Daoism
A Yin to Confucius’ Yang
Next
to Confucianism, the most important and influential native philosophy
of the Chinese has undoubtedly been Daoism. In many ways the doctrines
of Confucianism and Daoism complement each other, running side by side
like two powerful streams through all later Chinese thought and
literature. To the solemn gravity and burden of social responsibility
of Confucianism, Daoism opposes a flight from respectability and the
conventional duties of society; in place of the Confucian concern for
things worldly and human, it holds out a vision of other,
transcendental worlds of the spirit. As the two streams of thought
developed in later times, Confucianism has often been understood to
represent the mind of the Chinese scholar in his office or study,
concerned with matters of family and society, while Daoism represents
the same individual in a private chamber or mountain retreat, often
seeking surcease from the cares of official life. (Sources of Chinese Tradition, 77) |
The name Laozi
simply means “the old master.” Who the philosopher known as Laozi was,
when he lived, and what his connection was with the text that has come
down to us, are questions that have been debated for centuries. There
have also been lively controversies about when the text was compiled
and whether it actually appeared any earlier than the third century
B.C.E. Contemporary scholars are generally inclined to agree that the
book known as the Laozi or Daodejing
was likely the work of more than one author, writing over a period of
time, and that it contains different textual strata. Still, the
compiler or compilers of the work seem to have had a rather consistent
integrative vision and despite — or perhaps because of — its brevity the
document that has come down to us is one of the most provocative and
inspired works in all Chinese literature. (SCT, 78)
The Cosmological Foundation
Daodejing, Chapter 1
A way
that can be way’d is not the Constant
Way;
A name that can be named is not the Constant Name.
The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and
Earth;
The named is the mother of all things.
Thus be constantly without desire
in order to observe its subtlety,
Yet constantly have desire
in order to observe its manifestation.
These two arise together,
But differ in name.
Their unity is therefore called a mystery.
A mystery on top of a mystery —
The gateway of all subtleties!
(Translated by Brian Hoffert; cf. Daodejing Selections)
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In Zhuang Zhou — or Zhuangzi — we encounter a true
intellectual and spiritual genius, one of the most philosophically
challenging and verbally adept contributors to the early Chinese
tradition and also one of its wittiest and most intriguing
personalities. Zhuangzi probes philosophical depths in ways that are
often unsettling and even unnerving; simultaneously he achieves
literary heights that are literally breathtaking. While the Daodejing
offers its sententious wisdom in the form of a kind of gnomic poetry,
the text that bears Zhuangzi’s name is a linguistically flamboyant tour
de force, opening with a dazzling flight of the spirit and closing,
thirty-three chapters later, with a comprehensive and remarkably sober
survey of the world of thought in the late Warring States period. In
between there are conversations, often highly fanciful, between real
or, more often, imaginary people, along with anecdotes, parables,
meditations, and poems. The characters that inhabit the pages of the Zhuangzi include craftsmen, cripples, a slyly reconstructed Confucius, and a talking tree — among a host of others. (SCT, 95)
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The Secret of Caring for Life
Cook Ting was cutting up an ox for
Lord
Wen-hui. At every touch of his hand, every heave of his shoulder,
every move of his
feet, every thrust of his knee — zip! zoop! He slithered the knife along with a
zing,
and all was in perfect rhythm, as though he were performing the dance
of
the Mulberry Grove or keeping time to the Ching-shou music.
“Ah, this is
marvelous!” said Lord
Wen-hui. “Imagine
skill
reaching such heights!”
 Cook Ting
laid down his
knife and replied, “What I care about is the Way, which goes beyond
skill. When I first began cutting up oxen, all I could see was
the ox itself. After three years I no longer saw the whole
ox. And now — now I go
at it by spirit (shen) and don’t look with my eyes. Perception
and understanding have come to a stop and spirit moves where it
wants. I go along with the natural makeup, strike in the big hollows, guide
the
knife through the big openings, and follow things as they are. So
I
never touch the smallest ligament or tendon, much less a main joint.
 “A good cook changes his knife once a
year — because
he cuts. A mediocre cook changes his knife once a month — because he hacks. I’ve had this knife of mine for
nineteen years and I’ve cut up thousands of oxen with it, and yet the
blade is as good
as though it had just come from the grindstone. There are spaces
between
the joints, and the blade of the knife has really no thickness. If
you insert what has no thickness into such spaces, then there’s plenty
of
room — more than enough for
the
blade to play about in. That’s why after nineteen years the blade
of
my knife is still as good as when it first came from the grindstone.
