Chapter 6: The Useless Tree: Freedom From Being Endlessly Useful

The Man Everyone Asks

Benoît is forty-five and works in the office of a company that installs heating and cooling systems in large buildings. His official job is to manage the schedules of the installation teams. But over the years, he has become much more than that. He is the person everyone asks. When the printer breaks, they call Benoît. When someone cannot find a file, they ask Benoît. When a new employee needs to learn the computer system, Benoît teaches them. When a customer is angry, Benoît is sent to calm them. When there is a birthday collection, Benoît organizes it.

Benoît is proud of being useful. He likes to help, and he knows that the office would struggle without him. But lately he has started to feel like a tool that everyone picks up and puts down. His own work is often interrupted ten or twenty times a day. He stays late to catch up. He feels that his colleagues see him only as someone who solves their problems, not as a person. And when he is tired or busy, he feels guilty for not being available.

Last month, Benoît took a week off for the first time in two years. When he came back, he found a long list of problems that people had saved for him, things they could have solved themselves but had waited for him to do. Nobody asked how his holiday had been. One colleague said, "Thank goodness you are back. Nothing works without you." Benoît smiled, but inside he felt something close to despair. He realized that his worth, in the eyes of the office and perhaps in his own eyes, had become entirely a matter of his usefulness.

Many people who try too hard know Benoît's feeling. We are taught, from childhood, that being useful is good, and it is. But when usefulness becomes the whole measure of our worth, we can feel endlessly used, unable to rest and never valued simply for who we are. We may even begin to fear that if we stopped being useful, we would be worthless.

The Zhuangzi offers a strange and wonderful answer to this fear. It tells stories about a tree that survives, and grows to a great age, precisely because it is useless. These stories are among the most famous in the whole book, and they speak with surprising force to people like Benoît.

The Tree in the Wide Wilderness

At the end of the first chapter of the Zhuangzi, Zhuangzi's friend Huizi, a clever philosopher who often argues with him, describes a large tree. Its trunk is so knotted and its branches so twisted, Huizi says, that no carpenter will look at it. It stands by the road, and the builders pass it by. Huizi says that Zhuangzi's teachings are like this tree: big and useless, so that everyone ignores them (Zhuangzi, chapter 1).

Zhuangzi answers with a smile. You have a big tree, he says, and you worry that it is useless. Why not plant it in a place where there is nothing at all, in the wide, empty wilderness? Then you could wander idly beside it and lie down to sleep beneath its shade. No axe will ever cut it down. Nothing will ever harm it. If it is of no use to anyone, what trouble can come to it? (Zhuangzi, chapter 1).

Just before this, in the same chapter, Huizi complains about a gourd he grew that was so enormous it was useless: too big to use as a ladle, too weak to hold water. He smashed it to pieces. Zhuangzi gently mocks him. Why not tie it to your waist and float on it across the rivers and lakes, he asks, instead of worrying that it is too flat and shallow to hold anything? You, he says, are still very narrow in your thinking (Zhuangzi, chapter 1).

These two short stories carry a deep message. Huizi judges things only by their usefulness for ordinary purposes. Because the gourd cannot be a ladle and the tree cannot be timber, he sees them as worthless. Zhuangzi sees differently. The gourd could carry a person across a lake. The tree could give shade and rest to a wanderer. And because the tree is useless for timber, it is safe from the axe. Its uselessness, in the ordinary sense, is exactly what allows it to live and to offer a different, quieter kind of gift.

For people like Benoît, these stories invite a question. Are we only valuable for the ways we are useful to others, like timber to a carpenter? Or do we also have value simply in being, like a tree that gives shade, or a gourd that floats? And might there be a kind of freedom, and a kind of safety, in not being endlessly useful?

The Great Oak's Dream

In the fourth chapter of the Zhuangzi, there is a longer version of the same idea. A master carpenter named Shi was travelling with his apprentice when they passed an enormous oak tree growing beside a shrine. It was so huge that thousands of oxen could rest in its shade. Its trunk was a hundred spans around. People came from far away to look at it. But Carpenter Shi did not even glance at it and walked straight past (Zhuangzi, chapter 4).

His apprentice ran after him and asked why. Since he had started his training, he said, he had never seen such magnificent timber. Carpenter Shi replied that the tree was worthless. Make a boat from it, and it would sink. Make a coffin from it, and it would soon rot. Make tools from it, and they would break. Make a door from it, and it would ooze sap. Make a pillar from it, and insects would eat it. It was useless timber, he said, and that was why it had been able to grow so old (Zhuangzi, chapter 4).

