The Tao
This is one of Chuang Tzu’s best-known stories. However, it is not the best understood. Some storytellers tell only the first half, because the second half seems too complex. Some leave out Chuang Tzu’s last statement, since they are not sure what point he was making.
At the surface level, this story appears to be a humorous exchange between two scholars. Hui Tzu’s perspective was that the only way to know something for sure was to experience it directly. Everything else was speculation. Chuang Tzu was one step ahead. He understood the importance of direct experience. He also understood that there were two ways of knowing that transcended direct experience. This story was constructed to reveal both of them at a deeper level of meaning:
- Intuition
Intuition was what Chuang Tzu meant when he said “you already knew that I knew.” He was pointing out that all human beings know certain things intuitively, even though they may sometimes deny it. We think we should justify and prove what we know, but intuition does not care about justifications or proofs. It leaps over logic for the right answer without bothering with the steps in between. You end up arriving at the truth, but you are not quite sure how you got there.
- Observation
Observation has always been the chosen method of Tao cultivators. Ancient sages realized they could figure out much of the world simply by observing everything with a detached state of mind, and Chuang Tzu described this process using the various elements of the story. The Hao River is the world, and people are the fish swimming in it. The bridge above the river is the elevated perspective of detachment. From there, sages can see how people are glad to be alive, and how they go about their business every day with optimism, like fish swimming merrily.
This method of observation is applicable in all aspects of life. We can, for instance, understand how gravity works by observing its effects, even if we cannot see gravity itself. It is no different with the Tao. Even though the Tao is formless, we can still increase our understanding of it through the power of detached observations.
There is a trap in the study of the Tao, in that students might think not knowing anything is a sign of great wisdom. You may have seen this kind of pretentious sagacity before—perhaps a self-proclaimed guru declares that the more he learns, the less he knows, and since he has learned so much, he knows very little. Thus, his response to any question is: “Who knows?”
Who knows? The Tao answer is You do. If you look deeply enough into yourself, you will see that you do know. You know the meaning of beauty and goodness, even as others deny it with the platitude that everything is relative. You know what is right or wrong, good or bad for yourself, even as others try to convince you that such things are illusory. The truth is always there in your heart. Sometimes it can be obscured by the glib distortions of philosophical tricks, but not for long. You can always use intuition and observation to bring out the truth.
When you understand Chuang Tzu’s teaching completely, you will find yourself standing above the Hao River alongside the sages. As you look down to observe the world from your detached state of mind, you find that you can see more than you ever thought possible. You see the happiness in the world with crystal clarity, and you know, with great certainty . . . that you know.