In Search of Consistency: Ethics and Animals [Human–Animal Studies] Part 7 pdf

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in peace with one another: “[H]ave no fear of any serpent but
think—Serpents of good fortune, live in peace here with our dear ones”
(Mahabharata 14).
The Mahabharata also carries a spiritual message of oneness: all
that exists is God (Dwivedi 5). This message is heightened in the
most famous portion of the Mahabharata, the Bhagavad Gita, where
Krishna (one form of the god Vishnu) reveals himself to a worthy
and needy human being, saying “I am the life of all living beings
All beings have their rest in me In all living beings I am the
light of consciousness” (Bhagavad 74, 80, 86). The Bhagavad Gita reminds
Hindus: “I am not lost to one who sees me in all things and sees
all things in me,” and those who love God must have “love for all
creation” (6.30, L. Nelson 95). God is the life of all that exists—not
just the life of humanity, and Hindus are instructed to extend the
same love to a human being, or a cow, “or an elephant, or a dog”
(L. Nelson 67). A holy person (assumed to be a man in most reli-
gious literature)
sees himself in the heart of all beings and he sees all beings in his
heart And when he sees me in all and he sees all in me, then I
never leave him and he never leaves me. He who in this oneness of
love, loves me in whatever he sees, wherever this man may live, in
truth this man lives in me. And he is the greatest Yogi he whose vision
is ever one: when the pleasure and pain of others is his own pleasure
and pain. (Bhagavad 71–72)
In the Bhagavad Gita, by definition, a pundit is one who “treats a
cow, an elephant, a dog, and an outcaste” with the same high regard
because God is all, and those who are spiritually advanced, those
who are true devotees, find “in all creation the presence of God”
(Dwivedi 5).
The Hindu religious tradition contains much in its philosophy that

is protectionist, including the philosophies and spiritual teachings of
transmigration, karma, oneness, and ahimsa. Additionally, Hindu sacred
literature provides a wealth of anymal characters that bring these
many species to the forefront of spiritual consciousness—often as
equals. Many stories exemplify ahimsa, encouraging Hindus to show
compassion for all living beings.
consistency across religious traditions 321
3. Buddhism
The name of the organization People for the Ethical Treatment of
Animals is most often identified by the acronym PETA. A friend
and colleague of mine, Dr. Fred Porta, notes that the Pali word
“peta” means “souls of the dead.” Did the founders choose this name
knowing something of Pali? Not likely, but it does seem fitting that
this group fights for the lives of those commonly slaughtered, those
frequently viewed as expendable. It is yet more significant that this
acknowledgment be through the language of Pali, the ancient Indic
language of Theravada Buddhism. Porta commented, “[I]t is fitting
that an animal rights group, on behalf of the most defenseless beings
in society—the animals—use a Buddhist term.
Buddhism emerged on the outskirts of the Hindu world, in north-
eastern India, in the sixth century BCE (Embree, Hindu 132). Buddhism
inherited key concepts from the dominant Hindu tradition, such as
karma, reincarnation, ahimsa, and oneness.
Buddhism, like Hinduism, associates wild places with spiritual bless-
ings and insights. Practitioners from India to China often turn to
the wild places in search of a deeper, more spiritual vision of life,
shunning places frequented by humanity (Yu-Lan 65). Traditionally,
Buddhists wishing to gain spiritual wisdom lived simple lives far
from population centers. In the seventh century, the Buddhist poet
Shantideva wrote:

Trees do not show disdain, and they demand no toilsome wooing;
Fain would I now consort with them as my companions.
Fain would I dwell in a deserted sanctuary, beneath a tree, or in a
cave
Fain would I dwell in spacious regions owned by no one,
And there, a homeless wanderer, follow my own mind. (Conze 102)
One of the most famous Tibetan Buddhist saints, Milarepa, is some-
times depicted as an ascetic harboring a deer in the presence of a
passing hunter, who pauses to show his respects to the great ascetic,
honoring and respecting the deer’s protector. Many lesser-known
Buddhists have also turned to wild places in search of enlighten-
ment, and their writings reveal “delight in the wooded and moun-
tain heights” and in the wild anymals who share their secluded
dwellings (Burtt 73).
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Those upland glades delightful to the soul,
Where kareri [tree] spreads its wildering wreaths,
Where sound the trumpet-calls of elephants:
Those are the braes wherein my soul delights.
Those rocky heights with hue of dark blue clouds,
Where lies embosomed many a shining tarn
Of crystal-clear, cool waters
Free from the crowds of citizens below,
But thronged with flocks of many winged things,
The home of herding creatures of the wild
Crags where clear waters lie, a rocky world,
Haunted by black-faced apes and timid deer,
Where ’neath bright blossoms run the silver streams:
Such are the braes wherein my soul delights. (Burtt 75–76)
Many contemporary Buddhists carry on this spiritual tradition of

retreating to the wilderness, or at least to secluded places, to prac-
tice their religion.
Buddhism arose “during a time and in a place where the bound-
aries between humans and animals were far more fluid than in con-
temporary industrialized societies” (Chapple 143). Like the Hindu
tradition, the Buddhist religion does not envision a strict boundary
between humans and anymals; “Buddhism recognizes no essential
distinction between humans and animals” (Phelps, Great 33). Even
today Buddhists view species more as a semipermeable membrane,
due at least in part, to the philosophy of reincarnation. Eons of
transmigrating souls witness that today’s anymals are our relatives
from former lives (D. Williams 151). The Lankavatara Sutra states:
In the long course of samsara [the cyclical process of life, death, and
rebirth], there is not one among living beings with form who has not
been mother, father, brother, sister, son, or daughter, or some other
relative. Being connected with the process of taking birth, one is kin
to all wild and domestic animals, birds, and beings born from the
womb Repeated birth generates an interconnected web of life
which, according to the Buddhist precept of harmlessness, must be
respected. (Chapple 143)
Buddhist philosophy holds that other species “are subject to the same
process” that human beings experience, living the effects of karma
from one birth to the next (Waldau 140). Anymals, “like ourselves,
make choices that govern both this immediate life and future expe-
riences” (Chapple 144). Just as we wish for “peace, happiness, and
joy for ourselves, we know that all beings wish for these qualities”
consistency across religious traditions 323
(Phelps, Great 44). Karma can no more be avoided by a Persian cat
than it can by an avahi (woolly lemur). The Sutta Pitaka notes that
one’s actions determine one’s future as surely as “the wheel follows

