The Dream of the Butterfly

[Marblehead]

Well, just look at the last three of four posts in "The Father and the Son" thread.  Chuang Tzu spoke a lot about death.  But those who died never became butterflies.

 

Yeah, I like to consider myself organized but someone else viewing would likely see chaos.

 

Existence is a tricky word.  I would likely separate physical (materialistic) existence from spiritual (and even mental) existence.

 

Chuang Tzu existed physically, his dream existed mentally.  But physically he did not become a butterfly.

 

If reincarnation were a fact we wouldn't be so stupid when we are born.

[Stosh]

If reincarnation were a fact we wouldn't be so stupid when we are born.

PRICELESSly concise  , very nice

 

 

Though it seems to conflict with taoist advice to be like a baby , doesnt it? 

Edited May 11, 2015 by Stosh

[Marblehead]

Though it seems to conflict with taoist advice to be like a baby , doesnt it? 

Yes, we need to take that advice with a bit of salt and pepper.

 

I do prefer the "uncarved block".  That suggests a tree living like the type of tree it is.  Just being one's self because there is nothing else to be.

[Stosh]

Nice excerpts in that thread , the four do indeed appear to be talking about the experiences of life and death but not reincarnation. As in ,

I am the reincarnation of a carnation.

I think

I remember being a carnation.

My petals were red.

and now I don't know if I am a carnation ,

or a man dreaming I am a carnation.

Edited May 11, 2015 by Stosh

[Marblehead]

Yeah, carnations are pretty.  Haven't grown them for a number of years.

 

But then, if one wishes to believe in reincarnation then the concept exists in their mind.  And that's fine as long as we remember where different aspects of reality exist.

 

I haven't heard anything from Moeller lately.

[Stosh]

Yeah, carnations are pretty.  Haven't grown them for a number of years.

 

But then, if one wishes to believe in reincarnation then the concept exists in their mind.  And that's fine as long as we remember where different aspects of reality exist.

 

I haven't heard anything from Moeller lately.

REAL--- FAKE  , real- fake , fake- real .... got it.  

[Marblehead]

Oh, let's not call it "fake".  Maybe surreal?

 

(Wow!  I guess I am mellowing.  I used to call it bullshit.)

[Geof Nanto]

Here are some excerpts from Louis Komjathy’s The Daoist Tradition that I find helpful for clarifying and giving context to some of the themes emerging form this discussion; in particular, Daoist views of the self, death, and reincarnation. 

 

Composite personhood

Paralleling a traditional Chinese worldview, the foundational Daoist view of self is that of composite personhood. It appears that there were two principal classical Daoist maps of personhood. The first was the fairly standard Chinese view of a composite self consisting of two primary spiritual elements. The second was also a composite view, but here the person was seen as a temporary accumulation of qi, of subtle breath as animating power. These are not mutually exclusive, and they may have been simply different ways of expressing the same fundamental Daoist anthropology. The key connective strand is that, from a traditional Chinese and foundational Daoist perspective, one's self is composite and ephemeral. Human beings contain both "biological" and "spiritual" elements. However—and this is centrally important for understanding Daoism—every aspect of self is transitory and impermanent. We may think of this in terms of atoms, although that concept is foreign to Daoism. Just as atoms break apart and reform into new configurations, so too every dimension of self is reabsorbed and recycled in the energy system of the cosmos. This is an impersonal view of the cosmos and selfhood, and it stands in contrast to classical Hellenistic and Hindu views of an eternal soul, whether going through one lifetime or multiple ones (reincarnation). That is, from a classical and foundational Daoist perspective, one is not eternal, and if there is post-mortem existence, it is temporary. The ultimate fate of ordinary human beings is to disappear into the cosmos.

 

The first Daoist expression of a composite view of personhood is the so-called "two-soul model." We find this view expressed in some classical Daoist sources such as Chapter 10 of the Daodejing, "Carrying the ethereal and corporeal souls, embracing the One, can you be without separation?"' The Zhuangzi expresses a similar view.

 

SELF AS ETHEREAL AND CORPOREAL SOULS

Life between the heavens and earth resembles the passing of a white colt glimpsed through a crack in the wall—whoosh, and then it's gone. Overflowing, starting forth, there is nothing that does not come out; gliding away, slipping into silence, there is nothing that does not go back in. Having been transformed (hua), things find themselves alive; another transformation and they are dead. Living things grieve over it, and humanity mourns. But it is like the untying of a Heaven-lent bow-bag, the unloading of a Heaven-lent satchel—a yielding, a mild mutation, and the hun and po are on their way, the body following after, on at last to the Great Return. (Zhuangzi, Chapter 22; adapted from Watson 1968: 240)

 

From this perspective, the person consists of one hun and one po…. The former is conventionally translated as "cloud" or "ethereal soul," while the latter is conventionally rendered as "white" or "corporeal soul." The use of "soul" is misleading, as it implies something substantial and eternal….. For clarity's sake, one may think of the hun as the yang-ghost and the po as the yin-ghost: the yang-ghost is associated with subtle and celestial aspects of self, while the yin-ghost is associated with the flesh and bones. According to the standard account, after death, the various composite aspects of self separate. The hun ascends into the heavens to become an ancestor, while the po descends into the earth, eventually dissipating as the body decomposes….. In any case, it is important to note that the hun and po are ephemeral, and eventually dissipate into the cosmos.

 

The second Daoist expression of a composite view of personhood centers on qi: "Human life is a coming-together of qi. If it comes together, there is life; if it scatters, there is death" (Zhuangzi, Chapter 22; see also ibid., Chapter 4; Daode jing, Chapter 42). According to this perspective, one's being is a relatively random occurrence, wherein qi happens to come together in a specific way at a specific time. This apparent randomness is, of course, offset by various factors, which Daoists recognize: one is born in a specific place at a specific time within a specific family. There are thus astronomical, astrological, and constitutional aspects of personhood that manifest as one's unique being.

 

SELF AS ACCUMULATION OF Q1

"Your master happened to come because it was his time, and he happened to leave because things follow along. If you are content with the time arid willing to follow along, then grief and joy have no way to enter in. In the old days, this was called being freed from the bonds of Di (Thearch). Though the grease burns out of the torch, the fire passes on, and no one knows where it ends." (Zhuangzi, Chapter 3)

 

"I received life because the time had come; I will lose it because the order of things passes on. Be content with this time and dwell in this order and then neither sorrow nor joy can touch you. In ancient times this was called 'freeing the bound.' There are those who cannot free themselves because they are bound by things. But nothing can ever win against the heavens—that's the way it's always been." (ibid., Chapter 6)

 

These passages point towards the Dao as an impersonal, cosmological process, and challenge the nearly ubiquitous anthropocentrism of the world's cultures. At times, 1hese Daoist views of personhood seem to border on being ecological, in which each and every being is part of a larger system. Within that system, the death and decomposition of some beings is necessary for the sustenance and flourishing of others. Here compost seems to be both a viable metaphor and lived experience of human existence.

