Ziporyn on Zhuangzi III: Being What Happens Is Non-Dependence

Scott Bradley

This might be a good time to clarify that, despite the title of this post and those preceding and following, my invocation of Ziporyn’s name is not intended to imply that what I say here is a faithful representation of his views. Much of what I say, however, is an affirmative response to what I understand his take on Zhuangzi to be, and thus I continue (for convenience) to use his name, even when I do not make explicit reference to his words (in Ironies of Oneness and Difference).

I began this series with the observation that the most important aspects of Zhuangzi's philosophy — transformation, dependence and perspectival relativism — can be seen in his opening fable of the flight of Peng. This, I think, is instructive in itself. As revolutionary as his ideas might be, they are at root, really quite simple.

The vast bird Peng is herself representative of transformation; she arose from the vast fish Kun, and since Kun means "fish roe", the suggestion is that even this origin as a fish is really just from the transformative potentiality of not-yet-quite-a-fish. All is transformation. Peng flies from one Oblivion to another which, it turns out, is really just one Oblivion after all (the text identifying both destinations as "The Pool of Heaven"). This is the flight of existence of which we all partake. However, Peng, we might assume, is aware of herself as transformation, and this is the critical importance of our understanding that all is transformation — so are we. This helps to loosen our white-knuckled grip on being a "fixed-identity", and frees us to "wander".

To experience oneself as transformation is also to experience complete non-dependence relative to anything fixed. What is there to "lose" when all things are ceaselessly changing, including ourselves? Being transformation, what do we require? One rendering of a thought of Guo Xiang (252-312), the final editor of (unless one includes A.C. Graham!) and first extant commentator on the Zhuangzi, is: "Do what happens". This speaks to spontaneity, but might just as easily be rendered: "Be what happens." Being what happens is being transformation.

Being what happens is, in effect, depending on everything; but depending on everything implies depending on no one thing which is what Zhuangzi sees as the liberating experience of non-dependence on anything fixed. All that’s left is to enjoy, wander and play.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Ziporyn on the Liji VII: Walking Two Chengs

Scott Bradley

"Unseen coherence means self-completion [spontaneous coming into true being, being perfect as oneself]. Dao means self-guidance [auto-guidance, spontaneous nondeliberate directedness]. For unseen coherence is the end and beginning of each thing. Without unseen coherence there is no thing."
("The Doctrine of the Mean")

It is Guo Xiang's (252-312) take on Zhuangzi that immediately comes to mind at reading the quote above: "[E]very being without exception is released into the range of its own spontaneous attainments, so that each relies on its own innate character, each deed exactly matching its own capabilities. Since each fits perfectly into exactly the position it occupies, all are equally far-reaching and unfettered." (Ziporyn)

The difference, of course, is that Guo's focus is on the unconditional affirmability of each and every being just as it is, for no other reason than that it is. The author of the lines above focuses on the potential of self-completion. Taken together, it is a matter of realizing our unconditional self-completion so as to do the work of becoming self-complete. Or, more broadly, once we realize how that things are perfect, we can set about perfecting them.

Ziporyn speaks to this when he comments: "[W]hatever is is what it is because it is coherent as that thing, and only to that extent. This is the realness of the thing, and everything is real in some sense, even if only as a real fake." I would add that if things are only real because there is coherence, then there is also only coherence because things are real. The realness of things is contingent on nothing. The "fake" is as real as the realized real. The illusory is as real as the real. (Maya is Nirvana.) "Not-one is also One." This, for me, is the point of entry into a self-cultivation free of striving, and thus free of judgmentalism, as applied to self and others.

The Confucian author of "The Doctrine of the Mean" is most likely more concerned with the becoming; cheng (authenticity), for him, is contingent. Yet, his vision of self-cultivation is accessible to philosophical Daoism when coupled with an awareness of non-contingent cheng. We walk two chengs.

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

Building on Zhuangzi VII

Scott Bradley

I'll close this series with some final looks at the same passage considered in the previous post, this time using Ziporyn's translation:

From the point of view of the Course [Dao], no thing is more valuable than any other. But from the point of view of itself, each thing is worth more and all the others are worth less. And from the point of view of convention, the value of things is not determined by themselves.
(Zhuangzi, 17)

All three of these points of view are entirely affirmable. All three can be simultaneously exercised. This in itself is profoundly significant.

It is the view from Dao which makes this simultaneity of walking different roads possible, of course. Without this view, each individual remains fixed in its own narrow self-absorption. Illuminated by the view from Dao each individual can continue to pursue its own self-interests, as all things must and, indeed, as life itself requires them to do, but now its isolated individuality is tempered by a larger view. Now its white-knuckled grip on its own self-importance can be relaxed. Since all things are of equal value, the individual thing discovers its value as intrinsic and need not judge other things as of less value in order to prop up its own.

This helps to illustrate what Ziporyn means by Zhuangzi's "holistic omnicentrism". Centrism is the idea that one thing is the center. Unicentrism is the idea that there is One and things derive their value from this One. Omnicentrism understands how each and every thing is its own center and is thus the source of its own value. This was Guo Xiang's insightful interpretation of Zhuangzi: "Each thing self-generates, without recourse to anything that goes beyond itself." Or again, "It is all individual beings that form the very substance of heaven and earth, and it is each being's self-so that aligns true to itself. 'Self-so' means what is so of itself, without being done by anyone or for any purpose."

