Walking in the Nameless, Part 6

WALKING IN THE NAMELESS:
A COMMENTARY ON A PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ZHUANGZI
by Scott Bradley

If you do evil openly, it can be punished by humans. If you do it secretly, it can be punished by ghosts. It is only after you have brought both humans and ghosts into your own daylight that you can truly go forth in your solitude. For when you accord with what is within you, you walk in the nameless. When you accord with the external, on the other hand, you aspire only to the expectation of payment. When you walk in the nameless, even your everyday activities have their own radiance. But when you aspire to the expectation of payment, you become merely a merchant. Everyone sees you tottering on tiptoes, but still you think you are towering above them.
~ from Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn ~

These final sentences in the passage, as I have arbitrarily delineated it, are a continuation of the practical instruction to the disciple-practitioner. The contrast of the public and the private spheres with respect to conduct is a common theme in Confucianism. The cultivation of one’s person should make no such distinction except in that within the private sphere the need for diligence is amplified.

We all wish to avoid the public punishments for misconduct, but we may believe that there are no such punishments for private misconduct. This is a mistake. Though the author speaks of “doing evil”, the real object of approbation is probably something much more innocent, namely the hypocrisy inherent in deliberate sagacity.

Focusing on the “external”— public image, self-image — one cultivates not his spontaneous-self, but his ego-self. His sagacity is a means to an end, the bolstering of self through public recognition that he is ‘somebody’. The public punishment for this is that the world sees him for what he really is, a fool on tiptoes, thinking of himself as towering over others. The private “evil” is essentially the same. The cultivation of a self-image is no less “external” than the cultivation of a public image.

As we learned above, the spontaneous-self is beyond all knowing and thus any ‘image’ held and cultivated is “not a revelation of” its rootedness in spontaneity. The punishment for this is a failure to realize the peace that the entire enterprise is designed to accomplish. The cure is to abide in the center of Heaven the Potter’s Wheel where all such foolishness is trimmed away.

When the author speaks here of “ghosts” he might mean just that — “ghosts” — but he speaks of them again further on in the chapter, and there the meaning is metaphorical. People who “chase after the external”, he tells us, “only find their own ghosts.” Likewise, “to go outside yourself and attain what you’re after is called attaining your own death, and the gain that is left as a result of destroying yourself can only be a kind of ghost.” They are like “ghosts” because they are chimera, unreal, empty and unsustainable. I

suspect that the meaning in the passage under consideration is likewise metaphorical. Consider your ‘ghosts’ and it is your memories that come to mind. Memories are pages in your ‘story’, a novel inspired by ‘events’ selected by the peculiar self-image which both rises from the ‘story’ and perpetuates its writing. Dwell outside your spontaneous-self and you live the story. Dwell within that spontaneity, and the story and the self-myth it perpetuates will fall away.

Guilt is certainly another ‘ghost’ that punishes us severely. With regards to the ‘evil’ of the disciple-practitioner’s deviation from the spontaneous life, guilt is simply yet another manifestation of that failure. In other words, the guilt has the same source, self-identity, as the “evil” which gives it rise. Looking back at Nanrong Chu’s futile attempts to deliberately realize spontaneity, wherein he “tortured” himself, we have a case in point. Laozi predicted its result: “pent-up sorrow”. The deliberate mind ties itself up in knots attempting to be what it cannot be and guilt ever supplies the necessary cordage. Yet none of this can survive the cultivating turning of the Potter’s Wheel.

We might profitably contrast the idea here, “if you do evil”, to the previously mentioned “if evils beset you”. There is much “evil” that besets us, but it would be a mistake to believe that it is all a consequence of our own behavior on the one hand, or of fate on the other. There is that for which I am responsible and that for which I am not.

Understanding the difference between the two and learning to distinguish between them is a necessary part of “cultivating the humanness”. Someone accuses you of being “useless”. This may merely be an expression of the world’s incomprehension of one who does not strive after ‘success’ and ‘fame’. Or, it may be a consequence of your failure to realize the full expression of rootedness in Mystery, namely its ‘ethical’ side, as expressed in “reaching through to others”. To engage in the “cultivation of the humanness” is, in part, to discern when such an “evil” is of your own making and thereby let the inner Potter’s Wheel trim away its source. That this is not a “torturing” of oneself through deliberate self-inspired self-improvement is suggested in the sentence following.

What does it mean to “bring humans and ghosts into your own daylight”? When we have done this, we are able to continue on into our own “solitude.” What is this? “Humans” are the external (public-image), “ghosts” are the internal (self-image); in this instance, they both represent fetters by which we are bound. Who is bound? — a self with a fixed identity. You cannot escape these bonds as long as you cling to the illusion of this identity; lose it and the fetters fall away. How can we realize no-fixed-identity? By basking the entire identity illusion in “our own daylight.” Just as “the radiance of heaven” shines forth and illumines your humanness, enabling you to cultivate that humanness and discover the unending sustainability that is your primal nature, so you, in your cultivating, illumine that which hinders your realization of that sustainability.

The ‘problems’ themselves become the means by which you see more clearly what it means to be rooted in the spontaneous-self, the no-self, the nameless. Thank you “evil” and ‘image’ — “every enslavement is also an ennobling.” All the worries and guilt that reside in having a ‘name’ and a ‘story’ cascade into the void of nothingness when you become ‘nameless’.