That night, the oak appeared to Carpenter Shi in a dream. In my own words, it said: what are you comparing me with? With useful trees, like the pear, the orange and the other fruit trees? As soon as their fruit is ripe, they are stripped and broken. Their large branches are snapped and their small ones pulled. Their usefulness makes their lives bitter, and so they do not live out their natural years, but die halfway. As for me, I have been trying for a long time to be useless. I nearly died more than once, but now I have succeeded, and my uselessness is of great use to me. If I had been useful, would I have grown so large? (Zhuangzi, chapter 4).

The oak's dream is funny, strange and moving. The fruit trees, so useful to people, are constantly stripped and broken. They give and give until they are exhausted, and they do not live out their natural span. The oak, useless to carpenters, has been left alone to grow, and has become magnificent, offering shade to thousands. Its kind of usefulness, a vast, peaceful shade, became possible only because it was not used up by ordinary usefulness.

Benoît, in the story of the office, was a fruit tree. Everyone picked his fruit, broke his branches and asked for more. His usefulness was making his life bitter, and he was in danger of not living out his natural years in good health. The oak suggests that there might be another way: to protect some part of oneself from constant use, so that one can grow, rest and offer something deeper and more lasting.

Benoît Steps Back From Some Usefulness

When Benoît read the story of the oak, he laughed, and then he thought about it for a long time. He did not want to become useless at work. He liked helping people, and his job required him to be useful in many ways. But he realized that he had made himself available for everything, at every moment, and that this was not good for him or, in the end, for his colleagues.

Benoît made some changes. He kept helping with things that were truly part of his job, and with genuine emergencies. But for many small requests, he began to step back. When someone asked him to fix the printer, he showed them how to do it themselves, once, and then let them. When someone could not find a file, he showed them the search function. He suggested that the birthday collections be organized by different people in turn. He set aside two hours each morning when he did not answer questions, so that he could focus on his own work.

Some colleagues were surprised and a little annoyed at first. But most of them quickly learned to solve small problems themselves. The office did not collapse. In fact, it became more capable, because more people knew how to do things. And Benoît found that he had more time for his real work, more energy and, strangely, more appreciation from his colleagues, who now asked him only for things that really needed his help.

Benoît also began to protect a part of his life that had nothing to do with being useful. He took up birdwatching, which he had enjoyed as a boy. On weekend mornings, he walked in the hills with binoculars, watching birds. It was completely useless, in the ordinary sense. It produced nothing and helped nobody. But it gave him a deep sense of peace. "For the first time in years," he says, "I am doing something just because I like it, not because someone needs it."

Benoît's story shows that the lesson of the useless tree is not to stop helping others. It is to stop being only a fruit tree, stripped and broken by constant use. Some part of us needs to be like the oak: left alone to grow, rest and simply be, without being measured by what we produce.

Kirra and the Endless Favours

Kirra is thirty and works as an electrician. She is practical, cheerful and generous, and she has become the person all her friends and family call when they need something fixed. She has rewired her cousin's kitchen, installed lights for her neighbours, fixed her friends' washing machines and helped several people move house. She rarely says no, and she rarely charges.

Kirra enjoyed helping at first. But over time, the requests multiplied. Her weekends were filled with favours. She noticed that some friends only called when they needed something. She had less and less time for her own life, and she began to feel resentful, which made her feel guilty. When she mentioned to a friend that she was tired, the friend said, "But you are so good at fixing things!" as if that settled the matter.

Kirra felt like the fruit tree in the oak's dream. Her skills were her fruit, and everyone was picking it. She realized that some of her friendships had become almost entirely about her usefulness. She wondered whether her friends would still want to see her if she stopped fixing things.

Kirra decided to find out. She began to say no to some requests, explaining kindly that she needed her weekends for rest. For larger jobs, she suggested that people hire an electrician, or offered to do the work at a fair price. She also began to invite friends to do things with her that had nothing to do with fixing: walks, meals, films. Some friendships faded, which hurt. But others grew deeper, as she discovered which friends valued her for herself and not only for her skills.