This omnicentrism is also holistic. The understanding that each thing has its own intrinsic worth also understands that this worth does not rest in comparison with other things, but in the view from Dao where all things are of equal value. Self-affirmation is thus universal affirmation. In this way, one's necessary self-interest is transformed into a universal interest.

Again, Guo Xiang makes this connection when he suggests that the sage "vanishingly unifies self and other" or "vanishingly disappears into things". This disappearance could easily be misunderstood as the loss of individuality if one does not remember that what makes it possible is precisely the preceding radical affirmation of individuality.

Thus, the universal affirmation of things that is the Dao-perspective also affirms things in their own intrinsic centrism, yet enables them to likewise affirm all other things in theirs.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

The Great Mystery As Teacher II: Releasing Into Mystery

Scott Bradley

Zhuangzi opens his sixth chapter with what seems to be a stock statement of philosophical wisdom. He then proceeds to deconstruct it. The gist of this wisdom is that to know what is of Heaven, that over which we have no control, and what is of the human, that which we can control, is the foundation for our most effective interface with the world. This seems true enough; we've seen it inscribed on plaques hung on bathroom walls: "Lord, teach me . . . ."

But Zhuangzi, in his own characteristic and endearing way says, "However, there is a problem here." That problem, not surprisingly, is that we really have no sure knowledge at all about what is of Heaven and what is of the human. We have no idea whatsoever if there is anything such as free-will at all; it may be that everything we do is fated to be done by us because we are us. Guo Xiang came to this conclusion: "'Heaven' is just a way of saying 'what is so of itself, the self-so'. For doing cannot be done by someone 'doing' doing. Doing is spontaneously doing; it is self-so." And again: "[N]o thing is any way but the way it should be. . . . But none of this is done by myself. What then is there to do but let it all come when it spontaneously comes?" (Ziporyn)

From Zhuangzi's perspective, Guo's fatalism makes essentially the same mistake as the conventional wisdom he rejects; it knows. However, I think Zhuangzi would agree with his conclusion that we might therefore just let it all spontaneously unfold. Whether what we do is done through free-agency or because we must really makes no difference, for we do it just the same. The point is to get on with the living.

Yet for Zhuangzi there is a place of psychological freedom (even if fated!), and this is realized in not depending on anything, known or otherwise. The problem with the conventional view that assumes free-will and Guo's is that "our understanding can be right only by virtue of a relation of dependence on something, and always what it depends on is peculiarly unfixed" (6:5). Reason is a farce, however wonderful a tool it might be, for it is only and always built on the foundation of the fantasy of its own self-assured validity. Truly releasing oneself into spontaneous doing is a consequence not of doing so because of conclusions reached, but of releasing oneself into Mystery, which is to say, depending on nothing, opening into infinite vulnerability.

And now is the time for a chuckle. For none of this really matters; all is well in any and every case. Or is that just releasing oneself into Mystery?

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Archer Yi II: Putting Down the Bow

Scott Bradley

Only a true Virtuoso can understand what is unavoidable and find peace in it as his own fate. If you play around Archer Yi's target, lurking near the bull's-eye, it is only normal to get hit. If you manage not to get hit, that's just fate, good luck.
(Zhuangzi 5:12; Ziporyn)

Guo Xiang (252-312) remarks: "Because the world is constantly at war over benefit and harm, everyone in the world is Archer Yi." Though this may be a bit off-target in terms of Zhuangzi's intended meaning here, still it makes a point well worth exploring. We are all Archer Yi in that we all deem to judge the worthiness of ourselves and others on the basis of a narrow, self-imposed and artificial bull's-eye. And no matter how worthy an archer we might be, not a soul who lurks nearby will fail to take a hit. Were we not also standing in front of our own bull's-eye perhaps this would not seriously impact our happiness, but we are and it does. And because everyone else is likewise an Archer Yi, we too are sure to take still more hits. All this leads to a great deal of unnecessary pain for us all.

Or perhaps this is germane to Zhuangzi's present story. One disciple judges another as unworthy because he is a one-footed ex-con. Clearly, there are arrows flying through the air even here where their master teaches them to "wander beyond shapes and bodies", beyond the need to judge. But of course there are; this is why these men are here. Even the victim fires back a few of his own. But let's not judge them. Like them, let's surrender ourselves into a place where we can understand how it is that we are the authors of our own pain and in accepting that gradually learn to put aside our bows.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Equalizing Things III: The Great Clump Belches

Scott Bradley

Ziqi has lost his 'me' and his disciple, Yan, like ourselves, wants to know what this means. I was thinking to (reluctantly) discuss, with the help of past commentators, the self-creates-other dualism and all that, but though I probably will in the end, I have had the novel idea of first letting Ziqi tell us, as he did Yan. The problem with this admittedly obvious idea is that his 'answer' is so circuitous that it's hard to know how it answers the question at all. But maybe it will emerge with another reading.

