Chuang Tzu—Part 2

 "The Peace of the Dead" 

While wandering along the road one day, a scholar finds a human skull lying off the path, in the woods. He steps aside and picks up the skull, and gazing at it, Hamlet-like, asks it questions. How did you die? Was your time simply up, or were you involved in some nefarious activity? Were you murdered? Was your death just? What activities were you ripped from, by death?

The skull remains silent. The scholar remains looking at the skull for a while longer, then stuffs it in his pack and continues his trek. Later, when it comes time to bed down for the night, the scholar uses the skull as a pillow. As he falls asleep, the skull appears to him in a dream; telling the scholar that all his questions had been about the struggles and problems of the living, and how one comes to meet death. When you are dead, the skull now replies in the dream, all those concerns are gone. Human struggles are of no concern to the dead. He asks the scholar if he'd like to know what it's like to be dead. Yes, certainly, replies the scholar... all people want to know about what the afterlife is like.

Well, the skull says, when you are dead, there are no tyrants or oppressive rulers above you, making life difficult. There are no concerns or or hassles of all those below you to deal with. There are no such humanly problems. Time passes very leisurely, as it does in heaven—not frantically and so fast, as it does for the living. Indeed, even the lavish life of a king has no appeal for the dead.

Hmmm, the scholar thinks. That's interesting. In order to understand better, he then asks the skull, supposing he had the power to restore life to him, giving the skull back all that he had lost, would he go for it? The skull ponders the question for a moment and says no. After all, how could he abandon something that is better than the lavish life of a king, let alone revisit all those other difficulties of life?

"The Poor Scholar"  

A high official encounters a scholar who is dressed in shabby clothes; who appears very raggedy. The official asks the scholar why he is so wretched. The scholar responds that what the man is seeing is not wretchedness, but poverty. Wretchedness is far worse; it occurs when one understands the Way and when one knows how to follow the Tao, but does not do either. That's internal wretchedness. My clothes are tattered. That's just an external sign that I'm poor, not wretched.

Chuang Tzu—Part 1

"Reading Their Dregs”

An elderly craftsman, wandering down the road, comes upon a scholar who is reading from a book. He asks the scholar what he's reading and gets the reply that it's the revered words of the sages. When he asks the scholar if they are still alive, he is told that they have died. The craftsman abruptly tells the scholar that he's reading the dregs of the sages.

Incensed, the scholar demands how an uneducated craftsman can be qualified to comment on what a scholar is reading. How could such a lowly person have any idea of the nature of his erudite reading? He demands an explanation for the man's audacity.

As the craftsman responds, he describes how he has perfected, over many decades, his skill of crafting high-quality wooden barrels. He knows exactly how to place the staves and fit them together so they form a tight fit, so the barrel never leaks. He has been unable, however, to describe his skill to anyone—even his own son. Words fail him and he knows he will take to his grave most of the knowledge of making a fine barrel. He tells the scholar that it must be the same situation for the ancient sages. They died with their real wisdom still unexpressed. So you, the scholar, must be reading their dregs.

“Why Mourn?”

A scholar is found sitting on the ground, banging on a drum and singing wildly, not long after his wife had died. His friend comes upon him and is shocked, asking him how he could be carrying on like this, almost in celebration, so soon after his wife's death. He had lived with her for so many years and had a deep and loving relationship. This display is disgraceful to her memory.

The scholar responds that, right after her death he had mourned deeply and cried. But as he considered her life, he came to see that during the time before she was born, she was nothing. No physical body... no mind. No spirit. Then a miracle occurred and she came into being—she then had a body, mind, and spirit. She existed. It was a true miracle.

Then another miracle happened: she died and no longer existed. It was the same as before she was born. The seasons follow one another in a similar manner. So it was for her and for everyone. It was appropriate for me to mourn her and cry at her death, but if I had continued to mourn, wouldn't that have shown my ignorance, my lack of respect for her... for her life?

So I ceased mourning. Now I sit and sing, as I bang my drum.

Chuang Tzu—Ancient Chinese Sage

Chuang Tzu was a Chinese teacher and sage who lived in the fourth century BCE, during what is called the Warring States period. It was a chaotic time in which several Chinese states vied for power—in the wake of the collapse of the Zhou dynasty a hundred or so years earlier. Many Chinese scholars during this period were regretful that China had sunk into this violent time. They missed the peaceful and just Zhou reign and longed for either a return to the mores of that time, or looked forward to a new period of peace and civility.