Having made peace with your dragons, you can enter your “solitude”. What is this “solitude”? It is the inner life, the Numinous Platform, which, although it “reaches through to others” and realizes a subjective unity with all things, must of necessity remain its own unique reality. This unity is realized, not through the loss of one’s uniqueness, but rather through the full realization of that uniqueness. This solitude is also a reflection of having no-fixed-identity.

To be nameless is to be alone in the land of the nameful. In Thomas Merton’s adaptation of Chapter 20 of the Zhuangzi one is exhorted to “descend and be lost amid the masses of men” where he is “unseen”, has “no name and no home” and “leaves no traces.” Zhuangzi says the same in his description of the sage: “Minute and insignificant, he is just another man among the others. Vast and unmatched, he is alone in perfecting the Heavenly in himself.” This is indeed a solitude, but it is one in which all the world is embraced.

Considering this sentence paraphrased as “When you have brought others into your daylight, you can enter your own inner experience” provides a mirror image of the previous statement, “Reach through to others through respect for what is most central within yourself.” I

n the first, harmony with others enables one to fully experience inner harmony, and in the second, inner harmony enables harmony with others. Clearly, the art of cultivating one’s humanness is a dialectical endeavor where the process of one’s inner awakening brings about a change in one’s relationship with the outer (others) and the illuminated outer enables one to realize further change in the inner. The implication is, of course, that this awakening is gradual as opposed to the sudden awakening of Zen. But just as Zen does not deny the possibility of gradual awakening, so we need not deny the possibility of sudden awakening in the philosophical Daoist perspective. In either case, this dialectic is in some sense necessary.

How is this a solitude? “When you accord with what is within you, you walk in the nameless.” When you are in harmony with and rooted in the Mystery of your being, you dwell in the land of no identity at all. Who “walks in the nameless”? Only the nameless walk in the nameless.

We might capitalize “nameless” and call it Tao, but there is really no distinction between Tao and our own namelessness. There is one Mystery.

There is an alternative, however. “When you accord with the external, on the other hand, you aspire only to the expectation of some sort of payment.” The alternative is that you try and ‘be somebody’ in your own eyes and in those of the world. Self arises. And when self is master, all that you do has one deliberate motive: to assure yourself that you are real, that you are ‘somebody’.

Consider again the disciple-practitioner. Were he to “accord with the external”, what kind of ‘someone’ would he wish to be? This disciple, who seeks the way of the sage, will have confused this with being a sage. The ‘sage’ is himself, the ‘someone’ he wishes to be. His every effort toward sagacity will thus be but another grasping for ‘name’. To really be a sage is to entertain no such image; it is to be able to say, like ‘Laozi’, “I have freed myself from knowledge, from the spiritual, and from being a sage.”

Jumping over the positive alternative expressed in the next sentence, let’s complete this description of the negative alternative in the final two sentences (of my chosen passage). “But when you aspire to the expectation of payment, you become merely a merchant. Everyone sees you tottering on tiptoes, but still you think you’re towering above them.”

Because the disciple has focused on the image of sagacity where his self-identity remains entirely intact, everything he does to further sagacity is but a seeking for profit. Wishing to appear sagacious, putting on airs, as it were, he might deceive himself and think himself actually sagacious, but all his fellow practitioners see him for what he is: a hypocrite. It is interesting that in Chapter 33, in the positive side of its assessment of Shen Dao, it says “he simply towered alone in his place.” “Towering” above others is only a deviation from spontaneity when it is a self-conscious image of oneself. That he is also “alone” points out the “solitude” inherent in this experience.

In contrast to this deviation from spontaneity we have: “When you walk in the nameless, even your everyday activities have their own radiance.” Deliberate activities have no radiance for either yourself or others. They are executed with an end other than themselves in mind and thus cannot be truly enjoyed for themselves. You have turned them into a commodity and your appreciation of them is contingent upon their accomplishing an external goal. Meanwhile, your intended audience sees your duplicity and recoils from the taint of ego (which opposes their own).

“Walking in the nameless”, however, your activities are executed with no other end than themselves. Things are done for their own sake. For this reason, they shine. And since there is no motivational mediation between you and the activity, your enjoyment of them is complete. There are numerous stories in the Zhuangzi that have this as their theme. Here I’ll cite but one: The woodworker, Qing, whose bell stand amazes all that see it. In his explanation of how this is possible, he tells us how he manages to forget every external motivation until he is “just matching the Heavenly with the Heavenly”.

The famous Zen exclamation says this as best as can be said: “What glorious activity, chopping wood and carrying water!”

Note: At the conclusion of this miniseries, a link will be provided for those interested in downloading or printing the entire document replete with footnotes.

Walking in the Nameless, Part 5

WALKING IN THE NAMELESS:
A COMMENTARY ON A PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ZHUANGZI
by Scott Bradley

If you are like this and evils still beset you, it is the doing of Heaven, not of man. Hence, it will not be sufficient to undermine your completeness. It will not be able to gain entrance to your Numinous Platform. The Numinous Platform has that which maintains it, but its exact locus is unknown: it is that which is sustained although there is nothing that can sustain it. If it operates in any way that is not also a revelation of this something that makes it complete and real, it always goes wrong. If its own endeavors end up getting stuck inside it, so that it is unable to get rid of them, then every change is really another loss.

~ from Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn ~

“The Numinous Platform”! The possessor of “the unending sustainability”, the “unthinking parts of oneself’, “the most central within you” has now been named. The Numinous Platform is our most fundamental reality, our innate nature, and it is rooted in the great Mystery of existence which is beyond our understanding and control. This, I think, is the central theme and fulcrum of the passage. The author has borrowed and adapted this concept from the Inner Chapters and much of his discussion prior to and following its introduction here is a reflection of the contexts in which Zhuangzi originally used it.