the foot of the ox that draws the carriage” (Burtt 52).
Some Buddhist schools teach of radical identification with all liv-
ing beings—with all other entities: “It is not just that ‘we are all in
it’ together. We all are it, rising and falling as one living body” (Cook
229). The words of a contemporary Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat
Hanh, reflect this view of species and the Indian concept of “oneness”:
I am one with the wonderful pattern of life which radiates out in all
directions I am the frog swimming in the pond and I am also
the snake who needs the body of the frog to nourish its own body
I am the forest which is being cut down. I am the rivers and air which
are being polluted. (Allendorf 43–44)
Oneness teaches that no entity is “other”; we are not separate from
anyone or anything else. Thich Nhat Hanh writes of the intercon-
nectedness of all beings, and encourages people to apply this under-
standing in daily life.
A human being is an animal, a part of nature. But we single ourselves
out from the rest of nature. We classify other animals and living beings
as nature, as if we ourselves are not part of it. Then we pose the ques-
tion, “How should I deal with Nature?” We should deal with nature
the way we deal with ourselves . . .! Harming nature is harming our-
selves, and vice versa. (Hanh 41)
Philosophical ideas that have their roots in the Hindu tradition, such
as reincarnation and oneness, led Buddhist philosophers to conclude
that there really is no independent “self ” (Robinson 38). Many
Buddhists view individuals and species as mere name and form—
outward vestiges wrapped around something less tangible but more
enduring, more fundamental, that transcends individual bodies and
biological categories. In this view individual human existence is a
mirage: we are only matter in human form, soon to be disbanded
and recreated according to our actions in this and past lives.

The Buddhist concept of “codependent arising” also encourages
a view of radical interdependence. Codependent arising holds that
no individual or action can be separated from any other individual
or action (Robinson 23–29). Radical Buddhist interdependence does
not allow for an independent entity, action, word, or thought; all
things influence all other things—each being or act is critical to every
324 chapter six
other. The idea of radical interdependence led some Buddhists to
conclude that all things are one another in their very essence. In the
words of a contemporary Thai Buddhist monk: “The entire cosmos
is a cooperative. The sun, the moon and the stars live together as
a cooperative. The same is true for humans and animals, trees and
the Earth [T]he world is a mutual, interdependent, coopera-
tive enterprise” (Swearer 5).
When Buddhism traveled to China, it combined with Daoism to
form some extraordinarily nature-friendly spiritual teachings. One of
the most nature-friendly extant religious philosophies, Hua-yen, is a
school of Chinese Buddhism formed around 600 CE. Hua-yen car-
ried “codependent arising” to its logical extreme. In the Hua-yen
worldview all things are reflected in all other things, as in an infinitely
regressing mirror that encompasses the entire universe in “simulta-
neous mutual identity and mutual intercausality” (Cook 214). Nothing is
independent in this “vast web of interdependencies in which if one
strand is disturbed, the whole web is shaken” (Cook 213). For exam-
ple, we know that without the sun we could not live as we currently
live. Similarly, but on a different scale, neither can we live as we now
live if a small flea is knocked from the side of a kitten in a village
in northern Malaysia. All is changed by any slight change; the rip-
ple effect is unending and all encompassing because all things are
interconnected. If a roadrunner is squashed under the tires of a truck

carrying the breast milk of cattle to Phoenix, Arizona, this event
affects all other living entities. Radical Buddhist interdependence indi-
cates that cruelty and exploitation are counterproductive because
harming one entity harms all that exists, including oneself.
Also in China, the influential T’ien T’ai Buddhist school teaches
that all things are contained in one moment and one moment con-
tains all things. This combination of single and universal in one unity
culminated in the concept of “Buddha-Nature” (deBary 156–57).
“Buddha-Nature” is nirvana in samsara—it is the mundane in per-
fection, the Buddha in each of us and in every living thing. “Buddha-
Nature” is the inherent perfection of each thing as it naturally is. All
things have “Buddha-Nature,” and to acknowledge this quality in all
things is to realize that all things are perfect in their essence, just as
they are. The T’ien T’ai spiritual seeker is encouraged to understand
that each thing—everything—has inherent value, and that one can
learn spiritual truths from every aspect of the physical world, the
mighty Western red cedar and the little winter polypore, the exquis-
consistency across religious traditions 325
ite tamandua, and the now-extinct (but once-exquisite) tarpan (who
had the misfortune of depending on grazing lands that were much
coveted by human beings).
When Chinese Buddhism reached Japan, anymal and nature-
friendly teachings were accepted, fostered, and enhanced. The great
Japanese Buddhist philosopher, Dogen (1200–1253), taught that the
splendors of nature hold the essence of enlightenment, and that spir-
itual ideas themselves are “the entire universe, mountains and rivers,
and the great wide earth, plants and trees” (Curtin, “Dogen” 198;
Swearer 15). The Buddhist tradition, as it traveled across cultures,
viewed the entire physical world as holding spiritual significance.
Teachings such as that of Buddha-Nature and radical interdepen-

dence encourage people to view anymals as important rather than
as lesser or “other.” Simultaneously, these teachings deflate human
pride by denying the existence of the individual self. Buddhist phi-
losophy elevated nature while diminishing the worldly importance of
the individual Buddhist practitioner.
Buddhism also teaches ahimsa, including uniquely Buddhist expres-
sions of this universal moral ideal, such as metta (loving-kindness) and
karuna (compassion). Anymal rights activist and Buddhist Norm Phelps
writes, “Compassion becomes real when it becomes active in the
world” (Great 162). Buddhist literature features prominent injunctions
not to kill anymals (Waldau 136). Given the Buddhist understand-
ing of oneness, no creature lies outside of Buddhist morality or
beyond the concern of a practicing Buddhist (Martin 99). Buddhist
moral conduct is “built on the vast conception of universal love and
compassion for all living beings” (Rahula 46). Nonviolence, loving-
kindness, and compassion are applied to human beings and anymals
alike (Kraft 277). The Bodhicharyavatara of Shantideva (circa 600 CE),
encourages Buddhist practitioners to recognize that “fellow-creatures
are the same as him[or her]self. ‘All have the same sorrows, the
same joys as I, and I must guard them like myself ’” (Burtt 139).
“There is never a hint in Buddhist teachings that intellectual abil-
ity, a sophisticated sense of self, or any characteristic beyond the
ability to suffer is relevant to moral standing” (Phelps, Great 40). The
Dhammapada, a popular and important text in the Buddhist canon,
teaches that those who follow the Buddha will, “ever by night and
day,” “find joy in love for all beings” (78). The practitioner does
not just find joy for self, or love for other people but for “all beings.”
For a Buddhist practitioner, compassion is a “feeling that suffers all
326 chapter six
the agonies and torments” of every sentient creature, and an under-

standing that harm done to others is harm done to oneself, for we
are all one, and we are bound by karma (Kushner 148f ).
The Buddha instructed followers to exhibit “an unlimited self-
giving compassion flowing freely toward all creatures that live” (Burtt
46). “Indeed, Buddhists see this orientation to the suffering of oth-
ers as a sine qua non of ethical life” (Waldau 138). The virtue of
compassion is “one of the indispensable conditions for deliverance”
(Kushner 148f ); the Dali Lama has often stated that loving-kind-
ness is his religion (Gyatso 8). The Dhammapada plainly states that it
is those who “hurt no living being” who will reach nirvana (Dhammapada
68), and that a truly great person is not one who succeeds in worldly
matters, but one who “hurts not any living being” (74). Similarly,
the Buddhist Sutta-Nipata includes the following, often translated as
the hymn of love:
may all
be blessed with peace always;
all creatures weak or strong,
all creatures great and small;
creatures unseen or seen
dwelling afar or near,
born or awaiting birth,
—may all be blessed with peace!
. . . as with her own life
a mother shields from hurt
her own, her only, child,—
let all-embracing thoughts
for all that lives be thine,
—an all-embracing love
for all the universe. (Burtt 46–47)
These high moral ideals are not expected only of monks and saints.

