Chapter 2.4

The art of harmonising 

What hides the path, such that people argue over which path is the true path and which paths are false?
What hides speech, such that people argue over which words refer to what, with one person saying of a thing, It’s x, and another retorting, It’s not?
How can the path go somewhere and not be present?
How can speech be present and not be allowable?

The path is hidden by small definitive-forms.
Speech is hidden by flowery rhetoric.
And so behold Ritualists and Mohists arguing over which words refer to what, with one party saying of a thing, It’s x, and the other retorting, It’s not. Each affirming what the other refutes and refuting what the other affirms.

If you’d like to affirm what they refute and refute what they affirm, there’s nothing like using clarity.

No thing isn’t a that (over there).
No thing isn’t a this (here).

Of course, we don’t see things from over there;
we know them from here.
Which is why it is said: That arises from this; this in turn goes by that. (The theory of the co-birthing of that and this.)
Nevertheless,
when from one perspective a thing is labelled a birth,
from another it’s labelled a death.
When from one perspective a thing is labelled a death,
from another it’s labelled a birth.
When from one perspective a label is affirmed as allowable,
from another it’s rejected as unallowable.
When from one perspective a label is rejected as unallowable,
from another it’s affirmed as allowable.
Which is to say:
When going by this or that aspect of a thing someone says, It’s x,
going by a different aspect someone else retorts, It’s not.
When going by this or that aspect of a thing someone says, It’s not x,
going by a different aspect someone else retorts, It’s x.

Because of this, the sage doesn’t walk these routes, but instead illuminates them by the light of heaven.
This too is to go by this or that aspect of a thing and say, It’s x.
She sees that the thing she calls this is also a that,
that the thing she calls that is also a this,
that over there others say of everything whatsoever, It’s x, It’s not x,
just as here she says of everything whatsoever, It’s x, It’s not x.

So, a thing is that and this?!
Which means, it’s neither that nor this?!

Where neither that nor this finds its counterpart, I call that place the pivot of the path.
As the pivot finds the centre of the socket, it responds without constraint,
allowing you to say, It’s x, of anything whatsoever, without constraint,
and, It’s not x, of anything whatsoever, without constraint.

And so I say, There’s nothing like using clarity.
Using a finger to show that a finger isn’t a finger isn’t like using something that’s not a finger to show that a finger isn’t a finger.
Using a horse to show that a horse isn’t a horse isn’t like using something that’s not a horse to show that a horse isn’t a horse.
Heaven-and-earth is a finger.
The myriad things are a horse.*

You think those statements are allowable (valid)?
Then they’re allowable.
You think they’re not allowable?
Then they’re not allowable.

Walk a path and you bring it into being as a definitive form.
Label a thing and you make it so.

How is a thing so?
It’s so by being called so.
How is a thing not so?
It’s not so by being called not so.

At the same time, a thing has inherent so-ness,
inherent allowable-ness (OK-ness).
In this sense, no thing isn’t so,
no thing isn’t allowable (OK).

And so, whereas authoritative ‘It’s x’s hold up for view reeds and pillars, lepers and Hsi Shihs,* things fantastic, perverse, and strange,
the path lets the labels pass freely, to let the thing be one.

It’s by splitting the oneness that the definitive form is brought into being.
It’s by bringing the definitive form into being that the oneness is broken.
And to see that the thing is neither a definitive form nor broken, you resume the practice of letting the labels pass freely, to let the thing be one.

You have to be pretty easy-going to let the labels pass freely, and let the thing be one.
Instead of using an authoritative ‘It’s x’, you accommodate the thing in the label at hand.

Whatever the label at hand is, you use it.
By using it, you’re letting it pass freely.
By letting it pass freely, you’re falling into alignment.
You find yourself falling into alignment and on the cusp.
And then—
Going-by-this-or-that-aspect-of-the-thing-and-saying-It’s-x ceases.
It ceases and you don’t know what’s so of the thing.
What you now behold, I call the path.

Disturbing your daemonic clarity to make things one, not knowing that different arrangements are the same—
that I call three in the morning.
What is three in the morning?
When a monkey keeper, handing out the nuts, said, ‘I’ll give you three in the morning, four in the evening,’ the monkeys all leapt about in a rage. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘four in the morning, three in the evening,’ and the monkeys all settled down delighted.
In name and in fact they hadn’t lost a thing, and yet they used joy and rage.