Immediately, Ziqi suggests three "pipings", those of man, earth, and Heaven, and exhorts Yan to hear all three. And then we are in a forest storm: "When the Great Clump belches forth its vital breath [qi], we call it the wind. As soon as it arises, raging cries emerge from all the ten thousand hollows." (Ziporyn) Yan figures he knows what the piping of man is, playing an instrument. And the howling of the forest is the piping of earth. But what, he asks, is the piping of Heaven? Guo Xiang (252-312), final editor of and first extant commentator on the Zhuangzi answers, "Just this is the piping of Heaven." Just what? Just everything; all of the above. It is all things "that collectively form the unity called Heaven." One belch is and gives rise to the ten thousand belches.

Ziqi answers: "It gusts through all the ten thousand differences, allowing each to go its own way. But since each one selects out its own, what identity can there be for the rouser?" (Ziporyn) The implications of these words are enormous. (Though before I get too excited, it needs to be noted that various translations are possible). Guo Xiang seems to have understood it as it is here, and made it one of the cornerstones of his own Neo-Daoist philosophy. Since everything does what it does because that is how it does it, what need do we have for something to make them do it? "All at once," writes Guo, "each spontaneously self-generates. . . . Thus the self is 'so of itself'." What Guo is about here is breaking from every conception of causality; "reality" happens without being made to happen. (And thus, as Guo explains, "self-so" does not mean that things generate themselves.) The very emergence of "reality" is spontaneous, uncaused, and undirected.

But Ziqi has exhorted Yan to hear all three pipings, so the piping of Heaven must be precisely this spontaneous happening, and to ‘hear’ it is to be so informed by it that one similarly allows oneself to just happen. This parallels the exhortation in chapter 4 to go beyond hearing with the ear, to hearing with the mind, to hearing with qi, “an emptiness”. And there, when a different Yan does just this (through “fasting of the heart”) he discovers that “’myself’ has never begun to exist.” Can we assume then that losing ‘me’ is the outcome of experiencing the unity in diversity of all three pipings, those of man, earth and Heaven? “Since every ‘I’ is then the Heavenly,” asks Wang Fuzhi (1619-1692), “to what opposite [me] could I be coupled?”

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

The Flight of Existence III: Size Doesn't Matter

Scott Bradley

The enormous fish that swims in the Northern Oblivion is named Kun, "fish roe". Its vastness is incalculable for the human mind, and yet it is also a mere speck of potentiality. Size does not matter; size means nothing; does it even exist? Kun transforms into the mighty bird Peng whose vast back likewise extends beyond the limits of reason. "Peng" combines the word for "phoenix" with "peer" or "companion". Peng is the mightiest of living things, yet he is not really any different than you or I, or the tiny fledgling dove.

Yet the fledgling dove looks up at Peng in his incredible flight and scoffs. What a lot of wasted effort, she thinks; I accomplish all that's necessary with a hop, leap and glide to the next bush; this is the ultimate. This, Zhuangzi tells us, is the working of a "small consciousness", one that thinks it understands and has grasped the correct way of things.

But what of Peng; what does he think of the dove? Zhuangzi does not tell us. It is possible that he scoffs at the dove; but if he does, then his consciousness too is small. For size does not matter; it is only a "small" consciousness that imagines it does. And herein is the great irony; for the dove a hop, leap and glide is the ultimate. And her ultimate is in every way equal to the ultimate of Peng. Yet truly understanding how this is so is what enables every particular ultimate to be so. One can only fully realize one's own ultimate when one also recognizes the ultimacy of every other being, no matter what the 'size' of the space that that being must occupy. "This [not the size of the space to be occupied] is the difference between a large consciousness and a small consciousness", Zhuangzi tells us. Guo Xiang puts it so well:

Though some are larger and some are smaller, every being without exception is released into the range of its own spontaneous attainments . . . each deed exactly matching its own capabilities. Since each fits perfectly into precisely the position it occupies, all are equally far-reaching and unfettered. (Ziporyn)

Guo thus takes it to the next level: ultimately, there is really no difference between a "small" and a "large" consciousness, between the sage and the silly dove, for each only does that of which it is capable. Each is affirmed as it is. Still, the question remains, of what are we capable?

In making the tiny dove the possessor of the small consciousness and Peng’s unspecified, Zhuangzi makes us work a little harder; we are tempted to think of Peng’s as large, and as an exemplar of the sage. Yet, this would be to fall into the very trap he is exposing. Still, he may be. Relative to his buddy Huizi, ‘Zhuangzi’ elsewhere suggests his phoenix to Huizi’s ridiculous owl fearfully clinging to a smelly rodent. Ah, sweet ambiguity!

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

All Are Well

Scott Bradley

If you have read just a few of these posts you have probably encountered my familiar refrain that "All is well" at least once. This is organically linked to my other constant refrain that "There are no conditions to meet." The first speaks to everything. The second tends to speak to the individual. If all is indeed well, then no individual thing is not likewise essentially well. These are, I believe, central pillars of Zhuangzi's philosophy, but if I am mistaken, no matter, they are central to mine. What I would like to do in this post is to flip them both over and look at them from the corresponding viewpoints of "all" or "each".

If all is well, then all are well. If there are no conditions for me to meet, then there are no conditions for you or anything else to meet. Clearly, we cannot have the one without the other. Self-affirmation necessarily implies universal affirmation. Indeed, though I cannot honestly wrap my mind around it enough to say so definitively, it is probably the case that there can be no self-affirmation without universal affirmation or universal affirmation without self-affirmation. (If I don't affirm 'me', I can't affirm you; if I don't affirm you, I can't affirm 'me'.)