 

COMPOSITION, DECOMPOSITION, RECOMPOSITION

The seeds of things have mysterious workings (ji). In the water they become Break Vine; on the edges of the water they become Frog's Robe. If they sprout on slopes, they become Hill Slippers. If Hill Slippers get rich soil, they turn into Crow's Feet. The roots of Crow's Feet turn into maggots and their leaves turn into butterflies. Before long the butterflies are transformed and turn into insects that live under the stove; they look like snakes and their name is Qutuo. After a thousand days, the Qutuo insects become birds called Dried Leftover Bones. The saliva of the Dried Leftover Bones becomes Simi bugs, and the Simi bugs become Vinegar Eaters. Yiluo bugs are born from the Vinegar Eaters, and Huangshuang bugs from Jiuyou bugs. Jiuyou bugs are born from Mourui bugs and Mourui bugs are born from Rot Grubs and Rot Grubs are born from Sheep's Groom. Sheep's Groom couples with bamboo that has not sprouted for a long while and produces Green Peace plants. Green Peace plants produce leopards and leopards produce horses and horses produce humans. Humans in time return again to the mysterious workings. So all beings come out of the mysterious workings and go back into it again. (Zhuangzi, Chapter 18; adapted from Watson 1968: 195-6)

 

While this passage seems to derive from both the close observation of natural cycles and creative imaginings about the relation between sentient beings and the "mysterious workings," the text expresses a biocentric and organicist understanding of the Dao as transformative process. Through reciprocal and mutually influencing patterns of interaction, some beings are born from and nourished by others. This is a complex, interdependent set of relationships-, it is beyond the comprehension of most human beings. Thus, one must speak of it as both observable and mysterious. All beings participate in and express the Dao's transformative process, emerging from and then eventually returning to its interconnected totality. This is as true for human beings as for fern leafs and maggots.

 

Viewing the classical and foundational Daoist composite view of self, various interpretations are possible. At times, this view seems to be more materialistic and naturalistic, more biological and organic. One gets the impression of participating in a vast compost system. At other times, there seems to be a spiritist dimension, that is, it seems that human beings contain spiritual elements that, at least for some period of time, transcend physical death. It is important to note, however, that the Daoist composite view of self has a psychosomatic ("mind-body") dimension'. one's postmortem fate, at least the fate of the po, is dependent upon the proper treatment of the body. This is expressed in the traditional Chinese and Daoist practice of full-body interment as the primary burial and funeral practice.

 

Ascetic and alchemical views

In order to understand various later Daoist practices, goals, and ideals, it is essential to be familiar with the foundational Daoist view of personhood as composite self. The ordinary human being, like all organic entities, is destined to decompose and be reabsorbed into the cosmos. The classical Daoist response to such an existential given was acceptance and cosmic integration. Within the context of the inner cultivation lineages, Daoist adepts practiced apophatic meditation with the goal of mystical union with the Dao. This transpersonal experience revealed the transitory and illusory nature of separate existence. To be a separate individual, especially one rooted in egoistic desires, was to be separated from the Dao, at least when viewed from an experiential and psychological perspective. Once one attained disappearance of self and abided in the Dao, one came to understand that death and life are part of the same transformative process. In some sense, higher-level Daoist practitioners die while still alive, and so their way of perceiving death becomes transformed. Nonetheless, death was still the end of personhood and terrestrial being. One dies, and death is nothingness on a personal level.

 

However, as time went on, some Daoists proposed a different response and solution to the givenness of a composite self and its dissipation through death. From this perspective, which I refer to as the "alchemical view,” one can unite the disparate aspects of the self into a single whole.

That imagined goal is actualized and accomplished; it is not given. Through complex alchemical processes, whether external or i internal, one could create a transcendent spirit, one could ensure personal post-mortem existence. Considered from a more encompassing Daoist perspective, one can simply accept one's bio-spiritual fate to disappear into the cosmos; within such a Daoist religious path, one cultivates a sense of cosmological and mystical integration. However, if one wants personal post-mortem existence, there is only one choice: to engage in alchemical practice. Even then, perhaps disturbingly, there is no guarantee of success.

 

Buddhist-influenced perspectives

The previously painted picture becomes more complex with the introduction of Buddhism as one of the so-called Three Teachings (sanjiao). Introduced into China by Central Asian merchants and missionary-monks during the first and second centuries CE, Buddhism was initially rejected as a "foreign,”' and therefore inferior, religion. However, after about two hundred years, Chinese people began converting to Buddhism in larger numbers. Buddhist views and practices became more commonplace, and Daoists began adopting various elements of Buddhism. This led to pivotal cross-pollinations: Chan (Zen) Buddhism developed under the influence of classical Daoist texts, while Daoists began to systematize their tradition along Buddhist lines, including the creation of Daoist monasticism.

 

In terms of the present discussion, Buddhism introduced an entirely new worldview from  India into Chinese culture. This worldview centered on karma, samsara, and nivana…… According to the Four Noble Truths, the nature of existence is suffering (dukkha), and suffering is caused by desire. In order to overcome suffering, and eventually attain nivana, one must extinguish desires. That is, ordinary human existence is a source of suffering, especially in the form of sickness, old age, and death. This suffering continues through each subsequent lifetime based on one's accumulated karma. Second, Buddhism emphasizes that an abiding self or eternal soul (atman) is illusory. In fact, what we mistakenly identify as "self" is composed of the Five Aggregates (Skt.: skandha), which are also impermanent. The Five Aggregates include form/ matter, feeling/sensation, perception, conception, and consciousness. Here an inevitable question emerges: if there is no self, then what reincarnates? The standard Buddhist response is that there is a transference of consciousness and karma from one existence to another, like the passing of a flame from one candle to another. In this way, Buddhism appears to replace a strict interpretation of self as radically impermanent with a quasi-docetic view, and in practice emphasizes mind or consciousness over the body. This stands in contrast to traditional Chinese psychosomatic views.

 

Buddhism exerted a profound influence on Chinese culture, and Daoists increasingly accepted the Buddhist idea of reincarnation. While Daoists tended to reject claims concerning the body and world as samsaric, as sources of suffering as such, there were parallel classical Daoist ideas about the potentially disorienting effects of desire.

 

Lingbao was the first Daoist sub-tradition to incorporate the Buddhist view of reincarnation (lunhui), also rendered as transmigration. Although reincarnation did not replace the earlier composite and alchemical views, it did become one of the dominant Daoist views of self, and today the majority of mainland Chinese Daoists tend to believe in reincarnation. With the addition of reincarnation, the rationale for internal alchemy became slightly reconceptualized. Daoists now tend to frame this rationale in terms of "realizing innate nature" (dexing) or "awakening original spirit" (wu yuanshen). The ultimate goal of internal alchemy also shifts from the formation of a transcendent spirit to the ability to consciously direct one's subsequent existences. Unfortunately, little research has been conducted on the place of reincarnation in specific systems of internal alchemy.

