Meditations and Musings

Lao Tsu’s seventh chapter is largely opaque to me; that is, I find it difficult to penetrate the poetry to reach some understanding of the list of paradoxes that begin the chapter. We have heaven and earth lasting forever because they are unborn and the sage or master staying behind and so at the fore. But then we are given two apparent paradoxes that I do think I understand. They are familiar tenets of Buddhism, as well:

“The master is detached, thus at one with all. Through selfless action, he attains fulfillment.”

Let’s begin with detachment. Here is a central idea in Sakyamuni Buddha’s Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. The Middle Way is a roadmap to the detachment that will end suffering (dukkha). When we are free of our grasping nature we will experience the the Truth of our oneness with all Being. Thus the Middle Way is a loss of self and the concommitant realization of Self. Little self and Big Self. “The master is detached, thus at one with all.”

“Through selfless action, he attains fulfillment.” Having spent nine years of my life being educated by Jesuits, this very Buddhist principle was drilled into me daily. Of course, many traditions teach this principal, but I am grateful to the Jesuits for making this ideal an integral part of my character. As we were told at Jesuit High School in New Orleans, the highest goal was to be “A Man for Others.” This principle has always struck me as more than just a truth; it is indeed The Truth. If one lives one’s life with this Truth as a guiding principle for one’s action (ignore the sexist language above, it was a boys school, after all), one will have had a life worth living.

Consider the principle of Selfless Action in contrast to the standpoint of Neo-Conservatism in the United States and the vapid biological and psychological interpretations of “enlightened selfishness” that underlie it. If we are to believe these fuckers, it is impossible for the human animal to act altruistically. Altruistic actions only appear so because the benefits to the self may not be first order effects; nevertheless, the benefits to the self are actually the driving purpose for actions which appear altruistic, we are to believe. They are part of a kind selfish calculus which the human animal applies in order to benefit itself at every turn.

Selflessness flies in the face of the atomistic individualism that suffuses our popular culture in the United States. The Middle Way is not in its essence a theory about the nature of reality; instead it is a form of practice. A Way of Life in a very strong sense. I am willing to live without metaphysics or ontology propping up the Buddha’s Path. It is enough for me to know in my heart that this Way should be my way. For what if I was wrong, and I had lived my life in the constant effort to walk the Buddha’s Path? Such would be a life I could look back on proudly.

I really love this formulation for the Tao: The Valley Spirit. I think it perfectly captures the meaning Lao Tsu wishes to relate in this chapter, both the idea of the pregnant void and the feminine spirit of motherhood. All of Being passes through this mysterious cosmic vagina - “the Mysterious Female Gateway.” The metaphor is is both apt and striking. The Tao is the Mother of us all. The ten thousand things hint at it, but we see it as though through a thin veil. The Valley Spirit is always there for us to draw upon, perpetually replenished.

Chapter Five is a good example of what I mentioned in my first post; that is, there are many ways to translate the text Lao Tsu has given us and it is often useful to consider several interpretations to get a clearer picture of the whole. Feng and English use the word “dummies” in the first stanza, but the original is closer to “straw dogs.” Taken together, these terms help us to see what is meant more clearly. Sub specie aeternitatis. As Spinoza taught, under the aspect of eternity, temporal accidents can never be confused with Being. The trick is achieving that point of view. Clearly, such a view would be a side effect of a deeper achievement and not merely a shift in perspective.

The second stanza of Chapter Five is more interesting. “Heaven and Earth and all that lies between is like a bellows.” It is empty, but, when it is worked, it gives rise to the ten thousand things. The more it moves the more it yields. Lao Tsu contrasts this with the operation of the intellect: the more words, the less understanding. Thus: “Far better is it to keep what is in the heart.” Or in another translation: “Hold fast to the center.” Here is the core of Taoist anti-intellectualism which flows forward equally into Zen, as well. I have always found it difficult to accept this core belief. But I am content to leave it at a realization that there are in fact mysteries that confront us more often than some of us like to admit.

Chapter Four of the Tao Te Ching is centered on the mystery of the void which is the mother of the ten thousand things.

“The Tao is an empty vessel; it is used, but never filled. Oh, unfathomable source of ten thousand things! Blunt the sharpness, Untangle the knot, Soften the glare, Merge with dust. Oh, hidden deep but ever present! I do not know from whence it comes. It is the forefather of the emperors.”

