ControlledChaos
Nature is analog, ever flowing and continuous.
His cook was cutting up an ox for the ruler Wen Hui. Whenever he applied his hand, leaned forward with his shoulder, planted his foot, and employed the pressure of his knee, in the audible ripping off of the skin, and slicing operation of the knife, the sounds were all in regular cadence.
In this passage, Wen Hui's witnesses his cook cutting up an ox. He appeared to have a steady and consistent method. This passage is often interpreted as an important illustration of "Wu Wei" or effortless action in Daoism. People often mistake Wu Wei for literally doing nothing, so a passage like this can be quite useful in clarifying the concept. However, let's not necessarily pigeonhole the message here, let's check out the meaning on its own terms.
Movements and sounds proceeded as in the dance of 'the Mulberry Forest' and the blended notes of the King Shou.'
From what I've researched, the dance of the mulberry forest and the "blended notes of king shou" could be a reference to a music style known as "Xiánchí". This style is said to emphasize a balance of "yin" sounds and "yang" sounds, and spontaneouty. Much of this is like being in harmomy with the Dao, so it is possible that the chef's motions are as well.
The ruler said, 'Ah! Admirable! That your art should have become so perfect!' (Having finished his operation), the cook laid down his knife, and replied to the remark, 'What your servant loves is the method of the Dao, something in advance of any art.
Here the chef pretty much confirms it; his way of using the knife is in line with the Dao. How exactly might that be? He elaborates:
When I first began to cut up an ox, I saw nothing but the (entire) carcase. After three years I ceased to see it as a whole. Now I deal with it in a spirit-like manner, and do not look at it with my eyes. The use of my senses is discarded, and my spirit acts as it wills.
As time went on, his proficiency increased to the point that he no longer even needs to see the ox to cut it up. It began to come natural to him, like riding a bike or driving a car. Often when somebody has mastered a skill they can do it without even thinking about it, often referred to as being "in the zone".
It should be noted however, that this passage is not just about the art of cutting an art. It's actually a metaphor for "the way" as a whole and thus as I proceed in my commentaty I will keep this in mind.
Observing the natural lines, (my knife) slips through the great crevices and slides through the great cavities, taking advantage of the facilities thus presented.
What this means is that he observes what he already has to work with, and uses this when he cuts the ox to his advantage. Instead of relying on the exact same motions every time, he first observes the reality before him so that his following actions are in line with reality.
For a broader interpretation, Zhuangzi is using this story to describe a way in which you observe the present conditions before proceeding with your actions. Of course, anybody too caught on a specific "way to do things" may struggle to do this.
My art avoids the membranous ligatures, and much more the great bones. A good cook changes his knife every year; (it may have been injured) in cutting - an ordinary cook changes his every month - (it may have been) broken. Now my knife has been in use for nineteen years; it has cut up several thousand oxen, and yet its edge is as sharp as if it had newly come from the whetstone.
The membraneous ligatures and great bones could be seen as obstacles in his path which his knife cannot easily cut through. He avoids these things and hence has not replaced his knife in nineteen years because it hasn't been damaged by his attempting to force it through such obstacles.
More broadly, Zhuangzi is saying that if there is a way that gets something done that avoids unnecessary obstacles that could end up harming you, you should avoid those obstacles.
There are the interstices of the joints, and the edge of the knife has no (appreciable) thickness; when that which is so thin enters where the interstice is, how easily it moves along! The blade has more than room enough.
Since the edge of his knife is so thin, it easily moves into the small spaces of the ox's joints and has plenty of room.
In this metaphor, the knife represents his principle operation of action, and the path cutting through the ox is much like life itself. By the knife's edge being so thin that it can easily enter between the joints, Zhuangzi is saying not to make your actions so broad or perhaps rash that you bump right into obstacles in life. Instead, it could be more useful for your actions to be more restrained, thoughtful, and subtle, so that you can pass by such challenges in a free and easy manner.
Nevertheless, whenever I come to a complicated joint, and see that there will be some difficulty, I proceed anxiously and with caution, not allowing my eyes to wander from the place, and moving my hand slowly.
Sometimes in life, you simply cannot avoid a complicated obstacle. This is where you need to be very careful and cautious, and move slow. Some challenges are very complex and precarious. Any rash action may lead to unintended consequences.
Then by a very slight movement of the knife, the part is quickly separated, and drops like (a clod of) earth to the ground.
Oftentimes in such unavoidable challenges, it is not a big, rash action that solves it. Through being cautious, careful, and observant you can identify the path of least resistance and cleanly solve the problem through a subtle yet effective action.
Then standing up with the knife in my hand, I look all round, and in a leisurely manner, with an air of satisfaction, wipe it clean, and put it in its sheath.'
Having solved the problem with ease, you can then relax.
The ruler Wen Hui said, 'Excellent! I have heard the words of my cook, and learned from them the nourishment of (our) life.'
The metaphor was not lost on the king here, who acknowledges the broader application of his chef's methods. There again is that word, "nourishment". That is the theme of this chapter and the end result of "the way" described in this passage. By solving problems in a thoughtful, subtle, and collected manner you can avoid undue stress and harm. Stress is often said to be a factor in shortening lifespan, and that's not to mention the often disastrous side effects of responding too rashly to a challenge. In this light, it's easy to see how the chef's way can bring one nourishment.
