DE Weekly: Maybe, Watts, & the Parable of the Chinese Farmer
Below is an archived email originally sent on June 8, 2026.
Maybe, Watts, & the Parable of the Chinese Farmer
Last week, I shared some ideas from Taoism, the ancient Chinese philosophy that emphasizes living in harmony with all forces in the universe throughout your life. I then connected the ideas to the Existentialism of the twentieth century. This week, I would like to highlight a writer who drew from the former to inspire the latter: Alan Watts.
Alan Watts was a British and American writer who called himself a “philosophical entertainer” (a rather apt moniker, I might add). He made his name popularizing the aforementioned Taoist philosophy for Western audiences, as well as Buddhist, Hindu, and other Eastern ideas.
Watts’s work communicated the idea that life is not a problem to be solved (as we often believe and act according to), but rather, it is a game to be played.
For Watts, when we try and solve the world and our lives as a “problem,” we are missing the point; we separate ourselves from the forces of the universe and generate suffering. Instead, we should view ourselves as integrated into the universe.
In other words, we should shed some of that Cartesian dualism we have become so accustomed to in favor of the idea of oneness.
Oneness with the universe, oneness with the present moment, oneness with everything.
One of the most famous stories popularized by Watts was that of the Parable of the Chinese Farmer, a story dating back some 2,000 years, the aim of which is to help us understand that life rarely presents us with events that are either fundamentally “good” or fundamentally “bad.”
Because life is unpredictable, it is sometimes difficult to understand consequences in the moment, and we are better off reserving judgment until future events play out however they will.
As I hope to explain, this parable can be viewed from an existential perspective. It goes like this…
Once upon a time there was a Chinese farmer whose horse ran away. That evening, all of his neighbors came around to commiserate. They said, “We are so sorry to hear your horse has run away. This is most unfortunate.” The farmer said, “Maybe.”
The next day the horse came back bringing seven wild horses with it, and in the evening everybody came back and said, “Oh, isn’t that lucky. What a great turn of events. You now have eight horses!” The farmer again said, “Maybe.”
The following day his son tried to break one of the horses, and while riding it, he was thrown and broke his leg. The neighbors then said, “Oh dear, that’s too bad,” and the farmer responded, “Maybe.”
The next day the conscription officers came around to conscript people into the army, and they rejected his son because he had a broken leg. Again all the neighbors came around and said, “Isn’t that great!” Again, he said, “Maybe.”
And that’s where the parable ends. What are we to make of its message?
The farmer’s reaction to all of the events that befall his family evoke existential reactions: since, as Jean-Paul Sartre argued, existence precedes essence, we really cannot posit what the existence of any one thing (or person, or event) in particular constitutes in essence.
If something takes place that has unclear implications, we cannot jump to conclusions. We can only wait and see.
If I were a farmer and lost a horse, or my son fell from a horse and broke his leg, or my son was drafted into the military, who am I to know if any of those events is inherently good or bad? I am not.
In his explanation of the Absurd, Albert Camus touched on the same idea in a way. Sometimes, life throws you curveballs. Sometimes, these things are out of your control. You might want to understand the meaning of it at the moment, but that meaning is not always for you to know. Sometimes, there might even be no meaning.
As all of these events befall the farmer and his family, does he sit back and admit defeat? Does he simply stop living? Not in the least.
He exercises his freedom and accepts his burden of responsibility in the most existential sense: he has no choice but to keep going. His “maybe” that he gives in response to his neighbors is not an act of indifference or apathy; rather, it is an active choice in how he chooses to respond to what happens to him in life.
Viewing the parable from these two seemingly different lenses, then, brings us around to one conclusion: to try and control outside forces in life is a fool’s errand. However, there is one locus we can all control: that of our own actions.
When we understand that we can both choose our response to any situation thrust upon us (à la Viktor Frankl), and control our actions thereon, we are able to keep living.
It is important to note that the point of the parable is not that there is no good and no bad, and not that everything is equal. (Because this is not true.)
The point of the parable is that sometimes, we simply do not know. We do not always know what is good or bad because we cannot always see the rest of the story. Sometimes, we only see an instant––not the whole picture––and we can only control what we can control.
Relinquishing some of the control we wish to have can free us of agitation and existential despair: “Every day spent worrying about what we cannot change is a day when the joy of living found no place.”
The unexpected emerges most often from where we do not expect it to. And, is that so bad?
“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float.” ― Alan Watts
Thanks for reading.
Sincerely,
Brandon J. Seltenrich
P.S.––
I’m sure you’ve seen quotes from Alan Watts here and there over the years. He’s one of those ultra-quotable writers with something for everyone. Do a quick search and see if there’s anything you like.
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