When I think of the Tao, this pregnant void is how I think of it. The idea of the void that gives birth to all things, or even better, is all things, has such a deep feeling of mystery for me. I am reminded of the concept of the singularity at the moment of the Big Bang. Impenetrable, yet exploding with Being. The silence between heartbeats. The space between the subatomic particles that make up the universe. Infinite possibility. The empty space in the block of marble the sculptor sees with her mind’s eye that will define her work. The breath the writer takes as he writes that first line on the page. The universe is filled with pregnant emptiness.

So early in the text and we have run up against a truly alien standpoint to our everyday American sensibilities. In Chapter Two we had our first hint of wu-wei, the virtue of non-action. Here in Chapter Three we find ourselves confronted with wei wu wei or “action without action.” I like the phrasing that the author of the Wikipedia article on wu wei uses for wei wu wei: “effortless doing.” Lao Tsu writes:

“The wise therefore rule by emptying hearts and stuffing bellies, by weakening ambitions and strengthening bones.”

I believe I feel and even understand what Lao Tsu means when he writes about effortless doing. I think we have all had moments of clarity, when we are truly living in the present moment, when everything else (the ten thousand things) falls away and we are just what we are doing. There is no I; there is only the act. This mode of being is the clarity of the wise, that Lao Tsu is talking about in Chapter Three. An essential ingredient to achieving this way of being is one of the central tenets of Buddhism, the state of no-desire. When we cease our grasping, only then can we be free of suffering. When we achieve this mode of being whether it is momentarily or a way of life, we can feel the unity of all things– the connectedness that is always there, but which is hidden from us because of our grasping or desiring.

Chapter 2 of the Tao Te Ching begins with an idea that can be found in many traditions and is found in most people’s common sense understanding of the way we consider dyadic relationships between concepts. It has been some time since my own common sense understanding of concepts has been forever replaced by Western philosophical standpoints. I am therefore a poor example of common sense or intuition. But because I have been exposed to the muddled beliefs of college freshman and sophomores for many years, I think I have a general knowledge of those ideas.

Lao Tsu presents us with a short laundry list of dyadic conceptual relationships such as, “All can know good only because there is evil.” I confess that I am sceptical of any principle of nature that can be drawn from the obvious existence of concepts that exhibit dyadic relationships, whether they be antonyms, synonyms, or complements. As my students used to love to argue, the common sense understanding of the dyadic relationship between good and evil is that in order for there to be “good” there must be “evil.” This statement is meant to describe some set of circumstances in the world and not just the obvious conceptual connection between the two. This is the kind of basic “category mistake” that is all too often the norm for unsophisticated thinkers and college
freshman the world over. Suffice to say, I am unimpressed by the argument.

The third paragraph of the chapter, though, holds a great deal of interest for me.

“Therefore the sage goes about doing nothing, teaching no-talking.
The ten thousand things rise and fall without cease,
Creating, yet not possessing,
Working, yet not taking credit,
Work is done, then forgotten,
Therefore it lasts forever.”

There is, I believe, much wisdom in these lines. Here is the Buddhist ethic of practice in one of its earliest forms. I remember Ben Wren’s lecture about this concept. He used to refer to St Therese the Little Flower who wrote that the mundane tasks of daily life, when done with clear attention to the moment, could be a constant prayer in themselves. Lao Tsu sees this truth; when we live purely in the present moment, and do just what it is we are doing, we are closest to the Tao. We are the Tao. I have always felt resistance intellectually to this idea, being drawn, as I have been, to pragmatism in philosophy, in which all things have their meanings as plans for future action. But, nevertheless, I feel in my heart that the truth is closer to Lao Tsu and Therese’s Way of Life than to the American sensibilities of the Pragmatists. This is the Path that I would like to walk.

There is an interesting connection in the opening lines of the Tao Te  Ching and the Christian Gospel According to St. John.

“The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.”

“In the beginning was the Word: and the Word was with God: and the Word was God.” John1:1

I’ve always appreciated both of these opening lines; though they diverge  in meaning, both recognize a problem with the human capacity for  understanding. Perhaps problem is the wrong word–maybe it’s a feature  and not a bug (to borrow a programmer’s saying). The Fiat Lux is a Word.  Compare this to the first line of the Tao Te Ching. Lao Tsu sees  that our minds close off and compartmentalize the real. When we use  language whether spoken or thought, we necessarily limit the limitless.  If we can speak it, it is not the Tao. It is the void, this “nameless,” that is the beginning of heaven and earth. The named is the mother of  Wan-Wu, the ten thousand things. I’m tempted to make a connection with  Western Philosophy’s fascination with dualisms of appearance and  reality, but I am convinced this would miss the point.

