The Stonecutter and the Tao of Rock-Paper-Scissors (transcript) (Patreon)

Have you ever played rock-paper-scissors, sometimes called Rochambeau? Probably, right? But maybe not everyone. With everything going digital, maybe teens and below have never played before. But it's a shame if they haven't because this simple child's game is a great entry point into Eastern philosophy.

Having its origins in ancient China, rock-paper-scissors is a prime example of the cyclical thinking in Eastern philosophy. Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, and paper beats rock. Most Eastern (and also native) philosophies have that in common: from Taoism to Buddhism—that life is cyclical.

Since the game is so simple and clever, it's one of the oldest games people still play. And perhaps the oldest game still played in its original form. What keeps it antifragile is, it doesn't have too much to it. The game design is perfectly balanced.

In economics, rock-paper-scissors is known as a zero-sum game. (In physics, this is known as conservation of mass and energy.) There is no ultimate advantage. You gain and lose equally. And that's the idea, that life is full of tradeoffs, every decision is an equivalent exchange. Even if we can't see all the consequences. This is much more in line with reality than how we normally view the world: in black and white and absolutes.

The Western counterparts to Taoism and Buddhism are moralism, dualism, and absolutism. We can see this best illustrated in two variations of the same fairytale: the Eastern philosophical viewpoint in The Stonecutter and the Western moralistic viewpoint of The Fisherman and His Wife by the Brothers Grimm.

I'll first start with the Japanese fable of The Stonecutter:

Once there lived an old stonecutter, who went every day to a great rock on the side of a big mountain to cut out slabs for gravestones and houses. He understood very well the kinds of stones needed for every purpose, and as a skilled craftsman, he had plenty of customers. 

For a long time, he was quite happy and satisfied and asked for nothing better than what he had.

But in the mountain dwelt a spirit which now and then appeared to men, and helped them in many ways to become rich and prosperous. The stonecutter, however, had never seen this spirit and only shook his head in disbelief when anyone spoke of it.

One day the stonecutter carried a gravestone to the house of a rich man and there saw all manners of beautiful and extravagant luxuries, of which he had never even dreamed. Suddenly the stonecutter's daily life seemed to grow heavier and heavier.

While working on a slab of stone, he said to himself: "Oh, if only I were a rich man. I could sleep in a bed with silken curtains and golden tassels. How happy would I be?"

And a voice answered him: "Your wish is heard; a rich man you shall be!"

At the sound of the voice, the stonecutter looked around but couldn't find anyone. He thought it was his imagination, and no longer in the mood to work, he picked up his tools and went home. But when he reached the little house where he lived, he stood still with amazement. In the place of his wooden hut was a stately palace filled with splendid furniture, and an even more splendid bed—better than the one he had envied. The stonecutter was beside himself with joy, and in his new life, the old one was soon forgotten.

It was now the beginning of summer, and each day the sun blazed more fiercely, burning the old man's skin. One morning the heat was so great that the stonecutter could barely breathe.

In the street, a little carriage passed by, drawn by servants dressed in blue and silver. In the carriage sat a prince, and over his head, a golden umbrella was held.

"Oh, if I were only a prince!" said the stonecutter to himself, as the carriage vanished around the corner. "Oh, if I were only a prince, and could go in such a carriage and have a golden umbrella held over me, how happy I should be!"

And the voice of the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard; a prince you shall be."

And a prince he was.

Before the stonecutter's carriage rode one company of men and another behind it; servants dressed in scarlet and gold followed along, the coveted umbrella was held over his head, and everything his heart could desire was his. Yet, it was not enough. He looked around still for something to wish for, and when he saw that in spite of the water he poured on the grass the rays of the sun scorched it and that in spite of the umbrella held over his head each day his face grew browner and browner. He cried in his anger: "The sun is mightier than I. Oh, if I were only the sun!"

And the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard; the sun you shall be."

And the sun he was and he felt himself proud in his power. He shot his beams above and below, on earth and in heaven; he burned up the grass in the fields and scorched the faces of poor folks and princes alike. But in a short time, he began to grow tired of his might, for there seemed nothing left for him to do. Discontent filled his soul once more. And when a cloud covered his face and hid the earth from him, he cried in his anger: "Does the cloud hold captive my rays, and is it mightier than I? Oh, if I were a cloud, I'd be mightier than any!"