"I was so busy being useful that I forgot to be a friend," Kirra says. "And some people were so busy using me that they forgot I was a person. Now I help when I choose to, and I spend time with people who like me even when I am not holding a screwdriver." Like the oak, Kirra found that stepping back from constant usefulness gave her room to grow, and allowed her real friendships to show themselves.

Paavo and the Fear of Being Useless

Paavo is sixty-four and recently retired after forty years as a railway engineer. For his whole working life, his sense of worth came from being useful: keeping trains running safely, solving technical problems, training younger engineers. Now, in retirement, he feels lost. He wakes up in the morning and does not know what to do. He feels that he is no longer useful to anyone, and therefore no longer valuable.

Paavo's situation is the opposite of Benoît's and Kirra's. They were too useful. He feels not useful enough. But the root of the problem is the same: a belief that a person's worth depends entirely on their usefulness. For Benoît and Kirra, this belief made them exhausted. For Paavo, it makes him feel empty.

Paavo's granddaughter, who is studying philosophy, told him the story of the great oak. Paavo was not impressed at first. "A tree is not a man," he said. But the story stayed with him. He thought about the oak, standing for centuries, giving shade to travellers, doing nothing that a carpenter would value, and yet magnificent. Was it possible, he wondered, that a person could also have value simply in being, rather than in being useful?

Slowly, Paavo began to try a different way of living. He let himself enjoy things that had no use: sitting in the garden in the morning sun, listening to music, reading history books, watching his grandchildren play without needing to teach them anything. At first, he felt guilty, as if he were wasting time. But gradually, he began to feel a quiet contentment that he had rarely felt during his busy working years.

Paavo did eventually find some useful things to do, too: he volunteers once a week at a railway museum, explaining old engines to visitors. But he no longer needs this to feel worthwhile. "I spent forty years being useful," he says. "Now I am learning to be a person. It is harder than it sounds, but it is good." Paavo's story is a reminder that the lesson of the useless tree applies at every stage of life, and that our worth does not end when our usefulness changes.

Between Useful and Useless

The Zhuangzi itself does not leave the matter simple. In chapter 20, one of the later chapters, there is a story that adds a twist. Zhuangzi was walking in the mountains with his students when they saw a huge tree that woodcutters had left alone because its wood was useless. Zhuangzi remarked that because it was useless, it would live out its natural years. Later that day, they stayed at the house of a friend, who told his servant to kill a goose for dinner. The servant asked which goose: the one that could cackle, or the one that could not? The friend said to kill the one that could not cackle, since it was useless (Zhuangzi, chapter 20).

The next day, Zhuangzi's students asked him a sharp question. The tree survived because it was useless. The goose died because it was useless. Which position would you choose? Zhuangzi laughed and said that he would place himself somewhere between useful and useless. But then he added that even this middle position is not quite right, because it still involves calculating. Better, he suggested, to drift with the Way, sometimes rising and sometimes sinking, following the natural flow of things rather than fixing oneself to any single rule (Zhuangzi, chapter 20).

This story is important because it shows that Zhuangzi was not simply praising uselessness. Uselessness can save the tree and doom the goose. Usefulness can doom the fruit tree and save the cackling goose. There is no fixed rule. The deeper lesson is not "be useless" but "do not let any single measure, whether usefulness or uselessness, decide your whole life". Be useful when it is right, rest from usefulness when it is right and do not tie your worth to either.

For people who try too hard, this nuance is helpful. The point is not to stop working or helping. It is to loosen the grip of usefulness on our sense of who we are. Benoît still helps his colleagues. Kirra still fixes things. Paavo still volunteers. But none of them now believes that their value depends entirely on what they produce for others. They have found a middle way, and perhaps, in Zhuangzi's spirit, a way of drifting with the natural flow of their lives.

There is also a kind of usefulness that grows from uselessness. The oak, because it was left alone, became a vast shade for thousands. Benoît, rested and happier, became more valuable to his office, not less. Kirra, freed from endless favours, became a better friend. Paavo, at peace with himself, became a warmer grandfather. Protecting some part of ourselves from constant use often makes our usefulness, when it comes, deeper and more generous.

Practical Steps: Protecting Your Inner Oak

The first step is to notice where you are a fruit tree. Look at your life and ask: where am I constantly being used, picked and broken? At work, at home, among friends? Where do I feel that people value me only for what I do for them? Notice these places without blame, toward yourself or others.

