The Chef Cuts the Ox

Once upon a time in ancient China, there was a man who worked as the royal chef for Duke Wen Hui. One day, the duke happened to see him cutting up an ox in preparation for dinner.

There was something about his movements that caught the duke’s attention. His hands were gentle and confident as he touched the ox and leaned against it. Even the placement of his feet and knees seemed practiced and assured. He moved in a way that reminded the duke of the Mulberry Woods Dance. As he slashed his blade in and out, it was as if he were playing music, making sounds that never fell out of rhythm.

“Excellent!” the duke exclaimed. Then he asked: “How did you develop your skills to such an advanced level?”

The chef put down his knife to reply: “What I follow is the Tao that goes beyond all skills, Your Highness. When I first started doing this, I saw the ox in its totality, just like most people. After three years, I mastered this process and no longer looked at the ox as an ox. Instead of using my eyes, I used my mind to perceive the animal. My physical senses would be inactive as I reached out with my feelings and directed my mind.”

“Interesting.” The duke knew he had to hear more. “Go on.”

The chef continued: “I follow the natural flow, letting my knife slice through its structure, moving from one large gap between its bones to the next. Its tendons and muscles come apart easily, almost without effort. An average cook goes through one knife a month, because he hacks. A good cook goes through one knife a year, because he cuts. I have used this knife for nineteen years. It has butchered thousands of oxen, but the blade is still as sharp as ever.”

“What about the joints? How do you handle them?” the duke asked.

“Your Highness, the joints have openings, which are huge compared to the thinness of the blade. With precise guidance, the knife can swish right through such an opening, with room to spare. That is why my knife still works like new after nineteen years. Of course, I know that joints can be quite complex, so every time I come across them, I make use of caution by focusing my attention and slowing down my movements. Sometimes it takes only one small, exact cut of the knife. The ox comes apart and may not even realize it is dead as it hits the ground.”

The duke was impressed. “You certainly seem to enjoy this work,” he said to the chef.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The chef reflected: “When I’m finished, I survey my handiwork knowing it was a job well done. I put away my knife and feel a profound sense of satisfaction I cannot easily express.”

“Excellent.” The duke smiled. “The words I have heard from you go beyond cutting up the ox. Today I have learned a priceless principle about living life!”