Although the term has been given its own twist by our author here, its reference to Zhuangzi’s “Numinous Reservoir” and “Heavenly Reservoir” is undeniable. Looking first at the use of Heavenly Reservoir in Chapter 2, we see that it is there preceded by the statement: “Hence, when the understanding consciousness comes to rest in what it does not know, it has reached its utmost.”

Our author practically repeats this verbatim. It is followed by descriptions of its unending sustainability (“poured into without ever getting full, ladled out of without ever running out”), a theme our author discusses both prior to and after his use of “Numinous Platform”. In the Chapter 5 usage, “Numinous Reservoir” is preceded by a description of the movings of fate, ‘negative’ and ‘positive’, which are to be denied entrance into it. Our author does the same.

What does the author of this passage mean by Numinous Platform? It is that part of yourself, the only true ‘you’, that is maintained by Mystery, and cannot be known or found. It is the up-welling of existence that is you, rooted in the unknowable. It is sustained in that Mystery. This is the aforementioned “unending sustainability”.

Dr. Ziporyn, in his note on its referent in Chapter 2, tells us that “Heavenly Reservoir” is an expression of “Daoist subjectivity” and his “wild-card mind”. In Chapter 5, in reference to Numinous Reservoir, he tells us that these terms “denote the ideal state of mind of the Zhuangzian person.” But though it is certainly the case that these three terms speak of a state of mind, I think they point to something still more fundamental, namely the source of and reason for that state of mind.

The Numinous Platform is our innate nature, that is, the human experience as Mystery, unfettered from the grasping of the ego-identity and its misuse of the understanding consciousness in an effort to establish itself as “entity”. It is the liberated self, the no-self. I use the term ‘innate nature’ with caution, as it might easily be understood to mean yet another fixed reality, a fixed identity, yet it is just the opposite. This would be to exchange one false entity, the ego-self, for another, the innate nature.

But this innate or primal nature is as indeterminate and unknowable as the Mystery in which it is rooted. It is that Mystery. It is a flux and a flow without any concrete moorings. It abides in the unlimited and the unfixed and there finds its liberation. It is the freedom that comes from having nothing to lose, the possession of all through the possession of nothing, the realization of constancy through harmonization with perpetual change.

The Numinous Platform is nothing other than ‘you’. It is “numinous”, indeterminate and spirit-like, because it cannot be known. You are unknowable. You are not who you think you are because you cannot cognitively know ‘you.’ You are rooted in the one great spontaneous up-welling and are as much Mystery as the origins of the Universe. “The Numinous Platform has that which maintains it but its locus is unknowable: . . .”

“It is that which is sustained although there is nothing that can sustain it.” Here is a theme at the very heart of philosophical Daoism. This is the birthplace of the concept of spontaneity. All things exist without any discernible cause. They enter and leave by no known gate. They arise in spontaneity. The “endless sustainability” residing in you arises beyond all knowing. Your deliberate mind does not, cannot, sustain you.

Relinquishing your false sense of control, you can rest in this wondrous and mysterious sustaining arising within you. With this surrender of an illusory sense of deliberate control all fears and anxieties fall away. There is nothing to strivingly support. There is no one to be. In infinite trust, a primal trust self-arising in the spontaneity of unknowable sustaining, one rides upon the ever-flowing, ever-transforming Mystery of life.

“If you are like this . . .” “This” is the state of mind where the three previously mentioned attributes are realized, namely, the realization of the body’s and mind’s rootedness in Mystery and its spontaneous expression in “reaching through to others”. If you are like this, even though the seemingly harmful things in life—death, slander, poverty—should come upon you, they need not disturb your harmony by invading your Numinous Platform. These things are fate, the unavoidable and inexplicable givens of existence. They are of Heaven in its attribute as fate and not of “man”, not the consequence of your own actions. This is all an echo of the Zhuangzian discussion of the Numinous Reservoir in Chapter 5 where the “doing of Heaven” is called “the proceedings of fate”.

What follows the culmination of this theoretical foundation of the Daoist transformation ending in the Numinous Platform is a more practical instruction for the disciple-practitioner. The first two sentences of this instruction are difficult to understand and I offer here an interpretive paraphrase: “If you ‘deviate from This’ and behave in a way inconsistent with this spontaneity, your efforts will fail. If you act deliberately, self will rise up and hungrily cling to ‘results’, and then your every ‘improvement’ will really be a regression.”

The spontaneous life arises from spontaneity; any effort to deliberately effect its fruits will fail. The disciple’s only task is to surrender into spontaneity.

Note: At the conclusion of this miniseries, a link will be provided for those interested in downloading or printing the entire document replete with footnotes.

Look No Further

Read this book, visit that temple. Always someone is eager to guide us to the truth. There is no language of the Tao. The sage learns from observing the ordinary world around us.

~ Today's Daily Quote from Advice from Lao Fzu ~

To my mind's eye, today's Daily Quote really sums up the essence of philosophical Taoism. While the discussions, writings and insights provided on this blog and others can certainly point you in directions to ponder, the grand mystery is beyond all attempts to define and confine it.

All I hope to accomplish is to interest and/or motivate you (and myself!) to move past the bounds of rationality and language to discover the truth of the Way that encompasses each of us. You could learn far more than reading these words by laying in a lush meadow and staring at the sky or by sitting quietly in a room and listening to your own breath.