“For Buddhists, ahimsa, or noninjury, is an ethical goal for monks
and laypersons alike” (Shinn 219). Buddhists are encouraged to choose
their livelihood so as to avoid any harm to living beings (Rahula
47). It would be unthinkable for most Buddhists to capitalize on fac-
tory farming of any kind, as it would be unthinkable for them to
run a business exploiting the cheap labor of poor children or to earn
their living as soldiers. Even keeping anymals in captivity is recog-
nized in the Dhammapada as contrary to teachings of loving-kindness,
for the captive elephant “remembers the elephant grove” (81). Those
consistency across religious traditions 327
who successfully travel the Buddhist path will be filled with mercy,
living a life that is “compassionate and kind to all creatures that
have life” (Burtt 104).
Buddhist writings also warn that “meat-eating in any form or man-
ner and in any circumstances is prohibited, unconditionally and once
and for all” (deBary 91–92). While many contemporary Buddhists
eat meat today, it is clear from Buddhist teachings that the moral
ideal is to reduce suffering—flesh eating (as well as drinking the
nursing milk of factory-farmed anymals) fosters massive amounts of
misery amongst millions of anymals. “If we are fully and genuinely
mindful in our eating, we will not allow our choice of foods to bring
needless suffering and death to living beings The correct ques-
tion is not, ‘Should I be a vegetarian?’ but ‘Should I participate in
the unnecessary killing of sentient beings?’ It is not about us; it is
about the animals. A vegan lifestyle is not a dogma, it is an essential
element of Buddhist compassion” (Phelps, Great 127, 137, 141). For
the Buddhist, good conduct requires “putting away the killing of liv-
ing things” and holding “aloof from the destruction of life” (Burtt
104). In the Dhammapada it is written:
All beings tremble before danger, all fear death. When a man con-

siders this, he does not kill or cause to kill.
All beings fear before danger, life is dear to all. When a man con-
siders this, he does not kill or cause to kill.
He who for the sake of happiness hurts others who also want hap-
piness, shall not hereafter find happiness.
He who for the sake of happiness does not hurt others who also
want happiness, shall hereafter find happiness. (Dhammapada 54)
Those who take on the Buddhist life turn to love made infinite, vow-
ing, “With all am I a friend, comrade to all/And to all creatures
kind and merciful” (Burtt 79). Amongst the important and early
Buddhist writings that form the Sutta Pitaka, our moral responsibil-
ity not to cause anymals to be slaughtered is acknowledged by the
Buddha. He is said to have described a worthy and enlightened
human not by caste, but by actions, more specifically, one who does
not hurt any creatures, “whether feeble or strong, does not kill nor
cause slaughter” (Burtt 71). To cause another to be harmed is spir-
itually problematic in the Buddhist tradition. It matters little who
kills the turkey; the one who buys the dead bird causes another to
be raised and killed and has therefore caused unnecessary suffering.
328 chapter six
Buddhist philosophy teaches that a flesh eater can no more avoid
the karma that results from such unnecessarily harmful actions than
one can escape the dirtying effects of dust they have thrown into
the wind. Those who seek happiness in this life but cause misery to
other beings “will not find happiness after death” (Burtt 59).
In a restaurant in Dharmsala, India, a Tibetan Buddhist restau-
rant owner carried a live-trapped rat from his restaurant, away to
a new life in the thick forests of northern India while I was eating
my breakfast. The first, and most fundamental Buddhist precept
warns followers “to refrain from killing living beings”—not just human

beings, but all living beings (Robinson 77). This proscription against
harming anymals “is central to the Buddhist tradition. Indeed, it is
in fact one of the few common features across the vast Buddhist tra-
dition and its many sects, strands, and branches” (Waldau 143). The
Buddhist moral obligation to show concern for other life forms is “a
significant, indeed a radical, message,” particularly given that Buddhist
lands included anymals who posed a threat to human beings (Waldau
123). Whether a cow or a viper, Buddhist morality teaches practi-
tioners not to harm other sentient beings.
Buddhism is often divided into major schools of thought, includ-
ing Mahayana and Theravada traditions. Practitioners and spiritual
beings of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, called bodhisattvas, com-
mit themselves to the task of saving all creatures from the suffering
entailed in life, death, and rebirth (deBary 81–82).
[C]ompassion is given an especially prominent place in the Mahayana
branch of the Buddhist tradition by virtue of its association with the
central ideal of the bodhisattva, although concern for living things is
conceptually no less central in the Theravadin branch. The bodhisattva
is known, and even defined, by his or her commitment to the salva-
tion of other beings. (Waldau 138)
Bodhisattvas vow to return to the earth again and again through
reincarnation, rather than disappear into nirvana. They come back
to suffer the trials and tribulations of life in order to help every indi-
vidual of every species to escape from ongoing suffering and rebirth
(deBary 81). As the sun illuminates the entire earth, while a glow-
worm offers only a tiny spot of light, so the bodhisattva is able to
light the way to nirvana for “countless beings” (Burtt 130–31). A
bodhisattva thinks: “As many beings as there are in the universe of
beings,” with or without form, with or without perception, “all these
consistency across religious traditions 329