 

Death, dying and the afterlife

Just as there are three primary Daoist views of self, namely, composite, alchemical, and Buddhistic (quasi-docetic), so too there are three corresponding Daoist views of death and the afterlife: (1) Death as dissipation into the cosmos, (2) Death as immortality, and (3) Death as reincarnation. There are ways in which these are mutually exclusive, and ways in which they are compatible. As the third view is quite straightforward (see above), here I will focus on the first two, which are indigenously Chinese.

 

The classical location for the first view, death as dissipation, is in the texts of classical Daoism, specifically the Zhuangzi. Here two representative passages from Chapter 6, "The Great Ancestral Teacher," will suffice. This is probably the key chapter for understanding classical Daoist perspectives on death and dying.

 

ADEPT YU AND ADEPT LAI EMBRACE THE DYING PROCESS

All at once Adept Yu fell ill. Adept Si went to ask how he was. "Amazing!:' said Adept Yu. "The transformative process is making me crooked like this! My back sticks up like a hunchback and my vital organs are on top of me. My chin is hidden in my navel, my shoulders are up above my head, and my ponytail points at the sky. It must be some dlislocetion of the qi of yin and yang!"

"Do you resent it?" asked Adept Si.

"Why no, what would I resent? If the process continues, perhaps in time it will transform my left arm into a rooster. In that case I'll keep watch on the night. Or perhaps in time it will transform my right arm into a crossbow pellet and I'll shoot down an owl for roasting. Or perhaps in time it will transform my buttocks into cartwheels. Then, with spirit for a horse, I'll climb up, and go for a ride. What need will I ever have for a carriage again?

I received life because the time had come; I will lose it because the order of things passes on. Be content with this time and dwell in this order and then neither sorrow nor joy can touch you. In ancient times this was called 'freeing the bound’. There are those who cannot free themselves because they are bound by things. But nothing can ever win against the heavens—that's the way it's always been. What would I have to resent?" (Zhuangzi, Chapter 6; adapted from Watson 1968: 84)

 

Suddenly Adept Lai grew ill. Gasping and wheezing, he lay at the point of death. His wife and children gathered round in a circle and began to cry. Adept Li, who had come to ask how he was, said, "Shoo! Get back! Don't disturb the process of change!"

Then he leaned against the doorway and talked to Adept Lai. "How marvellous the transformative process is! What is it going to make of you next? Where is it going to send you? Will it make you into a rat's liver? Will it make you into a bug's arm?"

Adept Lai said, "A child, obeying his father and mother, goes wherever he is told, east or west, south or north. And yin and yang—how much more are they to a person than father or mother! Now that they have brought me to the verge of death, if I should refuse to obey them, how perverse I would be! What fault is it of theirs? The Great Clod burdens me with form, labors me with life, eases me in old age, and rests me in death. So if I think well of my life, for the same reason I must think well of my death. When a skilled smith is casting metal, if the metal should leap up and say, 'I insist upon being made into a Moye!' he would surely regard it as very inauspicious metal indeed. Now, having had the audacity to take on human form once, if I should say, 'I don't want to be anything but a human! Nothing but a human!', the transformative process would surely regard me as a most inauspicious sort of person. So now I think of the heavens and earth as a great furnace, and the transformative process as a skilled smith. Where could it send me that would not be all right? I will go off to sleep peacefully, and then with a start I will wake up:' (ibid; adapted from Watson 1968: 85; see also Zhuangzi, Chapters 2, 3, 7, 13, 15, 17, 18, 22, 23, and 33)

 

This passage reflects the classical view of the Dao as transformative process (zaohua), which is frequently mistranslated as "creation" or "Creator." Just as one participates in this process, the energetic oscillation of yin and yang, while alive, so too in death. Death is simply another moment in the endless unfolding of the Dao. Taken as a whole, the various passages seem to indicate that death is the dissolution of self, the separation of the various elements of personhood . There is no personal post-mortem existence, no personal survival after death. One becomes reabsorbed and recycled in the cosmos, and different elements, possibly even aspects of consciousness, become redistributed to and as new beings.

 

The second major Daoist view of death, death as immortality, is a response to the first view, which was the standard, received account. The second view developed in the context of Daoist alchemy, both external and internal. This Daoist perspective frequently leads to perplexity among students of Daoism, as many see it as "inconsistent" or "contradictory" with respect to the first. In fact, it is a response, or an alternative, to the foundational Daoist view of death as dissipation into the cosmos. If one is content to decompose, then one simply accepts death as another moment in the transformative process of the Dao. However, there is no subjective experience, no awareness, of that process after physical death, and one loses the capacity of conscious participation. If one desires personal post-mortem existence, "immortality:' one must engage in alchemical practice and transformation. This cannot be emphasized enough. The Daoist view of death as immortality is not a given; it must be actualized and accomplished through training. One must activate the Daoist subtle body; one must create a transcendent spirit. This is the path to immortality and transcendence.

 

Before the influence and adaptation of a Buddhist-inspired reincarnation model, there was no possibility of a prolonged afterlife, especially as a unified being, without alchemical practice—and even then, there was no guarantee of success, of the completion of alchemical transformation.

 

Although these views are often seen as mutually exclusive, a passage from the sixth-century Xisheng jing (Scripture on the Western Ascension; DZ 666; DZ 726) is instructive. The text presents itself as a record of an esoteric transmission given by Laozi to Yin Xi as a supplement to the Daodejing. Throughout the text, Laozi instructs Yin Xi on various dimensions of Daoist training, including practices that might be labeled "proto-neidan." The text in turn oscillates between the Daoist soteriological goals of "return" and "transformation."

 

NON-DUALISTIC MYSTICAL BEING

Laozi said, "I will now revert my spirit and return to Namelessness [Dao]. I will abandon separate personhood and end my existence; in this way I will live continuously. Now I will leave this world and return to the unified Source"

Suddenly he disappeared. At that moment, the building was illuminated by a five-colored radiance, dark and brilliant.

Yin Xi went into the courtyard, prostrated himself and said, "Please, spirit being, appear one more time. Let me receive one more essential principle so that I may guard the Source (shouyuan).'

Yin Xi then looked up and saw Laozi's body suspended in mid-air several meters above the ground. He looked like a statue (jinren) [possibly "golden being"]. The apparition appeared and disappeared, vague and indistinct. His countenance had no constancy. Laozi then spoke, "I will give you one more admonition. Make sure to follow it: Get rid of all impurities and stop your thoughts; still the heart-mind and guard the One. When all impurities are gone, the myriad affairs are done. These are the essentials of my way (dao)."

Finishing this, the apparition vanished. (Xisheng jing, DZ 666, 6.15a-17b)

 

While there are a variety of ways to read this passage contextually, one especially relevant to the present discussion is that it is possible to merge with the Dao and attain the ability to manifest as a differentiated being. That is, one may reside in a post-mortem state wherein one is simultaneously everything (Oneness) and an individual thing (one). Just as all beings participate in and express the Dao, the Dao manifests in every individual being. Here Laozi is simultaneously Dao, personal god, as well as historical figure and human being. This is the Daoist adept's own potentiality as well.