In this passage, Wen Hui's witnesses his cook cutting up an ox. He appeared to have a steady and consistent method. This passage is often interpreted as an important illustration of "Wu Wei" or effortless action in Daoism. People often mistake Wu Wei for literally doing nothing, so a passage like this can be quite useful in clarifying the concept. However, let's not necessarily pigeonhole the message here, let's check out the meaning on its own terms.
Movements and sounds proceeded as in the dance of 'the Mulberry Forest' and the blended notes of the King Shou.'
From what I've researched, the dance of the mulberry forest and the "blended notes of king shou" could be a reference to a music style known as "Xiánchí". This style is said to emphasize a balance of "yin" sounds and "yang" sounds, and spontaneouty. Much of this is like being in harmomy with the Dao, so it is possible that the chef's motions are as well.
The ruler said, 'Ah! Admirable! That your art should have become so perfect!' (Having finished his operation), the cook laid down his knife, and replied to the remark, 'What your servant loves is the method of the Dao, something in advance of any art.
Here the chef pretty much confirms it; his way of using the knife is in line with the Dao. How exactly might that be? He elaborates:
When I first began to cut up an ox, I saw nothing but the (entire) carcase. After three years I ceased to see it as a whole. Now I deal with it in a spirit-like manner, and do not look at it with my eyes. The use of my senses is discarded, and my spirit acts as it wills.
As time went on, his proficiency increased to the point that he no longer even needs to see the ox to cut it up. It began to come natural to him, like riding a bike or driving a car. Often when somebody has mastered a skill they can do it without even thinking about it, often referred to as being "in the zone".
It should be noted however, that this passage is not just about the art of cutting an art. It's actually a metaphor for "the way" as a whole and thus as I proceed in my commentaty I will keep this in mind.
Observing the natural lines, (my knife) slips through the great crevices and slides through the great cavities, taking advantage of the facilities thus presented.
What this means is that he observes what he already has to work with, and uses this when he cuts the ox to his advantage. Instead of relying on the exact same motions every time, he first observes the reality before him so that his following actions are in line with reality.
For a broader interpretation, Zhuangzi is using this story to describe a way in which you observe the present conditions before proceeding with your actions. Of course, anybody too caught on a specific "way to do things" may struggle to do this.
My art avoids the membranous ligatures, and much more the great bones. A good cook changes his knife every year; (it may have been injured) in cutting - an ordinary cook changes his every month - (it may have been) broken. Now my knife has been in use for nineteen years; it has cut up several thousand oxen, and yet its edge is as sharp as if it had newly come from the whetstone.
The membraneous ligatures and great bones could be seen as obstacles in his path which his knife cannot easily cut through. He avoids these things and hence has not replaced his knife in nineteen years because it hasn't been damaged by his attempting to force it through such obstacles.
More broadly, Zhuangzi is saying that if there is a way that gets something done that avoids unnecessary obstacles that could end up harming you, you should avoid those obstacles.
There are the interstices of the joints, and the edge of the knife has no (appreciable) thickness; when that which is so thin enters where the interstice is, how easily it moves along! The blade has more than room enough.
Since the edge of his knife is so thin, it easily moves into the small spaces of the ox's joints and has plenty of room.
In this metaphor, the knife represents his principle operation of action, and the path cutting through the ox is much like life itself. By the knife's edge being so thin that it can easily enter between the joints, Zhuangzi is saying not to make your actions so broad or perhaps rash that you bump right into obstacles in life. Instead, it could be more useful for your actions to be more restrained, thoughtful, and subtle, so that you can pass by such challenges in a free and easy manner.
Nevertheless, whenever I come to a complicated joint, and see that there will be some difficulty, I proceed anxiously and with caution, not allowing my eyes to wander from the place, and moving my hand slowly.
Sometimes in life, you simply cannot avoid a complicated obstacle. This is where you need to be very careful and cautious, and move slow. Some challenges are very complex and precarious. Any rash action may lead to unintended consequences.
Then by a very slight movement of the knife, the part is quickly separated, and drops like (a clod of) earth to the ground.
Oftentimes in such unavoidable challenges, it is not a big, rash action that solves it. Through being cautious, careful, and observant you can identify the path of least resistance and cleanly solve the problem through a subtle yet effective action.
Then standing up with the knife in my hand, I look all round, and in a leisurely manner, with an air of satisfaction, wipe it clean, and put it in its sheath.'
Having solved the problem with ease, you can then relax.
The ruler Wen Hui said, 'Excellent! I have heard the words of my cook, and learned from them the nourishment of (our) life.'
The metaphor was not lost on the king here, who acknowledges the broader application of his chef's methods. There again is that word, "nourishment". That is the theme of this chapter and the end result of "the way" described in this passage. By solving problems in a thoughtful, subtle, and collected manner you can avoid undue stress and harm. Stress is often said to be a factor in shortening lifespan, and that's not to mention the often disastrous side effects of responding too rashly to a challenge. In this light, it's easy to see how the chef's way can bring one nourishment.