I must lead to Nirvana” (Conze 164). Buddhist sutras explain a bod-
hisattva’s commitment:
A Bodhisattva resolves: I take upon myself the burden of all suffering,
I am resolved to do so, I will endure it. I do not turn or run away,
do not tremble, am not terrified, nor afraid, do not turn back or
despond.
And why? At all costs I must bear the burdens of all beings. In that
I do not follow my own inclinations. I have made the vow to save all
beings. All beings I must set free. The whole world of living beings I
must rescue, from the terrors of birth, of old age, of sickness, of death
and rebirth, of all kinds of moral offence, of all states of woe, of the
whole cycle of birth-and-death from all these terrors I must rescue
all beings I must rescue all these beings from the stream of
Samsara, which is so difficult to cross; I must pull them back from
the great precipice, I must free them from all calamities, I must ferry
them across the stream of Samsara. I myself must grapple with the
whole mass of suffering of all beings. (Burtt 133)
Anymals have a high profile in the ancient and foundational
Buddhist Pali Canon, as well as in extracanonical writings (Waldau
149). Buddhist animal tales “illustrate and underscore the position
that life from one form to the next is continuous,” through rein-
carnation (Chapple 143). For example, the Buddhist Jataka is in many
ways similar to the Hindu Pancatantra; both collections stem from the
same ancient sources. Jataka tales tell of the Buddha’s past incarna-
tions. These entertaining stories feature animals of every kind, includ-
ing humans. Anymals are not incidental to Jataka story lines; they
are primary, and are “presented with remarkable detail and accu-
racy” (Chapple 143). This menagerie of stories includes such diverse
creatures as a crow, jackal, snake, swan, quail, horse, goose, tortoise,
boar, cuckoo, pigeon, woodpecker, chameleon, chicken, mongoose,

mosquito, otter, shrew, beetle, osprey, and many more. Numerically,
the most important anymals in these tales are monkeys, who appear
in twenty-seven stories, followed by elephants (twenty-four), jackals
(twenty), lions (nineteen), and crows (seventeen). In all there are sev-
enty different anymals in the Jataka, many acting as central charac-
ters in the stories in which they appear (Chapple 134, 145–46).
Jataka stories reveal “the essence of the Buddhist attitude brought
to life—the attitude of universal compassion flowing from the
knowledge of inner oneness” (Martin 98). In many Jataka tales any-
mals are cast as the Buddha in past lives, each one demonstrating
330 chapter six
self-sacrificing generosity “for the benefit of all living beings” (Martin
98). For example, one Jataka reveals the Buddha in a former life as
Prince Mahasattva, who comes upon a hungry tigress that is too
weak to hunt for her offspring. She and her little ones are on the
edge of death, and the bodhisattva comments, “Holy men are born
of pity and compassion.” Prince Mahasattva then offers his own body
that the tigress and her young might live (Conze 24–26). As in many
of the Jataka tales, the message is one of compassion, and readers
know that Prince Mahasattva is eventually reincarnated (due to good
karma) as Siddhartha Gotama—the Buddha. Jataka tales instruct
Buddhists to live mindfully—with an awareness of the likely effects
of each and every action.
In many Jataka stories anymals “set an example” for humans and
also “deepen the threads of human experience” (Chapple 135, 144).
For example, Jataka anymals exhibit “compassionate and often heroic
self-giving” (Martin 97). One story tells of a monkey who saves his
followers and community by using his body as a bridge to form an
escape route. The monkey’s back is broken, but his companions are
safe. An observer comments to the monkey: “It is not your sword

which makes you a king; it is love alone” (Khan 18). In a third
story, the Buddha appears as a deer who offers his life to a hunter
instead of allowing the mother of a young fawn to be killed. The
hunter, who happens to be king of the realm, impressed by the deer,
spares his life, and then inquires after the lives of the other deer
and all four-footed anymals, birds, and fish. In each case the Buddha
(in deer form) pleads for their lives, discouraging the king from eat-
ing other creatures. Because of the Buddha-deer’s efforts, “Love had
entered into the heart of the King,” and he ceased to hunt and kill
anymals so that “all the living creatures in his realm were happy
ever after” (Khan 33). In Jataka tales the Buddha offers his body
both as rabbit and elephant so that starving people might eat. The
rabbit flung himself into a fire to be cooked while the elephant ran
off a cliff to land at the feet of those who needed food. Such sto-
ries remind readers that there is a difference between those who
have nothing to eat except dead anymals, and those who choose to kill
for food. Stories of self-sacrificing compassion, stories of the Buddha
in earlier lives, also remind readers and listeners that the Buddha
has been in many forms, as have all living beings, and that each
living entity is capable of respectful and compassionate actions toward
others. No anymal is too insignificant or “undesirable” to have housed
consistency across religious traditions 331
the karmic presence of the Buddha in his previous existences, or to
be morally considerable.
Jataka tales remind listeners that anymals are an integral part of
our shared world, subject to the same moral laws (Waldau 150). As
noted, karma rules the lives of anymals and humans alike (Kraft 277):
Lassie and the Prince of Wales are both subject to the same moral
law. Those who read stories of the Jataka are helped to envision a
deeper, closer connection with other life-forms. In the Jataka, “ani-

mals have their own lives, their own karma, tests, purposes, and aspi-
rations. And, as often brief and painful as their lives may be, they
are also graced with a purity and a clarity which we can only humbly
respect, and perhaps even occasionally envy” (Martin 100).
It is not surprising that anymal voices in the Jataka speak out
against harming other species, against anymal sacrifice, and against
hunting and eating anymals (Chapple 135–38). A contemporary
Buddhist, reflecting on the Jataka, noted:
Was not the Buddha a hare? a quail? a monkey, a lion, a deer or
ox? Who is to say that the dog guarding our porch or the cat twin-
ing around our legs is not a Bodhisattva . . .? Entering the market
one sees live rabbits and chickens and turkeys for sale. And one won-
ders, “Why are they here?” and is torn. “Should I buy them all? How
can I save them?” For in the Jatakas one has seen that their inner
life is the same as our own. One seeks to save them all, and they too,
looking out at us with black or with golden shining eyes, yearn only
to liberate us. (Martin 100)
Through the lives of anymals, Jataka tales encourage aspirants to fol-
low the compassionate path of the Buddha, to see anymals as indi-
viduals worthy of moral consideration.
A Tibetan folktale about a frog reveals the strong influence of
Buddhist morality permeating Tibetan Buddhist culture. In this story
a frog begs an old widow to adopt him as her son. After several
days, she finally agrees and quickly comes to love the frog. The frog
proceeds to hop off to find himself the most beautiful young woman
in the area. The young woman’s family is mortified at the thought
of their only child, their beloved daughter, marrying a frog. The
frog reminds the reticent people that “[h]uman beings, animals, birds,
even frogs” are all “of the same spiritual force” (Hyde-Chambers
177). But a frog as a son-in-law is a hard sell, and they offer the

frog anything else he might want. He again offers a Buddhist rationale:
“Can you not see that all beings, human or animal, are the same?”
332 chapter six
(Hyde-Chambers 180). He resorts to causing a series of disruptive
events, revealing his powers, to finally convince the parents to let
them marry. Once he wins the daughter from her parents, he must
work to gain the young woman’s heart. She is dreadfully disap-
pointed in her marital match, and at her father’s instruction, tries
to kill the frog on their way to his home. She makes three attempts
on the frog’s life, and the frog patiently returns her weapons, say-
ing, “Remember that we are all one” (Hyde-Chambers 180). Eventually
the frog does win her heart, and consistent with Western folklore,
she discovers him to be a handsome young man wearing a magic
frog skin. But the moral of the story bears no resemblance to that
of Western lore: “[A]ll things differ only in their ‘skin’ [A]ll are
really one nature” (Hyde-Chambers 186).
Like other major faiths, Buddhism is a practical religion aimed
specifically at salvation. Buddhist teachings are to be enacted in daily
life if devotees are to avoid ill affects in future lives. Thus King
Ashoka, best known of Buddhist kings, was not only concerned with
his human subjects, but also with the welfare of anymals in his king-
dom (Harris 386). He “famously attempted to integrate the First
Precept [not to kill (or harm)] into his rule”; texts “posted around
his large realm testify again and again to a respect for the lives of
other animals” (Waldau 143). His Buddhist compassion was not an
isolated incident, but part of a larger Buddhist tendency to protect
and nurture anymals. China’s “Liang emperor, Wu Ti (502–550), is
said to have fed fish held in a monastery pond as part of his Buddhist
devotions, while, in 759, the T’ang emperor is reported to have
donated a substantial sum toward the construction of eighty-one such