“However,
whenever I
come
to a complicated place, I size up the difficulties, tell myself to
watch
out and be careful, keep my eyes on what I’m doing, work very slowly,
and
move the knife with the greatest subtlety, until — flop! the whole thing comes apart like a clod of earth
crumbling
to the ground. I stand there holding the knife and look all
around
me, completely satisfied and reluctant to move on, and then I wipe off
the
knife and put it away.”
“Excellent!”
said Lord
Wen-hui. “I have heard the words of Cook Ting and learned how to care for life!” (The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, 50-51; cf. Zhuangzi, Chapter 3)
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The Butterfly Dream
Once, Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a
butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering about, happy with himself
and doing as he pleased. He didn't know that he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid
and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn't know if he was Zhuang Zhou
who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that he was
Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly there must be some
distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things. (Zhuangzi: Basic Writings, 44 [Zhuangzi, Chapter 2]) |
Free & Easy Fishing
 Once
Zhuang Zi was fishing in the Pu River when the king of Chu sent two of
his ministers to announce that he wished to entrust to Zhuang Zi the
care of his entire domain.
Zhuang Zi held his fishing pole and, without turning his head said: “I
have heard that Chu possesses a sacred tortoise which has been dead
for three thousand years and which the king keeps wrapped up in a box
and stored in his ancestral empire. Is this tortoise better off dead
and with its bones venerated, or would it be better off alive with its
tail dragging in the mud?”
“It would be better off alive and dragging its tail in the mud,” the two ministers replied.
“Then go away!” said Zhuang Zi “and I will drag my tail in the mud!” (MOF, 37 [Zhuangzi, Chapter 17])
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Zhuangzi’s SageFixing the World without Fixing the World
Chien
Wu said to Lien Shu, “I was listening to Chieh Yü’s talk — big and nothing
to back it up, going on and on without turning around. I was completely dumbfounded
at his words — no more end than the Milky Way, wild and wide of the mark, never
coming near human affairs!”
“What
were his words like?” asked Lien Shu.
“He
said that there is a Holy Man living on faraway Ku-she Mountain, with skin like
ice or snow, and gentle and shy like a young girl. He doesn’t eat the five grains,
but sucks the wind, drinks the dew, climbs up on the clouds and mist, rides a
flying dragon, and wanders beyond the four seas. By concentrating his spirit,
he can protect creatures from sickness and plague and make the harvest plentiful.
I thought this was all insane and refused to believe it.”
“You
would!” said Lien Shu. “We can’t expect a blind man to appreciate beautiful
patterns or a deaf man to listen to bells and drums. And blindness and deafness
are not confined to the body alone — the understanding has them too, as your words
just now have shown. This man, with this virtue of his, is about to embrace the
ten thousand things and roll them into one. Though the age calls for reform, why
should he wear himself out over the affairs of the world? There is nothing that
can harm this man. Though flood waters pile up to the sky, he will not drown.
Though a great drought melts metal and stone and scorches the earth and hills,
he will not be burned. From
his dust and leavings alone you could mold a Yao or a Shun! Why should he consent
to bother about mere things?” (The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, 33-4 [Zhuangzi, Chapter 1])
 Yao
wanted to cede the empire to Hsü Yu.
“When the sun and moon have already come
out,” he said, “it’s a waste of light to
go on burning the torches, isn’t
it? When the
seasonal rains are falling,
it’s a waste of water to go on irrigating the fields. If you took the throne,
the world would be
well ordered. I go
on occupying it, but
all I can see are my failings. I
beg to
turn over the world to you.”
Hsu Yü said, “You govern the world [but] the world is
already well governed. Now if I take your place, will I be doing it for a name? But name is only the guest of reality — will I be doing it so I can play the part of a guest? ... Go home and forget the matter, my lord. I
have no use for the rulership of the world! Though the cook may not run
his kitchen properly, the priest and the impersonator of the dead at
the sacrifice do not leap over the wine casks and sacrificial stands
and go take his place.” (The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, 32-3 [Zhuangzi, Chapter 1]; word change in square brackets)
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Sociopolitical Solution #2
Laozi & the Advantage of “Doing Nothing”
 The concept of wuwei, “nonaction,” serves to
explain naturalness in practice. Like “nonbeing,”
“nonaction” is awkward, and some translators prefer
“non-assertive action,” “non-coercive action”
or “effortless action”; but it identifies wuwei
as a technical term. For this reason, I prefer
“nonaction,” or better still, retaining wuwei in
its transliterated form and explaining what it means in
the Laozi.
Wuwei does not mean total inaction. Later Daoists often
emphasize the close connection between wuwei and techniques
of spiritual cultivation — the practice of “sitting in
forgetfulness” (zuowang) and “fasting of the
mind” (xinzhai) discussed in the Zhuangzi are
singled out as prime examples in this regard. In the Laozi,
while meditation and other forms of spiritual practice may be
envisaged, the concept of wuwei seems to be used more broadly
as a contrast against any form of action characterized by self-serving
desire (e.g., chs. 3, 37).
