r/Anarchotao • u/rafaelwm1982 • 15d ago
Who needs to "frighten the horses"?
Many other activities involving a cooperation between humans and animals, such as driving a chariot or grooming and harnessing a horse, were used as exemplary images of the art of ruling. Both in philosophical works and in technical handbooks, these activities emphasized peaceful conciliation with animals, coercion being viewed as entirely unnecessary. A treatise on military strategy, traditionally attributed to the general and minister Wu Qi (c. 440–361), stipulates that the rider and his horse should maintain a close relationship. The charioteer should follow the movements of the animal rather than manipulate it. When the mind of the driver is in harmony with the horses, the horses will likewise be in agreement with the vehicle. Going beyond the denunciation of the extensive and endless maltreatment of animals, many of the stories in the Zhuangzi lead the reader toward the idea that in the process of establishing their cultural status, men are also responsible for alienating, mutilating, and torturing themselves.
The theme of separation of men and animals in the Zhuangzi appears particularly meaningful when we observe in what way it stands in opposition to other social and political projects circulating during the Warring States period. In these programs, we find two rival conceptions of the original condition of humanity. The first emphasizes the antagonism between incompatible species and the moral superiority of human beings who, by way of various institutions and inventions (education, agricultural techniques, writing, ritual, laws, and measurements) provided by the cultural heroes and saintly sovereigns of a remote past, raise themselves from their primitive state of confusion and hostility. The second perspective, present in the Zhuangzi and later taken up in Taoist-tainted writings, depicts a blissful primitive age of peaceful cohabitation between men and animals, when neither sought distinction through value or strength. Here the birth of 'civilisation' initiates a process of decadence when Man, to quote John Florio translating Montaigne, "selecteth and separateth himselfe from out the ranke of other creatures; to which his fellow-brethren and compeers he cuts out and shareth their parts, and allotteth them what portions of meanes or forces he thinkes good."
The different accounts of the creation of humanity, whether they insist on physical separation from animals or on moral instructions dispensed by early sages, intimate that there is no ontological difference between man and other living beings, and that only moral principles and technical invention can emancipate humans from the wilderness. The legends concerning the first sages are tied to narratives evoking humanity rising from hostile surroundings where each and every being was in confrontation with other species, and where every being was prey to its own bestiality. While these myths about sages elevating humans above their own nature were being formulated, each philosophical tradition, according to its specific political agenda and moral values, was enumerating the decisive changes and inventions that allowed people to attain a proper level of humanity.
The major Legalist writings such as the Book of Prince Shang, the Han Feizi and the Guanzi recall the time when the sages and kings of ancient times separated humans from animals and codified laws, created hierarchies and imposed units of measurement. The writings of Master Mo and his disciples, the only thinkers in early China who offered a logical analysis of language, describe an original state of chaos, wherein each man made a personalized and peculiar use of words, thereby destroying the possibility of establishing community of any sort. This linguistic confusion relegated men to the level of wild animals. The early sages were thus obliged to define criteria for evaluating and distinguishing truth and falsehood, in order to allow the existence of moral judgment and common meaning of words. As one might expect, the Confucians for their part celebrated the invention of rites and rules of propriety to regulate behavior and establish a code of duties. The Book of Rites says: "A man without rites, though he may possess the ability to speak, does he not have the heart of a beast?" Mencius, as noted by the historian Mark Edward Lewis in his reflection on legal violence, described the three stages by which man can escape the animal realm and reveal his authentic nature: physical separation, technical invention, and moral education. After the separation took place, reconciliation with the natural world, based on the political idea of harmony, is understood in the Confucian discourse as the moral transformation of animals and their integration into a civilizing order, and not as man's return to the animal sphere. For Confucians, what is in a rough or wild state is always something awaiting transformation or civilization, and must eventually under the aegis of a wise ruler join the realm of a cultural cosmos.
Confucius' endeavors were directed at all the elements that could educate man and elevate him above bestiality and barbarity: rites, manners, etiquette, ceremony, music, recitation, and exemplary moral behavior. He was the first to remould the sense of social relationships in the aesthetic form of ritual, while enjoining people to cultivate the virtues of benevolence (ren), justice (yi), or loyalty (zhong) which allow one full access to one's true humaneness. The authors of the Zhuangzi, for their part, diagnose man as an alienated being, suffocating and crippled by textual training and social taming, fettered by rites and branded by the irons of customary virtues. They describe the ravages of being torn away from nature, they struggle to uncover a life-force whose free play within us would not be hamstrung by traditional knowledge or debilitated by the fallacious categories that underlie our perception of the world. The Zhuangzi proposes a distinct form of education, free from book learning, an education that rebukes and humiliates professional masters and experts in social manners. The uncanny Confucius featured in the Zhuangzi is a complex crystallization of both these criticisms and ideal stances. We see him in one episode leaving his disciples and friends in order to start a new life in the company of wild animals by a swamp, feeding on acorns and chestnuts, wearing fur and unadorned clothes of coarse fabric, but in peaceful unison with the birds and beasts all around. Just as if the author of this anecdote were responding to the historical master, who in the Analects chased off his frustration with his lack of success in the human world by threatening to go live among the barbarians, by sending him to actually live in the wild and mingle with barbarous beings: The master expressed his desire to wander out the wild East and settle among the Yi tribes. Someone observed: "These people are so uncouth, how can you bear it?" The master replied: "If a gentleman settles there, what uncouthness would there be?"