Edited May 11, 2015 by Darkstar

[Marblehead]

WoW!  What a long read.  But I felt "bound" to read it.

 

My reading felt uneasy at the beginning but I forced myself to keep an open mind and read it without prejudice.

 

And at the end of the reading I felt that the concept was very well discussed.

 

Louis did not push any single aspect of the concept and did a rather good job at presenting aspects fairly.

[Stosh]

Yeah, very nice choice. I was giong to rebel about my lifes mission being the creation of a compost heap though. I go with the dissolution group obviously. I cant help but consider the immortals grouping to be a tempting back-slide to post mortem living. It still scents of ,,fear of death ,bucking the system , and hanging on to ego. BUUTT, I havent died yet, and I do see how fear of death can be motivational in a positive way.

 

Really nice post.

Edited May 11, 2015 by Stosh

[Taoist Texts]

Laozi said, "I will now revert my spirit and return to Namelessness [Dao]. I will abandon separate personhood and end my existence;

 

Yin Xi went into the courtyard, prostrated himself and said, "Please, spirit being, appear one more time.

 

Yin Xi then looked up and saw Laozi's body

 

. Laozi then spoke, 

I was disappointed to see Komjaty to distort the bolded phrase. If LZ is not a separate person and does not exist anymore then who is addressed, who appears and who replies in the consequent dialogue?

 

In fact, LZ in the original says: "Now i will cut my connection to my physical body and extinguish my materiality"

 

絕身滅有

 

 nothing about abandoning separate personhood or ending existence here. Both continue in the immaterial realm.

[dawei]

I was disappointed to see Komjaty to distort the bolded phrase. If LZ is not a separate person and does not exist anymore then who is addressed, who appears and who replies in the consequent dialogue?

 

In fact, LZ in the original says: "Now i will cut my connection to my physical body and extinguish my materiality"

 

絕身滅有

 

 nothing about abandoning separate personhood or ending existence here. Both continue in the immaterial realm.

 

I'm not sure I follow... 

 

Is LZ material or immaterial here?   And how do you infer the meaning?

[Marblehead]

I was disappointed to see Komjaty to distort the bolded phrase. If LZ is not a separate person and does not exist anymore then who is addressed, who appears and who replies in the consequent dialogue?

Well, sure, he did take many liberties in transliterating what Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu said.  That's what made me uncomfortable at the beginning of the read.  But really, he had to do that in order for his comments to not be contradictory.

 

I would even doubt that Lao Tzu actually said what was presented as quoting him.

[Stosh]

It does remind me of a bit of a Columbo episode  , " Oh,, and theres just one more thing.... "   

The Lord said...

"I must go now to be one with all things." and began to fade. 

The disciple cried out ! Wait Lord , I dont understand ! You must come back ! 

The Lord replied , coming back to visibility , " What is it this time?"

The disciple replied, " How am I to guard the source? " 

The Lord , tapped his foot , saying, " I thought I already told you all this...  be nice. 

It is time for me to leave" ... again.

And so The Lord faded away in a rainbow of shimmering light.   

Edited May 12, 2015 by Stosh

[Taoist Texts]

I'm not sure I follow... 

 

This is the context in which LZ and Yin Xi met

 

The earliest certain reference to the present figure of Laozi is found in the 1st-century BCE Records of the Grand Historian collected by the historian Sima Qian from earlier accounts. In one account, Laozi was said to be a contemporary of Confucius during the 6th or 5th century BCE. His surname was Li and his personal name was Er or Dan. He was an official in the imperial archives and wrote a book in two parts before departing to the west. In another, Laozi was a different contemporary of Confucius titled Lao Laizi (老莱子)and wrote a book in 15 parts. In a third, he was the court astrologer Lao Dan who lived during the 4th-century BCE reign of DukeXian of Qin.^[20][21] The oldest text of the Tao Te Ching so far recovered was written on bamboo slips and dates to the late 4th century BCE.^[2]

According to traditional accounts, Laozi was a scholar who worked as the Keeper of the Archives for the royal court of Zhou.^[22] This reportedly allowed him broad access to the works of the Yellow Emperor and other classics of the time. The stories assert that Laozi never opened a formal school but nonetheless attracted a large number of students and loyal disciples. There are many variations of a story retelling his encounter with Confucius, most famously in the Zhuangzi.^[23][24]

 

He was sometimes held to have come from the village of Chu Jen in Chu.^[26] In accounts where Laozi married, he was said to have had a son named Zong who became a celebrated soldier. Many clans of the Li family trace their descent to Laozi, including the emperors of the Tang dynasty.^[27] According to the Simpkinses, while many (if not all) of these lineages are questionable, they provide a testament to Laozi's impact on Chinese culture.^[28]

 

The third story in Sima Qian states that Laozi grew weary of the moral decay of life in Chengzhou and noted the kingdom's decline. He ventured west to live as a hermit in the unsettled frontier at the age of 160. At the western gate of the city (or kingdom), he was recognized by the guard Yinxi. The sentry asked the old master to record his wisdom for the good of the country before he would be permitted to pass. The text Laozi wrote was said to be theTao Te Ching, although the present version of the text includes additions from later periods. In some versions of the tale, the sentry was so touched by the work that he became a disciple and left with Laozi, never to be seen again.^[29] In others, the "Old Master" journeyed all the way to India and was the teacher of Siddartha Gautama, the Buddha. Others claim he was the Buddha himself.^[23][30]

 

A seventh-century work, the Sandong Zhunang ("Pearly Bag of the Three Caverns"), embellished the relationship between Laozi and Yinxi. Laozi pretended to be a farmer when reaching the western gate, but was recognized by Yinxi, who asked to be taught by the great master. Laozi was not satisfied by simply being noticed by the guard and demanded an explanation. Yinxi expressed his deep desire to find the Tao and explained that his long study of astrology allowed him to recognize Laozi's approach. Yinxi was accepted by Laozi as a disciple. This is considered an exemplary interaction between Daoist master and disciple, reflecting the testing a seeker must undergo before being accepted. A would-be adherent is expected to prove his determination and talent, clearly expressing his wishes and showing that he had made progress on his own towards realizing the Tao.^[31]

The Pearly Bag of the Three Caverns continues the parallel of an adherent's quest. Yinxi received his ordination when Laozi transmitted the Daodejing, along with other texts and precepts, just as Taoist adherents receive a number of methods, teachings and scriptures at ordination. This is only an initial ordination and Yinxi still needed an additional period to perfect his virtue, thus Laozi gave him three years to perfect his Dao. Yinxi gave himself over to a full-time devotional life. After the appointed time, Yinxi again demonstrates determination and perfect trust, sending out a black sheep to market as the agreed sign. He eventually meets again with Laozi, who announces that Yinxi's immortal name is listed in the heavens and calls down a heavenly procession to clothe Yinxi in the garb of immortals. The story continues that Laozi bestowed a number of titles upon Yinxi and took him on a journey throughout the universe, even into the nine heavens. After this fantastic journey, the two sages set out to western lands of the barbarians. The training period, reuniting and travels represent the attainment of the highest religious rank in medieval Taoism called "Preceptor of the Three Caverns". In this legend, Laozi is the perfect Daoist master and Yinxi is the ideal Taoist student. Laozi is presented as the Tao personified, giving his teaching to humanity for their salvation. Yinxi follows the formal sequence of preparation, testing, training and attainment.^[32]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laozi#Historical_views

 

 

Is LZ material or immaterial here?   And how do you infer the meaning?