It is useful to recall the late Zhou context, where disorder marched
on every front. The Laozi, one assumes, is not indifferent to
the forces of disintegration tearing the country asunder, although the
remedy it proposes is subject to interpretation. The problems of
political decline are traced to excessive desire, a violation
of ziran. Naturalness encompasses basic human needs, of
course, but these are to be distinguished from desire that fuels and
inflates self-gratification, which knows no end. Nonaction entails at
the personal level simplicity and quietude, which naturally follow
from having few desires. At the political level, the Laozi
condemns aggressive measures such as war (ch. 30), cruel punishment
(ch. 74), and heavy taxation (ch. 75), which reflect but the ruler’s
own desire for wealth and power. If the ruler could rid himself of
desire, the Laozi boldly declares, the world would be at
peace of its own accord (chs. 37, 57). (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)
Overcoming Through Softness
What
is softest in the world
Overcomes
what is hardest in the world.
No-thing
penetrates where there is no space.
Thus
I know that in doing nothing [wuwei] there is
advantage.
The
wordless teaching and the advantage of doing nothing —
there
are few in the world who understand them.
(SCT, 89 [DDJ, 43]; cf. D.C. Lau)
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Winning the Empire Through Decreasing
Devotion to learning means increasing day by day;
Devotion to the Way
means decreasing day by day.
Decreasing and
decreasing still more, one arrives at
doing nothing [wuwei],
And in doing nothing,
nothing remains undone.
If one would take
control of all-under-Heaven one should
always refrain from activity;
One who is
engaged in activity is unworthy to control
all-under-Heaven.
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Eliminating Desire Through the Uncarved WoodThe Way is
constant: by doing nothing [wuwei], nothing is left undone.
If lords and kings can hold on to it, all
things will, of themselves, be transformed.
If, as they are transformed, desires arise, I suppress them by means of the nameless
uncarved wood.
From the nameless uncarved wood comes
absence of desire,
Through not desiring one becomes tranquil,
And the empire, of itself, becomes settled.
(SCT, 87 [DDJ, 37]; cf. D.C. Lau)
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Sociopolitical Solution #3
The “Primitivist” Perspective
The “primitivist” in classical Chinese philosophy advocated a utopia of
simple peasants following their ancient ways, unfamiliar with luxury and
high culture and untroubled by war, taxes, government interference, and
Confucian meddling — an archaic, peaceful, happy society which the
primitivist portrayed as superior to the society of his day. The
primitivist equally opposed the Confucian busybodies trying to improve
the commonfolk with high-minded quotations from the Shi Jing, and the gluttonous rulers extorting taxes to support the splendor of their courts and to pay for useless wars. (Primitivism in the Daodejing)
Embracing Uncarved Wood
Do away with sageliness, discard knowledge,
And the people will benefit a hundredfold.
Do away with humaneness, discard rightness,
And the people will once more be filial and
loving,
Dispense with cleverness, discard profit,
And there will be no more bandits and
thieves.
These three, to be regarded as ornaments, are
insufficient.
Therefore let the people have something to
cling
to:
Manifest plainness,
Embrace uncarved wood,
Diminish selfishness,
Reduce desires.(SCT, 84-5 [DDJ, 19]; cf. D.C. Lau)
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Empty Mind, Full Belly
Do not
exalt the worthy, and
the people will not compete.
Do
not value goods that are hard to come by, and
the people will not steal.
Do
not display objects of desire, and
the people’s minds will not be disturbed.
Therefore
the ordering of the sage
empties their
minds, fills
their bellies, weakens
their ambitions, strengthens
their bones.
He
always causes the people to be without
knowledge, without desire,
And
causes the wise ones [i.e. “those who know”] not to dare to act.
He
does nothing (wuwei), and there is
nothing that is not brought to order.(SCT, 80-1 [DDJ, 3]; cf. D.C. Lau)
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The Ideal State
Let the state be
small and the people be few.
There may be ten or even a hundred times as many
implements,
But they should not be used.
Let the people, regarding death as a weighty
matter,
not travel far.
Though they have boats and carriages, none shall
ride
in them.
Though they have armor and weapons, none shall
display
them.
Let the people return once more to the use of
knotted
ropes.
Let them savor their food and find beauty in
their clothing,
peace in their dwellings, and joy in their
customs.
Though neighboring states are within sight of one
another,
And the sound of cocks and dogs is audible from one to
the other,
People will reach old age and death and yet not visit one another.(SCT, 94 [DDJ, 80]; cf. D.C. Lau)
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