Because of this, the sage uses ‘It’s x, it’s not x’ to harmonise with him, and thus rests in the equanimity of heaven.
I call this, letting both alternatives proceed.

*  *  *  *  *

At the start of the chapter Mr Drabs lost himself and heard the piping of heaven, the harmonious sounding forth of our myriad different beliefs. To help us to hear the piping of heaven, Chuang Tzu then loosened our attachment to our words (sections 2 and 3). In the present section he finishes the job of showing us how to de-fuse from words. This frees us to use words to harmonise with others and the world.

What hides the path?

Chuang Tzu starts by stating a problem: the path exists, but it is hidden. Something prevents us from seeing it.

Note how he does not start by telling us what the path is. We can see why. If he did, we’d either agree with his words, or disagree; and there we’d be, like chirping fledglings (section 3), with so-and-so saying, The path is such and such, and so-and-so saying, It’s not. Given this state of affairs it would be folly for Chuang Tzu to begin by saying, The path is such and such.

Although he doesn’t tell us what the path is, he does give us a clue: the path is hidden. Whatever the path is, it is here for us to see. But something is in the way. Something blocks us from seeing it. Our focus, then, is going to be, not on identifying the path, but on identifying what prevents us from seeing it.

Another clue is that the path, whatever it is, is everywhere. People say that this and that path isn’t the true path, in response to which Chuang Tzu asks rhetorically, How can the path go somewhere and not be present?

What hides speech?

Not only is the path hidden, so too is speech. And not only is the path everywhere, all speech is allowable. (Chuang Tzu asks rhetorically, How can speech be present and not be allowable?)

Here’s another clue about the path. Somehow, being able to see that all speech is allowable is connected with being able to see the path.

The path is hidden by small definitive-forms.

Your brain’s definitive forms are your beliefs, your authoritative assertions that this thing is x, that that thing isn’t (section 2). Your beliefs, your truths, are like small objects—leaves, signposts, construction workers, concrete blocks—covering a path, preventing you from seeing the path.

Speech is hidden by flowery rhetoric.

Our words are like thriving flora. The speech of others is hidden by the flourishing dominance of our own speech. We smother other people’s words with our verbiage, our flowery, clever, authoritative assertions.

And so behold Ritualists and Mohists … each affirming what the other refutes and refuting what the other affirms.

Don’t worry if you don’t know anything about Ritualists and Mohists. All you need to know is that Ritualists and Mohists have eloquent, and opposing, ideas about which path is the path. Each affirms what the other refutes and refutes what the other affirms. For example, one of the things they disagree about is what constitutes appropriate conduct (i.e., they disagree about what the words ‘appropriate conduct’ refer to). A particular point of contention is in regard to mourning rites. Ritualists point to the traditional practice of expensive ceremonies and prolonged mourning and say, That’s appropriate conduct. Mohists, however, think these practices are unnecessarily burdensome, so they point to these practices and say, That’s not appropriate conduct. So when the Ritualist practises the traditional ways, the Mohist doesn’t see a person walking the path, she sees a Ritualist engaging in a regimented, oppressive activity. When the Mohist practises non-traditional ways, the Ritualist doesn’t see a person walking the path, he sees a Mohist engaging in disrespectful, debauched activity.

For Ritualist and Mohist substitute yourself and any person you happen to disagree with. In the following discussion I’ll use the example of Mary, who says abortion is allowable, and Jane, who says it isn’t.

If you’d like to affirm what they refute and refute what they affirm …

Ritualists and Mohists both reject the idea that they are both right, and they both affirm the view that only one of them is right (namely, themselves). Chuang Tzu is proposing to affirm that they are both right, and to refute the view that only one of them is right.

Mary, who says abortion is right, and Jane, who says it’s wrong, both reject the idea that they are both right, and they both affirm the view that only one of them is right (namely, themselves). Chuang Tzu is proposing to affirm that they are both right, and to refute the view that only one of them is right.

… there’s nothing like using clarity. No thing isn’t a that (over there). No thing isn’t a this (here).