The second step is to step back from some usefulness. Choose a few areas where you can be less available. Teach others to do things for themselves, as Benoît did with the printer. Say no to some favours, as Kirra did. Set aside times when you are not available to help. You do not need to stop helping altogether. You only need to stop being endlessly available.

The third step is to do something useless. Find an activity that has no purpose except your own enjoyment or peace: watching birds, walking without a destination, listening to music, drawing badly, sitting in the sun. Do it regularly, without trying to make it productive. This is your inner oak, the part of you that is left alone to grow.

The fourth step is to notice who values you for yourself. Pay attention to the people who want to spend time with you even when you are not useful to them. Give more of your time to these relationships. They are often the ones that will last.

The fifth step is to remember that your worth is not your output. You have value simply as a living person, like the oak standing in the wilderness. This value does not rise and fall with your productivity, your helpfulness or your achievements. Remind yourself of this, especially on days when you have not been useful.

The sixth step is to find the middle way. Remember Zhuangzi's goose. Uselessness is not always safe, and usefulness is not always dangerous. Be useful when it is right and good, rest from usefulness when you need to and do not tie your sense of who you are to either.

Not an Excuse to Stop Caring

The story of the useless tree could be misread as an excuse for avoiding responsibility: "I do not need to help anyone, because uselessness is good." That is not what Zhuangzi meant, and it is not what this chapter suggests. Contributing to others is a valuable part of a good life, and many people find deep meaning in being useful. The problem is not usefulness itself. It is usefulness that has become the only measure of worth, and that leaves no room for rest, joy or simply being.

It is also important to recognize that some people do not have the choice to step back from usefulness. A single parent, a person caring for a sick relative or a person whose job depends on being constantly available may not be able to say no as easily as Kirra. For such people, protecting even a small inner oak, a few minutes of something useless each day, may still help. And it may help to look for practical support from others, so that the burden is shared.

Finally, if, like Paavo, you feel deeply worthless when you are not useful, and the feeling is heavy and lasting, please talk with someone you trust, and consider speaking with a doctor or another qualified professional. Feelings of worthlessness can sometimes be part of low mood that deserves care and support. You are worth caring for, whatever you do or do not produce.

A Short Exercise: An Hour of Uselessness

This exercise invites you to spend one hour each week being useless, in the spirit of the great oak. It is simple, but many people find it surprisingly difficult at first.

Choose one hour in the coming week when you will do something completely useless: something that produces nothing, helps nobody and has no goal except your own enjoyment or peace. It might be sitting in a park, watching clouds, walking with no destination, lying in the grass, listening to a whole piece of music without doing anything else or simply looking out of a window.

During the hour, notice any feelings that arise: guilt, restlessness, a wish to be doing something useful, thoughts about tasks you should be doing. Do not fight these feelings. Simply notice them, and let them pass, as clouds pass across the sky. Then return to your useless activity.

After the hour, write a few lines about how it felt. Was it easy or hard? Did anything change in your mood or energy? Did you notice anything you would not normally notice? Repeat the hour each week for a month, and notice whether it becomes easier.

Benoît chose his birdwatching walks as his hour of uselessness. His first note said: "Spent the first twenty minutes thinking about the schedule. Then I saw a heron standing in the river, completely still, for a very long time. I watched it until it flew away. I felt calmer than I have in months." His fourth note said: "No thoughts about work at all. I think the heron is teaching me something."

Chapter Summary

In chapter 1 of the Zhuangzi, Huizi complains of a tree and a gourd that are useless for ordinary purposes, and Zhuangzi suggests planting the tree in the wide wilderness, to rest beneath its shade, and floating on the gourd across lakes. In chapter 4, a great oak, ignored by carpenters as useless timber, explains in a dream that fruit trees are stripped and broken by their usefulness, while its own uselessness has let it grow vast and live out its years. In chapter 20, the story of the useless tree and the useless goose shows that neither usefulness nor uselessness is a safe rule; Zhuangzi prefers to drift with the Way.

Benoît the man everyone asks, Kirra with her endless favours and Paavo with his fear of being useless all found freedom in loosening the link between their worth and their usefulness: stepping back from some usefulness, protecting time for useless joys and remembering that they have value simply in being. This is not an excuse to stop caring, and deep feelings of worthlessness deserve support.

In the next chapter, we will look at what happens to our skill when the stakes rise, through a Zhuangzi story about an archer whose hands begin to tremble.