A Zen Parable That Shows Why More is Never Enough

Where does the desire to be something more end?

A stonecutter was dissatisfied with himself and his position in life.

One day, he passed a wealthy merchant’s house. Through the open gates, he saw many fine possessions and important visitors. “How powerful that merchant must be!” thought the stonecutter. He became very envious and wished he could be like the merchant.

With hard work and persistence, the stonecutter became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever imagined.

But soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. “How powerful that official is!” he thought. “I wish that I could be a high official!”

Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair. But it was a hot summer day, so the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. “How powerful the sun is!” he thought. “I wish I could be like the sun!”

To his surprise, he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the Earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. “How powerful that big storm cloud is!” he thought. “I wish that I could be like that storm!”

Then he became the storm, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found himself being pushed away by some great force, and realized it was the wind. “How powerful that force is!” he thought. “I wish that I could be as powerful as the wind!”

Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, feared and hated by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it. A gigantic, towering rock. “How powerful that rock is!” he thought. “I wish that I could like that rock!”

Then he became the rock, more powerful than anything else on Earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into his hard surface, and felt himself being changed. “What could be more powerful than I, the rock?” he thought.

He looked down and saw a tiny stonecutter far down below him.

If only I could be more…

Whatever.

Is what I find myself thinking multiple times a day.

It could be anything. More confidence. More charm. More betterness at writing and speaking English (yep, it’s my first language).

The Buddha was one of the earliest to recognize this little predicament as the greatest human predicaments of all. No matter what position or place or state we may find ourselves in, we always feel like something isn’t quite right.

Like something is missing. Like we are lacking something we need. Like our lives are not enough and we need something MORE to be content and happy.

The Buddha called this subtle but all-pervading sense of dissatisfaction dukkha.

Dukkha is the sense that the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s always wanting what you don’t have and always having what you don’t want, no matter how good your life may seem to be.

Enter the parable of the stonecutter.

The stonecutter is the perfect example of dukkha. No matter who he is — a merchant, a high official, the sun, a storm, the wind — and how much power, wealth, and success he has, he is never content.

He always wants more.

In this case, he always wants to be more powerful.

We don’t really know why. But we don’t need to know. Everyone has felt it in some form or other: The desire to be as powerful the sun.

Just me?

Okay, so we may not all want to be the sun. But the point is where does the desire to be something more end? The desire to be more respected. The desire to be more influential. The desire to have more followers, to be wealthier, to simply be more than what you are.

Does it have an end? Or, in fifty years time will you be burning up everything around you to still try and fulfill it?

Some drive and desire to grow isn’t a bad thing. Sure, the stonecutter may have a more comfortable life as a merchant or an official. Or not. The crux of the matter is, what is driving his drive to be more powerful? What is behind his desire for more?

Why does the stonecutter want more power? Does he actually want to be a merchant or an official? Or does he want something else? Why am I asking you so many questions?

It’s clear the stonecutter didn’t want any of these things. We can pretty much assume his calling in life wasn’t to be a merchant or a high official or the sun.

Rather, the stonecutter was trying to scratch some existential itch. He thought that by achieving things like power, recognition, wealth, and status, he might be content. His might feel complete.

Yet, as the parable goes on, we see that the itch didn’t get any smaller. In fact, it got bigger and bigger and more difficult to relieve.

That’s dukkha for ya.

So how do you get rid of the damn thing?

How is the stonecutter to realize, without spending lifetimes becoming everything under — and including — the sun, that he has all the power and everything else he could ever need or want right where he is?

Yet again with the questions.

Some might think it’s not possible without going through the motions, climbing the career ladder, rising to the top, and tasting the golden exilir for himself.

But then, parables like this one would serve no purpose other than to delude and entertain.

On closer inspection, the Buddha found that life is dukkha—dissatisfying, a struggle, a pain in the butt—not for the simple fact that nothing lasts, we get sick, we get old, and we die. But rather, life is dukkha because we wish it was different, and we try and do everything in our power to change it.

Despite the inevitability of nothing lasting, of getting sick, growing old, and of kicking the bucket, we act as if there’s a way to hold onto the good stuff, to avoid the bad stuff, and as if death, well, as if death doesn’t exist.

Yet, no amount of pleasure, comfort, status, wealth, or power—not even Bezos level—can negate the fact of discomfort, sickness, ageing, and death.

This default sense of trying to escape the inherent discomfort and impermenance of living a temporary existence, typically by wanting what feels good and not wanting what doesn’t feel good, is taṇhā.

Taṇhā is what makes life dukkha.

Taṇhā may appear in many ways. For the stonecutter, he saw power as the way he could solve his woes. But as he experienced, as the desire was born out of craving or driven by aversion, it could never scratch his itch and bring him lasting satisfaction.

Even when he was the wealthy merchant, he felt small under someone else's orders.

Even when he was the high official, he still felt uncomfortable because of the heat.

Even when he was the sun, he was limited by the weather. When he was a storm, he was pushed around by the wind. When he was the wind, he was proven weak by the rock. When he was a rock, he was still vulnerable to a measly stonecutter chipping away at his base.

You can’t get rid of dukkha by trying to get rid of it. Dukkha is only dukkha, dissatisfaction is only dissatisfaction, for the very reason we wish for things to be different and try to make life so that it isn’t so.

So, when we continually chase after satisfaction in the external, like the stonecutter, we set ourselves up to be continually disappointed and dissatisfied.

The problem of dukkha isn’t of not having enough power, wealth, followers, status, etc. The problem isn't being somehow deficient and fundamentally lacking in confidence, charm, wit, ability, or smarts.

As long as there is taṇhā, there will always be the empty feeling that we don’t have something or could have more. There will always be the unnerving sense there is something we are not or should be.

Thankfully, unlike the stonecutter, taṇhā isn’t something we have to live with and that unconsciously drives our decisions and keeps us dissatisfied.

If only the stonecutter knew that what he was seeking couldn’t be found outside of himself. Even more, that his longing for things to be different, his wish to always have or be seeking more, was, in fact, the source of his pain and confusion and dissatisfaction.

He may have realized that everything he could ever wish for was with him all along.

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