People spend their entire lives fruitlessly searching for meaning and the truth, when, in fact, it is within each of us all along.

Walking in the Nameless, Part 4

WALKING IN THE NAMELESS:
A COMMENTARY ON A PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ZHUANGZI
by Scott Bradley

Let your body be moved only by the totality of things. Let your mind spring to life from its rootedness in the unthinking parts of yourself. Reach through to others through respect for what is most central in yourself.

~ from Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn ~

What is this ‘unending sustainability’ and where does it reside? It is nothing other than that which is most fundamental in you: “the unthinking parts of yourself.”

When the understanding finds its limits, one need only return to that in oneself which is beyond understanding. Here the mind springs to life and finds a new form of expression, one unfettered of the need for answers and the discriminating duality of self and other. What are these unthinking parts? They are the original nature, the true self, the primal self, the spontaneous self, the ‘you’ that is most truly ‘you’. But it is a spontaneously arising reality which is beyond all cognitive understanding. That which my mind understands and identifies as ‘me’ is not ‘me’. The true ‘me’ is beyond the grasp of the cognitive mind.

“Let your mind spring to life . . .” Here “mind” is your total conscious experience. Must you give it up in order to realize contentment? Quite the contrary. It is in sweet surrender to that over which it has no control that your mind finds its fulfillment. Indeed, one’s conscious experience “springs to life” as it has never done before when surrendered into the apparently antithetical “unthinking parts” of oneself. “Surrender is the triumph of the heart.”

Those who speak of Tao as the Source of all that is, speak likewise of the utter and complete unknowability of it. It is complete Mystery. It is that through which all things are thought to spontaneously arise without apparent cause or purpose. Likewise, all things are spontaneously so, their rising and passing is beyond all knowing. They are themselves Mystery. That which I most truly am is likewise a spontaneous arising, unknowable and Mystery. It is here that sustainability resides.

There is but one Mystery and my being is as much that Mystery as is the Mystery of its source. This realization of Mystery enables a metaphysics without myth. One discovers a rootedness in transcendence without content. One is fulfilled, not by being moored to Truth and surety, but by being completely unmoored and adrift in the sea of Mystery. One basks in the “Radiance of Drift and Doubt”.

These three sentences are translated here in the imperative mood, but the meaning is not strictly imperative. “Let your body. . . .” “Let your mind. . . .” “Reach through. . . .” It is as if, in the midst of an unavoidable event, one were to say, “Let it be.” The event will happen in any case; it is the attitude of my mind which must change. The same applies here. The mind is already rooted in Mystery. My body is already mysteriously moved. Reaching out is a spontaneous result of my dwelling within my primal nature. What the imperative tells us is, “Get with the program; harmonize with the way things really are.”

“Let your body be moved only by the totality of things.” What is your body? It is part of the “unthinking parts of yourself.” What moves your body? Whatever moves all things likewise moves your body. What moves all things? Their origin and movement is shrouded in utter Mystery; they are rooted in the inexplicable and spontaneous flow of existence. Understand this and let your whole being likewise spontaneously flow.

To be moved “by” all things is to be moved along with all things. Zhuangzi exhorts us: “Let yourself be carried along by things so that the mind wanders freely. Hand it all over to the unavoidable so as to nourish what is central within you.” There is this one, incredible, spontaneous up-welling of all things, each one fulfilled in being what it is. Your body ‘knows’ this. He says “Let your body . . .” but it is really your mind that you must let be similarly moved. The body is already so moved. Your body ‘knows’ where it is rooted, but you do not. So learn what your body need not learn. “Learn what cannot be learned.” Realizing and harmonizing with your body’s rootedness in spontaneous freedom you also become free. Even as your body entrusts itself to Nature, so do you also learn to entrust yourself to the flow of all that is.

Is it the body only that is “moved by the totality of all things”? Is it not also the totality of one’s conscious experience that surrenders into the totality of all things? Relinquishing the illusion of control, the heart lets go into the vastness of this mysterious up-welling and flowing of life. What up-welling? The one you experience and without which you would not be at all. This up-welling is not other than you; it is you. To re-discover your rootedness in Mystery is not to go somewhere else, but to return to where you are. What flowing? Is not your life experience, like all other things, a continuous transformation, a flow through apparent time, a beginning and an ending?

If we consider the human experience from the standpoint of control we might ask who, in fact, is in control? We like to think we are. Yet when I consider that which is most concrete about ‘me’, my body, I discover that it operates largely outside my control. How few of its functions are under my direction! Breathing I can control, though the need still rules. But what a burden if I not only could control my breathing but had to do so. I would die in my sleep.

So the body has a ‘controller’ other than my cognitive self, a controller that is implied but cannot be found. This body spontaneously operates with no known why. It, too, is Mystery. This being the case, its operation is indeed a movement “by the totality of things.” To step into Mystery, which is what this rootedness in the unknowable is, is to enter a world without limits, a world where all is equally a part of one limitless flow and where everything is affirmed.

The body ‘knows’ this and lives this. To step into Mystery, into the unknowable self, is to likewise become open within the “Great Openness”, where all that arises is affirmed and one flows with events in imperturbable trust. This is “hiding the world in the world” where nothing can be gained or lost.

This subjective, inner work is never divorced from our ‘moral’ interface with the world. The objectives of philosophical Daoism are not that far removed from that of the Confucians. The difference is in the means by which to arrive at that objective. For the Confucians, the work of becoming ‘good’ is an effort of the will, a direct work upon one’s character.