What does seem clear is that a great deal of our criticism of others is largely a projection of our own issues. (It does not matter that they are 'true' of the other; it is what is true of me that matters.) Criticism is, in any event, a reflection of one's allowing what one does not like or approve of to "bug" one. To put it in Zhuangzian terms, it is to allow disharmony to enter one's Numinous Reservoir. But though this inner harmony is unaffected by the apparent outer disharmony, it would be mistaken, I believe, to think that the inner is altogether insulated from the outer; the inner harmony is realized and preserved not by erecting an impenetrable barrier, but, quite the opposite, by dissolving the barrier altogether. One's own harmony (which harmonizes one's own disharmony) harmonizes all disharmony. Disharmony does not enter because it has been harmonized in affirmation.

I recently quoted part of Guo Xiang's (252-312) introductory response to Zhuangzi; here it is more fully: “Though some are larger and some smaller, every being without exception is released into the range of its own spontaneous attainments, so that each being relies on its own innate character, each deed exactly matching its own capabilities. Since each fits perfectly into precisely the position it occupies, all are equally far-reaching and unfettered. How could any one be superior to any other?” (Ziporyn) This, I believe, perfectly captures the spirit of Zhuangzi’s suggestion that we “follow along with the ‘rightness’ of the present ‘this’.” “This” is all we encounter. Its “rightness” is that it is. Every deviation (and there are deviations, at least in the human sphere) takes place within this context and is thus harmonized, not by rejection, but by affirmation. This dynamic is logically inexpressible, as are most all things pertaining to life.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Fulfill Your Destiny

Scott Bradley

The second story in Chapter Four of the Zhuangzi begins with a lengthy whine by an ambassador about his anxieties concerning his latest mission, followed by a long-winded response by 'Confucius', none of which seems typically Zhuangzian. The concluding paragraph, however, is vintage Zhuangzi:

"Just ride along with things [events] as you let your mind wander. Entrust yourself to inevitability and thereby nourish what is central. . . . Nothing is better than to fulfill your destiny, but that's the hardest of all." (Mair)

These two imperatives essentially exhort to the same thing and are at the heart of Daoist spirituality: fulfill your destiny. We are able to "ride along with events" because our mind wanders free of them. This is not resignation, but empowerment. It refers us back to the description of the one who "relies on nothing" and is thereby able to "chariot on what is true of both heaven and of earth". Yet paradoxically, this empowerment requires that we "entrust" ourselves to that over which we have no power.

But what does it mean to fulfill one's destiny (ming)? We must first understand that destiny (fate) has absolutely nothing to do with something preordained; nothing could be farther removed from the Daoist sense of the spontaneous emergence (ziran) of apparent reality. Henry Skaja ("How to Interpret Chapter 16 of the Zhuangzi"; Wandering at Ease in the Zhuangzi) writes, "Although ming may be impossible to change, this does not imply that ming means 'fate' or 'destiny' in the deterministic sense of predetermination by a presupposed causal agent." He goes on to quote Mencius: "Though no one acts and yet there is activity — this is tian [heaven]. Although no one directs something to happen and yet it does happen — this is ming." (5A6)

Philosophical Daoism (by which Mencius was much influenced despite his Confucian credentials) would fully agree with this understanding of ming only it would add, I think, that what is done by someone else is also my fate to the extent that it affects me. In other words, it may not be fate for someone to steal from me, but it is my fate to have been stolen from. Whatever happens to me is my fate, and ultimately, no distinction need be made between what could not have been otherwise (being born crippled, for instance) and what could have been otherwise had someone behaved differently.

To fulfill one's destiny, therefore, is not to become or achieve something preordained, but simply to thankfully embrace everything that comes one's way. If this is doing, it is all that need be done. And yet, as Zhuangzi says, it is the "hardest thing of all".

A parallel analogy might shed some light on this idea of “fulfilling”. Guo Xiang, commenting on the relative size of each thing’s fated givens, whether the vastness of Peng or the tininess of a quail, tells us that, “Since each fits perfectly into precisely the position it occupies, all are equally far-reaching and unfettered.” (Ziporyn) “Fulfilling one’s destiny” is fully occupying the totality of one’s experience. This is true empowerment.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Wuwu

Scott Bradley

Sometimes I have to remind myself who I'm primarily writing for — and it isn't you. The fact is, I am not going to understand what Ge (Affirmation as Liberation) means by wuwu, or anything else, unless I articulate it for myself, and I do that here. But I'm obviously conflicted, or I wouldn't bring it up; I fear all this seemingly theoretical blabber will put you off, as it does me, unless I can see through to how it matters. In this instance I think it can.

Ge suggests that Laozi introduced Non-Being (wu) as the ground of Being (you). It is the empty space that makes a cup, a house, a window, a wheel hub useful. Non-Being is identified with Dao and a cosmological metaphysics is born. This became the trend in subsequent Daoist philosophizing until Guo Xiang (252-312) who insisted that Non-Being could not, by definition, be the source of anything. All things are self-so (ziran), the spontaneous source of themselves. But Guo arrived at this conclusion through his reading of Zhuangzi (399-295 BCE) who, according to Ge, had already deconstructed Laozi's metaphysics through his negation of wu with wuwu, "not-nothing" — either.