And the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard; a cloud you shall be!"

And a cloud he was and lay between the sun and the earth. He caught the sun's beams and held them, and to his joy, the earth grew green again, and flowers blossomed. But that was not enough for him, and for days and weeks he poured down rain until the rivers overflowed their banks, and the crops of rice stood in water. Towns and villages were destroyed. Only the great rock on the mountainside remained unmoved. The cloud was amazed at this sight, and cried in wonder: "Is the rock, then, mightier than I? Oh, if I were only the rock!"

And the mountain spirit answered; "Your wish is heard; the rock you shall be!"

And the rock he was, gloried in his power. And neither the heat of the sun nor the force of the rain could move him.

"This is better than all!" he said to himself.

But one day he heard a strange noise at his feet, and when he looked down to see what it could be, he saw a stonecutter driving tools into his side. As he looked at the stonecutter, he began to tremble—a great block broke off and fell to the ground. Then he cried in his wrath: "Is a mere child of earth mightier than a rock? Oh, if I were only a man!"

And the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard. A man once more you shall be!"

And a man he was, and in the sweat of his brow he toiled again at his trade of stone cutting. His bed was hard and his food scanty, but he had learned to be satisfied and did not long to be something other than himself. And as he never asked for things he did not have nor desired to be better than other people, he was happy at last, and never again heard the voice of the mountain spirit.

This concludes the tale of The Stonecutter. You'll want to keep this fresh in your mind as I tell you the story of The Fisherman and His Wife:

There was once a fisherman and his wife who lived together in a hovel by the sea. The fisherman went out every day with his hook and line to catch fish. One day he was sitting with his rod and looking into the clear water, and he waited. Then, the line went down, and when he drew it back up, he found a great flounder on the hook.

The flounder said to him, “Fisherman, listen to me; let me go, I am not a real fish but an enchanted prince. What good shall I be to you if you catch me? I shall not taste well; so put me back into the water again, and let me swim away.”

“Well,” said the fisherman, “no need for so many words about the matter. As you can speak, you're a special fish. I should let go.”

Then he put him back into the clear water, and the flounder sank to the bottom. Then the fisherman went home.

At home, the fisherman was met by his wife.

“Well, husband,” said the wife, “have you caught nothing today?”

“No,” said the man —“that is, I did catch a flounder, but as he said he was an enchanted prince, I let him go.”

“Then, did you wish for nothing?” said the wife.

“No,” said the man; “what should I wish for?”

“Oh dear!” said the wife; “it's so dreadful always to live in this awful-smelling hovel; you might as well have wished for a little cottage. Go again and call him; tell him we want a little cottage. I daresay he will give it us. Go, and be quick.”

And when he went back, the sea was green and yellow, and not nearly so clear. So he stood and said,

“O man, O man!—if man you be,

Or flounder, flounder, in the sea—

Such a tiresome wife I’ve got,

For she wants what I do not.”

Then the flounder came swimming up, and said, “Now then, what does she want?”

“Oh,” said the man, “you know when I caught you my wife says I ought to have wished for something. She doesn't want to live in a hovel and would rather have a cottage.”

“Go home with you,” said the flounder, “she has it already.”

So the man went home, and found, instead of a hovel, a little cottage. His wife was sitting on a bench before the door. She took him by the hand, and said to him, “Come in and see if this is not a great improvement.”

So they went in, and there was a little house-place and a beautiful little bedroom, and a kitchen and larder, with all sorts of furniture, and iron and brassware of the very best. And at the back was a little yard with fowls and ducks, and a little garden full of green vegetables and fruits.

“Look,” said the wife, “is that not nice?”

“Yes,” said the man, “if this can only last we shall be very satisfied.”

“We'll see about that,” said the wife. And after a meal, they went to bed.

The week went well, until the wife said, “Look here, husband, the cottage is really too confined, and the yard and garden are so small. I think the flounder had better get us a larger house. I should like very much to live in a large stone castle; so go to your fish. He'll send us a castle.”