He arrives to Yin-xi in his material avatar, dictates him the Scripture of Western Ascension , then goes - all right now, buddy, i am out of here into the nameless immaterial realm of Dao to exist forever as a spirit-person. Having said that he transmogrifies his material body into a flash of the 5 colored light, leaving behind no material remains.After being called again by Xi he appears to him in his spiritual body one more time and then leaves for good:

 

 

Suddenly he disappeared. At that moment, the building was illuminated by a five-colored radiance, dark and brilliant.

Yin Xi went into the courtyard, prostrated himself and said, "Please, spirit being, appear one more time. Let me receive one more essential principle so that I may guard the Source (shouyuan).'

Yin Xi then looked up and saw Laozi's body suspended in mid-air several meters above the ground. He looked like a statue (jinren) [possibly "golden being"]. The apparition appeared and disappeared, vague and indistinct. His countenance had no constancy. Laozi then spoke, ....Finishing this, the apparition vanished.

 

Normally Komjaty is a brilliant translator.

[Rara]

Is the conventional interpretation of the Zhuang Zhou’s Butterfly Dream really a misinterpretation? Hans-Georg Moeller certainly thinks so………

 

THE DREAM OF THE BUTTERFLY—OR: EVERYTHING IS REAL

 

Herbert A. Giles's translation of the famous allegory of the but­terfly dream in the Zhuangzi is beautiful, but unfortunately, as I believe, entirely wrong:

 

 

Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was con­scious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly, I awaked, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dream­ing I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a barrier. The transition is called Metempsychosis.

I quote this translation because of its great influence on the Western perception of Daoist philosophy, especially among Western intellectuals and philoso­phers. Giles's translation of the Zhuangzi and, in particular, his rendering of this allegory is representative of the general under­standing of Daoist philosophy in his generation while, on the other hand, it quite obviously contradicts a traditional interpretation of the text in China.

 

Giles's translation of the butterfly dream has little to do with the original. It is rather an interesting transformation of the text into the patterns of "standard" Western philosophy. Perhaps the butterfly allegory became so popular in the West just because of this "Westernization." When one first reads Giles's version, it surely sounds very Chinese—if only because of the Chinese names and the quite "oriental" butterfly. But upon taking a closer look, it turns out to be an exotic disguise of thoroughly Western ideas. Giles's translation can be compared to the food of many Chinese restaurants in Western countries: it looks Chinese, but the cook has, nevertheless, made it wonderfully palatable to eaters accus­tomed to the local tastes.

 

Giles's version is based on Zhuangzi's recollection of his dream after he wakes up. Philosophically speaking, the story revolves around a central act of consciousness. Once the philosopher wakes, he remembers his dream of the butterfly, and once he starts remembering this dream, he begins to doubt and reflect on his being and on the problems of truth and appearance. In Giles's rendering, Zhuangzi gains an insight into the continuity of the soul within the chain of existence: he understands that he is part of the great cycle of Metempsychosis or the transmigration of the soul. The act of remembering is at the core of this philosoph­ical realization of the truth. It seems to be the point of departure on the path towards the discovery of the truth about the world and one's soul.

 

Giles's butterfly dream story is an interesting blend of motifs from the Western philosophical tradition. It bears a certain resem­blance to the final book of Plato's Republic in which Socrates tells the myth of Er, a person who was allowed to visit the underworld. In the underworld, Er witnessed what happens to the souls there: after their lives on earth, they are judged and sent either to a heaven or to a hell. Having spent a certain amount of time in the underworld, the souls return to earth after choosing a new body for their next life. Before the souls re-enter the world, they have to cross the plains of Lethe—or: Forgetfulness. By this crossing, they lose all their memory of the underworld and go on to live without knowledge of the metempsychosis they have undergone. According to this story, it is only through the act of remembrance—through mentally reaching back before the plains of forgetfulness—that human beings can actually realize their true being and fate: the transmigration of souls.

 

Since Plato, remembrance has been a central motif within Western conceptions of wisdom and knowledge, of thinking and of truth. In Plato's Meno, Socrates tries to prove that all knowledge comes from memory by conducting an "experiment" with an une­ducated slave: Just by asking the slave simple yes-or-no questions, Socrates helps him "discover" some basic geometrical rules. He concludes that the slave already had an innate geometrical knowl­edge and only needed some help to actually remember it. In mod­ern philosophy, G. W. F. Hegel depicted recollection as the way that leads to absolute knowledge in the course of his Phenomenology of Spirit. Old-European philosophers indeed often "thought back" to find the truth. In a similar way, Herbert A. Giles's Zhuangzi has to think back and re-member his dream in order to have the re-flection which leads him to re-cognize what is true and what only seems to be.

 

A second core motif of Giles's butterfly dream story deeply rooted in the Western philosophical tradition is expressed by the most often used term in his translation: I. This I and the related question of what this I truly is make up the philosophical thread that runs through the story. Zhuangzi tells a story about himself, he tells how his I in his dream is the I of a butterfly. Then he awakes and Zhuangzi is, as he says, " myself again. " This very I then starts thinking—and what does it think about? About itself and about what it is! Giles's text is from beginning to end about the I and its reflection on its own being. It is an ironic fact, I believe, that in the history of Western philosophy, there are few texts that treat so exclusively and comprehensively the issue of human sub­jectivity!

 

A third core motif of Giles's butterfly dream story is doubt. As soon as Zhuangzi remembers his dream, he begins doubting. And again, these doubts are rather existential since they are in regard to his inner self. Did Zhuangzi dream about being a butterfly or is he now a butterfly dreaming he is Zhuangzi? The motif of philo­sophical doubt is of great importance within the history of Western philosophy. Although Rene Descartes' famous Meditations are usually summarized by the "motto" cogito ergo sum or "I think, therefore I am," one might as well use the motto "I doubt, there­fore I am." At least after Descartes, Western philosophers are often seen as experts in doubting, as depicted in Auguste Rodin's sculp­ture The Thinker. The tradition of Western philosophy has com­bined these three motifs—remembrance, the being of the "I," and doubt—in various ways. One could very well write a history of (modern) Western philosophy by following the development of these notions. In Giles's translation, Zhuangzi appears to be a par­adigmatic Western philosopher in an ancient Chinese robe!