Whereas I, from here, point to the cup in your hand and call it ‘that cup’, you, from over there, point to the cup and call it ‘this cup’.

If you’re groaning at the triviality of this observation, your response is on cue. Didn’t Chuang Tzu just say that he’s going to use clarity? He’s using simple, direct language to point out what’s obvious. It’s clear to us that things are both that and this; it just depends on where you happen to be standing. We appreciate that there’s nothing to argue over.

Of course, we don’t see things from over there; we know them from here.

Here’s why Ritualists and Mohists, and the rest of us, argue. We don’t see things from the other person’s point of view; we know things from our point of view. We have no trouble appreciating that the cup is both that cup and this cup, but we fail to see that the thing we call x is also not x. Both Mary and Jane fail to see that abortion is both right and wrong.

Which is why it is said, That arises from this. This in turn goes by that. (The theory of the co-birthing of that and this.)

For me, the cup in your hand is only that cup (over there) because I have a concept of this (here), of me, here. Without a this (here) there couldn’t be a that (over there); there’d just be an it. In this way, that arises from this. But look, I have a cup in my own hands. This cup is, yes, this cup. Likewise, this cup is only this cup because I have a concept of that (over there), of you, over there. In this way, this goes by that.

Note that the theory of the co-birthing of that and this simply says that the thing that I call ‘this’ gives rise to a different thing (over there) that I call ‘that’. It does not say that the thing that I call this is also a that. The theory of the co-birthing of that and this shows how disputing parties affirm what the other refutes and refute what the other affirms. Mary’s this (‘I’m right’) and that (‘Jane’s wrong’) co-birth each other.

Nevertheless, …

Even though we don’t see things from over there (the other person’s point of view); rather, we know them from here (our point of view) …

… when from one perspective a thing is labelled a birth, from another it’s labelled a death. Etc.

Having sidestepped into the theory of the co-birthing of that and this (the theory that my calling a thing ‘this’ births a different thing that I call ‘that’), we’re now back to Chuang Tzu’s initial observation: Any one thing that we care to point to is both a this and a that. He’s now expanding his observation to include all labels. In the same way that the cup in my hand is both ‘this cup’ (from my point of view) and ‘that cup’ (from yours), what from here I call a birth, from over there someone else calls a death. When Mary, from her perspective, labels abortion allowable, Jane, from her perspective, labels it unallowable. The one and same thing is both allowable and unallowable. In general: When from one point of view a thing is x, from another it’s not.

~

Using clarity.

When Chuang Tzu says:

When from one perspective a thing is labelled a birth, from another it’s labelled a death.

he’s quoting the sophist Hui Tzu. In Classical Chinese the line also reads:

The moment a thing is born, it dies.

Hui Tzu’s full statement is:

The moment the sun ascends to high noon, it descends.
The moment a thing is born, it dies.

Hui Tzu’s purpose with this paradoxical statement is to awaken us to how language artificially splits reality into opposing halves. (At the exact moment of high noon the sun is both ‘ascending’ and ‘descending’.) His purpose is to awaken us to the here-and-now whole, the world beyond words, the beyond-language moment of high noon.

By quoting Hui Tzu, Chuang Tzu is making an important point. Hui Tzu represents your clever, argumentative brain, that brain of yours that seeks to get others to agree with your point of view. As we’ll see presently, Chuang Tzu has the same agenda as Hui Tzu: to show that language artificially splits reality into opposing halves, and to lead us to see the beautifully whole world that lies beyond words. But whereas Hui Tzu uses paradoxes that confound us by negating the meaning that we ordinarily attach to words (e.g., that the moment a thing is born, it dies), Chuang Tzu uses clarity that illuminates how different views are uttered from different standpoints, which allows him to affirm the different meanings that different people, from their different standpoints, give to words (i.e., that from this point of view the thing is a death, and from that point of view it’s a birth).

Just as you and I are able to affirm that the cup in your hand is both that cup (from my standpoint) and this cup (from yours), Chuang Tzu is able to affirm that when from one perspective a thing is a birth, from another it’s a death. No tricky wordplay or clever arguments required. No need for confounding paradoxes that negate what we know to be true. All that’s required is the awareness that from here the thing is a birth (the burnt-down house is the birth of a new building project), and that from there the thing is a death (the burnt-down house is the death of the burnt-down house). From where Mary stands abortion is allowable. From where Jane stands abortion is unallowable.

