Zhuangzi’s butterfly

Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly. He flitted about, happy, completely a butterfly, with no idea he’d ever been Zhou. Then he woke up, and he was clearly Zhou. He didn’t know if he was Zhou who had dreamed he was a butterfly, or a butterfly now dreaming it was Zhou.

The passage is four sentences long, and it’s been open for twenty-three centuries. Zhuangzi doesn’t settle it. He says there must be some difference between Zhou and the butterfly, calls it “the transformation of things”, and moves on.

Not answering is the point. Western versions of the worry, from Descartes on, look for a way out. They want a certainty that survives the doubt, or a proof that the sceptical story makes no sense. Zhuangzi doesn’t look for an exit. Dreaming and waking are both fully real while they last. You can’t tell from the inside which one you’re in, and that isn’t a problem to solve. It’s part of being something that changes.

For the simulation hypothesis, this is the calmest position on offer. If you can’t check from the inside, then “is this rendered?” is in the same boat as “is this the dream?” You can leave it open. In the same chapter Zhuangzi does name an exit, a great awakening after which we’d know this life was a great dream. But he adds that the people who think they’re already awake are the fools.

The passage also gives an early answer to whether a simulated life would matter less. The butterfly isn’t a lesser Zhou. While it’s a butterfly, it’s completely one.