“O my dear wife,” said the man, “the cottage is good enough; what do we want a castle for?"

“We want one,” said the wife; “go along you—the flounder can give us one.”

“Now, wife,” said the man, “the flounder gave us a cottage; I don't want to go to him again. He may get angry.”

“Go along,” said the wife, “he might as well give it to us. Do as I say!”

The man felt very reluctant and unwilling; and he said to himself, “It's not the right thing to do.”

Nevertheless, he went.

When the man came to the seaside, the water was purple and dark blue and grey and thick, and not green and yellow as before. And he stood and said,

“O man, O man! — if man you be,

Or flounder, flounder, in the sea —

Such a tiresome wife I’ve got,

For she wants what I do not.”

“Now then, what does she want?” said the flounder.

“Well,” said the man, half frightened, “she wants to live in a large stone castle.”

“Go home with you, she's already standing before the door,” said the flounder.

Then the man went home. But when he got there, in the place of the cottage stood a great stone castle. His wife was standing on the steps, about to go in—so she took him by the hand, and said, “Let us enter.”

With that, he went in with her. In the castle was a great hall paved with marble, and there were a great many servants, who led them through large doors, and the passages were decked with tapestry, and the rooms with golden chairs and tables, and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling; and all the rooms had carpets.

The tables were covered with edibles and the best wine for anyone who wanted them. And at the back of the house was a great stable for horses and cattle, and the finest carriages. Beside the stable, there was a large garden, with the most beautiful flowers and fine fruit trees, and a private garden half a mile long, with deer and oxen and sheep. Everything that the heart could wish for.

“There!” said the wife, “is this not beautiful?”

“Oh yes,” said the man, “if it will only last we can live in this fine castle and be very well satisfied.”

“We'll see about that,” said the wife, “in the meanwhile we'll sleep upon it.” With that, they went to bed.

The next morning the wife was awake first, and she looked out and saw from her bedroom window the beautiful country lying all round. The man took no notice of it, so she poked him in with her elbow, and said, “Husband, get up and just look out of the window. Look, just think if we could be king over all this country. Just go to your fish and tell him we should like to be king.”

“Now, wife,” said the man, “what should we be kings for? I don’t want to be king.”

“Well,” said the wife, “if you don’t want to be king, then I'll be king.”

“Now, wife,” said the man, “what do you want to be king for? I couldn't ask him such a thing.”

“Why not?” said the wife, “you must go directly all the same; I must be king.”

So the man went, very much put out that his wife should want to be king.

“It's not the right thing to do. Not at all the right thing,” thought the man. He did not want to go, and yet he went all the same.

And when he came to the sea the water was dark grey, and rushed far inland, and had an ill smell. And he stood and said,

“O man, O man! — if man you be,

Or flounder, flounder, in the sea —

Such a tiresome wife I’ve got,

For she wants what I do not.”

“Now what does she want?” said the fish.

“Gosh!” said the man, “she wants to be king.”

“Go home with you, she is already so,” said the fish.

So the man went back, and the castle was replaced by a much larger palace, with great towers and splendid gateways. Before the door, soldiers with kettledrums and trumpets and even a herald to announce his entrance. When the man came inside, everything was of marble and gold, and there were many curtains with great golden tassels.

Then he went through the doors of the salon to where the great throne room was, and there was his wife sitting upon a throne of gold and diamonds, and she had on a great golden crown, and the scepter in her hand was of pure gold and jewels, and on each side stood six pages in a row, each one a head shorter than the other.

The man went up to her and said, “Well, wife, so now you are king!”

“Yes,” said the wife, “now I am king.”

So then he stood and looked at her, and when he had gazed at her for some time he said, “Well, wife, this is fine for you to be king! Now there is nothing more to wish for.”

“O husband!” said the wife, seeming quite restless, “I'm tired of this already. Go to your fish and tell him that I must be emperor.”

“Now, wife,” said the man, “what do you want to be emperor for?”

“Husband,” she said, “go and tell the fish I want to be emperor.”

“No!” said the man, “he can't do it—I can't ask him such a thing. There is but one emperor at a time; the fish can’t possibly make anyone an emperor. He can’t.”

