human style; it died after three days.  “This is to try to nourish a bird with what you would nourish you instead of what would nourish a bird.  If you want to nourish a bird, then you should let it roots in the deep forest, play among the banks and islands … live any way it chooses” (116).

“Creatures differ ….  Therefore the former sages never required the same ability from all creatures or made them all do the same thing” (116).

“Names should stop when they have expressed reality, concepts of right should be founded on what is suitable.  This is what it means to have command of reason, and good fortune to support you” (116).

Skull (encore; 116-7):

Lieh Tzu encounters an old skull; “Only you and I know that you have never died and you have never lived.  Are you really unhappy?  Am I really enjoying myself?” (116-7).

Paul Delvaux, “The Conversation,”

1944.

Evolution (117):

The last part of the section, the crazy evolution to humanity, is mostly based on diverse ancient Chinese folklore, but I have not had much luck locating what and where.  If anyone is particularly well versed in this area, please bring your ideas to class.  The point is captured in the last quote, a unity from which and to which all differentiation springs and returns. 

Seeds have mysterious workings; become different things depending upon where they sprout.  If the conditions of growth are diverse, development is diverse (e.g., Hill Slippers become Crow’s Feet if the soil is rich).  Different parts become different things, too (e.g., roots become maggots and leaves become butterflies; then these things transform, e.g., butterflies become insects under the stove).  Plants to bugs to animals, with cross-breeding therein (e.g., Sheep’s Groom couples with bamboo).  Horses produce men.  “Men in time return again to the mysterious workings.  So all creatures come out of the mysterious workings and go back into them again” (117). 

Section 19: “Mastering Life,” pp.118-130

Chinese symbol for immortality

--interesting difference:

end is not immortality per se,

which would be mastery over life,

but a mastering life ...

“He who has mastered the true nature of life does not labor over what life cannot do” (118).

Section 26: “External Things,” pp.131-40.

Lung-feng:  aka Kuan Lung-feng, minister to the tyrant Chieh—see previous handout on people mentioned by Mencius for this whole story. 

(Prince) Pi Kan: minister to the tyrant Chou, mentioned in “In the World of Men.”

Prince Chi: relative of the tyrant Chou, pretended to be insane to avoid death.

E Lai: helped out Chou, was put to death for this later.

Wu Yün: aka Tzu-hsü—see above.

Ch’ang Hung: minister of Chou court, was killed—not sure about where the leaving Chou for Shu and having his blood turn to Jade in the Yangtze (Yellow River) comes from.

Hsiao-chi: son of King Wu-ting of the Shang, was known for his filial piety, had an “evil stepmother” torment him for his loyalty to his father.

Tseng Shen: Confucius’ disciple, known for his filial piety in the face of a hateful father.

“In death how do you deserve a pearl?” a pearl was placed in the mouths of the dead—later, this was converted into a “payment” idea for making it through the dead lands, not sure if it has this same connotation at Chuang Tzu’s time or not. 

Lao Lai-tzu: may or may not be Lao Tzu; the translations disagree.

Turtles and divination:  the practice of divination (method of obtaining knowledge or information not readily apparent to ordinary human senses by tapping into the power of the spiritual or superhuman realm to answer questions about human concerns) was the central feature of religion during the Shang dynasty and became an important feature of Chinese popular and elite culture—it employed several methods, the most often was scapulimancy (using shoulder bones of animals or tortoise shells) aka oracle bones.  These would have a written question on them, then be burned in a fire.  How the bone cracked was then interpreted by a religious leader, who would then report the response of the gods.

“Words exist because of meaning; once you’ve gotten the meaning, you can forget the words.  Where can I find a man who has forgotten words so that I can have a word with him?” (140). 

Ha!  Great end for a text.  The similarities to Pseudo-Dionysius are remarkable …

Lyotard comparison …