Because of this …

Because whenever someone says of a thing, It’s x, someone else retorts, It’s not; and whenever someone says of a thing, It’s not x, someone else retorts, It’s x …

… the sage doesn’t walk these routes …

These routes (paths) on which one negates the views of others.

… but instead illuminates them by the light of heaven.

Chuang Tzu’s method is not to negate, but to illuminate.

Heaven is the sky. The sage illuminates different views by seeing that the sun’s rays fall on all paths equally.

Heaven connotes a numinous—a divine—mood. The sky isn’t just up above us, it’s the space all around us. Heaven is the umbrella under which, and the space in which, all things lie. Mountains and valleys. Cats and mice. The view that a thing is x and the view that it’s not. The view that abortion is right and the view that it’s wrong.

This too is to go by this or that aspect of a thing and say, It’s x.

The sage, like everyone else, uses words. To illuminate that a thing is x, you have to say, It’s x. However …

She sees that the thing she calls this is also a that, etc.

In the same way that all of us see that the cup in my hand is both ‘this cup’ and ‘that cup’, the sage sees that a thing is both x and not x. If her brain happens to say that abortion is right, she sees that abortion is also wrong. Each view is but a label pronounced by, and existing in, a brain. A minuscule, three-pound speck of meat (section 2).

So, a thing is that and this?!

From my point of view that thing over there is that, and from over there it’s this. From Jane’s point of view abortion is wrong, and from Mary’s it’s right. We can all accept that. But our brains want to know, What’s the truth of the matter? Yes, in terms of that and this we see that the cup in your hand is both that and this. But in terms of not-x and x —in terms of abortion is wrong, abortion is right—how can the thing in fact be both? That’s just a straightforward contradiction!

Which means, it’s neither that nor this?!

For a thing to be that and this we see that the that and this are just words thrown at the thing from here and there, and that the thing itself is neither that nor this. We see that the cup is in fact neither that nor this. It’s just a cup. But how can abortion be neither right nor wrong? When Mary says abortion is right, she thinks it’s in fact right. When Jane says abortion is wrong, she thinks it’s in fact wrong. Neither Mary nor Jane think that abortion is neither right nor wrong. Both Mary and Jane are pulling their hair out, imploring each other: O my God, if you could just see my point of view, you’d see that I’m right!

Chuang Tzu is ratcheting up the tension.

Is this here thing x and not x? Is it neither x nor not x? Is abortion right and wrong? It is neither right nor wrong?

Either way, the logic of our logic bumps up against a contradiction, a heartfelt objection.

And now, having ratcheted up the tension to breaking point, Chuang Tzu resolves it. He releases the clip:

Where neither that nor this finds its counterpart, I call that place the pivot of the path. As the pivot finds the centre of the socket, it responds without constraint, allowing you to say, It’s x, of anything whatsoever, without constraint, and, It’s not x, of anything whatsoever, without constraint.

This is one of the most sublime moments in the history of philosophical literature. The moment in which all differences of views are both acknowledged and transcended.

~

To make sense of this metaphor of the pivot of the path, we need to be familiar with the metaphor of the path.

In English we’ve inherited the term the Dao, or the Tao. Ooo, mysterious. No, not mysterious, just an abysmal failure of translation, a failure to translate dao 道 as ‘the path’. In Chinese this term is no more mysterious than the English words ‘the path’.

Picture a path winding through a landscape. This path is a thing that you can walk along, thus making your way through the landscape. Metaphorically, then, ‘the path’ is a path that you can follow, thus making your way through the terrain of life. Ritualists point to one path (the traditional customs and ceremonies); Mohists, another (utilitarian assessments of benefit and harm). Mary, who says abortion is right, posits one path; Jane, who says abortion is wrong, posits another. Chuang Tzu? He still hasn’t told us what he thinks the path is. But he does mean this: the path (whatever it may in fact be; whatever this everyday term may metaphorically be pointing to) is something we can picture as a path winding through a landscape.

With this image in mind, how are we to picture the pivot of the path?

