Cook Ding Carves an Ox

C ook Ding was butchering an ox for Prince Hui. Wherever his hand pressed, wherever his shoulder leaned, wherever his foot planted, wherever his knee braced — the sound came out right. The thwack of flesh parting, the long hiss of the blade sliding through: it all moved to a beat. The rhythm matched the old dance of the Mulberry Grove. The cadence matched the ancient suite of Jing Shou. Cook Ding was cutting up an ox for Prince Hui. Every touch of his hand, every lean of his shoulder, every plant of his foot, every brace of his knee — the sounds rang out: the thud of parting flesh, the whoosh of the advancing blade, all in perfect time. It accorded with the Dance of the Mulberry Grove; it matched the rhythm of the Jing Shou suite.

Prince Hui said: "Remarkable. What a height skill can reach." Cook Ding put down the knife and replied: "What I follow is the way of things — something beyond mere skill. When I first began cutting up oxen, all I saw was the whole animal. After three years, I no longer saw the whole. Now I work with my mind and not with my eyes. The mind works without the senses getting in the way. I trust the natural structure of the animal — I open the large gaps, guide the blade through the great hollow spaces, working with what is already there. I never hack through a main joint or a dense ligament, let alone a big bone." Prince Hui said: "Excellent! What skill has attained to this!" Cook Ding set down the knife and replied: "What your servant values is the Way — which goes beyond skill. When I first began cutting up oxen, what I saw was nothing but the whole ox. After three years, I no longer saw the complete animal. Now I work with my mind and not with my eye. The mind's perception acts without the control of the senses. Relying on the heavenly structure, I strike into the large cavities, guide through the great hollows, following what is inherently so. I never even touch a main ligament or tendon, let alone a large bone."

A good cook goes through one knife a year — he cuts. An ordinary cook goes through one a month — he hacks. This knife of mine I have used for nineteen years. It has broken down several thousand oxen. And the edge is still as sharp as the day it came off the whetstone. Why? Because the joints have spaces in them, and the blade has no thickness. When you send something with no thickness into a space that is already there — there is room to spare. That is why after nineteen years the edge is still as if freshly ground. A skilled cook changes his chopper once a year — he cuts. An ordinary cook changes it once a month — he hacks. This chopper of mine I have used for nineteen years; it has cut up several thousand oxen, yet its edge is still as keen as if fresh from the grindstone. Why? Because the joints have interstices, and the blade has no thickness. To insert that which has no thickness into spaces where there is room — there is certainly plenty of space for the blade to move. That is why after nineteen years the edge is still as if newly sharpened.

“There are gaps in every joint. My blade has no thickness. When you send something with no thickness into a space that already exists — there is plenty of room.”

That said, every time I come to a complicated joint, I see the difficulty ahead. I slow down. I steady my hand. I move the blade just a little — and with a sudden give the whole section falls apart, like a clod of earth dropping to the ground. Then I stand there with the knife in hand, looking around, pleased with myself, wipe the blade, and put it away. Even so, whenever I come to a knotted place, I see the difficulty and am on guard; I fix my gaze, slow my hand. With the slightest movement of the blade, the section comes apart with a thwack, falling away like a clod of earth. Then I stand with knife raised, looking all around, satisfied and unhurried, wipe the blade, and put it away.

Prince Hui said: "Well said. I have listened to Cook Ding and learned something about nourishing life." Prince Hui said: "Excellent! From the words of Cook Ding I have learned the art of nourishing life."

庖丁 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

庖丁為文惠君解牛，手之所觸，肩之所倚，足之所履，膝之所踦，砉然嚮然，奏刀騞然，莫不中音。合於《桑林》之舞，乃中《經首》之會。

Opening lines, classical Chinese · Zhuangzi 莊子 · Zhuang Zhou