The most well-known sage of this period was Confucius. His name and teachings have been widely disseminated in the West. Besides Confucius and Chuang Tzu, other prominent scholars and philosophers of the time were Lao Tzu, Mencius, and Mozi.

Chuang Tzu stands out from his contemporaries for me, because he was a recluse (he has things to say to this old hermit), but mostly because his writings are elegant, beautifully expressed, accessible to modern Western minds, and full of humor. He did not take himself seriously, as did most of his cohorts. In a number of ways, his outlook on life is similar to Socrates—whom I wrote about recently. Both of them looked upon the human condition with a skeptical eye, while maintaining a good degree of wittiness.

Chuang Tzu maintained that the quest for understanding is our top priority in life. His conclusion: while knowledge is unlimited, life is limited—so dedicate yourself to life-long learning. He taught that a simple life made the most sense, as he eschewed fame, wealth, and influence.

Chuang Tzu was the inspiration for Zen Buddhism—which has its roots in Taoism. Taoism is an ancient Chinese religion or philosophical tradition that emphasizes living in harmony with the Tao—which means “path” or “way.” The Tao is an undefinable concept, so I won't struggle to explain it here. I'll just try to describe a little of what it means to be a follower of the Tao.

The way of the Tao is a mystical path, one that leads us to a highly moral way of life—in which our actions mean far more that our words or beliefs. It is not a discipline that can be verbalized. It requires that we live simply, while we open ourselves to the spontaneity of the universe, with no preconceived ideas or answers. We do not precipitously jump into action, but allow the Tao to show us the way to act morally and effectively.

Taoism is full of paradoxically statements that cause the Western mind to wince. Chuang Tzu's writings express this paradox beautifully. Like good poetry, the message may not be apparent on first reading; but by slowing down, opening your mind to the deeper message, the wisdom shines through.

In the next three posts I will offer some of Chuang Tzu's more accessible (to the Western mind) writings. They are in my own words, but attempt to faithfully follow his message. There are numerous translations of Chuang Tzu into English, but they differ a lot, because the translators had to do much guessing, in order to render it approachable to modern English-speaking people.

Contented Cows

A photo by my friend Shell Fischer. Click to enlarge.

Gainsaying Guidance—Part 2

So what is the value of a list of negative instructions? To begin with, it leaves one with room for varying interpretations of a situation, so the guidelines can be adaptable to different situations. The lack of explicitness provides for a flexibility that can change with time and circumstances.

As another way to look at it, at any moment there are a wide variety of actions I could take. Which of these actions would cause me problems in the future and which would be beneficial for me and others? It's often not obvious. If some kind of inner negative guidance helps me avoid doing something stupid, I can dodge a lot of problem behaviors. That's good. Then I can put attention toward the many other (better) alternatives, trusting my daemon to steer me clear of the grief of poor choices. I thus have much more freedom and autonomy.

The numerous (positive) alternative choices can open up a whole new world of possibilities that I might otherwise have never explored. Which are the “right” choices to select? There may be no right choice, but instead a host of good choices, each one resulting in something new and wonderful. With help from my daemon, I've been granted the freedom to pursue any number of creative avenues and avoid dead ends. New worlds open up to me that I could never have imagined—especially if I had been pushed toward just one choice. If I can trust the voice of the daemon to steer me away from stupid choices, I'm free to find alternatives that I might otherwise never have discovered.

Another way to consider this is that the inner daemon can alternatively be considered to be a voice of conscience or prudence. Thus, it can become a voice of moral authority, because it can stop me from doing unethical things. That's exactly how Socrates saw it. As he pondered a certain action, and if the voice was silent, he assumed that the action was moral, was appropriate, or good.

In fact, during his trial before his fellow Athenians, Socrates had several opportunities to acquit himself, but because his daemon remained silent, he did not play it safe, but stuck his neck out, to find it under attack. In the end, he concluded that death was OK, because it is not evil—otherwise his daemon would have advised him to use his considerable persuasive oratorical talents to save himself.

I find inspiration in Socrates' description of how his negative daemon guided him through life. There is no audible inner voice of mine that I have been able to discern, but the concept of some kind of conscience that steers me away from immoral behavior, while leaving me free to choose the many ethical behaviors available, is inspiring. Socrates is a good guide for heading in an ethical direction.