I picture a gate. The gate is able to swing freely by means of a pivot-and-socket mechanism. Protruding from the base of the gate there is a short cylindrical rod. Likewise from the top of the gate. These short rods are the pivots. The bottom pivot sits snugly in a shallow hole in a stone block on the ground, and the top pivot fits into a hole in the top cross-beam of the gate. These holes are the sockets. When the pivots sit snugly in the sockets, the gate swings freely: now one way, now in the opposite direction.

Now let’s picture a path passing through this gate. Because the gate swings freely, neither direction is blocked. You approach from that direction? Fine. The pivot moves freely in the socket and the gate swings freely, allowing you to pass. I approach from this direction? Also fine. The pivot moves freely in the socket and the gate swings freely, allowing me to pass.

With this metaphor Chuang Tzu transcends the metaphor schema of all Chinese philosophy. All other philosophers present a path as being the path. Chuang Tzu presents us with the pivot of the path. A point that is not itself a path. A point that sits to the side of all paths. A psychological space from which all paths, all points of view, are allowed. A place from which we can see that this and that thing is x, from this point of view on the path, and not x, from that point of view on the path; and also, neither x nor not x, from the point of view of the pivot.

~

Without constraint.

Recall the end of Chapter 1.3: Those who mount the isness of heaven-and-earth and take the reins of the disputing six energies are able to wander without constraint.

Likewise: When we arrive at the pivot of the path we are able to affirm of this and that thing, It’s x, It’s not x, without constraint.

For example:

A situation presents itself?

No problem. You mount the isness of heaven and earth, the isness of the presenting situation.

Mary’s brain says, ‘Abortion is right’?

No problem. Having found the pivot of the path, where abortion is neither wrong nor right, Mary affirms, Abortion is right (according to my brain).

Jane says to Mary, ‘Abortion is wrong’?

No problem. Having found the pivot of the path, where abortion is neither wrong nor right, Mary affirms, Abortion is wrong (according to Jane’s brain).

Whatever presents itself—you’re able to affirm it. The pivot swings freely in the socket, without constraint. You’re able to ride the here-and-now isness of things, without constraint.

And so I say: There’s nothing like using clarity. Using a finger to show that a finger isn’t a finger isn’t like using something that’s not a finger to show that a finger isn’t a finger.

Fear not, this is a joke. We are meant to react with a, What the—! Here’s my explanation of the joke.

‘Using a finger to show that a finger isn’t a finger’ and ‘using a horse to show that a horse isn’t a horse’ echo two infamous series of arguments by the sophist Kung-sun Lung. In regard to fingers, one of his arguments is that the label heaven-and-earth (meaning the world) doesn’t have a referent because when you attempt to point to heaven-and-earth you only point to this and that thing. What has this got to do with fingers? The sinograph for pointer also means finger. Kung-sun Lung uses a pointer (the name heaven-and-earth) to show that the pointer (the name heaven-and-earth) isn’t a pointer (doesn’t point out heaven-and-earth). In Chinese this has the rhetorical effect of saying that he uses a finger to show that a finger isn’t a finger. In regard to horses, one of his arguments is that if you ask for a horse you will be satisfied with a brown horse. But if you ask for a white horse you will not be satisfied with a brown horse. So the labels ‘horse’ and ‘white horse’ refer to different things. In this way he uses a horse (a white horse) to show that a horse (meaning any horse) isn’t a horse (a white horse).

Well, all of that is very confounding. Chuang Tzu recommends using clarity instead. If it happens that you want to show that a finger isn’t a finger, there’s no need for ultra-clever arguments. You need only say, Heaven-and-earth is a finger. Simple! Now that the word finger refers to heaven-and-earth, it doesn’t refer to the digit on your hand. (This is using something that’s not a finger [heaven-and-earth] to show that a finger [the digit on your hand] isn’t a finger [the thing referred to by the word finger].)

That’s one aspect of the joke. The real joke is that our everyday disagreements are like Kung-sun Lung’s arguments. To negate other people’s views we use words in ways that, for the other person, are confounding. We say that the thing the other person calls x isn’t x (that a horse isn’t a horse).

