Milinda’s Questions

This is one of my favorite pieces of writing ever. So much so that a while ago I felt inspired to type it up. (It’s from Fung Yu-lan’s translation of the Chuang-Tzu, published by the Foreign Languages Press in Beijing. Which means that, at least a while ago, it was from the official People’s Republic-sanctioned version of this Chinese classic:

There is a limit to our life, but to knowledge there is no limit. With what is limited to pursue what is unlimited is a perilous thing. When knowing this, we still seek to increase our knowledge, the peril cannot be averted. In doing what convention considers good, eschew fame. In doing what convention considers as bad, escape grace or penalty. Always pursue the middle course. These are the ways to preserve our body, to maintain our life, to support our parents, to complete our terms of years.

Prince Wen Hui’s cook was cutting up a bullock. Every blow of his hand, every heave of his shoulder, every tread of his foot, every thrust of his knee, every sound of the rending flesh, and every note of the movement of the chopper were in perfect harmony—rhythmical like the dance of ˜The Mulberry Grove,’ simultaneous like the chords of the “˜Ching Shou’. (’The mulberry Grove’ and ‘Ching Shou’ are two pieces of beautiful antique music )

“˜Ah, admirable,’ said the prince, “˜ that your art should become so perfect!’

The cook laid down his chopper and replied: “˜What your servant loves is Tao, which is more advanced than art.

When I first began to cut up bullocks, what I saw was simply whole bullocks.

When I first began to clean, what I saw was simply whole messes.

After three years’ practice, I saw no more bullocks as whole.

I can’t say anything about 3 years practice.

At present, I work with my mind, but not with my eyes.

The functions of my senses stop; my spirit dominates. Following the natural veins, my chopper slips through the great cavities, slides through the great openings, taking advantage of what is already there. I did not attempt the central veins and their branches, and the connectives between flesh and bone, not to mention the great bones. A good cook changes his chopper once a year, because he cuts. An ordinary cook changes his chopper once a month, because he hacks. Now my copper has been in use for nineteen years; it has cut several thousand bullocks; yet its edge is as sharp as if it just came from the whetstone. At the joints there are always interstices, and the edge of the chopper is without thickness. If we insert that which is without thickness into an interstice, there is certainly plenty of room for it to move along. Nevertheless, when I come to a complicated joint, and see that there will be some difficulty, I proceed anxiously and with caution. I fix my eyes on it. I move slowly. Then by a very gentle movement of my chopper, the part is quickly separated, and yields like earth crumbling to the ground. Then standing with the chopper in my hand, I look all around, with an air of triumph and satisfaction. Then I wipe my chopper and put it in its sheath’.

“˜Excellent,’ said the prince, “˜from the words of this cook, I learned the ways of cultivating life’.