I don't know about you, but my mind immediately turns away from these kinds of discussions, but I think we might find this one helpful. The first thing that needs to be said is that wuwu is absolutely not intended as a further contribution to the metaphysical discussion; it is not some transcending synthesis of wu and you; it is a declaration that the whole discussion is spurious in that it presumes to know what it cannot. Wuwu returns us to not-knowing.

But why is not-knowing so important? Though I've frequently given formulaic answers to this question, I still struggle to articulate it. This is probably because it is something to be experienced, not understood. To answer the question of why not-knowing is important, I close my eyes and experience it.

What do I experience? An invitation; the heart is drawn to respond as matter to a vacuum. Openness; the mind floats unfixed and free. Surrender; the heart is released in trust into an undifferentiated vastness. Fearlessness; the world is hidden in the world, nothing can be lost. Affirmation; experientially affirming this wondrously unfixed ever-transforming reality, all things are affirmed. Thankfulness; it feels really good and thankfulness arises.

Under what rubric can we place this? Cognition? Certainly not. Spirituality? Yes, if this is understood not to refer to spirit or Spirit, but simply to self-transcendence. Psychological? Most certainly; this is a human activity and its one aim is to realize greater peace and happiness. How could ‘truth’ or redemption have anything to do with it? If this sticks in your craw, good, you’ve found the edge and the great point of divergence between possible philosophies of life.

Do ways of faith and truth offer similar possibilities? Certainly; for those who can still believe.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

On Being a Quail

Scott Bradley

The Zhuangzi begins with the fantastic story of a vast fish that becomes a vast bird, Peng, who ascends to an incredible height so as to travel a vast distance. It's not the beginning I would have chosen and it seems to demonstrate the textual 'mutilation' that Graham finds throughout the book. Nevertheless, it becomes a potent metaphor whereby Zhuangzi presents the heart of his philosophy.

Seeing Peng flying overhead, a tiny quail laughs and wonders why he bothers since all he has to do to fulfill his needs is to sail from tree to tree. We are not told how Peng views the quail, but were he to laugh at the smallness of his world, in this there would be no difference between them. Both would have failed to understand that one's completion is realized in simply occupying one's being irrespective of size or accomplishment. If the quail were able "to forget his own smallness and wander within it", Wang Fuzhi comments, then his fulfillment may very well have surpassed that of Peng.

I am making comparisons, but the whole point is that no such comparisons are compatible with a life freely wandering within the range of its own particular limitations. Completion is being who one is, not who one is not.

We are all Peng, just as we are all quail, for there is always something bigger than the big and smaller than the small. Size does not matter. Since your mind has probably already gone there, I might as well pursue it further and add: "It's not the size of the worm, but how it wiggles that matters."

Guo Xiang, as might be expected, takes it even further and tells us that no comparison is likewise possible between completion and incompletion. The quail laughs at Peng because its inability to freely wander within its limitations is one of those limitations. Thus, laughing is its completion. It is simply being what it is, a silly quail; nothing more is possible or required.

This is, I believe, entirely consistent with Zhuangzi's point of view, though it raises the thorny issue of free will. There is no doubt that Zhuangzi recognizes the acceptability of what cannot seem other than 'unacceptable', of the immutable givens of Nature, but he also always sees even this as an occasion for transcendence. His Confucius understands how that he cannot wander freely as can a 'Daoist', but in understanding and accepting this he in effect does just that. There is always the possibility of freely wandering, even in the face of one's inability to do so — one need only wander in that. The gate always yawns open and wide; we need only say, Yes.

The quail laughs at Peng, and we laugh at the quail, but it is only when we are able to laugh at ourselves that we begin to wander freely.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Rooted in Mystery

Scott Bradley

The sixth chapter of the Zhuangzi begins with a discussion of the relationship between the Heavenly and the Human. Zhuangzi quotes and deconstructs a maxim, very likely espoused by his Confucian contemporary Xunzi (fl. 298-236 BCE), to the effect that there is a distinct difference between them. The Human is seen as exceptional in that it is capable of acting outside of Dao. Zhuangzi suggests that no such distinction can be made given the limits of our ability to understand. It may be that all that Humanity does and knows is Dao. The roots of our knowing and doing disappear in mystery; we know neither how we know nor why we act as we do. This may be tantamount to equating Heaven and Humanity, but Zhuangzi is careful not to say so definitively; he prefers ambiguity.

Typically, Guo Xiang, in his development of Zhuangzi's philosophy, is not so tentative; all doing and all knowing he tells us, is "self-so", that is, spontaneously arising, and this is Dao. "'Heaven' is just another way of saying 'what is so of itself, the self-so'. For doing cannot be done by someone 'doing' doing. Doing is spontaneously doing; it is self-so. Knowing does not know by someone 'doing' knowing. Knowing is spontaneously knowing, it is self-so. As self-so knowing, knowing is not a result of knowing, is unknown, is itself a kind of nonknowing. Being always in this sense a nonknowing, what we call knowing emerges from nonknowing." (Zhuangzi; Ziporyn) How do we know? We don't know how we know; our knowing is rooted in what we cannot know; it is rooted in mystery.

What Zhuangzi implies, Guo articulates. Whereas Zhuangzi is content to let not-knowing extend into the apparent exceptionalism of the Human (as in some sense transcendent of Nature in the exercise of its doing and knowing), Guo knowingly insists that Human doing and knowing is not other than the Heavenly, that is, Dao manifest.