Gainsaying Guidance—Part 1

Socrates has been regarded for some 2500 years as one of the first and foremost Western philosophers. His influence continues to be felt in modern society. He had many lessons about knowledge and reality to teach us. Many of his fellow Athenians flocked to listen to his teachings. Certainly, there were (and still are) detractors who like to point out that some of what he taught was wrong. After all, any philosopher is bound to have other philosophers find fault with their ideas—it's the nature of the profession. And, after all, wasn't Socrates sentenced to death for his teachings? There obviously were some Athenians who had problems with his message.

I don't wish to dive here into the controversy about the validity of Socrates' worthiness or rightness of his teachings. I don't feel qualified to do so, but I do feel that he had some excellent ideas to inspire us moderns. In particular, he had two ideas about his personal life that I have found very useful.

For one, he maintained that, although he had acquired a reputation for having a large amount of knowledge (making him a wise dude in others' eyes), he was keenly aware of how much he didn't know. He was regarded by many of his fellow Athenians as wise, and he repeatedly demonstrated his wisdom, but he never posed as being a sage; he never claimed to be wise. He repeatedly talked about how little he understood, despite having devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge. I find this attitude far more appealing than those who act foolishly, while insisting that they have all the answers. (This was the source of his conflict with many powerful Athenians.) But this post is about Socrates' second idea... maybe I'll pursue this first one another time.

The second idea or practice of Socrates that speaks to me is his description of an inner voice that spoke to him, as he was about to do something. He called this voice his “daemon,” which he saw as sort of an interior moral teacher; he even saw it as a form of divinity. His daemon always warned him what not to do in a given situation. And here's the crucial point: it was a negative voice, delivering sort of a gainsaying guidance to him. His daemon (in modern times the word has interestingly evolved into the word “demon”) never indicated what he should do, it never gave him advice or direction—it just warned him away from certain problematic activities.

Again, this experience places Socrates at odds with most people—who would prefer to have their inner guidance be positive. They'd like to have their interior voice tell them what to do. It's easier. In fact, many people—when they lack that inner positive (or negative) voice—turn to external advice for their proper behavior. That's what the dogma of political, social, and religious institutions is pretty much about. “Do what I tell you to do, and all will be well.”

Socrates is not the sole proponent of negative guidance, however. Other wisdom traditions have offered similar gainsaying guidance. For example, the Ten Commandments are a prime example of negative mandates: “Thou shalt not...,” and the list goes on.

More on Socrates' negative daemon next time...

The Evolution of Hell—Part 2

When the USA was founded, most Americans leaned towards the Protestant concept of hell. They believed that hell was necessary as a deterrent against serious crime, as a way to keep citizens on the straight and narrow. If there was any doubt about the issue, the US introduced the death penalty as an additional threat to those who might contemplate committing major crimes.

But the trend on the part of some people to defang the threat of hell continued. Newer religions—Mormons and Adventists—brought some shades of gray back in. They advocated for the existence of several layers of hell—allowing one to escape everlasting damnation for the less serious sins.

America's involvement in major wars—the Civil War, two world wars, and Vietnam—convinced some of its citizens that we humans are able to create a kind of hell right here on Earth. In the wake of the two world wars many people around the world were very discouraged at the human propensity to create misery. Some of them even began to maintain that hell was not really a “place” at all that we go to after death, but is more a metaphor for the torment that we create in this life.

Evangelicals, however, have held fast to an eternal, single hell... there are no shades of gray. Yet surveys show that fewer and fewer Americans subscribe to this depiction of hell. In recent polls about three quarters of Americans do believe in God, but only about half of them believe in hell.

So we have a significant divide in America, not only in politics, but also about the nature of hell. Some say it's not real; that we make our own personal hell in this life. Others say that hell does exist and that we need it as a deterrent against human atrocities, or at least to induce people to lead a moral life. Those who believe hell may not be an actual place lean toward an interpretation of God as a loving and forgiving being. Those who take the second position believe that hell is necessary to keep people on the straight and narrow—in fact, some of them do so to literally frighten people into holding to their belief of hell.

I think it is important to remember that no one has died, experienced some kind of afterlife, and returned to tell us about it. Some people believe that they have gotten a glimpse of the afterlife, but we have no real evidence. Thus the very existence of an afterlife—let alone the reality of heaven or hell—remains a belief... pure and simple. And that belief, as I've described, has evolved over time. The truth of the matter is beyond the purview of science, so that discipline cannot help. It is the realm of faith, of religious doctrine. No doubt human views on the existence (or not) of hell will likely continue to evolve and change. Stay tuned.