I have been deeply impressed by this first page of the Tao Te Ching. It  just rings true to me. The nameless and the named, Lao Tsu tells us,  spring from the same source: “The gate to all mystery.” It is clear that  if we are to meet the Tao it is not going to be through thought, that is, through naming things. All that there is is born of a kind of pregnant emptiness.

The connection with human language as a creative process is also a  mirror of this truth. The mind, as Chomsky pointed out, is an infinite  font of creative power–the human mind has the surprising capability to be originative in its expression. Thus, the ten thousand things. By naming we make the ten thousands things real. Perhaps we can make an equivalence here: the empty yet pregnant mind just is the Tao. As Lao Tsu says, the named and the nameless, the desireless and the desiring, “These two spring from the same source but differ in name.” The gate to all mystery.

So, I’ve been working my way through all of the episodes of the X-Files over the last several months and I ran across an episode in season 7 that was written and directed by Gillian Anderson (who plays Scully) called “All Things.” You can get some details on the episode at TV.com.The episode is filled with Buddhist and Taoist imagery and sounds, and the theme revolves around the interconnectedness of things and the need for one to slow down, live in the moment, and to be open to the lessons of our world and the thread of our lives. To me, this is one of the best episodes of a show that is filled with great episodes.

So here is my project. Gillian Anderson’s beautiful creation brought back many ideas that I have not paid enough attention to lately in my life. I was first exposed to these ideas when I took a life-changing course at Loyola University when I was an undergraduate, Zen I. The course was taught by Ben Wren, a deeply flawed individual, but an excellent teacher. At the time he was a Jesuit priest, but he left the priesthood not long after Pope John Paul II wrote his letter extolling Catholics not to be ensnared by the teachings of Eastern mysticism and spirituality. What a fucker that guy was. The now (thankfully) dead Pope, that is. Ben Wren married soon after he left the priesthood and lived for about 10 years until he died recently here in the New Orleans area. Father Wren, as I knew him then, had a saying to describe my current position in the world; he would say, “You have lost your thread.” So this blog is an attempt for me to pick up the thread, as it were, and reinvest my energies in the actual practice of the things I believe to be the best way of life offered by any spiritual tradition I am aware of.

Here’s how I envision this attempt to pick up the thread. I will be using a fantastic version of a classic of Eastern thought, the Tao Te Ching by Lao Tsu. The edition is the one I used in Wren’s class and is translated by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English. The text is filled with beautiful photographs and calligraphy. You can see inside it and purchase it if you like on Amazon.com. I will read a page of the text, spend some time meditating afterwards, and then write a post on the blog using the page from the book as a jumping off point for the post. I also hope to have the ideas and impressions I take away from the reading inform some of my pottery and drawing, which I will try to share through images in the blog. At the very least, I hope to get back into the habit of regular meditation and writing, both of which I really love. I hope that my thoughts will engender some interesting conversation with and among any readers who find their way here.

Online Translations

Here’s a short list of online translations if you want to follow along and don’t want to buy the text I am using. The list comes partly from the Wikipedia article on the Tao Te Ching and even includes a link to a version setup for running from your iPod as Notes. I think it is useful to consult several translations because they often vary widely and, because of the necessary interpretation that is integral to this kind of translation, they may all be equally valid.

• Daodejing - Original text arrayed with translations in English (Waley, Lau), French (Julien), German (Wilhelm) and modern Chinese. This site is really excellent. It includes the original Chinese ideograms with word by word translations available when you hover your cursor over the character. You can also hide or display each of the translations independently. The parent site includes similar translations and presentations of several other sacred Chinese texts.
• English Translation by James Legge (1891) at Internet Sacred-Texts archive
• An online translation by Charles Muller is available at Professor Muller’s site: Daode jing
• An online translation by j.h. mcdonald is available at Religions and Scriptures: Tao Te Ching
• An online interpretation by Ron Hogan is available in several formats at Beatrice.com: Tao Te Ching
• An iPod formatted version of this translation is available at SwiftlyTilting.com: The Tao Te Ching for your iPod