Personally, I tend toward Guo's position, but in either case the implication is the same: all that we are and do is rooted in mystery, and our 'completion' is to be had in surrendering into that mystery. When Yan Hui found that which "moves" him, that is the unknowable within him, he realized that not only was he not in charge, but that he had no 'me' at all. He lost his 'me' in his identification with mystery. To lose oneself in this way is to become all things; it is to lose one’s cage and thereby to freely roam in the Totality.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Intentionlessness

Scott Bradley

"However vast heaven and earth might be, however multitudinous the ten thousand things, the source and teacher of all of them is intentionlessness." — Guo Xiang (252-312) (Zhuangzi; Ziporyn)

"Truly, if one uses the Way as one's instrument, the results will be like the Way." (The Way and Its Power, XXIII; Waley)

Intention is purpose. There is none. Reality simply happens; it simple "is"; there is no ulterior motive. This, at least, is how philosophical Daoism sees things. Is it true? We cannot know. Yet, not knowing, Daoism takes the position that a position need be taken. We either orient ourselves toward purposiveness, or we do not; and the suspension of a position, one way or the other, effectively means to live without purpose.

There are those who would argue that because the human yearns for purpose, there must be purpose to be had. This yearning is, after all, 'natural', and what is natural has its fulfillment. The 'spiritual' thought of the West has tended toward this position; that of the East, toward its opposite — this yearning is an aberration, and the cause of all suffering. Somewhat ironically, the East meets the West, in its most extreme scientism, in seeing the Universe as purposeless.

Yet Daoism takes intentionlessness not as a negation of humanity, but as its guarantor. "Go and be thou likewise." In the absence of known (or knowable) purpose, we are invited to explore the implications of purposelessness and find freedom from yearning there. It is our "teacher".

Guo might have said that Reality is intentionless, that it has this quality. But he says (at least in translation) it is intentionlessness, as if suggesting this as its most essential nature. To harmonize with Dao is to harmonize with this. To be this. To just be.

Where there is intentionlessness, there is, of course, no such concept; the idea only arises out of the human yearning for purposefulness. This alone should suffice to demonstrate the relative character of every human attempt to understand Reality. It is all a tentative accommodation with what is beyond our understanding. The point is not to define Reality, but to come into accord with it as apparently manifest.

When Guo says that intentionlessness is our teacher, he is inviting us to spend the contemplative time necessary for it to become an experience, rather than just an idea.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

A Perfect Fit

Scott Bradley

In response to the belief that we should love everyone, Katie (Loving What Is) says, "You're not supposed to love others — not until you do." This simple observation is incredibly powerful. Or, so it seems to me.

I am about to suggest something of what I think it means, but if you're truly interested to know, you could not do better than to simply contemplate on it yourself.

It speaks to the perspective that there are no conditions to our absolute acceptability. All reality is Reality, "what is", and therefore, everything is acceptable. This is an extremely difficult position to take; it requires a movement outside the sphere of right and wrong, and that, for some unfathomable reason, is something that the mind refuses to do. Is it because we are such moral beings? Or is it because we are fragmented beings — ever not at home in who we are or in the world as it is? (Katie similarly responds to the inevitable question about war and murder and the like: ". . . if I believe they shouldn't exist, I suffer. They exist until they don't. . . . Sanity doesn't suffer, ever.") Clearly, there is no end to shoulds; neither we nor the world will ever arrive at the imagined perfection that should requires.

Should and Is stand opposed to each other, and if there is to be peace, that opposition needs to be resolved. The way of Daoism is to affirm reality just as it appears to us; in embracing "is", we become that peace that must necessarily elude us as long as we strive to achieve it. Should becomes is. The peace that we wish for the world begins with the peace that we are.

Guo Xiang, commenting on the Zhuangzi, writes: ". . . every being without exception is released into the range of its own spontaneous attainments, so that each being relies on its own innate character, each deed exactly matching its own capabilities. Since each fits perfectly into precisely the position it occupies, all are equally far-reaching and unfettered." (Ziporyn; my italics) The perfect fit does not happen when we become better; it happens when we accept who we are — and that can only make us "better".

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

More Guo: Life Lives Itself

Scott Bradley

And again, they don't know that life lives itself spontaneously, and thus they try to deliberately operate a 'life' to live with.
(Guo Xiang; Zhuangzi; Ziporyn)

How is it that we think we "have a life"? If we can understand this, we will begin to get a sense of that alternative way of approaching life which Daoism recommends. If life lives itself spontaneously — if my life lives itself spontaneously — then it is not I who is in control, but life itself. Zhuangzi discusses this at some length in the Inner Chapters and concludes that not only are we not in control, but we cannot, in fact, find anything or anyone who is. "Life", itself a mystery, inexplicably arises from Mystery.

Our evolved sense of self, however, having realized a sense of personal identity, and having taken this for a substantive reality, believes itself to be other than life: It "has" a life. This no doubt is largely responsible for most of our human 'achievements', but is also responsible for most of our human anguish. Having a life, I have a life to lose. And I shall. Having only an average IQ, a big butt, and a host of physical and emotional challenges, I have 'failed' to 'have a life' acceptable to myself and others.

