Illustration by Nicole Ruffell @nicoleruffellart

As this anomalous year unfolds, you might be wondering whether 2020 is ultimately positive or negative.

After all, as humans, we often apply a normative value to otherwise neutral things. That is, we define the outcome of actions or events into dual categories: gain or loss.

But how do you know which is which?

We tend only to think within the abstract scope of intelligible causes and effects regarding events in our lives. But when the scope’s sphere augments to encompass a broader context, the extent of our fortune becomes unclear, to say the least.

To illustrate, the memorable Chinese proverb “Sāi Wēng Shī Mǎ (塞翁失馬),” or “Sāi Wēng Lost His Horse,” envelops the story of Wēng, a farmer living in China’s frontier. [1] The most engaging Western exegesis of the parable was interpreted by philosopher Alan Watts:

 [Video transcription]:

“Once upon a time there was a Chinese farmer whose horse ran away. That evening, all of his neighbours came around to commiserate. They said, “We are so sorry to hear your horse has run away. This is most unfortunate.” The farmer said, “Maybe.”

“The next day the horse came back bringing seven wild horses with it, and in the evening everybody came back and said, “Oh, isn’t that lucky. What a great turn of events. You now have eight horses!” The farmer again said, “Maybe.”

“The following day his son tried to break one of the horses, and while riding it, he was thrown and broke his leg. The neighbours then said, “Oh dear, that’s too bad,” and the farmer responded, “Maybe.”

“The next day the conscription officers came around to conscript people into the army, and they rejected his son because he had a broken leg. Again all the neighbours came around and said, “Isn’t that great!” Again, he said, “Maybe.”

“The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity, and it’s really impossible to tell whether anything that happens in it is good or bad — because you never know what will be the consequence of the misfortune; or, you never know what will be the consequences of good fortune.” [2,3; transcription ends]

Now, the fable can imply different interpretations. The positive ending entices you to invoke the English idiom: “Every cloud has a silver lining.” Though, earlier in the narrative you might assume the opposite: a lesson about the implicit misfortune in any apparent stroke of luck.

However, the essential take-away is a unification of the two. Because life (in other words, “change” or “time”) is unending, determining whether an event is fortunate or unfortunate is impossible.  The consequences of an event is only measureable by what follows – but the succession of what follows is infinite – so any outcome purporting to define an event positively or negatively becomes unknowable.

For how can an event be distinguished from its repercussions?

Therefore, through lack of ultimately defining a separate “event,” normative values are only applicable on capricious grounds. Being fixated on dividing life into aggregations, then, we lose sight of the whole. “The Way is obscured by small completions,” remarked the ancient Taoist philosopher Chuang-Tzu. [4]

Initially, this seems an affront to common-sense.  The Farmer's story might appear too sweeping, too generalised for the intricacies of modern life.  But it's a fundamental standpoint accounting for all such things, a standpoint we scarcely take ourselves, either retrospectively or in the very moment of, say, losing a job or being promoted.

But what about a case of tragedy? Specifically regarding one’s death, there’s no proper way to corroborate whether the person’s demise didn’t in fact withhold them from a progressively worse circumstance, or in some instances, making further mistakes leading to the death of several others.  Also, in the case of disease, we might initially think finding a cure is a positive event, but who’s to say this doesn’t, eventually, lead to further issues like global over-population? What would be, for example, the psychological consequences of mothers prohibited from giving birth, and so on?

Conversely, someone may win the lottery and become a millionaire. Most would remark on this person's exponential bout of good fortune. But there is no absolute verification of expressing whether this doesn’t lead the person to over-indulgence and thus spill over into their socio-economic downfall, or that they’d invest in something immoral, and so on ad infinitum.

Either way, by imposing a positive or negative slant on things, we discount potential effects we can’t even comprehend yet. Also, we separate ourselves from the fundamental pattern of events. But in the universalised context offered here, the pattern of one’s life (or death) is subsumed within the whole course of things. 

For you can’t stand outside the universal pattern of events to deliberate over it – you’re part of it.  Since there's no separation between your actions and the entire course of events (an amalgam of others' actions and events), the difference between things you're in control of on the one hand, and things inflicted upon you on the other, is merely hypothetical.  It's one thing not to worry about what you don't have agency over, it's another thing not to worry about what you do, either.

Bear in mind, Wēng’s story doesn’t assert a theory; neither does it justify good nor bad. Rather, it’s open-ended – it dissolves theories – namely, the relative theoretical ideas of fortune and misfortune.  At first, it can be a bitter pill to swallow: 'good' and 'bad' only exist in thought, otherwise things just happen.

Nonetheless, the point isn’t to disregard categorising life altogether.  Clearly, conceptualising good and bad is foundational to ethics and morality.  But in the interests of your psychological well-being, a more subtle approach would help.  

The foremost Chinese philosopher Lao-Tzu referred to the adept art of someone who “corners without dividing,” otherwise known as, “walking two roads,” by Chuang-Tzu. [4,5] In other words, while undergoing life's inevitable psychological peaks and troughs, you remember that dividing events into positive or negative is a convention of thought, and so you can live harmoniously between both the ultimate perspective and the conventional perspective.

This new outlook enables you to be unattached from the turbulent see-saw of emotion from one apparent outcome to another, while living it. Chuang-Tzu highlights this point during his fictional dialogue:

“Gaptooth said, “If you don’t know gain from loss, do perfected people know?” [...] Royal Relativity said, “[...] Though the low-lands burn, they are not hot. Though the He and the Han rivers freeze, they are not cold. [...] The Sage does not seek gain or avoid loss.” [4]

Like the He and the Han rivers, the subtlety to act on this premise is not to be eagerly carried away by a seemingly positive result, nor to be despondent in the apparently negative. So, instead of encountering life as a host of definitive, separate situations, you can act in accordance with the pattern of nature (the “Tao”), as opposed to going against it.

To live without this duality emblemises the Taoist philosophy of wu-wei (“effortless-action”). In this case, it’s simply to navigate each singular situation on the principle it can only be treated on its present basis: without judgement.

Next time your common-sense ascribes either positive or negative to something, you might take stock and recall Wēng's story.  

As Lao-Tzu reminds us: “Bad fortune rests upon good fortune. Good luck hides within bad luck. Who knows how it will end?” [5]

Recommended sources:

[1] Gui Su, Qui. (2019, February 10). The Chinese Proverb of ‘Sai Weng Lost His Horse’. Available at: https://www.thoughtco.com/chin...

[2] Sustainable Human Project.  Video by Steve Agnos.  Music by Chris Zabriskie. Available at:
https://vimeo.com/100449835

[3] Watts, A. ‘Swimming Headless’, in Eastern Wisdom Collection: Taoism. Available at:

[4] Ivanhoe, Philip J., and Bryan W. Norden. (2005). Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy. Indianapolis: Hackett Pub; pp.217-222.

[5] Laozi, [trans. Stephen Addiss, and Stanley Lombardo]. (2007). Tao Te Ching. Boston: Shambhala Distributed in the U.S. by Random House. ch.58.