“Now look,” said the wife, “I'm king, and you're only my husband. So, you will go at once. Go along! If he was able to make me king, he's able to make me emperor; and I will and must be emperor. So go!”

The man was obliged to go, and as he went he felt very uncomfortable about it. He thought to himself, “It's not at all the right thing to do; to want to be emperor is going too far. The flounder is going to get tired of this.”

With that, he came to the sea, and the water was quite black and thick, and the foam flew, and the wind blew, and the man was terrified. But he stood and said,

“O man, O man! — if man you be,

Or flounder, flounder, in the sea —

Such a tiresome wife I’ve got,

For she wants what I do not.”

“What is it now?” said the fish.

“Oh dear!” said the man, “my wife wants to be emperor.”

“Go home,” said the fish, “she's already an emperor.”

So the man went home and found an even larger palace surrounded by castles. The main palace was adorned with polished marble and alabaster figures and golden gates. The troops were being marshaled before the door, and they were blowing trumpets and beating drums and cymbals. And when the man entered, he saw barons and earls and dukes waiting about like servants; and the doors were of bright gold.

Then he saw his wife sitting upon a throne made of one entire piece of gold. It was about two miles high; and she had on a great golden crown, about three yards high, set with brilliants and carbuncles. In one hand she held the scepter, and in the other the globe. On both sides of her stood two rows of pages, all arranged according to their size, from the most enormous giant of two miles high to the tiniest dwarf the size of a finger. And before her stood earls and dukes in crowds, waiting for her to acknowledge them.

So the man went up to her and said, “Well, wife, now you are emperor.”

“Yes,” she said, “now I am emperor.”

Then he went and sat down and had a good look at her. Then he said, “Now wife, there is nothing left to be, now you are emperor.”

And he went on gazing at her till he felt dazzled, as if he were sitting in the sun. And she sat up very stiff and straight and said nothing.

And he said, “Well wife, I hope you're finally satisfied.”

“We'll see about that,” said the wife.

With that, they both went to bed. But she was as far as ever from being satisfied, and she could not get to sleep. The husband, however, slept as fast as a top after his busy day; but the wife tossed and turned from side to side the whole night through, thinking all the while what she could be next. But nothing would occur to her, and when she saw the red dawn she slipped off the bed and sat before the window to see the sunrise, and as it came up she said, “I have it! What if I should make the sun and moon rise. Husband!” she cried, and stuck her elbow in his ribs, “wake up and go to your fish. Tell him I want power over the sun and moon. I want to be equal to God.”

The man was so started, he fell out of bed. Then he shook himself together, and opened his eyes and said, “What, wife, what did you say?”

“Husband,” she said, “if I cannot get the power of making the sun and moon rise when I want them, I shall never have another quiet hour. Go to the fish and tell him so.”

“O wife!” said the man, as he fell on his knees, “the fish can't really do that for you. I grant you he made you emperor. Do be satisfied with that. I beg you.”

And she became wild with impatience and screamed, “I can wait no longer. Go at once!”

So off he went, frightened of his wife. And a dreadful storm arose, he could hardly keep his feet; and the houses and trees were blown down, and the mountains trembled, and rocks fell into the sea. The sky was black, and it thundered and crashed; and the waves, crowned with foam, ran mountains high. So he cried out, without being able to hear his own words,

“O man, O man! — if man you be,

Or flounder, flounder, in the sea —

Such a tiresome wife I’ve got,

For she wants what I do not.”

“What is it now?” said the flounder.

“Dear fish!” said the man, “she wants to be equal to God.”

“Off with you!” angrily said the flounder, “and never come back.”

When the man arrived home, he found his wife back at the old hovel. And there they remain to this day.

The end.

The Fisherman and His Wife is mostly the same story as that of The Stonecutter, except with a twist in viewpoints. At the end, the stonecutter realizes that greed is futile because power is relative. It's all perspective. But contentment starts from within, and no external force can give you that. In fact, it can only reinforce greed.

The fisherman's wife, however, has no end to her ambitions and keeps asking for more influence until she's punished by the fish. Rather than power, hers is a story about status.