Our author here, on the contrary, teaches that this objective of ‘moral goodness’ is a spontaneous derivative of an awakening within. The objective is reached by having no objective at all. If “reaching through to others” is a ‘good’ thing, it will happen because it is ‘good’, and is ‘good’ because it happens. The sage does not set out with a pre-established definition of the ‘humane’, but rather discovers ‘humaneness’ when it arises from his being.

What is “central within you” is your total existence dwelling in trustful harmony within the vast unknowing. It is that in you which is “endlessly sustaining” by virtue of its rootedness in the all-sustaining Mystery of all that is.

“Reach through to others . . .” is, as noted above, not strictly an imperative but rather means something like: “You will reach through to others when . . .” When you are in harmony with all things, how could you not also be in harmony with ‘others’? All things are rooted in the one great Mystery and all therefore partake in the one reality. What “reaching through to others” might mean practically is amplified in the rest of the chapter that follows this chosen passage.

Note: At the conclusion of this miniseries, a link will be provided for those interested in downloading or printing the entire document replete with footnotes.

1 - Beginnings

In the beginning, all things are hopeful. We prepare ourselves to start anew. Though we may be intent on the magnificent journey ahead, all things are contained in this first moment: our optimism, our faith, our resolution, our innocence.
~ from 365 Tao: Daily Meditations, Entry 1 ~

The moment I read this passage I thought of baseball. Yes, baseball!

Every season during Spring Training, the players, coaches and fans of each team believe this could be THEIR year. The team will win far more games than they will lose and, ultimately, be World Series champs.

It never matters how atrociously they played the previous season or how they collapsed down the stretch run. It doesn't matter that their roster hasn't improved significantly. It doesn't matter if this year's schedule is advantageous or not. It doesn't matter if their name happens to be the Chicago Cubs!!

No, during Spring Training, the promise of a winning season dances like sugar plums in everybody's head.

But then the season starts and the Chicago Cubs play like the Chicago Cubs!

Just wait until next year! ;-)

Walking in the Nameless, Part 3

WALKING IN THE NAMELESS:
A COMMENTARY ON A PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ZHUANGZI
by Scott Bradley

One who wants truly to learn should learn what cannot be learned. One who wants truly to take action should do what no deliberate action can do. One who wants truly to distinguish what is so by debate should distinguish what no debate can distinguish to be so. When understanding stops at and rests on what it does not understand, it has reached its perfection. If there were anything that deviated from This, it would be destroyed in [the turning of] Heaven the Potter’s Wheel.
~ from Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn ~

Here we have a first step in the cultivation of humanness: to find and realize the limits of the ‘deliberate mind’. The key idea here is: “When understanding stops at and rests on what it does not understand, it has reached its perfection.” Its perfection is to realize its limits. The knowledge one seeks cannot be found. The questions one poses have no answers.

Learning, though it knows no end, cannot find the end it seeks. Philosophical debate, however enjoyable and self-image-affirming, leads to no truth. Try as one might, whatever one does, one cannot do what one wants done. One is brought to the limits of ‘humanness’ and it is only here that the true work can be done. Here one must learn what cannot be learned, do what cannot be done, and distinguish what cannot be distinguished.

Not only does understanding stop at what it does not understand, it also “rests” upon it. This realization of not-knowing becomes the very platform from which a further and entirely new form of inquiry is launched. Not-knowing becomes the very portal through which one discovers a connectedness with that which he cannot know. Not-knowing is not simply not knowing, an end to inquiry and the beginning of a frustrated mind. Not-knowing is a state of mind wherein an entirely new form of inquiry into and relationship to the world begins.

The limitations of the understanding consciousness, like every human limitation, becomes a gateway to a realization of the limitless. “Every enslavement becomes an ennobling.” This is echoed by Zhu Boxiu in his commentary on Chapter 2: “(One must) seek the nonknowing in himself and thus find the inborn nature.”

Similarly, in Chapter 3, Zhuangzi writes: “When the understanding consciousness, beholden to its specific purposes, comes to a halt, the promptings of the spirit flow forth naturally.” Far from being overcome by frustration, the understanding “rests” in what it does not understand. Is this not the fulfillment, the “perfection” of understanding? Needing to go no further, having found and realized its full potential in its limitations, it is content in itself. Far from despising and discarding the understanding consciousness, this philosophy nurtures it, taking it to its very limitations where it is perfected. The perfection of all things is the realization of their full potential within their limitations.

What tools replace the rational mind in this new form of inquiry? Nothing has yet been said.

“Heaven the Potter’s Wheel” is Nature trimming away what is not nature. The ego-identity is, at best, a phenomenon derivative of the self-consciousness, Nature’s given; it will not endure. It is unsustainable. It is unreal. For though the human is Nature, the human has the capacity to deviate from nature. The human is capable of disharmony with its own roots. All such deviation is trimmed away by Nature. Only the real is sustainable.

The understanding “stops” at what understanding does not understand. Where would it otherwise go? It would devise theories to be believed, metaphysical speculations to grasp in the hope of finding a purpose and a meaning for the deliberate and pseudo-independent mind. All these the Potter’s Wheel trims away, bringing one back to itself, to its own Mysterious center. How does it ‘do’ this? By simply being what it is, Reality.

