If someone asks me why lions ignore small birds, I’ll reply, I think accurately, that lions don’t willingly ignore small birds. The correct statement would be to say that lions do not even perceive them, at least not on a level that would prompt a lion to react.

Physically, lions can of course see and smell small birds, but does the perception register in the lion’s consciousness? I doubt it because small birds are irrelevant to a lion’s goals. They play no role in its survival, nutrition, and reproduction.

The statement “A is ignoring B” implies volition. It entails a sequence of three steps: first, that A has perceived B; second, that the perception has registered on A’s consciousness; and in the third place, that A has decided not to react.

For this reason, I would regard it as inaccurate to state that “Zen Buddhists ignore Taoists.” It would be better to state that Taoism is not directly relevant to the goals of a Zen Buddhist.

Taoist philosophy is, I believe, not directly relevant to a Zen lifestyle, even if there are some similarities. From far away, we might mistake them for brothers, but when we draw nearer, we realise that they are, at best, distant cousins.

Zen and Taoism pursue different goals

Would it be wrong to compare Zen practitioners to lions and Taoists to small birds? Not from the standpoint of spiritual ambitions. Zen Buddhists seek to attain awakening, that is, the elevation of their consciousness to a level similar to Buddha’s. In contrast, Taoist spiritual goals seem rather modest.

The lions-to-small-birds comparison could equally apply to their respective lifestyles. Zen practitioners are willing to live rather ascetically, meditate and perform rituals for long periods of time. Is it wrong to say that they possess the determination of lions?

In contrasts, Taoists would rather follow the path of least resistance, prevent problems, and enjoy life’s pleasures, albeit moderately; whenever possible, they prefer to avoid battles and debates rather than winning them; and even when things come to a showdown, Taoists would rather walk away than fight.

For Zen Buddhists, Taoist practitioners may appear a rather confused, uncommitted, disorderly bunch. No wonder, since a lion’s priorities are straightforward, unflinching and pressing. I can imagine that, compared to attaining awakening, everything else lacks colour and warmth.

To make things worse, each Taoist practitioner seems to be pursuing a different goal. Zen Buddhists feel baffled by such a degree of individualism. Which objective could be higher than attaining awakening? Which path could prove more promising than conforming to tradition?

Zen and Taoism, contemplation or action?

Chuang-Tzu’s tales may appear pointless to Zen Buddhists because they give advice unconnected to high spiritual truths. While Zen paradoxes aim at helping students perceive hidden truths behind daily experiences, Chuang-Tzu’s texts may seem simplistic.

Another reason why Zen Buddhists may find Chuang-Tzu’s stories unsophisticated is because those stories focus on future actions, not on present consciousness. Lao-Tzu, Yang-Tzu, and Chuang-Tzu were action-oriented, not consciousness-oriented.

Zen awakening means the ability to identify the truth behind present perceptions, but does not aim at producing any external outcome. In contrast, Taoist insights revolve hundred percent around action: what to omit, what to do, and how fast to do it.

When Taoists face problems, they assess their roots and the chance of reoccurrence. They want to understand what’s wrong in order to solve or circumvent the problem once and for all.

If Taoists asked a Zen master for advice, they would be befuddled to hear: “stop thinking about the past and the future, and focus instead on the present.” For Zen Buddhists, that’s a suitable philosophical answer; but for Taoists, it is a riddle.

Metaphors in Zen and Taoism

When it comes to the choice of metaphors, Lao-Tzu, Yang-Tzu, and Chuang-Tzu prefer tangible items such as trees, gold coins, storms, rivers or boats. Their paradoxes, once explained, become self-evident and easy to remember.

In contrast, Zen metaphors tend to be rather high-minded. It is seldom self-evident for Zen students to figure out what to do or what to stop doing. Even the most straightforward metaphor in Zen Buddhism may contain several layers of meaning.

Let me give an example that illustrates this point. Imagine that a Zen practitioner has personal problems arising from high debts, a spouse, or some health issue. If he asks a Zen master for advice, he might get an answer such as “if you are holding hot coal in your hands, what should you do?”

Confronted with the question, the Zen student might choose to liquidate his assets and pay off his debts, get a divorce, or undergo surgery. However, the master’s question could also be answered by declaring oneself bankrupt, seeking reconciliation with the estranged spouse, or following a herbal treatment.

Zen practitioners excel at asking abstract questions, coming up with answers, and retro-feeding them into new questions. It is a sophisticated intellectual game that Taoists are unwilling or unable to play. In this respect, their impatience renders them unsuitable for spiritual awakening.

Wu Wei in Zen and Taoism

What about Wu Wei, the non-action principle? It’s known to Taoists and Zen Buddhists alike, but carried out with different levels of strictness. While some Zen practitioners will interpret Wu Wei as doing absolutely nothing, Taoists tend to choose the easiest, smoothest path.

Chuang-Tzu’s stories present Wu Wei as the art of not doing too much, which is different from not doing nothing at all. A tale that warns against excessive irrigation (that is, excessive ambition, overwork, or overindulgence) is not telling us to stop irrigation altogether, relinquish all ambitions, quit our job, and stop eating.

Conversely, Zen stories may link Wu Wei to contemplation. Their message is that, if we focus on attaining awakening, our problems might take care of themselves, possibly by becoming meaningless over time.

The underlying logic is that, while Zen practitioners strive to attain a higher level of consciousness, spring and summer will come anyway. Flowers will blossom and trees will bear fruit. It would have been unwise to devote effort to tending those, since the outcome would have been the same.

Zen and Taoism: two different mentalities

For someone interested in contemplation, Zen Buddhism constitutes a better choice than Taoism. Neither Lao-Tzu nor the other ancient Taoists can provide him with the high level of abstraction he is looking for.

Spiritually, Zen practitioners are tantamount to lions. Strong will, determination, self-discipline, and high perceptiveness are shaping their lifestyle. If Zen practitioners ever show interest in Taoism, they might give Chuang-Tzu’s tales a more abstract meaning than originally intended.

In contrast, Taoists might feel content to be compared to small birds because their goal is not to rule, not even their own soul. In their view, the best lifestyle is the one dictated by nature, by the Tao, and the best insights are those that help us align our actions with the Tao.

In essence, I regard the differences between Taoism and Zen Buddhism as driven by the practitioners’ personality and taste, more than by philosophy.

I do admire the strong self-discipline and dedication of Zen Buddhists, and acknowledge their superiority in this respect. In my case, however, I find no shame in accepting that I am better suited for a milder approach to philosophy. If I am compared to a small bird, I will not be jealous of lions, nor will I feel offended if they choose to ignore me.

If you are interested in putting effective insights into daily practice, I recommend my book “The 10 Principles of Rational Living.”