ponds for the preservation of animal life” (Harris 386). Nor is this
phenomenon merely part of Buddhism’s history, or a luxury of royalty.
“[A]s late as the mid-1930s, the National Buddhist Association broad-
cast radio lectures on the need for animal protection” (Harris 386).
Some Buddhists continue to honor “animal day” (Harris 386). In
1280 in Japan, by order of the Shogun, the people of Japan were
prohibited from killing anymals for a two-week period prior to national
“animal day.” The core of this Buddhist holy day entails releasing
captive anymals, such as fish or birds, back into the wild (D. Williams
149). Rooted in Buddhist texts, this annual celebration encourages
practitioners to “work for the liberation of living beings . . ., practice
liberation of living beings . . ., and cause others to do so” because
we are all related to every other being through the ongoing process
consistency across religious traditions 333
of birth, death, and rebirth (Bommyokyo 150). At this time of year,
if Buddhists witness anymals being harmed, they “must by proper
means save and protect them from misery and danger” (Bommyokyo
150). And they do. It is recorded in 1017 that a courtier noted two
men fishing along the Kamo River, purchased and released the fish
that had been caught on the annual day of releasing captive any-
mals (D. Williams 156). For many Buddhists, practical acts of kind-
ness and generosity are critical to salvation. The Buddhist philosophy
of codependent arising and radical interdependence indicate that
each anymal was at some point one’s parent, and to harm one’s
parent is a particularly base act for much of the world to which
Buddhism traveled, including China and Japan. Because we are
related to all creatures, on “anymal day” some Buddhists release liv-
ing beings from the suffering we too often impose on other sentient
creatures.
Buddhist philosophy holds that people are merely one small part

of an interconnected and interdependent universe. This Buddhist out-
look is reflected in Buddhist morality that teaches loving-kindness
and compassion, reinforced through lively anymal tales. “[I]t can be
forcefully argued” that Buddhists, perhaps even unanimously, agree
“on the significance that real, live individuals of other species have”
(Waldau 153). The first Buddhist precept requires the faithful not to
kill. Buddhism thus reveals a protectionist philosophy that is not
merely peripheral, but belongs “to the core of the tradition” form-
ing “the foundation of Buddhist morality” (Waldau 138).
4. Daoism and Other Chinese Religions
In recent times China and Japan have frequently been criticized for
actions harmful to the natural world and anymals, but Chinese spir-
itual traditions are rich with protectionist teachings.
China has several important religious traditions, including Daoism
(or Taoism), Buddhism, Philosophy of Change, Confucianism, and
Yin Yang Philosophy. (Chinese Buddhism is discussed in the above
section on Buddhism; this section focuses largely on the Daoist tra-
dition.) In China, spiritual wisdom has long been associated with
those who live close to nature—whether Buddhist or Daoist. In
roughly the tenth century Ssu-k’ung Tu wrote a poem titled “Oxhead
Temple”: “From my favorite place in the Chung-nan Mountains,/
334 chapter six
The chanting of the monks emerges into the dark sky./Groves of
trees stand out clearly in the somber solitude,/thin mist floats in the
desolate void” (Mair, Columbia 241). The Taoist Meng Hao-jan (circa
700 CE) writes:
All my life I have respected true reclusion
For days on end sought spiritual mysteries
There are many pure notes in pines and streams;
These moss-grown walls are wrapped in a feeling of antiquity.

How I would like to retire to this very mountain,
“Casting off both self and world alike.” (Mair, Columbia 194)
For many Chinese Buddhists and Daoists, nature is understood not
only as the appropriate place to seek spiritual growth and enlight-
enment, but also as a medium through which the highest spiritual
truths might be learned. The following Chinese Buddhist poem, per-
haps written by a poet whose name means “Cold Mountain” (Han-
shan, who lived sometime before the ninth century), relates a recluse’s
view of nature as a metaphor for the spiritual path:
I climb up the Way to Cold Mountain,
But the Cold Mountain road is endless:
Long valleys of boulders stacked stone upon stone,
Broad streams thick with dense undergrowth.
The mosses are slippery, though there’s been no rain;
Pines cry out, but it’s not the wind.
Who can get beyond worldly attachments
And sit with me among the white clouds? (Sommer 167)
Mountains and rivers have long been sacred in China, as in India,
and have even played an important role in official religion and the
governing of the nation (L. Thompson, Chinese Way 29). In fact,
Chinese mountains are divinities (L. Thompson, Chinese Way 179).
Until recently, every Chinese village had “a temple dedicated to the
local mountain god” (Bernbaum 24). Also as in India, Chinese spir-
itual practitioners (Buddhist and Daoist)—especially those who are
spiritually advanced—have often lived far from civilization (L. Thomp-
son, Chinese Religion 81, 107). Of course, the wild places are where
the anymals live, and this has brought China’s spiritual people in
direct contact with other species. It is not surprising that popular
images such as the Chinese god of long life, Fukuokuju, are associ-
ated with the crane, stag, and tortoise (Storm 231).

As is the case with many non-Western faiths, Chinese traditions
are not exclusive. Many people are both Daoist and Confucian; they
consistency across religious traditions 335
accept the Philosophy of Change and Yin Yang Philosophy. Most
Chinese people engage in a variety of religious practices from different
Chinese religions and accept philosophical teachings from all Chinese
religious traditions. Chuang Tzu, a great Daoist mystic, second only
to Lao Tzu in the Taoist world, goes so far as to indicate that cat-
egories of any kind, whether human and anymal or Christian and
Buddhist, are best left aside. “[W]hen the shoe fits/The foot is for-
gotten,/When the belt fits/The belly is forgotten,/When the heart
is right/‘For’ and ‘against’ are forgotten” (Merton 112). Outside of
the Judeo-Christian-Islamic faiths, notions of the one right way, the only
truth, are uncommon. In China, most people subscribe to an eclec-
tic mix of spiritual philosophies.
Furthermore, “Chinese philosophy and culture tend to be ‘Taoist’
in a broad sense, since the idea of Tao is, in one form or another,
central to traditional Chinese thinking” (Merton 20). The Chinese
worldview does not admit of an independent humanity, but views
the universe as an ongoing process, where we are but a small part
of one unity. The cosmos, and all parts of this great cosmos, inter-
act and participate in what the Chinese view as a spontaneous self-
generating process of life (Tu 67). Everything that exists is part of
this ongoing transformation, providing the Chinese people with a
sense of self as an intimate part of a larger whole to which they
belong, but in which they are not of any greater importance than
any other entity (L. Thompson, Chinese Religion 6). As with Indian
philosophy, the Daoist tradition acknowledges constant change as
fundamental to existence. Perpetual transformations bind each indi-
vidual to all other things (Chan 177). Resultant Chinese philosophy