Also within The Fisherman and His Wife are misogynistic criticisms of greedy women and weak men, which are not uncommon in morality tales (even to this day). But what is also classic to these allegories is that of judgment—you're always being judged. In Eastern myths (and belief systems), there is no all-watching eye judging you. In fact, in Eastern philosophies, there's no one out there judging you, so why should you judge yourself?

There are two ways I have seen life visualized, as a circle or as a pyramid. One is adversarial while the other is accurate.

Everyone can understand rock-paper-scissors, but no one can figure out how a pyramid scheme is supposed to benefit everyone.

The stonecutter went on a cyclical journey and ended up where he started, but what's different isn't his situation, it's him. He's grown.

But in the other viewpoint, the fisherman's wife went up a ladder, until, like Icarus, went too high and fell back to earth. Ending up at the same place but worse off for it. Hell, then, is the knowledge of the life you could have led.

For the wife, it's linear, whereas with the stonecutter, it's hard to say if a cloud is better than the sun or a rock better than a cloud. Rather than going up to the heavens, the Asian tale went in a circle and you learn to appreciate your place in the world and where you fit in. But in the Fisherman's tale, everyone serves someone above them. Like a corporate ladder, you have to endlessly climb above everyone else, stepping on them if you have to. Why is that? It's what we've been conditioned to believe by stories we've heard since childhood.

The Stonecutter is a tale of growth and learning. Rather than moral judgment, the focus is on the process—the try-learn cycle. Otherwise, how are we to grow as people? And how often is the weather shaped by others going through the same journey as the stonecutter? When something is cyclical, there is no finish line. It's just continuous.

Linear thinking is always surprised by political cycles. By economic cycles. Cyclical thinking better prepares us for the big picture of living. And that's hard to grasp. Then it's better to start early. How can we get children to think in a cyclical way? How about through a children's game?

Rock-paper-scissors is a zero-sum game. There is no better, just different. Then the only task is to find contentment within yourself, for that is the only place contentment can flourish.

But often, in the West, rather than zero-sum, you're just trying to rack up points. What you have is a hierarchy of choices, to get high enough without overdosing.

What's often the moral of these stories? You should have stopped while you were ahead. Because you can never find contentment. But you can, however, have others praise you. Rather than a how-to guide for contentment like the Stonecutter's story, the Fisherman's story is a cautionary tale, of what not to do. But not much in the way of what to do.

Rather than a focus on process, you feel that in life, you have to get it right the first time or else. (In the Brothers Grimm story, the fisherman and his wife are being punished to this day. It's eternal hell.) So why wouldn't you see learning experiences as mistakes. Rather than a try-learn cycle, you fall down a try-fail pit of despair so deep, you can never come back. (Notice for the stonecutter, he's the one who stopped asking for more, whereas for the wife, it was the magical fish who made the decision for her.)

And that's how we often think, right? You start a diet, and you have one off meal, and you decide to throw the whole diet out the window. That's the common attitude, if I have one flat tire, I might as well pop all the tires. It's either black or white, you're a winner or you're a loser, but never a learner.

And there's always someone there to judge you (this includes yourself). So to avoid being judged, you have to be perfect. (And that's the biggest ask of all. To be perfect like a god.)

In moralism, you're always doing it wrong, and there's only one way to do it right. But if you're always doing it wrong, what does that say about you? Does it make you a bad person? But that's how we misguidedly feel? This is our daily inner monologue: "I'm a failure." "I'm a bad person." "I suck." "I'm a loser." But if that's the byproduct of living, then why try anything? Why grow as a person?

The Stonecutter is a story of continuous growth. Try, learn, try, learn, and grow.

Should I be like the stonecutter or be like the fisherman's wife? Should I play rock-paper-scissors or invest in pyramid schemes?

It's sacred geometry. Rock, paper, scissors... it's elegant. Like corners of a diamond, it's all perspective. This is ultimately the critical concept in Eastern philosophy. What's better? That depends. Rock is hard, scissors are sharp, paper is soft—you can judge qualities, but it's hard to judge value. Seek balance and stop comparing. Comparisons will rob you of any joy. It's like a monkey waiting to snatch fruit out of your hands whenever you pick one.

You're you, and that's not such a bad thing.