“Heaven the Potter’s Wheel” is borrowed from Zhuangzi’s Chapter 2. (It is also used by (an)other unknown contributor(s) to the book in Chapters 24 and 27. In the second chapter, assumed to be written by Zhuangzi, Nature is seen as the Potter’s Wheel, the great equalizer, and the sage is seen as resting at its center. Through its never-ending transformations it trims away the false assertions of the human and brings the human back within its own unavoidable embrace.

Is is not the case that Heaven the Potter’s Wheel is at work within the person who “cultivates the humanness”? The disciple-practitioner has realized in himself this internal dialectic of self-examination and rectification of perspective and conduct. Expose your heart and all its motivations while abiding in the center of the Potter’s Wheel and it will trim away all that is false within you. The square is made round, the corners are lost, all things are equalized.

Looking back at the larger context of this passage, the instruction of Nanrong Chu who “tortured himself” in his attempt to “purify” himself, we see that the true and effective way to realize change within is to surrender into this internal Potter’s Wheel where transformation is accomplished by Nature, not the deliberate activity of man. What would “deviate from This”? When understanding does not stop and rest on what it does not understand, this is deviation.

Note: At the conclusion of this miniseries, a link will be provided for those interested in downloading or printing the entire document replete with footnotes.

Cold-Blooded Killers

Today, as Della and I drove to Aberdeen, I heard on the radio a report about the deadly storms in the southeast US this past week. While I certainly have sympathy for those who met with misfortune, I was struck by the phraseology contained in the report: An outbreak of tornadoes killed x number of people in Tennessee and Arkansas.

I realize, for some, this might seem like a disagreement over semantics, but a tornado doesn't kill people; people sometimes die as the result of a tornado.

A tornado isn't a being that can form intent. It is more a process that is a combination of a confluence of variables. Tornadoes don't sit up there in the sky and talk strategy with each other. "So, who should we kill today?" says the smallish twister. "I saw a bunch of people sticking their tongues out at some clouds," responds the big cyclone. "I think I'll target them!"

Intent is a human trait. Nature, on the other hand, is impartial.

Walking in the Nameless, Part 2

WALKING IN THE NAMELESS:
A COMMENTARY ON A PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ZHUANGZI
by Scott Bradley

Empty space is vast and unshifting, and so the radiance of Heaven shines forth through it. When the radiance of Heaven shines forth, it reveals the humanness of the human, the thingishness of things. Hence, when the humanness is cultivated it comes to possess its own unending sustainability even in this very moment. Sustainability means that when abandoned by the Human, one is instead aided by the Heavenly. Abandoned by the Human, one is called a citizen of the Heavenly. Aided by the Heavenly, one it called a Son of Heaven.
~ from Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn ~

There is considerable variation in the translation of this passage with each of the other translations consulted favoring a view that this radiance issues from the sage himself. Here, as throughout this commentary, I will follow Dr. Ziporyn’s interpretation.

The central idea here is “unending sustainability”. Indeed, the entire passage is an explanation of and an invitation to experience this sustainability. And this is, I believe, the purpose of the entire philosophical project of Zhuangzi and the ‘school’ that apparently arose in his name. In the light of Nature, in the open inquiry into the nature of our existence, the character of our humanness is revealed. Through the cultivation of this humanness, that is, through self-inquiry into the character of one’s humanness and the project of coming into accord with that humanness in the light of one’s interface with apparent reality, one discovers an inner resource of sustainability which transcends what is normally thought of as the Human.

The Human is the ‘normal’ exercise of one’s being in the world, a humanness still in bondage to the limitations imposed upon it through its identification with an ego-identity which is discovered to be unsustainable. The light of reality does not support its grasping after fixity, concreteness and sustainability. Indeed, it is this very unsustainablity which is the source of one’s existential suffering. And this is the root of the inquiry into the nature of our existence in the first place; it is an inquiry the end of which is to discover sustainability where there appears to be only unsustainabilty.

This sustainability is not experienced in the ordinary human experience. For this reason it is realized in experience only when we have abandoned that way of being human. The text says “abandoned by” but the active or passive here amount to the same thing — the ‘normal’ is transcended. As it is as equally difficult to envision abandoning the human as it is to be abandoned by the human, we are confronted with the inexplicable ‘how’ of the method or means by which this transcendence takes place. We are like Nanrong Chu who, earlier in the chapter, is told by Laozi: “You want to return to your real condition and inborn nature but can find no way in.” Yet it is enough for us now to consider that such a transcendence from unsustainablility to sustainability is possible.

This transcendence of humanness means that one is sustained by something “Heavenly”. One is “aided by the Heavenly”. For Heavenly read Natural — that is, one is sustained by what is natural in oneself, but something which is unrealized by and incompatible with the ‘normal’ function of the human. The normal function of the human is to have a ‘deliberate mind’ which views all things from the point of view of ego-identity and thus orders all things so that they might be said to revolve around this ego-identity. This is an implied entity which does not truly exist and yet cannot realize that fact. This identity believes itself to be in charge of itself and it’s reality and thus cannot recognize something more fundamental in itself which is not only outside its control but is what makes its false sense of control possible.

When one has realized this inner sustainability he might be described as a “Son of Heaven”, a lordly term reminiscent of the Confucian sage, “the uncrowned king”. It also implies that one who has realized this sustainability is heaven-like, having become a scion of Heaven. Just as the realization of this sustainability is the discovery of an organic connectedness to Nature, so this sustainability enables a greater harmony with Nature (the Heavenly, the fundamental givenness of reality).