shares much in common with Indian “oneness.”
The constant flux and transformation involved in this great, cos-
mic process “binds all things into one, equalizing all things and all
opinions” (Chan 177). Nothing lies outside of this Daoist continuum,
and so “the chain of being is never broken,” and a link can “always
be found between any given pair of things in the universe,” whether
gaur and mongoose, or mongoose and human being (Tu 70).
Furthermore, every link in the web of life is critical to one’s own
existence; everything that exists in the universe is “intrinsically related
to and thus constitutive of ‘self ’” (Ames 120).
We can only exist as part of this larger whole. In this view of the
universe each anymal is necessary as part of the larger whole (Tu
71). There is no God behind the functioning of the cosmos. There
336 chapter six
is no hierarchy, no superior race or species (Hall 109). Each being
has its special way of being, its te, and this te is to be honored both
in self and in others—all others—whether marsupial, monotreme, or
primate (Hall 110). In the words of Chuang Tzu, the “universe is
vast, its transformation is uniform. Although the myriad things are
many, their order is one” (Chan 204).
Chuang Tzu goes on to say, “The universe and I exist together,
and all things and I are one” (Chan 186). Unlike Indian philosophy,
Chuang Tzu’s view of interconnectedness and unity envisions the
human body as bits and pieces of everything else. He understands
death and decay as a physical mixing of matter. He writes about
two people—one man lying on his deathbed receiving a visitor:
“Go away” he said, “Don’t disturb the transformation that is about
to take place.” Then, leaning against the door, he continued, “Great
is the Creator! What will he make of you now? Where will he take
you? Will he make you into a rat’s liver? Will he make you into an

insect’s leg?” (Chan 197)
All matter—all beings—are viewed as an integral part of a great
and ongoing transformation (Parkes 91). Put clearly by Chuang Tzu:
“Now a dragon, now a snake,/You transform together with the
times,/And never consent to be one thing alone” (Parkes 92).
The Chinese worldview provides a vision of discord as shallow,
like the waves that skim above a great ocean, while harmony is deep,
reaching clear to the ocean floor. Harmony pervades the cosmos,
which entails union, integration, and synthesis, rather than exclusiv-
ity. Everything that exists benefits all else that exists, and no one
species or mode of existence is favored in the impersonal process of
transformation (Tu 71–73). “Human beings are thus organically con-
nected with rocks, trees, and animals”; we are not overlords or sep-
arate, but an integral part of a larger whole, along with all other
beings (Tu 74–75). In short, human beings “experience nature from
within” (Tu 77).
Daoists generally think it obvious that Dao exists, that it “oper-
ates wisely and reliably, without human assistance,” and that “any
interventional activity by humans will inevitably interfere” with the
proper functioning of the Dao and will result in tragedy (Kirkland
294). Dao, or “the Way,” is a concept sometimes difficult for
Westerners to grasp. In the Daoist view there is no definitive Creator,
no teleological goal, no design in the universe. There is no deity to
consistency across religious traditions 337
punish or favor humanity. Dao simply “abides in all things” ( Jochim
8). According to Chuang Tzu, Dao is everywhere, in the ant, in the
weeds, in “excrement and urine” (Chan 203). Yet he also admitted
that even he, a great sage, had only found the beginning of the
realm of Dao and did not know where it might end (Waley 52–53).
The universe is ordered in the Daoist view: Patterns of “alter-

nating forces and phases” shape “rhythms of life” (Kleeman 67).
Dao is
the final source and ground of the universe Dao runs through
the whole universe and human life and is both the transcendent and
the immanent. Therefore, as the model for human behavior and as
the object of the ultimate concern of human beings, Dao is similar to
God. The difference is that Dao has nothing to do with will, feelings,
and purposes. (Xiaogan 322–23)
The Dao is similar to a divine being in that it represents that which
we cannot know, that which maintains the order of the universe
(Xiaogan 323). Dao is the Infinite, the eternally changeless, non-
being (Wu 26–27). Dao is ultimate reality (Henricks xviii). The Dao,
or the Way, is
that reality, or that level of reality, that exists prior to and gave rise
to all other things, the physical universe (Heaven and Earth), and all
things in it The Way in a sense is like a great womb: it is empty
and devoid in itself of differentiation, one in essence; yet somehow it
contains all things in seed-like or embryo form, and all things “emerge”
from the Tao in creation as babies emerge from their mothers
But the Way does not simply give birth to all things. Having done
so, it continues in some way to be present in each individual thing as
an energy or power, a power that is not static but constantly on the
move, inwardly pushing each thing to develop and grow in a certain
way, in a way that is in accord with its true nature. (Henricks xviii–xix)
Perhaps most important for our purposes, the Dao is “an abstract,
universal principle in the realm of ethics” (Merton 21). Dao is beyond
human understanding, as expressed in the first lines of the Daode jing:
“The Tao that can be told of is not the eternal Tao;/The name
that can be named is not the eternal name” (Chan 139).
The Chinese view of the cosmos—their understanding of Tao—

directs how people are to live (Parkes 81). Daoist moral teachings
laid out in the One Hundred and Eighty Precepts (Yibaibashijie), like the
precepts of most faiths, encourage people to live simply and gently
with the natural world and to be compassionate toward other creatures
338 chapter six
(Schipper 81–85). There is an emphasis in Daoist philosophy on
“weakness and humility,” on “openness and emptiness,” on ways of
being that cause no harm (Chan 137). Those who would be moral
exemplars are to love the earth (Chan 143). We are not to foul the
air or water or seal off pools or wells; we must use discretion if we
burn, fell trees, or create water reservoirs. A Daoist is to live as a
companion to nature, never interfering or imposing personal will
(Chan 177).
Nor are anymals neglected in the One Hundred and Eighty Precepts.
Daoist moral teachings are very clear about killing anymals, even
for food: “You should not fish or hunt and thereby harm and kill
living beings You should not in winter dig up hibernating ani-
mals and insects You should not use cages to trap birds and
[other] animals” (Schipper 81). Likewise, we must not abuse or over-
work domestic anymals.
People are specifically discouraged from killing living beings,
even for consumption (Schipper 84–85). Through the influence of
both Buddhism and Daoism, many Chinese people are vegetarian
(L. Thompson, Chinese Religion 116). The Daoist Ko Hung wrote that
those traveling the spiritual path ought to extend their “love to the
creeping worm and do no harm” to any living beings; at the table,
he instructed the Daoist to “entirely abstain from flesh” (L. Thompson,
Chinese Religions 85). Along with the Buddhist and Hindu traditions,
Daoism speaks clearly against killing, providing a “universalistic ethic”
that extends “not only to all humanity, but to the wider domain of