 

A fourth Old-European motif which appears in Giles's butter­fly dream comes into play at the end of the story: the motif of the transition of a barrier or transcendence. Once Zhuangzi has real­ized that there is a border between man and butterfly, he also real­izes that he himself as a philosopher can have knowledge of this border and thus that he can philosophically go beyond it. Zhuangzi, by his reflection, can overstep the border between dreaming and being awake, between appearance and truth. This motif alludes to the Western—and especially Judaeo-Christian - distinction between immanence and transcendence. A “meditating” philosopher in the West can mentally reach beyond the barriers of worldly immanence and merely apparent reality. In this way, he or she can move to the higher realm of an infinite, divine, and true world, just like the freed prisoner in Plato's alle­gory of the cave.

 

A fifth Old-European motif in Giles's butterfly dream is closely connected to the previous one—it is the motif of the unreality or at least the relativity of the world of experience. From the perspec­tive of the "awakened" philosopher, Zhuangzi sees through the unreality of his dreams. What he believed to be true while he was asleep, his then this-worldly and temporally limited existence as a butterfly, is finally unmasked as mere appearance, as a realm of only partial reality. Once the barrier is overcome, then what only seemed to be true is seen as it is. The awakened philosopher looks down on his earlier "unenlightened" experience. Only his mental reflection can elevate him to the realm of truth and free himself from the illusions of dreamlike sensual and temporal experience. In Giles's version, Zhuangzi seems to live through the process of a philosophical transition from the dreamlike phenomenal world to the enlightened realm of the noumenal.

 

The most wonderful transformation of the butterfly dream is, in my view, not the one of Zhuangzi in the story, but rather those performed by Herbert A. Giles. Giles's rendering keeps the ori­ental surface of the story alive, but completely converts the philo­sophical content into motifs of the Western philosophical tradition. Giles's magical transformation of the story has been overlooked by many of its Western readers who do not have access to the original texts. If one, however, takes a look at what the text literally says (or rather at what it does not say), and at how its ancient Chinese editor Guo Xiang (252-312) explains its mean­ing, one will see no evidence of the five motifs discussed above. In the Chinese original, the decisive turning point of the story is not remembering but forgetting. And this forgetting also includes the I and its being—it turns out that there is literally no I and no being in the story. Where Giles introduced doubts in the story, there is doubtlessness in the original, and where he advises the philosopher to transcend barriers, the original advises one to accept borders. Finally, while Giles's story seems to indicate the rel­ativity of the dream world of temporal phenomena, the original text highlights the equivalent reality of all experience. If one reads the butterfly dream story along with Guo Xiang's commentary, one sees the text in a Daoist light.

 

The Crucial difference between the plot of this allegory in Giles's translation and in Guo Xiang's edition is Zhuangzl's reac­tion when he awakes from his dream. While Giles implies that Zhuangzi remembers his dream, no such remembrance is men­tioned in the text, and Guo Xiang's commentary makes it perfectly clear that Zhuangzi does not remember the dream—he has, rather, completely forgotten it. Once Zhuangzi—or as he is called in the story: Zhuang Zhou—awakes, Guo Xiang inserts the following commentary:

 

Now Zhuang Zhou is just as ignorant about the butterfly as the but­terfly was ignorant about Zhuang Zhou during the dream.

When Zhuang Zhou awakes, he is as unaware of his earlier dream existence as the butterfly in the dream was unaware of Zhuang Zhou's earlier waking existence. Since the plot is completely dif­ferent, the story has to be read in another manner. This being so, I present my own translation based on the Chinese original and Guo Xiang's commentary:

 

Once Zhuang Zhou dreamt—and then he was a butterfly, a fluttering butterfly, self-content and in accord with its intentions. The butterfly did not know about Zhou. Suddenly it awoke—and then it was fully and completely Zhou. One does not know whether there is a Zhou becoming a butterfly in a dream or whether there is a butterfly becoming a Zhou in a dream. There is a Zhou and there is a butter­fly, so there is necessarily a distinction between them. This is called: the changing of things.

As opposed to Giles's translation, the original is based upon the mutual ignorance of Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly. The text indicates that because of this mutual ignorance, because of the for­getting of previous dreams while being awake and because of the forgetting of previous periods of being awake while dreaming, there are no grounds for devaluating one phase of existence. Both phases are equally authentic or real because each does not remem­ber the other. Because the butterfly does not know about Zhou, it is "self-content." Because Zhou does not remember his dream he is "fully and completely Zhou"—and without any doubts! Since Zhou and the butterfly do not remember each other, because the barrier between them is not crossed, the change between them is seamless, spontaneous, and natural! The harmonious "changing of things" is dependent upon the acceptance of the distinction and not on its transcendence.

 

In the original version of the text the core philosophical motif of the allegory is not remembering but forgetting. Zhuang Zhou's "state of consciousness" is not one of reflection or theoretical rea­soning, but rather one of a man who has been emptied of mental reflection.

 

It is quite noteworthy that the word that most frequently occurs in Giles's rendering—the "I," which is used ten times in those few lines, without counting words like "my" and "myself'— does not appear in the original! With this "I," Giles has Zhuang Zhou narrate the story—which is simply wrong, because it is not told from this perspective. Moreover, the "I" becomes, against tex­tual evidence, the necessary subject of the act of remembrance. In Giles's story Zhuang Zhou becomes "myself again"—there is nothing like this in the Chinese text.

 

While Zhuang Zhou emerges as the "subject" of change in Giles's version—he is first a man, then a butterfly, and then once more a man, there is no continuous subject mentioned in the text. The original text rather implies that instead of an "I" and its "indi­viduality," which undergo change (another invention by Giles), there is a kind of "autonomy" for both the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou. There is, strictly speaking, no substantial "I" that is first awake, then asleep, and then awake again. It is exactly because there is no such single, individual—which literally means in-divis­ible—I connecting them that both the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou can each be so fully real. They are real because they are divisible, not because they are in-divisible! During the dream, the butterfly is fully the butterfly, and when awake, Zhuang Zhou is fully Zhou. In the original text the change is complete: In one's dream one turns into another full reality and thus one is no longer what one was before. One is no longer "oneself' when change takes place. Change turns one I into another. While in Giles's story there is one I that takes on different bodies (like the soul in the course of metempsychosis), there are three phases in the original text, first Zhuang Zhou awake, then the butterfly in the dream, and then, strictly speaking, another Zhuang Zhou after the dream. There is no continuous I that acts as a bridge between these three phases. This is the reason that all three stages can be equally real.

 

The third motif in Giles's story, the moment of^, doubt, also has no equivalent in the Chinese text. Since Zhuang Zhou does not remember his dream, he is totally ignorant about the existence of the butterfly, and so has no reason to doubt his existence. Once awake, Zhuang Zhou is, as the text says, "fully and completely" Zhuang Zhou and does not seem to doubt this fact by asking him­self strange philosophical questions. He is not "thinking back," but rather as solidly assured of himself as the butterfly was of itself in the dream. Unlike Giles's version ("Now I do not know whether . . ."), there is no question raised by Zhuang Zhou in the original. In its place the conclusion is made by a "neutral" observer: Given the fact that the butterfly during the dream is as assured of its existence as Zhuang Zhou is of his reality when he is awake, there is no hierarchy of reality for an external observer. There is a reality to the perspective of each phase, so the neutral perspective cannot say that one phase is more authentic than another or that the butterfly is merely a dream. This being so, there can be no doubt that both phases, dreaming and being awake, are in-differently valid. Both phases are indifferent to each other and thus are not differently real. Both phases prove each other's real­ity. In the Chinese text the reader is left with no doubt about this.