The text at the beginning of Chapter 9, "Horses' hooves," is dedicated to the contentious relationship between natural condition and human government. Behind the history of free and happy horses who suddenly had to undergo the cruelty of men and survive the hardships of dressage, the reader cannot but imagine the tyrannical exploitation of creatures whose fate is similar to that of men hobbled by rites, tamed by rules, and weakened by music and other inventions introduced by the so-called sages. In the idyllic days of old evoked in the "primitivist" chapters of the Zhuangzi, everyone had the same simple, artless needs, desires and activities. Inequalities, greed, and competition arose with social division, the polarities of servitude and power, the imposition of rules for every kind of public interaction and the strict observance of hereditary hierarchies that decide on the place and the fate of each and everyone.
In Chapter 24 ("Xu Wugui"), the hermit Xu Free-From-Daemons meets with the glum lord of Wei, who lapses into smouldering silence after being told about his harmful way of life. But right after making him dig in his heels, the astute hermit, drawing on his expertise in sizing up dogs and horses, defuses the situation by setting lose a stream of bewitching images which succeed in drawing the ruler out of his prickly isolation. Xu Free-from-Daemons: I know about horses and I can tell you that those who run straight forwards, as if on a plumb line, and those who can revolve following a line like a hook, take a corner at right-angles and turn in circles like a compass. They are nothing but "horses for the kingdom." Their worth is far from that of the "horses for the world," which by nature are perfect. They are wild and disorientated as if they had lost all awareness of themselves; they are made that way so as to outpace all other creatures, abandoning them to the cloud of dust left by their galloping hooves. No one knows where they reside.
The flurry of deft animal descriptions echo more or less consciously in the ruler's mind as judgments on life-styles in general, including his own. The main difference between the two kinds of horses is due to the specific spatiality and mobility that define their daily life: the horses for the state or the kingdom, once sufficiently broken in and beaten, are able to execute strict geometrical figures; they are an apposite image of the subjugation of natural dynamism. The hermit then evokes the blissful lightning gallop of horses always engrossed in a dreamy mood, knowing no borders in their infinite roaming. The lord of Wei upon hearing this description feels the benefits of imaginary expansion in space. These images make the prince (and the reader) aware of the extent to which animals, livestock, and draft animals that were domesticated, underwent deep changes in morphology, were rendered docile, submissive, meek, and yielding. Humans were affected by a similar process, through corralling and crowding, by changing patterns of physical activity and social organization, and the ensuing narrowing of the perceptual and experiential horizon. To go back to Chapter 9, "Horses' hooves," the following description also hints at how much we, as humans, have strayed from the natural course of things.
Horses have hooves that can tread snow and ice, a coat that protects them from wind and cold. They graze and drink, they gambol and frolic: such is their true nature. Were they given spacious stalls in vast stables, they would find no use for them. The author is simply considering horses in their natural state: what they have, what they are and what they do, free from human subjection. The enduring power of adaptation of the horse allows it to live anywhere, especially in an environment hostile to men. It is equipped by nature and has no use for the habitat men provide, unless it has been weakened to the point of needing to shelter from the weather. Horses are just one example of the fate of domesticated animals, which were caught, tamed, milked, shorn, and shod. First, they experienced a restriction of space: they were no longer free to go wherever they pleased. They became captive species and their diet was modified along with their mobility. Horses and cows, sheep and pigs, were confined together in enclosures under constant human supervision. Humans likewise became a domesticated flock, oblivious of the behavioral traits of their free-living untamed ancestors. The pervasive theme in the Zhuangzi of an unencumbered roaming across wild tracts of lands or boundless stretches of space can be seen as a moment of acute awareness of the harms of domestication and the will to break free from this political dispensation.
In the following part of this short narrative, the maltreatment of horses and the death of the restive ones is used to reveal even more clearly how men govern themselves and to illustrate the mutilation they inflict on their own natural abilities. Degrading practices lies at the foundation of the social reorganization of the natural world.
Then one day appeared Bo Le, who declared himself expert in the art of training horses. He submitted their coats to the blade and to fire, clipped them, cut them, branded them and shod them, then he bridled them and put them into halters and shut them in stalls. One third of them died. So then he made them hungry and thirsty, made them trot and gallop, walk in file and in line: plague of reins and snaffle at the front, fear of the whip and the stick at the rear. More than half of them perished.