This understanding of the ‘normal’ human as inherently dysfunctional is implied here, but not discussed. I feel obliged to address it here, but will keep my comments brief. Since it is basic to philosophical Daoism to understand Nature and its givens as ‘good’, this description of the human as inherently dysfunctional seems a glaring contradiction.

The simplest explanation is that the human, though essentially ‘good’, has the capacity to act in disharmony with Nature and nearly universally chooses to do so. However, I see this dysfunctionality as organically inherent in the human experience, though not so as to be insurmountable. Following the evolutionary paradigm, we can imagine how, with the appearance of reflective consciousness, an ego-self might have likewise arisen to facilitate and order its experience. Other ways of coping with the phenomenon of ‘self’-awareness might have been possible, but apparently did not arise. In this sense, the ‘self’, like everything else, is an ‘accident’ of Nature.

No purposiveness, ethical or otherwise, is attributed to Nature or the process of evolution. Indeed, throughout the course of evolution as we understand it, there have arisen numerous forms of life that have proven dysfunctional in that they have failed to survive as species, however marvelous they might have been. I would suggest that the ego-self is an evolutionary accident which, though it has doubtless helped lead humanity to the incredibly wonderful experience that it is, has likewise created in the human a great deal of angst and despair, on the one hand, and the possibility of a self-inflicted extinction, on the other. Perhaps evolution will solve this problem itself and humanity will come to transcend this bondage to ego. In any case, the daoist project was and is to achieve this transcendence “in this very moment.”

There also appears to be a contradiction here regarding the nature of the human. Humanness is to be cultivated, on the one hand, and abandoned (or allowed to abandon one) on the other. Yet it is the cultivation of it, i.e., the realization of the character of the human, that leads one to a transcendence of this sense of the human, the habitual expression of humanness. The realization of sustainability within the human leads to a more genuine expression of humanness. One transforms from ‘human nature’ to ‘original nature’ which is to say one becomes more genuinely human. Thus “ the human” speaks here of the ‘normal’ functioning of the human complete with the aforementioned dysfunctional aspects.

These are essentially the ‘deliberate mind’ and self-identity, and these both can be summed up as an attempt by the human to establish itself as other than Nature by finding sustainability in its own concrete and conceptual world. When the “radiance of Heaven” illumines this dysfunctionality, the unsustainable human is abandoned in favor of a new expression of humanness. And here it is that one discovers that in that very abandonment, Nature has provided in one’s own being what completes one’s being in an entirely different way than the human previously attempted to fulfill itself. To abandon the human is a frightening prospect for the human and yet one can be assured that Nature is there to “aid” one—provision has been made; sustainability is to be found.

What is the “radiance of Heaven”? Let us begin by understanding that “Heaven” is Nature in the sense that it is all that is given, Reality as a whole. It is not an outside agency which works upon the human to purposely show it something. It is not an entity, nor the expression of an entity. It is not a god, or spirit or tao. Remove the human mind and there is no such radiance. The “radiance of Heaven” is that which arises at the interface of the human mind and apparent reality. That ‘reality’ tells us about ourselves—reveals ourselves to ourselves. Yet Nature has no words. It is the human mind that forms them.

Space is described as empty, vast and unshifting in order to show the reliability of its radiance. We can trust the testimony of Nature because it represents ultimate reality and has no agenda of its own.

It is significant that it is through the cultivation of humanness that humanness “comes to possess its own unending sustainability”. This is not a flight from the human. On the contrary, this the fulfillment of the human. But this fulfillment is by virtue of a realization of the limits inherent within it. That realization becomes the portal through which it restores its connectedness to aspects of its nature from which it has grown estranged—that is, it reconnects with “its own unending sustainability”.

What is “sustainability”? When the text says “it means” it refers only to the source of that sustainability, its connectedness to Nature, to one’s ‘inborn nature’ as opposed to the false, ‘independent’ human nature of the mind’s own making. But what is sustainability?

There is no definition provided in this passage. Throughout this literature the experience is not defined; it is described on the basis of its experiential manifestations but these are also lacking in this passage. For the sake of establishing some idea of what is meant by the term I will simply here call it free and unencumbered contentment. It does not imply that there is no end to the human experience, but that while having that experience, one is able to realize contentment despite the limitations of that experience, most significantly, the limitation of life by death.

“In this very moment” expresses the immediacy of this experience. It happens now, in this life, and not as some fulfillment in death. Conversely, it makes no claim to somehow extend this sustainability beyond death.

Note: At the conclusion of this miniseries, a link will be provided for those interested in downloading or printing the entire document replete with footnotes.

Walking in the Nameless, Part 1

WALKING IN THE NAMELESS:
A COMMENTARY ON A PASSAGE IN THE BOOK OF ZHUANGZI
by Scott Bradley

My purpose in writing this ‘commentary’ is to better understand the teachings in The Book of Zhuangzi and to further develop my own philosophy of life which has been significantly influenced by those teachings. The purpose of that philosophy is to realize a transcendent freedom in my own experience. Anything that “deviates from this”, that is, any motivation other than this that might have arisen in the process has, I hope, been largely trimmed away by Heaven the Potter’s Wheel.

This ‘commentary’ concerns itself with only a small portion of the second half of Chapter 23 of the Book of Zhuangzi although an effort has been made to understand it in the larger context of the chapter as a whole. The passage begins where there is a clear break with the preceding narrative. The first half of the chapter is narrative in form; it is about the exploits of a disciple of Laozi, Gengsang Chu, whose own disciple, Nanrong Chu, is unable to make ‘progress’ in the Way and is thus sent to Laozi to see if he can help. Instruction in this portion of the chapter is thus mediated through the dialogue of these three characters. (It poses an interesting question that Gensang’s abilities are, by his own admission, “insufficient to transform” Nanrong and yet his ‘teachings’ are, in some sense, offered to us for instruction.)