 

The fourth motif in Giles's story finds its reverse in the original Chinese text. Here, it is not the crossing of boundaries that gives rise to "true" reality, but rather the affirmation and acceptance of them. Only if the one who is awake does not "think back" to his or her dreams and only if the dreamer does not "think back" to what he or she was when awake, can they both be "fully real." If, in a dream, one knew that it was a dream, one's dream would no longer be experienced as real. There is no word for "transition" in the Chinese text at all! It is an addition by the translator, just as the ten "I"s are! The reality of both states are dependent on not trans­gressing the borders of their segments of existence. Just as one is no longer really asleep when one realizes that one is dreaming, one is no longer really awake when one starts "living in a dream world." If one revitalizes earlier phases, for instance by way of rec­ollection, one cannot but give up one's presence, which diminishes the fullness of the "here and now." Total presence and the authen­ticity of the here and now is necessarily based on the nonviolation of "natural" barriers. Transitions of these barriers will not bring about a higher reality but, on the contrary, take away from reality. As the text says, the changing of things goes along necessarily with distinctions. The Chinese character for "distinction" contains as its main semantic element the character for "knife." Clear-cut distinc­tions and divisibility guarantee well-proportioned change. It is dangerous to disregard them.

 

In his commentary, Guo Xiang interprets the butterfly story as an allegory about life and death. Guo Xiang explains that just as one should not see dreaming as less real than being awake, one should not see death as less real than life. According to Guo Xiang, life and death are two equally valid phases of being or segments of change. This being so, one should not be anxious about death. If one just lives while being alive without worrying about death, then one can be as "fully and completely" alive as Zhuang Zhou was awake when he did not worry about his dreams. Likewise, when dead, one will not remember life, and therefore the dead can be as self-content and pleased as the butterfly was during the dream. Guo Xiang writes:

 

Well, the course of time does not stop for a moment, and today does not persist in what follows. Thus yesterday's dream changes into a today. How could it be different with the change between life and death!? Why should one let one's heart be made heavy by being moved back and forth between them? Being one, there is no knowl­edge of the other. Being a butterfly while dreaming is genuine. Relating this to human beings: when alive one does not know whether one may later actually have beautiful concubines. Only the stupid think they really know that life is something delightful and death is something to be sad about. That is what is called "never hav­ing heard of the changing of things."

It seems that Herbert A. Giles had not "heard of the changing of things." In his version of the story the reader is left with the nonauthenticity of dreams and asked to be ready for a transition of the immanence of life and death. This is not what the ancient Daoist Guo Xiang believed. To him, life and death were equally genuine and no realm of experience was to be devaluated. This contradicts the fifth motif of Giles's version of the story.

 

From a Daoist point of view, the change of something into its opposite is the condition for complete, seamless, and permanent change in general. It is decisive that there are no "bridges of rec­ollection" in this process connecting the phases of change so that each phase can be fully present_. This concept of change is illus­trated quite drastically by another Daoist parable found in the Huainanzi. This story parallels the butterfly dream, and it goes like this:

 

Once Duke Niuai was suffering from the illness of change. After seven days the change took place and he turned into a tiger. When his elder brother who looked after him came into his chamber to cover the corpse, the tiger caught the elder brother and killed him. A cultivated person had become a predator, claws and teeth transformed. Emotions and the heart had changed. Spirit and form had changed. The one who is now a tiger knows nothing about the one who earlier was a man. And the one who earlier was a man knew nothing about the one who now is a tiger. The two have replaced each other and changed into an opposite. Both were enjoying completeness of form.

The transformation of Duke Niuai into a tiger corresponds to Zhuang Zhou's transformation into a butterfly. In both transfor­mations there is total mutual ignorance of the respective phases of existence. Just as the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou were totally ignorant of each other, so too are Duke Nivai and the tiger. This ignorance marks the barrier between the segments of change that is not to be transgressed. Only in this way can all phases enjoy their respective "completeness of form." The opposite nature of human beings and tigers highlights this idea: As a man, Duke Nivai is cul­tivated, while the tiger, as a predator, is wild. The transformation is total, it includes the "emotions and the heart," and "spirit and form." The phases of change oppose each other like day and night, and therefore they perfectly complement one another and establish an ongoing process. The butterfly dream allegory and the parable of Duke Nivai's "illness of change" both illustrate how an inces­sant process of change entails complete "forgetfulness." Both sto­ries ask the reader to accept the completeness of change in which there is no continuous "transmigrating" substance.

 

The allegory of the butterfly dream is not about metempsychosis, it is about the Daoist teaching of change. However, if a core ele­ment of this Daoist teaching is to forget about previous and future phases of change in order to fully exhaust the authenticity of the one present phase—why does the butterfly dream allegory (as well as the story of Duke Nivai) cover several phases of change? Who can actually tell these stories. What is the perspective of the narra­tor if neither Zhuang Zhou nor the butterfly have the slightest knowledge of each other? Giles "solved" this problem by invent­ing the "I" that is not in the Chinese original—and thereby com­pletely transformed the story. In order to correctly answer this important question one has to take a closer look at the first sen­tence of the original text and the particular way personal names are used in the allegory.

 

The butterfly allegory (as well as the story of Duke Nivai) begins with the word "once" (xi). If the story is told from the per­spective of a narrator, this narrator obviously talks about events that happened in the past. The personal names used in the story indicate a similar time relation* between the narrator and the plot: The text is supposedly written by Zhuang-zi, that is by Master Zhuang, the honorific designation of someone who has become a sage. This designation indicates a change in personality—it indi­cates that someone has changed into someone else. Master Zhuang tells a story about Zhuang Zhou, about a person that was alive before there was Master Zhuang. Zhuang Zhou changed into Master Zhuang, and Master Zhuang tells us a story about events that happened when once there was a Zhuang Zhou. Master Zhuang tells the story about a "Zhou" whom he no longer iden­tifies with. The story is told from the perspective of someone who is neither Zhuang Zhou nor the butterfly, but who is equally "close" to both. From the perspective of the narrator there is no difference in reality or authenticity between the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou. Before there was Master Zhuang, there once was a Zhuang Zhou, and there once was a butterfly. Now, when the story is told by Master Zhuang, he is no longer either of the two. The story is told by someone who does not identify with either Zhuang Zhou or the butterfly, but who affirms both equally.