Says Chuang Tzu: Why take the confounding approach of negating, when you can achieve the same result by taking the straightforward approach of affirming? Instead of saying that the thing the other person calls x isn’t x (that a horse isn’t a horse), leave their view be (allow that the horse is a horse) and affirm your view, that this thing over here is x (that the myriad things are a horse).

When Jane says, Abortion is murder, Mary is tempted to negate her. Abortion is not murder. This would confound Jane, for whom abortion is murder. Instead of negating, Mary might use clarity and affirm. She might say, To unjustifiably kill a person is murder.

You think those statements are allowable (valid)? Then they’re allowable. You think they’re not allowable? Then they’re not allowable. Walk a path and you bring it into being as a definitive form. Label a thing and you make it so. How is a thing so? By being called so. How not so? By being called not so.

From the pivot of the path we see: from this point of view a thing is x; from that point of view it isn’t.

At the same time, a thing has inherent so-ness, inherent allowable-ness (OK-ness). In this sense, no thing isn’t so, no thing isn’t allowable (OK).

From the pivot of the path we also see: the thing in question is neither x nor not x. It simply, wordlessly—is.

And so, whereas authoritative ‘It’s x’s hold up for view reeds and pillars, lepers and Hsi Shihs, things fantastic, perverse, and strange …

Picture a beautiful woman. Now imagine that you’ve pointed her out to me. And imagine, believe it or not, that to my eyes she is ugly. Whereas I authoritatively assert of the woman, She’s ugly, and you authoritatively assert, She’s beautiful …

… the path lets the labels pass freely, to let the thing be one.

Neither ugly nor beautiful. A whole not yet conceptually split into ugly or beautiful. An unlabelled conglomeration of physical and behavioural things (eyes shaped thus, hips shaped thus, disposition thus).

It’s by splitting the oneness that the definitive form is brought into being. It’s by bringing the definitive form into being that the oneness is broken. To see that the thing is neither a definitive form nor broken, you resume the practice of letting the labels pass freely, to let the thing be one.

Like splitting a log, you and I have conceptually split the unity of physical and behavioural things that constitute the woman—we’ve split it into beautiful and ugly. Instead of seeing the unlabelled unity, we each see a definitive form. I see ugly. You, beautiful. If we want to see her wholeness (her inherent so-ness and OK-ness), the thing to do is to let the labels pass freely.

You have to be pretty easy-going to let the labels pass freely, and let the thing be one.

Because you see that the woman is clearly beautiful, you object to my saying she’s ugly.

See? You have to be pretty easy-going to let the labels pass freely.

If it happens that you’re not feeling so easy-going, but you’d like to see the woman’s oneness (her inherent so-ness and OK-ness), try this:

Instead of using an authoritative ‘It’s x’, you accommodate the thing in the label at hand.

Instead of using your brain’s authoritative label, She’s beautiful, take a moment to accommodate the woman in the label at hand, the label I’m using.

Do this in the spirit of doing an exercise. Say, She’s ugly.

She’s ugly.

She’s ugly.

What you’re doing is letting the label pass freely. You’re falling into alignment with its existence.

You find yourself falling into alignment and on the cusp.

You’ve labelled the woman ‘beautiful’. You’ve practised accommodating her in the label ‘ugly’, falling into alignment with the existence of that label. The ‘beautiful’ and ‘ugly’ begin to cancel each other out, bringing you to the cusp of the pivot of the path. And then—

Going-by-this-or-that-aspect-of-the-thing-and-saying-It’s- x ceases. It ceases and you don’t know what’s so of the thing.

The pivot finds the centre of the socket. You find yourself at the pivot of the path, the silent place where the woman is neither ugly nor beautiful.

What you now behold, I call the path.

The path is the unlabelled isness of things. The directly-perceived so-ness of things. The world as seen from the pivot of the path.

Disturbing your daemonic clarity to make things one …

The daemonic is your felt sense of aliveness, your wordless sense of engagement with things. Your daemonic clarity, then, is an energised state of consciousness in which you see things directly and clearly. It corresponds to seeing the path (the unlabelled isness of things).