all living things” (Kirkland 284).
“Fostering life” is also a recurring theme in Daoist teachings. The
second to the last sentence in the most important Taoist work, the
Daode jing, states simply, “The Way of Heaven is to benefit others
and not to injure” (Chan 176). The virtue of compassion is promi-
nent in other writings as well, such as in the novel, Monkey. At one
point in this tale of adventure, a man releases a fish back into the
river, and his aging mother comments, “To release living things is
an act of piety. I am very glad you did it” (Monkey 87). Daoist lit-
erature “abounds in stories of exemplary men and women who earned
recognition—and even ‘transcendence’—by secretly performing com-
passionate acts, particularly for creatures disdained by others” (Kirk-
land 293). The three moral treasures of Daoism include ci (compassion
or deep love), jian (restraint or frugality), and “not daring to be at
consistency across religious traditions 339
the forefront of the world” (Kirkland 294; Xiaogan 330). They work
together to protect the natural world. Ci might also be translated as
“gentleness, motherly love, commiseration, pity, or love [W]hile
the basic meaning is love, ci is deeper, gentler, and broader than
love” (Xiaogan 330). Ci does not admit of aggression (Xiaogan 330).
Ci, deep love, for nature and anymals requires restraint or fru-
gality and “not daring to be at the forefront of the world.” People
need to live simply so that all species can live on our crowded planet.
Wu wei, often translated as nonstriving, acting without acting, non-
action, or perhaps most appropriately, “action as non-action”
exemplifies this Chinese ideal (Xiaogan 316). Wei is best understood
as “human action intending to achieve results,” and more specifically
results thought to be “superior to what would result if nature were
simply allowed to take its own course” (Kirkland 295). The Daode
jing notes that we are “to keep our hands off the processes at work

in the world” because the world is a “spiritual vessel, and one can-
not act upon it; one who acts upon it destroys it” (Kirkland 296).
The only “wise and beneficent behavior” for humans is “humble
and enlightened self-restraint”—self-restraint that is essential to the
natural and proper functioning of the Dao (Kirkland 296).
Dao represents forever the unknown final reason of the world sur-
rounding us, reminding human beings of their limitations. As average
members of the universe, humans have no power to do what they
wish without facing unexpected consequences. Therefore, prudent behav-
ior and action, namely [wu wei ] are important and beneficial. (Xiaogan
232–34)
Dao reminds us of our limitations and instructs us to be mindful (if
not leery) of directive actions (Xiaogan 232).
Dao functions by wu wei; to practice wu wei is therefore to behave
according to the Dao (Xiaogan 323). Wu wei discourages “move-
ments exercised intensively, coercively, dramatically, and on a large
scale” (Xiaogan 217). Wu wei does not support the massive devel-
opments of nature into city or the intrusive manipulating of wild
species to benefit human interests, such as those of hunters. The
Daoist practitioner is not to strive; “everything develops or is accom-
plished naturally” (Xiaogan 321). This does not leave us helpless, in
disorder, without recourse. The Daode jing notes: “Tao invariably
takes no action, and yet there is nothing left undone” (Tao #37).
The greatest accomplishment is no accomplishment:
340 chapter six
[T]he sage desires to have no desire.
He does not value rare treasures.
He learns to be unlearned, and returns to what the multitude has
missed (Tao).
Thus he supports all things in their natural state but does not take

any action. (Tao #64)
Wu wei “refers to a higher standard of human actions and their
results,” instructing practitioners to live “in accordance with nature”
rather than to control or change the world around us—to live a nat-
ural life (Xiaogan 315–316; Po-Keung, “Taoism” 334). Wu wei there-
fore embodies “the spirit of naturalness” and is “directed toward the
realization of natural harmony both among human societies and
between humans and nature” (Xiaogan 321). This unique Chinese
concept reminds people that the world is exactly as it should be,
that we are best to celebrate the world that we have, rather than try
to improve or develop the world around us. There are no changes
or refinements that humans ought to make with regard to nature,
and any such attempts will only lead to ruin (Kinsley, Ecology 80).
Ci, or deep love, when directed outward to other living beings,
requires wu wei, which supports and helps the harmonious relation-
ships between all creatures (Xiaogan 328). Wu wei requires human
beings to leave other creatures alone so that they can live out their
lives undisturbed (Kinsley, Ecology 79). Wu wei “entails acting in har-
mony with all other creatures” (Kinsley, Ecology 79).
In Daoist philosophy anything that humans do should be harmo-
nious with what is natural (Marshall 19). The natural state is the
ideal state; adherents are discouraged from striving or grasping at
material wealth and encouraged to live gently on the earth, causing
little disturbance to the world around us, taking our example from
nature.
Nature says few words.
For the same reason a whirlwind does not last a whole morning,
Nor does a rainstorm last a whole day.
If even Heaven and Earth cannot make
them last long,

How much less can man? (Tao #23)
Nature functions in harmony; those few surface waves that appear
to offer discord, such as storms and whirlwinds, are short lived. We
are best to go along harmoniously, rather than spend our energies
trying to bring a whirlwind of change to the cosmos, for we will
consistency across religious traditions 341
surely not even have as much success as a small whirlwind directed
by nature.
Daoism teaches that “living things do not live in an uncaring
world (Kirkland 296). Dao is “a feminine reality and a maternal
reality” (Henricks xix). Nature is guided by “a natural force that is
not only utterly benign but continuously at work in all the processes
and events of the world” (Kirkland 296). Living by the Dao requires
people to see this benign force in the world, and to both accept and
rely on this natural way, rather than rely on ourselves, “for the
fulfillment of the health and harmony of all living things” (Kirkland
296). Daoism does not permit people to dam the rivers where the
fish swim, manipulate wildlife for hunters’ sport, breed farmed any-
mals for economic gain, or manipulate genetics to increase produc-
tivity. To be a Daoist is not to manipulate at all, but to live by wu
wei, allowing nature to takes its own course, with the understanding
that nature operates exactly as it should because it is controlled “by
a force that is like a loving mother (Kirkland 298). “Because there
actually is a benign natural force at work in the world, any extra-
neous action on the part of humans can logically only cause further
disturbance” (Kirkland 297).
Daoist philosophy represents all things as part of one great fluctuating
whole in which Daoists are encouraged to live lives of tranquility
and harmony, and to regard nature, and what is natural, as ideal:
Attain complete vacuity,