 

The perspective of Zhuang-zi or Master Zhuang, the narrator, is the perspective of the Daoist sage. The Daoist sage is in the midst of Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly, in the midst of dreaming and being awake, in the midst of life and death. Zhuangzi's per­spective is, so to speak, the "zero-perspective." He tells the story out of the empty center of the process of change, out of the axis or the "pivot of Dao" (dao shu) as the same chapter of the Zhuangzi puts it. The Daoist sage dwells unchanged at the cen­ter of the process of change. The story is told from this neutral and empty position, not from the position of a continuous I that undergoes change. It is told from the perspective of Zhuangzi, not from the perspective of either Zhuang Zhou or the butterfly.

 

The narrator of the butterfly dream story is a Daoist sage, and this sage, at the "pivot of the Dao" occupies the same position as the hub within a wheel. The butterfly dream allegory in the Zhuangzi is structured parallel to the image of the wheel in chap­ter 11 of the Daodejing. The image and the allegory both illustrate a perfect process of change. The spokes of the wheel, switching positions in the course of time, correspond to Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly. Just as what is on top changes into what is below, so a Zhuang Zhou changes into a butterfly, a dreamer turns into someone awake, and a Duke Nivai turns into a tiger. Within the process of change each phase is always distinct. The process runs smoothly as long as there is no transgression of barriers, as long as everything does not transcend its respective presence.

 

To the sage at the center of the process of change the segments of change are not only "relatively" authentic—each is fully and completely real. The position of the sage does not introduce a sort of "relativism"; it rather guarantees the full authenticity and com­pleteness of the process of change. Master Zhuang does not take anything away from the reality of either Zhuang Zhou or the but­terfly for he affirms and founds their complete reality. Likewise, the Daoist sage does not represent an insight into the "relativity" of life and death, but rather the affirmation of their complete reality. With the Daoist sage, life and death come to their equal and full authenticity.

 

The butterfly dream allegory speaks to both the sage and the nonsage: For those who are not sages, it is appropriate to be fully content with one's reality—to be fully alive without doubting one's "being" or reflecting on one's I. If one is fully awake while being awake and fully asleep while being asleep, one will always be fully present. Like in a political or physical organism, one should just naturally live up to one's position within an ongoing process.

 

If one has become a sage (and the Buddhists will later call this step the attaining of "enlightenment" or wu), if one is no longer either asleep or awake, either alive or dead, one has lost all identifications. One is then equally close to all phases, but never present in any, and nonpresent in the midst of a changing presence. From the zero perspective one observes the spinning of the circle – like Zhuangzi observes the change from Zhuang Zhou to the butter­fly. While everything else is what it is, the sage lets it be. In this way the sage can be identified with the whole process of change, just as the hub can be identified with the whole wheel, or the heart with the whole body, or the sage ruler with the whole state. In the midst of changes, the sage is no longer a distinct phase, but the core of the whole process of Dao.

 

From Daoism Explained: From the Dream of the Butterfly to the Fishnet Allegory by Hans-Georg Moeller pp 44-55

Finally, I have read this! And I must say, wow...this is strong

 

I won't say anything else until I have read the rest of the thread but thanks!

 

One thing though, isn't this the "precision" we were talking about in the other thread?

[Rara]

Just a dream, Just a dream.

Sounds like a lyric from an R.E.M song.

 

Yes, one thing that struck me was - what about when we wake up and often know we were dreaming? And often we can recall things that happened in the dream. Whether or not Zhuangzi was pondering/doubting or whether he was forgetful of the butterfly, who knows for sure? I think the main message has to be that a dream is another realm, equally as real to waking reality when you are in it. Because at present moment, in the dream state, that's all we have going on!

[Marblehead]

Sounds like a lyric from an R.E.M song.

 

 

 

 

[Marblehead]

Yes, one thing that struck me was - what about when we wake up and often know we were dreaming? And often we can recall things that happened in the dream. Whether or not Zhuangzi was pondering/doubting or whether he was forgetful of the butterfly, who knows for sure? I think the main message has to be that a dream is another realm, equally as real to waking reality when you are in it. Because at present moment, in the dream state, that's all we have going on!

Yes, recently I changed my understanding of this and related concepts in as much as what is real.

 

We sleep, we dream, we wake up but our dream is still our reality until we decide that it wasn't reality.  Some people never get to that last step.  Chuang Tzu wondered about the last step.

 

Yes, the dream is another realm of "our" individual experiences.  But no one else sees or experiences our dreams.  There is the difference.

 

Chuang Tzu never said that the people around him said he looked like a butterfly.  No, he looked like Chuang Tzu.

[Rara]

I didn’t click the “Thank you” button on this post because it would feel like I’m thanking you for asking forgiveness when I see nothing that needs forgiving. On the contrary, your replies are most welcome – especially, but not only, for your knowledge of Chinese. Your comments read as the work of someone striving with personal honesty towards objective translation and interpretation. There’s a lot to Moeller’s essay; it must have taken him considerable time and effort to write, similarly it also takes time and effort to fully appreciate his perspective. And even after fully understanding his perspective, agreement doesn’t necessarily follow.

I second this.

 

And no, I wasn't thanking you...I still use my button as a "like" button Looks the same on my phone anyway.

Edited May 25, 2015 by Rara

[Rara]

Yes, the butterfly is the perfect example of "transmutation".

Oh wow. So even a hidden metaphor here.

 

Now I'm thinking....I'll be back. It will hurt if I try to add to my answer right now.

[blue eyed snake]

Yes, recently I changed my understanding of this and related concepts in as much as what is real.

 

We sleep, we dream, we wake up but our dream is still our reality until we decide that it wasn't reality.  Some people never get to that last step.  Chuang Tzu wondered about the last step.

 

Yes, the dream is another realm of "our" individual experiences.  But no one else sees or experiences our dreams.  There is the difference.

 

Chuang Tzu never said that the people around him said he looked like a butterfly.  No, he looked like Chuang Tzu.

 

Not so much difference i think,

nobody sees or experiences my 'real' life either, not from the inside i mean, you can tell people  about what you like, what you feel , what you see, think etc. But seems to me impossible to convey what makes up the real 'you'

[Marblehead]

Oh wow. So even a hidden metaphor here.

 

Now I'm thinking....I'll be back. It will hurt if I try to add to my answer right now.

Hehehe.  Yes, sometimes when we think it hurts.  But that's not all bad.

[Marblehead]

Not so much difference i think,

nobody sees or experiences my 'real' life either, not from the inside i mean, you can tell people  about what you like, what you feel , what you see, think etc. But seems to me impossible to convey what makes up the real 'you'

Yes, you went deeper with this than I did.  And surely, I do not disagree with you.

Edited May 25, 2015 by Marblehead

[Rara]

Most people wish for immortality. That is why religions include some form of immortality.

 

Things die and different things are born. The weed dies but because it seeded itself during maturity more seeds will be born. The same weed is not reborn. Such an activity has never been observed in nature. The Way of Tao and the way of man. How different they seem to be so often.

 

Our sun will one day die. It will not be reborn because it had used up nearly all its energy. But, it has, while in a mature state, given life to the ten thousand things.

I'm glad we're relatively dogma-free in this thread.