One way to make things one is to let the competing labels pass freely, and let things be one. That’s Chuang Tzu’s recommendation. Our habitual way, however, is to disturb our daemonic clarity by trying to make things one (whole, right) by rearranging things. For example, Mary has just found out that Jane has the power to stop her from having an abortion. When there was nothing at stake, when it was just a matter of allowing that Jane has a different view, Mary was able to let the labels pass freely (the labels, ‘Abortion is right’, ‘Abortion is wrong’) and behold the path. She wordlessly beheld the isness of this whole situation with her and Jane. But not now. Now she’s enraged. She’s desperate to make things one (to have an abortion) …

… not knowing that different arrangements are the same …

The concept of different arrangements being the same is from the vernacular of philosophical argument. One of the tasks of philosophical argument is to group similar things and distinguish different things.

Here’s an example of grouping similar things. Consider this white animal here and that smaller brown one there. Despite their differences, I see that both animals are horses. I appreciate that these different arrangements of things (different arrangements of colour and size) are the same (are horses).

Here’s an example of distinguishing different things. A man wants a horse to go riding on, but when he’s given a brown horse he protests, I want a white horse, not a brown one! Not appreciating that the different arrangements are the same, and seeking now to make things one (to make his incomplete situation whole) by changing the brown horse for a white one, he has pointlessly disturbed his daemonic clarity.

Likewise, Mary isn’t seeing that having an abortion and not having an abortion, that these different arrangements of things, are the same. Perhaps you’re not, either? Let’s, then, continue.

… that I call three in the morning.

The monkeys got all heated up (they disturbed their daemonic clarity) over the arrangement, three nuts in the morning, four in the evening. They used rage to change that arrangement to four nuts in the morning, three in the evening (to make things one, whole, right). They didn’t appreciate that these different arrangements are the same (seven nuts in total). They got all worked up over nothing.

~

The monkey keeper, this distributer of nuts, is a metaphor for the world, fate, circumstances. The that which gives us our lot.

The monkey keeper says to Mary, Here’s three nuts of nappy washing and four nuts of enjoying the wonder of a child’s eyes.

Mary’s brain continues to object. I don’t want those nuts! I want four nuts of not being burdened with a child and three nuts of whatever the hell this stupid metaphor wants to give me!

Mary’s brain has a point. It isn’t immediately clear how the ‘three in the morning’ story applies to her situation. Sure, three nuts in the morning, four in the evening is the same as four in the morning, three in the evening. But having a child and not having a child—in what way are those different arrangements the same?

Let’s see if we can work out what Chuang Tzu means.

~

3 + 4 = 4 + 3?

Three nuts of nappy washing and four nuts of enjoying the wonder of a child’s eyes? Four nuts of travelling child-free and three nuts of, oh, I don’t know, loneliness?

I don’t know how to divide different life-circumstances into four of this and three of that. Chuang Tzu isn’t inviting us to be mathematicians. The purpose of the seven nuts is to represent how any here-and-now experience is a complete experience. The monkeys didn’t appreciate that three nuts now, four later, is equivalent to four now, three later. They didn’t appreciate that each arrangement is a full allotment of seven nuts. Likewise, you and I don’t appreciate that undesired circumstances are equivalent to desired circumstances. We don’t appreciate that each arrangement is a full allotment of experience.

Let’s look at some examples.

~

Two monks are camping. There they are in their tent, all snug and settled in for the night, when a wind whips up and whisks the tent away.

Monk 1 exclaims, We’ve lost our tent!

Monk 2 says, What an amazing view of the stars.

Snug and warm in a tent, with a view of green plastic. That’s seven nuts. Cold and exposed under the glory of the stars. That too is seven nuts.

~

Monk Jon lived a simple life on the edge of town. He made a modest living counselling the townsfolk who now and then sought his counsel.

One day an angry couple visited him and said, You got our daughter pregnant.

Monk Jon hadn’t got their daughter pregnant, but he could see that they were in no mood for conversation, so he said, Is that so?

The angry couple said, We can’t afford the infant, so we’re leaving her with you.

Monk Jon said, Is that so?

Now that his reputation was in tatters he couldn’t make a living counselling the townsfolk. Who would seek his counsel now? So he bundled up the infant girl and took to the road.

