Meditations and Musings

Therefore the sage avoids extremes, excesses, and complacency.

I think in considering Chapter Twenty-Nine that we can divide it into two parts comprised of two stanzas each. I’ll address the second part first. The quote above sums up this second part well. The ancient Greeks had a great word for this: sophrosyne (σοφροσύνη). It’s a difficult word to translate into English because it is very complex and philosophical at its base. Part of the meaning is embodied in the quote from Lao Tsu above, but it entails a deep understanding of oneself, which is very much in line with the greater meaning behind Lao Tsu’s words above that we have been tracking throughout the text of the Tao Te Ching. It is Socrates’ famous motto echoed from the Oracle at Delphi, “Know thyself!” In a real sense, this is the project central to this blog. And, in this self-knowledge, we hope to gain a balance in life and our relationship with the universe.

This relationship to the universe as a whole is the connection we can use to consider the first part of the chapter. As Lao Tsu admonishes us, we cannot both follow The Way and try to rule over and change the universe. Lao Tsu argues that these two things are incompatible with The Way. Western philosophy and science are radically opposed to this principle. Instead of the “Sacred Vessel” that Lao Tsu sees the universe as, to the West, the universe is a complex problem that must be solved using analysis (literally cutting it up) and manipulation (the experimental maxim of Western science). As Marx so eloquently argues, the world is just that which we work over and recreate in our own image; in fact, this is integral to Marx’s idea of the Self. In his book Reconstruction in Philosophy, John Dewey even goes so far as to say that the universe is like a tortured prisoner, and it is only by turning the metaphorical thumbscrews of the scientific method that we pry the truth out of it. And this image is presented in what Dewey thinks is a positive light! How nauseating! What truth is ever gotten by torture; isn’t it the case that the prisoner will say exactly what his jailor wants to end the torture? What a bizarre analogy!

Perhaps there is some happy medium that we can take between Lao Tsu’s universe which is “dangerous to tamper with” and Dewey’s would-be torture victim. I am inclined to see human beings as essentially part of the universe. Of course we will effect it, change it, add to it. We are it! In what meaningful sense are we outside of nature? I see nothing to make me believe this. When we are nature, we are responsible for it in just the same ways we are responsible for ourselves. This, I would argue, is the meaning of sophrosyne.

Be the valley of the universe!
Being the valley of the universe,
Ever true and resourceful,
Return to the state of the uncarved block.

We have heard mention of the valley spirit from Lao Tsu before. The valley spirit represents the feminine, the creative impulse, the vessel to be filled with creation. To be the valley of the universe is to be resourceful in the literal sense. When we take on this quality, we are like the uncarved block. I especially like Wright’s translation here:

The block of wood is carved into utensils
by carving void into the wood.

The master artisan applies just the right amount of “void” to bring the envisioned reality into existence. I am reminded of Aristotle’s term “entelechy” here. For Aristotle, things with purpose are entelechies, especially self-guided purpose. For the human soul, our path through the world is drawn by purpose. In a real sense, we begin as pure potential. As Lao Tsu says, “Become as a little child once more.” Even in modern physics, objects can have potential energy. The valley spirit is pure potential, ready to be set free by action. But not just any action - action guided by The Way. For when the sage converts this potential to actual, she does so with just the right application of void to make things useful in order to fulfill the ends for which they are made.

Therefore the sage takes care of all men And abandons no one. He takes care of all things And abandons nothing.

This is called “following the light.”

It is said of Bodhidharma that he believed that the intuitive grasp of the Buddha Mind is within everyone. So the spiritual practice of meditation is all that is needed for one to realize the Buddha Nature. The trappings of ritual and doctrine are unnecessary for true spiritual practice. Thus it is that Bodhidharma is connected with the introduction of the Zen koan as a means for breaking through the rigidity of our human intellect. Interestingly, Bodhidharma is also connected with the use of tea in meditation as a means to stimulate the mind. It is said that he once stared at a wall in a cave near the Shaolin Monastery for nine years. After seven years, he fell asleep and was angry with himself; taking a knife he cut his eyelids so this could not happen again. Where his eyelids fell, tea plants grew. Perhaps we need not go so far in “following the light.” But at the very least we can enjoy the stimulation of an excellent cup of tea.