Maintain steadfast quietude.
All things come into being,
And I see thereby their return
This return to its root means tranquility
To return to destiny is called the eternal (Tao)
Being one with Nature he is in accord with Tao. (Tao #16)
Human contrivances may seem worthwhile but the natural way is
preferred. Technology may block far more important advances, such
as one’s spiritual progress (Marshall 18). Daoist writings encourage
people to live in small communities and work the land gently. Lao
Tzu taught: “A small country has fewer people. Though there are
machines that can work ten to a hundred times faster than man,
they are not needed” (Tao). Letting nature be, and living simply, are
Daoist ideals: “Manifest plainness,/Embrace simplicity,/Reduce
selfishness,/Have few desires” (Tao #19).
342 chapter six
In ancient China extrapolation seems to have led people to believe
that imbalance, particularly human domination, caused natural dis-
asters. Because the excessive wealth of a few contributed to the mis-
ery of the masses, it was assumed that other undesirable effects from
human greed might also be expected, even in the natural world
(Marshall 20). Because Daoists did not see human beings and their
actions as separate from the rest of the world, they concluded that
human greed and cruelty could cause natural disasters.
In China, anymals are thought to share the vital energy that flows
through all living beings and are viewed as similar enough to human
beings for philosophers to draw meaningful parallels (E. Anderson
165–66). Chuang Tzu includes such anymals as a tortoise, fish,
butterfly, rat, fly, gibbon, yak, and frog in his writings (E. Anderson
165). He “constantly used nature not just as metaphor, but as real

dynamic analogy,” presenting anymals as equivalent to human beings
“based on real relationships (E. Anderson 165). He likens himself to
a turtle, relates personally to a minnow, and finds himself indistin-
guishable from a butterfly(Teachings 66, 67, 26): One of Chuang
Tzu’s most famous passages regards a butterfly:
Once I dreamed that I was a butterfly and was happy as a butterfly.
I was conscious that I was quite pleased with myself, but I did not
know that I was Chou [Tzu]. Suddenly I awoke, and there I was, vis-
ibly Chou. I do not know whether it was Chou dreaming that he was
a butterfly or the butterfly dreaming that it was Chou. (Chan 190)
Chuang Tzu’s references to other species are intended to push us
to see the world from a different perspective, and abandon our iso-
lated, separatist, anthropocentric vision (Parkes 91). He provides cryp-
tic stories teaching his followers that to
insist that one’s view of things is universally valid and true for all oth-
ers and all species is simply wrongheaded His writings mock our
tendency to view reality as if it were constructed especially for human
beings [T]here is more to the world than can be imagined. One
should not try to conform the world to one’s limited perspective.
(Kinsley, Ecology 81)
Chuang Tzu soundly rejects species as an important demarcation.
In the Chinese worldview, human beings are “one of the myriad
kinds of beings” (Wu 37). In the first century CE, Wang Ch’ung
wrote regarding “Taoist Truths,” that “Man is a creature. His rank
may be ever so high, even princely or royal, but his nature cannot
consistency across religious traditions 343
be different from that of other creatures” (Mair, Columbia 65–66).
We may consider ourselves royal, or educated, but at the end of the
day, we are anymals. To rise above our common, humanocentric
vision of the universe is the Taoist ideal. Chuang Tzu writes:

If a man sleeps in a damp place, he will have a pain in his loins and
will dry up and die. Is that true of eels? If a man lives up in a tree
he will be frightened and tremble. Is that true of monkeys? Which of
the three knows the right place to live? Men eat vegetables and flesh,
and deer eat tender grass. Centipedes enjoy snakes, and owls and crows
like mice. Which of the four knows the right taste? (Chan 187)
Not only are people and anymals of one kind, but anymals (like peo-
ple) are best when in their natural state. Chuang Tzu writes:
“What do you mean by Nature and what do you mean by man?”
The spirit of the North Sea replied, “A horse or a cow has four
feet. That is Nature. Put a halter around the horse’s head and put a
string through the cow’s nose, that is man. Therefore it is said, “Do
not let man destroy Nature.” (Chan 207)
Chuang Tzu instructs that training an animal is inherently harmful
and cruel; human interference harms other creatures. In his view,
training horses turns happy equines into “brigands” (Mair, Wandering
82). Even when we imagine that we improve the lives of anymals,
our interference is harmful. The Daode jing also notes: “Racing and
hunting cause one’s mind to be mad” (#12); “Fish should not be
taken away from the water” (#36) (Chan 145, 157). Chuang Tzu
writes a poignant tale of a seabird, blown ashore, for which people
offered a “solemn reception,” including fine dining and musical per-
formances, but the bird is “[d]azed with symphonies” and conse-
quently “[d]ied of despair” (Merton 103). Chuang Tzu asks,
How should you treat a bird?
As yourself
Or as a bird?
Ought not a bird to nest in deep woodland
Or fly over meadow and marsh?
Ought not it to swim on river and pond,

Feed on eels and fish,
Fly in formation with other waterfowl,
And rest in the reeds?
Bad enough for a sea bird
To be surrounded by men
344 chapter six
And frightened by their voices!
That was not enough!
They killed it with music!
Play all the music you like
On the marshlands of Thung-Ting.
The birds will fly away
In all directions;
The animals will hide;
The fish will dive to the bottom;
But men
Will gather around to listen.
Water is for fish
And air for men.
Natures differ, and needs with them. (Merton 103–04)
Chuang Tzu teaches people to leave anymals in the wilds and not
cage or tame them. He writes that the “marsh pheasant has to take
ten steps before it finds something to pick at and has to take a hun-
dred steps before it gets a drink. But the pheasant would prefer not
to be raised in a cage where, though you treat it like a king, its
spirit would not thrive” (Mair, Wandering 27). Harmony is the Chinese
ideal, and Chuang Tzu notes: “Left to their own devises, human
beings and animals would form harmonious natural communities”
(Mair, Wandering 80). In the Taoist world, if people would leave any-
mals alone, as we ought to, we would live in a golden age of “ulti-

mate integrity”—side by side, together yet firmly separate.
In such an age there would be no paths and tunnels through the
mountains, no boats or bridges to cross the swamps. The myriad things
would live in groups, their settlements lined up next to each other.
Birds and beasts would form groups, the grasses and trees would thrive.
Thus birds and beasts could be tamed but still wander about; one
could climb up to the nests of magpies and peep in without disturb-
ing them.
In a world of ultimate integrity, men would dwell together with the
birds and beasts. (Mair, Wandering 81)
Chinese stories, like those of other lands, prominently feature any-
mals that teach spiritual lessons. One of the most famous is a novel
called Monkey, or Journey to the West, which incorporates aspects of
Taoism, Buddhism, and Chinese folklore (Sommer 240). In one sense
it is a true story about a monk in the early seventh century who
traveled all the way across China to India in order to transport
Buddhist scriptures, a journey that took seventeen years (Mair, Columbia