Years passed. Raising the girl was a different life to the monastic life he’d lived on the edge of town. And being a nobody asking for unskilled work was different to being a respected monk with an easy income from counselling. He endured hardships, but also enjoyed new experiences: watching the girl grow, working in kitchens, seeing how people treat social nobodies. New and wonderful worlds opened up to him.

One day the angry couple tracked him down. But now they weren’t angry. Now they were awkward and deferential. They said, Our daughter has told us that you didn’t get her pregnant. It was the neighbour boy. We’re very sorry, and we’ve come to take the girl.

Monk Jon said, Is that so?

He returned the girl to her grandparents and he returned to his hut on the edge of the town. Now that everyone knew the truth about what he had done he was more revered than ever. Townsfolk would say to him, You are the most noble monk ever.

Monk Jon would say, Is that so?

Living a monastic life on the edge of town, respected by one’s neighbours. That’s seven nuts. Raising a child while wandering about as a nobody. That too is seven nuts.

~

In 1950, twenty-five-year-old Arnold Beisser was struck with polio. There he was, twenty-five years old, a national tennis champion, a medical intern poised to embark on a career in surgery, now paralysed in an iron lung.

Finding itself in this situation, Arnold’s brain did what any brain would do. It protested.

And Arnold? He identified with his brain’s thoughts.

In this way he suffered for a solid two years.

Two years into this ordeal he had a life-changing experience. Lying in his iron lung, looking down the drab hospital corridor, despairing at the boredom and hopelessness of it all, something in his perception shifted. He began to notice variations in shades of colour and light, geometric patterns in the alignment of walls and doors, and the scene ‘now seemed startlingly beautiful’, ‘full and whole’. The moment passed, but over the years such moments became more and more frequent. He came to see that there is ‘something of value in [my] new existence, something that [does] not suffer by comparison with the old.’ He at times experienced ‘the same sense of fullness, joy, and absorption’ in his quadriplegic experience as he had in his able-bodied experience. He had experiences of ‘no want, no deficit, nothing larger, nothing smaller, nothing stronger, nothing weaker.’

He ended up living a long, full, and happy life. As a quadriplegic. He had a career as a psychiatrist. He married, and remained happily married until his death in his sixties. He travelled.

We might find Beisser’s contentment difficult to believe. But we have good reason to believe him. He admits to feeling anger and despair, so we have some confidence that he doesn’t deny unpleasant realities. And those who knew him confirm that to all appearances he was content.

He attributed his contentment to this: he stopped struggling to change his circumstances. In Chuang Tzu’s language, he stopped disturbing his daemonic clarity by trying to make things one, which allowed him to see that things are one. He saw that his here-and-now world is a full allotment of experience.

In name and in fact the monkeys hadn’t lost a thing, and yet they used joy and rage. Because of this, the sage uses ‘It’s x, it’s not x’ to harmonise with him (the monkey keeper) …

Although Mary’s brain is still opposed to having a child, the sage in her now appreciates that whether she has an abortion or whether she has a child, she’ll have a full allotment of experience. It happens that the monkey keeper has given her the arrangement of having to carry the pregnancy to term, so she harmonises with him, saying, That’s OK …

… and thus rests in the equanimity of heaven.

Heaven is the sky, and by extension, the space all around us, the numinous space in which things exist.

To rest in the equanimity of heaven is to be like the sky: a space that is undisturbed by the coming and going of things, and which illuminates all things equally. It’s to identify with awareness (Chapter 1.1, Theme 1).

I call this, letting both alternatives proceed.

Chuang Tzu is again making use of the vernacular of philosophical argument. By the usual rules of argument you must commit to saying of a thing either, It’s x, or, It’s not x. Only one of these alternatives is allowed to proceed, to be used henceforth in the discussion. (This makes sense. It’s frustrating when the person you’re talking to is evasive, using words to mean now this, now that.) Chuang Tzu, however, allows both alternatives to proceed, such that you are free to say of things, now, They’re x, now, They’re not, as required by the situation.

Mary’s brain says, Abortion is allowable. The monkey keeper (the world, fate, Jane) says, It’s not. Mary allows both alternatives to proceed. She has found the pivot of the path, from where she sees that abortion is neither allowable nor unallowable, and from where she can say, It’s allowable, and now, It’s unallowable, in alignment with her circumstances.

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