Bodhidharma’s teaching that each of us has within us the means to walk the path to enlightenment is analogous to the teachings of Martin Luther and the protestant movement in Christianity. Central to the protestant reformation is the core belief that we have within us the means to foster a relationship with God that can lead to our salvation. We need not rely on the Pope or his ordained representatives, priests, to get us any further than we can get on our own. Both of these ideas represent the democratization of a spiritual practice - an anti-institutionalism that I find very attractive. In contrast, we can compare the Catholic Church with its Pope as the holy representative of God on Earth and Tibetan Buddhism with its strong appeal to spiritual lineage represented in the transmigration and reincarnation of souls. As a result, I find neither of these traditions especially appealing.

The still is the master of unrest.

The practice of meditation is the training of the spirit in stillness. No matter how many times I try, I have never been able to still my mind in meditation. It’s almost as if my mind is in constant rebellion. Plato famously described the chariot horse of Passion fighting the charioteer, Reason. Though the metaphor doesn’t exactly fit the practice of meditation, it is similar in many ways. As Lao Tsu writes, the master is dispassionate, never distracted by the spectacular views on the path traveled.

Being a person of passion, I have little use for much of this chapter. I think being passionate when it is called for is no fault. That fire in the belly is the driving force by which many of the greatest accomplishments of human beings have been realized. It has also been the downfall of many a person

Something mysteriously formed,
Born before heaven and earth.
In the silence and the void,
Standing alone and unchanging,
Ever present and in motion.

Twenty-five is one of the most overtly poetic chapters of the Tao Te Ching. Even in translation the text flows like the Tao that Lao Tsu is describing. There is a rhythm, an ebb and flow; as Lao Tsu says, it goes far and then comes back again. It stands still unchanging yet it is in constant motion.

In Western psychology, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi describes the mental and physical phenomenon that he calls Flow. It is a state of consciousness that I think we are all familiar with, when we become so immersed in an activity that the whole consciousness of ourselves as somehow separate from what we are doing falls away. We literally become what we are doing and nothing more. In sports, athletes refer to this as being in the zone.

Being great, it flows.

The idea of flow is essential to many of the ideas we have been thinking about while reading the Tao Te Ching. Eastern philosophy, psychology, and medicine have all documented very fully this phenomenon. We might call it being in the moment. It is the all pervasive Now - where Being is experienced as Oneness. The little self falls away and the Big Self that has always been there is revealed in all its power.

The Japanese word yugen is used to describe a kind of aesthetic intimation or subtle suggestion - the intimation of the infinite in the finite. Think of the simple brush strokes of a Sumi-e wall hanging that communicate the majesty of a sweeping Mount Fuji landscape. The flow of the Tao is like this. The simplest most mundane task when experienced fully can encompass the whole of Being.

When I read Chapter Twenty-Four, the picture that comes to mind for me is of The Asshole-in-Chief, G.W. Bush, standing on an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf a few weeks after the start of the war in Iraq saying “Mission accomplished!” And later challenging the terrorists of the world who hate America, “Bring it on!”

He who boasts achieves nothing.
He who brags will not endure.

Really, Bush is a kind of caricature of a man who walks the exact opposite of The Way. One could conceivable follow his actions and know what is the right thing to do simply by doing the opposite of what Bush would do. The truly wise are aware of their own human frailties and are unassuming in composure and modest in their speech.

If heaven and earth cannot make things eternal,
How is it possible for man?

