Zhuangzi · Understanding “Attachment to the Ego” and Innate Wholeness Through the Accidental Loss of a Hand

If someone loses a hand in an accident, are they still a whole person? Of course. Many people with disabilities have integrity, noble character, and happy lives. This shows that our limbs are not the “self.” If our limbs are not the self, then worrying about whether our appearance is attractive or unattractive is all the more foolish. Ordinarily, we cling to possessions and refuse to let go; now we discover that even our hands are not something we can possess.

An ancient soldier or a migrant worker who loses a hand is still a whole person, but has lost their “social function” and is “discarded” by society. This shows that so-called “social identity” and “fame, rank, wealth, and gain” are merely external, contingent appearances, not the essence of a human being. This soldier once dreamed of becoming a marshal. Now his “obsession” and “little ego” begin to torment him.

Our limbs are not the self, and our social identity is not the self. We can therefore see that distress over all kinds of outward appearances arises from greed, anger, and delusion driven by the obsessions of the little ego.

An ancient soldier who loses a hand may instead escape warfare, the killing of prisoners, and conscription, and survive. This reveals the complexity of fate—the wisdom expressed in the Chinese saying, “The old man at the frontier lost his horse; fortune and misfortune depend on each other.” Fate is impermanent, and individuals are limited, powerless, and unable to force things. This is one of the foundations of Daoist philosophy.

An ancient soldier who loses a hand may instead awaken, leave behind his dream of becoming a marshal, extinguish his obsession and little ego, and recover his simple, true self. Both he and those who truly love him feel relieved and happy as a result. This shows that recovering one’s authentic self matters more than the loss of a hand. Seeing what their son has gone through, the ancient soldier’s parents also let go of their obsessions concerning their child and their own little egos.

Someone who loses a hand, comes to terms with it, and leaves behind fame, rank, wealth, and gain may instead feel relaxed and free. Only then do they discover that their previous busyness and toil did not bring freedom; freedom came when the toil stopped. This is delusion and the alienation of labor.

Saying that losing a hand is so “good” does not “encourage” people to damage their bodies. Someone who has lost their sight can certainly come to terms with themselves, break their attachment to their eyes and to seeing, and break their ego attachment to being an “able-bodied person.” Yet when they “see” people who fail to care for their own eyes, they deeply feel how foolish those people are. Staying up late, drinking excessively, and damaging the body for fame, rank, wealth, gain, and social identity are precisely what Zhuangzi’s teachings on “nature and life” criticize. It is not a matter of ceasing to care, but of ceasing to cling. Zhuangzi, “The Essentials of Nourishing Life”: “In doing good, do not approach fame; in doing wrong, do not approach punishment. Follow the central course as your constant guide, and you can preserve your body, keep your life whole, care for your parents, and live out your allotted years.”

The loss of a hand lets us see many aspects of our views on the world, life, and values directly. This is why people with disabilities appear so often as examples throughout the Zhuangzi.

Any spiritual practice, especially Daoist and Buddhist practice, begins with seeing through things and subtracting: breaking attachment to the ego, breaking attachment to outward appearances and the worldly realm, subtracting again and again until one reaches nonaction. What remains is the authentic self, peaceful and happy, free of worry and care. Fasting of the mind, sitting in forgetfulness, an empty room filling with light.

The “Gengsang Chu” chapter of the Zhuangzi is primarily about spiritual practice:

Clear away what agitates the will, unravel what confuses the mind, remove what burdens virtue, and open what obstructs the Way. High status, wealth, prominence, authority, fame, and gain—these six agitate the will. Appearance, movement, complexion, expression, temperament, and intention—these six confuse the mind. Aversion, desire, joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure—these six burden virtue. Rejecting, accepting, taking, giving, knowledge, and ability—these six obstruct the Way. When these four sets of six do not churn within the breast, there is balance. Balance brings stillness; stillness brings clarity; clarity brings emptiness; emptiness brings nonaction, through which nothing is left undone. The Way is what virtue reveres; life is the radiance of virtue; nature is the substance of life. The movement of nature is called action; the falsification of action is called loss. Knowing is engagement; knowing is planning; what knowing does not know is like looking askance. Acting only when one cannot do otherwise is called virtue; acting without departing from oneself is called order. The names seem opposed, but in substance they accord with each other.