'ART & SOUL
Parables from a Chinese master
B. N. Goswamy

There are wonderful things that Zhuang Zi thought and spoke of, his utterances often
taking the form of parables and conundrums.

WE do not see much of it in our land, but institutions across the world often build strong memories and celebrate them: remembering their origins, honouring their traditions, asking those present to partake of the past. I was reminded of this when I received, recently, a card of greetings from the National Humanities Centre — that fine converging point of research, close to Durham/Raleigh in North Carolina — where, a long time back, I spent a happy year as a Mellon Fellow. The card was a reminder of a lively event — that grew steadily into a tradition — that was organised at the Centre some 30 years ago, close to the date of its founding. A fir tree — called the Fraser fir, after a Scottish botanist of that name — was erected in the central common area of the Centre and each Fellow and staff member was asked to bring in and hang on it an ‘ornament’: anything that came from his/her culture, or related to his/her work, witty or grave, precious or trifling.

The event was fun, serving both as an ice-breaker — considering how different were the areas and countries from which Fellows at the Centre, completely unknown to one another, are drawn — and as a reminder of the great diversity of which we are the inheritors. Year after year since then, Fellows have been bringing things and hanging them, only to be taken down periodically and kept in storage: reminders, essentially.

This year’s card — which has touched off the present piece — carried a picture on it, which was the handiwork of a recent Fellow, David Wong, who was at the Centre completing a book on Chinese philosophy and moral psychology. Even though attracted to it, I was a bit puzzled by the picture at first, till a note explained the reference. It contained an allusion to a famous story associated with one of the great names from ancient China: the sage-like Zhuang Zi who lived in times that were not far from those of the early Mauryas in our land: fourth century B.C.

The sage’s name — it is spelt and pronounced in so many ways: thus, Chuang Tsu, Chuang Tzu, Zhuang Tze, Chouang Dsi, Chuang Tse, or simply Master Chuang — has great resonance in China, for he was without doubt among the foremost of Tao teachers, Tao being, simply put, "The Way", not a school of thought but expressive of the essential attitude toward life and toward society. His position in Tao was summed up succinctly by Lin Yutang, who said: "Jesus was followed by St Paul, Socrates by Plato, Confucius by Mencius, and Laotse (the founder of Tao-ism) by Zhuang Zi. In all four cases, the first was the real teacher and either wrote no books or wrote very little, and the second began to develop the doctrines and wrote long and profound discourses."

There are wonderful things that Zhuang Zi thought and spoke of, his utterances often taking the form of parables and conundrums. The work most intimately associated with him also bears his name — it is called the Zhuang-zi- and is filled with passages that hide meanings and need to be interpreted: by us as much as they had to be by his pupils. Among the most famous is what is generally called "The Butterfly Dream" (alluded to in the image on the card). This is how it runs, at least in one translation:

"Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn’t know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi."

On the surface, it is a diverting story, full of wit and fun. But, on close examination, one finds it also filled with wisdom, as has been remarked: a truly Taoist parable on the nature of reality, drawing attention to at least four truths. The first: that of Oneness, everything being connected. Second, that life is a dream: anything that happens in our so-called life is just like this butterfly dream in which everything is transient. Third: that things transform when the mind begins to process information for extracting wisdom. And, finally, that reality is subjective.

Is this heavy? Or far-fetched? I do not think so. For that is the way great teachers think, and teach. Zhuang Zi could also be very poetic in his descriptions, even when he is generally spoken of as being the greatest prose writer of his times. Consider this passage from a chapter titled ‘Horses’ Hoofs’ in the second section of the Zhuangzi. The master’s aim is to teach how things go wrong when you attempt to change their true nature, but he starts with talking, so elegantly, about horses.

"Horses can, with their hoofs tread, on the hoarfrost and snow, and with their hair withstand the wind and cold; they feed on the grass and drink water; they prance with their legs and leap: this is the true nature of horses. Though for them were made grand towers and large dormitories, they would prefer not to use them."

But when, in that kingdom, a man called Po-l’o arose and said, "I know well how to manage horses,", other people started following him. We can, they said, "singe and mark them, clip their hair, pare their hoofs, halter their heads, bridle them and hobble them, and to confine them in stables and corrals." However, when subjected to this treatment, two or three horses in every 10 of them died. Then men proceeded further and began to subject them to hunger and thirst, "to gallop them and race them, and to make them go together in regular order. In front were the evils of the bit and ornamented breastbands, and behind were the terrors of the whip and switch. But when so treated, more than half of them died". A great deal follows in this tale, including how some potters treat clay and some carpenters wood, going against the nature of the material and thus coming to grief. And then Zhuang Zi concludes: "This is just the error committed by the governors of the world".

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