It is only our grasping nature that demands the universe stand still for us. Change is so clearly the norm in the universe. It is interesting to consider that from a singular perspective so limited as that of man, change seems everywhere. But, from the perspective of Being, the notion of time and change fall away. Sentience seems to demand the time-sense that is essential to the notion of change. Nevertheless, the practice of meditation is arguably the highest mental state of the sentient mind. When the true alignment of the mind with Being occurs, it is an achievement of a state where the limited, finite view falls away; in this state, it seems that change is no longer a necessary ingredient in experience. Perhaps this is one of the reasons it is impossible to truly describe or communicate this state. Mysticism becomes the lingua franca of those who have experienced this revelation.

The Japanese martial art form, Judo, is the embodiment of the first line of Chapter Twenty-two. Literally in Japanese, “ju” (gentleness) plus “do” or Tao in Chinese (Way). Thus Judo is the Way of Gentleness; “Yield and overcome.” The philosophy behind the martial art form is essentially Taoism applied to the motion of two contending human bodies. In the competitive form, the practitioner uses the force of one’s opponent to defeat him or her.

For Lao Tsu, this principle is essential to The Way. By yielding we overcome; by bending we become straight. Here once again we are presented with The Way in the form of suppleness, gentleness, and softness.

Lao Tsu writes. “The greatest virtue is to follow the Tao and the Tao alone.” The problem is that the Tao is elusive, intangible, dim, and dark. Yet it is also contains within it image, form, and essence. In other words, it is all of Being. As Lao Tsu says, “This essence is very real, and therein lies faith.”

Virtue is the subject of many a lofty speech or writing in the history of human thought. For the Greeks and select others throughout the history of Western philosophy, it is the core subject of the study of Philosophy in general. In fact, I’d be willing to argue that it is an essential topic for any philosophical system. Western philosophy has lost track of this simple fact, and thus has become marginalized to the subject of specialists with little practical impact on the rest of human knowledge and culture.

In my marginal notes in my copy of the Tao Te Ching from Ben Wren’s Zen class, I have a partial quote from Confucius which I was able to track down in full here. Here’s the relevant passage:

The Master said, “If the people are governed by laws and punishment is used to maintain order, they will try to avoid the punishment but have no sense of shame. If they are governed by virtue and rules of propriety [ritual] are used to maintain order, they will have a sense of shame and will become good as well.”

Ji Kang Zi asked Confucius about government, saying, “What do you say to killing those who are unprincipled [i.e., the immoral] for the good of those who are principled?” Confucius replied, “Sir, in carrying on your government, why should you use killing at all? Let your obvious desires be for what is good, and the people will be good. The relation between superiors and inferiors is like that between the wind and the grass: the grass is bound to bend when the wind blows across it.”

Thus, for Confucius, the virtuous are like the wind, the unvirtuos like the grass, always subject to the overwhelming strength of the virtuous. The greatest virtue is to follow the Tao and the Tao alone. As Confucius argues, when one internalizes a principle, one is governed by virtue and not some external threat of punishment. Virtue becomes the image, form, and essence of one who has internalized the principle - this just is The Way (Tao).

Often the great masters of wisdom, the mystics of the world, seem crazy or foolish to the rest of us. They do not fear the things that others fear; they don’t care for the things that others care for. They look dull and stupid or aimless. They are different. Is this the fate of anyone who is “nourished by the great mother”?

I am reminded of a movie (based on a comic strip) called Ghost World. It’s an excellent movie; if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. It’s got a great quirky soundtrack as well. The main character, Enid (played by Thora Birch), is a misfit just graduating from high school. Her best friend (Scarlett Johannson) is getting her life as an “adult” started, but Enid just can’t seem to picture herself living in that world, or really, any world. Though I am not at all saying that the character Enid is a Taoist or Zen master, I think of the two responding to the the world in the same way - and, for that matter, the world responding to them in the same way. The world becomes a kind of ghost world filled with wispy personalities - people with no depth, ghosts living empty lives. To the inhabitants of this ghost world Enid and the Zen master are alike in that they seem to have no place, to be fools or dull, to be drifting about aimlessly. For the character Enid this view might be accurate, but for the Zen master or the master of the Way, this could not be farther from the truth