庄周梦蝶
Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream, and what it means
Name: ________________ Date: ________
Key words
| Word | Pinyin | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| 梦 | mèng | dream; to dream |
| 醒 | xǐng | to wake up |
| 经历 | jīnglì | experience (things one has been through) |
| 真实 | zhēnshí | true; real; authentic |
| 哲学 | zhéxué | philosophy |
| 时期 | shíqī | period; time; era |
| 蝴蝶 | húdié | butterfly |
| 空中 | kōngzhōng | in the sky; in the air; aerial; airborne |
| 本人 | běnrén | oneself; in person |
| 如此 | rúcǐ | so; such; like this |
| 一致 | yízhì | unanimous; in agreement; consistent |
| 反复 | fǎnfù | repeatedly; over and over |
English (for the teacher)
Have you ever had a dream that felt completely real? For a few seconds after waking, the scene is still sharp in your mind, you can’t tell where you are, and you can’t even tell which side is the real one. More than two thousand years ago a man in China had the same experience, and he wrote it down in just a few short lines. Those lines went on to become one of the most famous passages in the history of Chinese philosophy.
His name was Zhuang Zhou; he lived in the Warring States period, later generations honoured him as Zhuangzi, and he is one of the most important thinkers of Daoism. Once, Zhuang Zhou had a dream in which he became a butterfly. The butterfly drifted lightly through the air, now high, now low, free and perfectly content. It was so wrapped up in the joy of being a butterfly that it had no idea there was anyone in the world called Zhuang Zhou.
Suddenly, Zhuang Zhou woke up. There he was, lying where he had been, hands and feet and all, unmistakably Zhuang Zhou himself. He froze and lay there a long while without moving, and a strange thought came to him: just now, had Zhuang Zhou dreamed he became a butterfly, or was a butterfly dreaming right now that it had become Zhuang Zhou?
At first it sounds like a joke. But think it over carefully and you’ll find it very hard to argue with. While we are dreaming we almost never suspect the dream is false; only when we wake do we realise, “Oh, it was just a dream.” If that’s so, on what grounds can we be sure that this very moment isn’t another, longer dream?
The interesting thing is that Zhuangzi never answers the question. At the end of the story he leaves just one remark: between Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly there must be a difference, and this is called “the transformation of things”.
What does “the transformation of things” mean? Readers have never agreed. One common reading is that everything in the world is always changing: a person can become a butterfly, a butterfly can become a person, and “I” is only a passing shape in that change. Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly really are different, but the difference is not essential, and it does not last for ever.
The story comes at the very end of the chapter “On the Equality of Things” in the book Zhuangzi. That chapter keeps asking: what makes us so sure we are right? People love to argue about who is right and who is wrong, what is beautiful and what is ugly, but seen from another angle these lines may not be as absolute as we think. That is where the story’s wisdom lies: Zhuangzi doesn’t want to hand us a model answer; he would rather we relaxed and didn’t take our own views so seriously.
Today “Zhuang Zhou dreams of the butterfly” is an idiom, used to say that life is like a dream and the real is hard to tell from the unreal. So next time you wake from a dream that felt completely real, you might ask yourself: could the me right now be a butterfly’s dream?