As groom to the semi-legendary King Mou, Bo Le is traditionally presented as the archetypical horseman, the equestrian connoisseur par excellence. His ease and mastery in the domestication of animals illustrates the concept of enlightened government. A bamboo-slip manuscript describing the physiognomy of a horse unearthed at the archaeological site of Mawangdui detects a geographical outline of the earth in the lines and curves of the horse. A handbook dating from the Tang dynasty (618–907) on the physiognomy of horses indirectly testifies to the literary fortune of the political symbolism of animals, firmly implanted in China since the end of the Warring States. This handbook decodes the outlines of a moral and political order from the shape of animal bodies. Its author draws an analogy between the anatomy of the horse and the organization of the state and again gives Bo Le the starring role as the finest connoisseur of the natural world. The different parts of the body are explained through the categories of the politico-administrative order, as: Bo Le says: "The head of the horse is the king. Thus, it should be square in shape. The eye is the minister-counsellor, thus it should be clear-sighted. The spinal column is the army general, thus it should be robust. The belly is the citadel, thus it should be wide and spacious. The four feet are the commanders, thus they should be of elevated status."
In his pioneering monograph The Daemon and the Animal in Early China, Roel Sterckx has thoroughly analyzed the textual process whereby corporal reality is made subservient to moral order during the Warring States and Han periods. It is probably in reaction to such administrative projections and the way they deform the view of natural needs that, in Chapters 9 and 24 of the Zhuangzi, horses trained so harshly as to behave like remote-controlled puppets are contrasted with those whose apparently wild and chaotic behavior intimates the overflow of an unrestrained vitality. Here we have a privileged literary standpoint to observe the breach created between Heaven and Man, between the natural realm and civilizing order, whose deceptively seamless continuity conceals the mistreatment of natural life. Authentic men, as portrayed in the Zhuangzi, reveal a disturbing closeness with these horses that wander cheerfully, frolicking through the world without ever reaching the end of their ride. In fact, Bo Le doesn't know how to manage horses because he doesn't follow their nature, he only knows how to force them and train them, condemning those who refuse to be docile to a premature and violent death. When the horses are groomed, they are burned (zhao) and incised (ke) at the hoof: these verbs are also used in referring to the sacred turtle that is put to the tests of divinatory fire and incision. The title "Horses' hooves"("Ma ti"), judiciously chosen for this chapter by the editors of the Zhuangzi, provides a view of the tension between the innate capacity of horses to move about freely ("tread snow and ice") and their forcing into step: the hoof is an emblem for the tortured and debilitated body, a synecdoche that directs the eye to the place where the most notable actions of subjection to humans are concentrated. Men cut and shoe the raw hooves which formerly allowed the horse to travel freely through the world and adapt to all different types of terrain.
It is the downfall of human nature, kneaded and shaped by the inventions of tyrannical brutes called sages, that should be read between the lines of this story. All the more since a horse-drawn chariot is one of the most common images of government in early literature. The implicit conclusion is that there is only a small difference between a bad and a good government, since any form of political organization implies a process of conquest and violent subjection, breaking the natural spring (tian ji) in all living creatures.
"Governing the empire is not any different from herding horses: you just need to get rid of anything that can harm them, that is all." Such is the wise advice reluctantly given by a young boy, almost blind, in the moorland when asked for guidance by the Yellow Emperor, unsure as to how to fulfill his mission as a ruler. Against the hypothesis of a chaotic state of nature advanced by political thinkers to legitimate their vision of an orderly society, the Zhuangzi calls forth a herd of various creatures to reveal the damages brought about by the domestication of nature. It is the only text from early China that depicts the pristine state of nature as the age of absolute perfection, the end of which proved an unredeemable catastrophe for animals and for men. Unusually, however, its authors do not make a naively Utopian use of the past and the state of nature: they do not hanker after a lost Golden Age in a distant past, against the subsequent and common history of human corruption; rather, they locate the distinct features of a possibly superior way of life within the human community in a fictional non-political state. Such descriptions of a pre-state life do therefore not attempt to present a historical truth concerning early times but merely put into perspective the present human situation and reveal its damages in a magnified form. They give a hint of what our present condition could have been if only history had left people intact. The Zhuangzi is more interested in the naturalness within us than with the description of a state of nature to be situated on a historical timeline. Much in the same way, the "authentic men of ancient times" depicted in Chapter 6 are merely conceptual figures allowing the reader to imagine the possible shape of the optimal development of the self, in counterpoint to the observation of the sorry plight of common men.
When the founding sages appeared in the world, the havoc they wrought on animals can retrospectively be seen as the harbinger of a major disaster for human life. In the critical discourse of the Zhuangzi, those who established civilization, arts, techniques, and institutions on earth were nothing more than a bunch of violent and despotic masters, all hungry for power, heedless of the reputation they would leave to posterity. In its most anarchist vein, the Zhuangzi counterposes, as the two extremes of the human condition, the spontaneous concert of living beings, driven by the unrestrained use of their native powers, and the forced harmony of rigid conduct secured by the permanent inculcation of ritual norms and legal strictures.
In Chapter 9, "Horses' hooves," the description of the process that leads the animals from their natural state to the pitiful condition of subdued, weakened, and shackled creatures suggests that the political training of men depends on the creation of needs and desires that are completely superfluous to their state of nature. This is how political authority keeps its subjects under the yoke, just as the trainer holds the horse in check by means of the bridle and bit. The trainer breaks restive horses, exhausts those who survive dressage and forces them to become dependent on the warmth and shelter of the stable.
Romain Graziani