We must remember that Guo's point here is that who we are is largely outside our control. It is thought that the fundamentals of who we are were well established by the time we were two, and a lot of that, at conception. Shall we take responsibility for that? If being a 'sage' is not only a worthy goal, but the only acceptable one, then we are all condemned to perpetual failure, for sages are born, not deliberately made. Guo is challenging us to let go into the givenness of life as manifest in ourselves. "No being is worth more than any other being." There are no conditions to meet.

The "understanding consciousness", imbued as it is with judgmentalism, immediately raises its hackles at such an idea. Not taking responsibility for yourself?! Shirking your responsibility to change?! Admittedly, this, and so much more of the Daoist vision, cuts across the grain of our fundamental control-self, our 'normal way of being in the world. But that's the whole point.

And the point is also to change; but not through the exercise of the mentality that largely necessitates the change in the first place, namely, the sense that one must change. Change is effected, not through striving to change, but through ceasing to do so.

It is when Yan Hui "finds what moves" him as an alternative to when his self "is full and real", that he discovers that he "has not yet begun to exist". And it is in this freedom from having a self in control that his transformation begins in earnest. To trust life as manifest in you, is to trust Dao. Entrust yourself.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

More Guo: Spontaneity Rules II

Scott Bradley

But the world does not understand that knowing knows spontaneously, and hence they want to deliberately operate some 'knowing' to know with.
(Guo Xiang; Zhuangzi; Ziporyn)

In the wonderful story of Zhuangzi and Huizi debating how ("from whence") the former could possibly know the "happiness of fish" while standing on the bridge over the River Hao, Zhuangzi's final retort is simply: "I must have known it from here, up above the River Hao." (Chap. 17) He knows because knowing is spontaneous; it requires no elaborate epistemology, no deliberate knowing to know with. Huizi, however, insists he must know how he knows; how else could he be in control? Unless he knows a method of knowing which ensures its validity, he would ultimately be left with only a fundamental not-knowing, a void, a vastness. Where Huizi fears to tread, Zhuangzi gleefully wanders.

Wandering is enjoying spontaneity by virtue of having "handed it all over to the process of transformation".

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

More Guo: Spontaneity Rules I

Scott Bradley

But the world does not understand that knowing knows spontaneously, and hence they want to deliberately operate some 'knowing' to know with. They don't see that seeing sees spontaneously, and thus they try to deliberately operate some 'seeing' to see with. And again, they don't know that life lives itself spontaneously, and thus they try to deliberately operate a 'life' to live with.
(Guo Xiang; Zhuangzi; Ziporyn)

Guo continues his expostulation of the consequences of the experience of the view from Dao. I have called the steps in his argument "leaps" because they do not follow a strictly logical progression, but an experiential one. His place of departure, the experience of going beyond the "understanding consciousness", is the pivotal experience from which all these subsequent insights emerge. Beyond the understanding consciousness where no dualistic discrimination, judgmental or intellectual, abides, one meets Vastness; in Vastness, is the unity and equality of all things; this implies the "rightness" of each thing in the place that it occupies. It also implies that things are so rooted in Dao that their every expression is spontaneous and ultimately beyond deliberate choice. This leads to an apparent fatalistic determinism. Yet, to see it so, would be to use the understanding consciousness to describe what it cannot begin to fathom. In any event, the flip side of determinism is freedom; though opposites, they are linked.

If all this seems convoluted, confusing, and overly intellectualized, we might want to simply take the short-cut and realize the view from Dao. With that, no explanations are necessary.

Human beings think they are in control. We even think that spontaneity is something we do. "Be spontaneous." Not so, says Guo; spontaneity is what happens outside deliberate activity and, significantly, this includes everything we do and experience, deliberately or otherwise. Yes, even deliberate activity is a kind of spontaneous activity; do you think your choices arise in a vacuum? You are not in control.

How do we know? We spontaneously know. How do we see? We spontaneously see. How is it that we live? We spontaneously live. It happens. We are not in control. Freedom is found in understanding this and, in surrendering our presumed control, just going along for the ride. The joy of life, like running the rapids, is in letting oneself be carried along by the current — and in skillfully meeting each new challenge through honoring and harnessing the power of each.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

Hitler Was One of Us

Scott Bradley

I am inserting this post into the series on Guo because his premise (and Zhuangzi's, I believe) that no being is better than any other and that, consequentially, each has its own "rightness", and still further, we are thereby compelled to accept all things, quickly raises moral outrage. "What about Hitler?" is a typical response.

Let's begin by stating categorically that Hitler was (and is) one of us. He was a human being just like you and I, and whatever moral monstrosities he committed were committed by humanity. Yes. This is also who we are. Christians and Jews are not exempted. Buddhists and Daoists are not exempted. You are not exempted. I am not exempted. We call him a monster in the hope that this separates him out from among us, but this is self-deceit.

Perhaps "humanity" is a concept sufficiently enough removed from our individuality that we still are able to view Hitler as if he were some alien from another galaxy, so let's also state categorically that Hitler lives in each one of us. He lives in me and he lives in you. If he acted out to the extreme that of which we are also capable, but over which we have happily found inner restraint, this does not make him other than us. A true alien, if no more enlightened than we, might feel it his moral duty to exterminate the lot of us. Earth, no doubt, would be thankful.

