Do you REALLY know the difference between good & bad?

The Parable of the Wise Farmer by Seth Hunter for buddi bench

The following is a story illustrating the fallacy of thinking we know whether an event is good or bad.

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In a quiet village surrounded by lush forests, there lived a humble farmer named Liang. He was known for his patience and wisdom, though he never considered himself particularly wise. He simply observed the world and accepted it as it came.

One day, Liang’s only ox, the strong and sturdy beast he used to plow his fields, broke free from its tether and ran off into the wilderness. Without the ox, Liang could not till the land as efficiently, and his neighbours pitied him.

“How terrible!” they said. “Without your ox, how will you work your fields? Surely this is a great misfortune!”

Liang only shrugged and replied, “Perhaps. But who can say if it is good or bad?”

A few days later, the ox returned, and with it came a group of wild horses. They had followed the ox from the mountains and now stood in Liang’s fields, free for him to tame. The villagers were astonished.

“What incredible luck!” they exclaimed. “You lost your ox, but now you have many horses. Surely this is a great blessing!”

Liang only smiled and said, “Perhaps. But who can say if it is good or bad?”

Among the wild horses was a particularly strong and spirited stallion. Liang’s only son, a young and eager man, attempted to ride it. But the stallion was wild and threw the boy from its back. He landed hard, breaking his leg badly. The villagers shook their heads in grief.

“What a tragedy!” they said. “Your only son is injured, and now he cannot help you with the harvest. Surely this is a great misfortune!”

Liang simply replied, “Perhaps. But who can say if it is good or bad?”

The seasons passed, and the harvest came. Liang worked the fields as best as he could, and though it was difficult without his son’s help, he managed. Then, one day, soldiers arrived at the village. A great war had begun, and the emperor’s army was conscripting all the young men to fight.

The villagers watched in despair as their sons were taken away, uncertain if they would ever return. But because Liang’s son had a broken leg, he was left behind.

“How fortunate you are!” the villagers cried. “Your son was spared while ours have gone to war. Surely this is a great blessing!”

And once more, Liang simply said, “Perhaps. But who can say if it is good or bad?”

Time passed, and the war dragged on. Many of the young men who had left never returned. The village mourned its losses. Meanwhile, Liang’s son recovered, his leg healed, and he remained by his father’s side, learning the ways of farming and tending to the land.

As the years went by, the villagers came to see that the wise farmer was never quick to judge the events of life. Fortune and misfortune seemed to be intertwined, flowing one into the other. What

seemed like a blessing could turn to grief, and what seemed like a loss could lead to unexpected gain.

And so, whenever something happened—whether it was great or small—the villagers would look to Liang and remember his words:

“Who can say if it is good or bad?”

But doubt has a way of creeping in to our minds despite the wisdom we gain over time.

One evening, as the sun cast golden hues over the fields, a young villager approached Liang.

“Master Liang,” he said, “after all these years, do you truly believe we can never know if something is good or bad?”

Liang looked at the rippling wheat, the mountains in the distance, the quiet flow of the river. He smiled gently.

“I believe,” he said, “that life does not unfold in straight lines. The seed that falls into the earth must first be buried in darkness before it can reach for the sun. The river does not fight the stone; it moves around it, shaping its own path over time. What we call ‘misfortune’ today may be the very thing that leads us to wisdom tomorrow. The truth is, we only see a single thread, but life is weaving a tapestry beyond our sight.”

The young villager thought for a moment, then nodded.

From that day forward, whenever joys or sorrows came, the people of the village no longer rushed to name them as blessings or curses. Instead, they carried Liang’s words in their hearts, and with them, a quiet peace—the understanding that life would always unfold as it must, and that wisdom lay in surrendering to its flow.

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