So what about the "rightness" of Hitler? Even the suggestion makes us squirm. Things might go easier if, instead of using "rightness", we said "fact", though they mean the same. What the term "fact" better conveys, however, is that no moral attribution is implied. The "rightness" of all things has absolutely nothing to do with moral judgment. Daoism does not read Reality in moral terms; quite the contrary, moral judgments are understood as something pasted onto reality by the human. It will not exist on Mars, nor will it be necessary, until we get there.

What the "fact" of Hitler requires of us is an acceptance of him as an expression of ourselves and of ourselves as an expression of him. This is also who we are. But we are also a social species, and like every living thing (and possibly everything else), we are endowed with a spontaneous impulse to self-preservation. Within the context of a humanity capable of socially self-destructive expressions, by virtue of the evolution of a certain apparent freedom of choice, we are obliged to make 'moral' judgments which condemn and sometimes eliminate that which would destroy us. Thus was it "right" to irradiate the "rightness" of Hitler and his minions.

“If your right eye offends you, pluck it out,” said Jesus. Guo would simply add, “But don’t forget whose eye it is.”

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

More Guo: The Rightness of All Things

Scott Bradley

Hence, a person never becomes what the world calls wise and discerning because he decides he wants to be wise and discerning....If wise discernment and vision could be deliberately created because someone wanted them, then whoever wanted to be worthy could become worthy and anyone who deliberately endeavored to be a sage would be able to. This is obviously impossible.
(Guo Xiang; Zhuangzi, Ziporyn)

Guo has leapt from Zhuangzi's going "beyond the understanding consciousness" to his own "no being is worth more than any other being". Now he leaps to an exploration of the implication of this equality, namely, the rightness of all things.

The "understanding consciousness" discriminates (judges), pigeon-holes, defines and narrows. Transcending this, we see the equality of things, much as a herpetologist might see the equality of all snakes, whatever their species specific attributes. Similarly, this scientist affirms the rightness of each, the venomous and the 'harmless'; what Nature has wrought is "good".

It might be argued that Guo is simply saying that sagacity does not happen as a consequence of deliberate activity, but he is saying much more than this. He is saying that sages, like athletes and geniuses, are born, not made. Consequentially, we have no more business judging the fool for his foolishness, than we do praising the sage for his sagacity. No doubt there is wiggle-room and potentiality, but these, too, are rooted in the givens of who one is.

Elsewhere, Guo explains how each thing is perfected in being what it is: "Since each thing fits perfectly into precisely the position it occupies, all are equally far-reaching and unfettered. How could one be superior to any other?" We have little difficulty in understanding and appreciating this as applied to Nature when this is understood to exclude humanity; but Nature does not exclude humanity; we are also Nature-wrought. We find this mind-bending only because we continue to dwell in the mind.

Yes, Guo has been 'accused' of being a fatalist, and I suppose he in some sense is. But we need to be wary of this and every concept which pretends to define what is beyond our comprehension; the free-will versus determinism debate exists only as an abstraction; life itself unfolds beyond the ability of the "understanding consciousness" to define it.

The practical implication of all this is that we are able to accept every individual as who she is, or, as Zhuangzi has it, we are able to "follow along with the rightness of the present 'this'", "allowing each thing to find its own completion". If such a non-judgmental perspective seems not only incredibly naive and counter-intuitive, but also potentially morally destructive, then we were apparently not born sages. We continue to dwell in the "understanding consciousness". What remains is to find our wiggle-room.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

More Guo: The Equality of All Things

Scott Bradley

Commenting on the passage ending, "Allow your ears and eyes to open inward and thereby place yourself beyond your mind's understanding consciousness" (Zhuangzi, 4:12; Ziporyn), Guo Xiang writes: "This means no being is worth more than any other being." If you find this a peculiar logical leap, I can only concur. If, however, we understand "this means", not as a logical conclusion, but as an experiential one, we begin to see the connection. Guo has followed Zhuangzi's advice and put himself outside his mind's understanding consciousness, and has consequentially experienced this fundamental Daoist perspective, namely the equality of all things.

Needless to say, I've discussed this many times before. But it is a concept so pivotal to the Daoist vision, and so effective in illuminating the liberating quality of it, I can only return to it again and again, for my own sake, if not for yours.

Humanity is no more special than an ant hill. Earth is just another thing. Perhaps, even in this moment, a supernova has incinerated a species far more evolved and seemingly more 'precious' than our own, one that has achieved harmony within and without itself. So what? All that "is" is equally a part of one great arising, without a known purpose, without a goal, without an end. Dao is manifest as this endless transformation. The view from Dao embraces the totality of things and assigns no special status to any. "Dao is inhumane; it treats humanity like straw dogs."

Does this go against your grain? That's the whole point; that's why it liberates.

When we have taken this on aboard and have gone beyond all this narrow, self-indulgent, anthropocentric 'caring', only then are we able to embrace and care for it all. Only when we have become the truth that no being is worth more than any other are we able to truly appreciate the worth of all things, each and every thing. Yes, again we are asked to walk two roads, and to understand how they are one.

This is but the beginning of Guo's argument, and it takes still other challenging leaps, and I will attempt to jump along with him in the following posts. We need not accept all that he says; the real point is to be stretched and shaken within our own preconceptions, that we might discover a new perspective, distinctly our own, and more transcendent of our typically myopic view.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.