The remaining portion of the chapter, on the other hand, appears to be the direct and unmediated instruction of the author. This makes for a logical place in which to excise a passage for commentary. Where I end the passage, however, is much more arbitrary and is chosen primarily as a matter of convenience. What follows this chosen passage is also pertinent to the instruction as a whole and is thus kept in mind so as to be faithful to the entire context.

With respect to the chapter as a whole and its context as part of the larger book, I see it as the work of a disciple of Zhuangzi or a member of his ‘school’, and itself a commentary on the Inner Chapters (1-7), a work generally attributed to Zhuangzi himself. (It is largely understood that the book as a whole is the work of many hands, not all of which were in complete agreement with each other.) This is because the author borrows extensively from the Inner Chapters to expound his own understanding of the philosophical Daoist teachings which appear to be in near complete agreement with the Inner Chapters.

It needs to be said that this ‘commentary’ is an amateurish effort, the object of which is personal edification; there is nothing definitive to be found here. I lack the necessary tools of scholarship — in this case, a knowledge of classical Chinese and a broad understanding of its usage at the time, as well as a more in-depth understanding of philosophical Daoism itself—for it to be otherwise.

I have used only one translation, Dr. Brook Ziporn’s, which is by his own admission (following the caveat of every honest translator of these difficult works), also very much an interpretation. Speaking purely subjectively, yet as informed by my own immersion in and deepening understanding of the Zhuangzi, I find this translation to be the most in harmony with the meaning and spirit of its original authors’ as any I have read.

Nevertheless, it is informative to realize that this ‘commentary’ is on a ‘commentary’ (interpretive translation) on a commentary (Chapter 23) on a work (The Inner Chapters) itself sometimes very difficult to understand. Where in all this is the ‘true meaning’ to be found? I would suggest that every attempt should be made to understand correctly the meaning of the original author, but in the end, the ‘true meaning’ is that meaning which the individual comes to understand within himself. And that meaning can only be said to be ‘true’ when it finds expression in his life.

Note: At the conclusion of this miniseries, a link will be provided for those interested in downloading or printing the entire document replete with footnotes.

The Book of Chuang Tzu (Zhuangzi)

As you may have noticed, my plans not to launch the series on the Chuang Tzu until sometime this summer have changed. When Scott Bradley shared with me some of his writings and later agreed to allow me to post them here (and on Google Docs), it was the kind of opportunity that I couldn't pass up!

For the immediate future, most, if not all, of the commentary and analysis will be coming from Scott. That said, I may begin work on writing a few myself and I will be more than open if any of you would like to write a Guest Column on a select portion of this marvelous book.

One other note. You may not see much of my own writing for a spell. Scott has emailed me a bevy of superb material and so I will commit my time to formatting it.

The Happiness of Fish

The Happiness of Fish

by Scott Bradley

Zhuangzi and Huizi were strolling along the bridge over the Hao River. Zhuangzi said, “The minnows swim about so freely, following the openings wherever they take them. Such is the happiness of fish.”

Huizi said, “You are not a fish, so whence do you know the happiness of fish?”

Zhuangzi said, “You are not I, so whence do you know I don’t know the happiness of fish?”

Huizi said, “I am not you, to be sure, so I don’t know what it is to be you. But by the same token, since you are certainly not a fish, my point about your inability to know the happiness of fish stands intact.”

Zhuangzi said, “Let’s go back to the starting point. You said, ‘Whence do you know the happiness of fish?’ Since your question was premised on your knowing that I know it, I must have known it from here, up above the Hao River.”
~ from Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn ~

This delightful little exchange between Zhuangzi and his good buddy, the logician Huizi, certainly demonstrates what is the happiness of philosophers. And Zhuangzi would laugh and say, “Yes, it certainly does. But from whence do you know it?”

I confess that at my first readings it seemed to me that Zhuangzi had ‘won’ the debate, but only by virtue of a devious, semantic sleight of hand — the suggestion that to embed the premise in the question is to affirm the premise. Yet, though this may very well be another facet of Zhuangzi’s playful argumentation, there is much, much more here to learn. Indeed, the passage is a veritable seed pod ready to explode its fertile spores within the imagination.

How, then, does Zhuangzi know the happiness of fishes? The answer, in part, is to be found in how he describes what it is in which that happiness consists: The minnows swim about so freely, following the openings wherever they take them. These fish are simply doing what fish do, and this is their happiness. It’s that simple.

This falls within what Zhuangzi calls the Illumination of the Obvious, the rightness of each individual thing within its own perspective. This is not simply a matter of the rightness to itself of its own opinions, though this too applies, but is something much more organic, namely, that the expression of its nature, being what it is, is its rightness. This is obvious. And it instructs us. This may not be what we, as humans, think of as happiness, but that is because happiness for humans is generally conceived as something altogether different, humans being, in some sense, altogether different.

How are we different? What we do is to choose what to do and our choices seem almost inevitably to result in something other than ‘happiness’. Indeed, it would seem that the ability to choose, something as innate to us as swimming freely is to fish, is the source not of our happiness, but of our unhappiness. And this, of course, refers us back to the heart of Zhuangzi’s project, namely, to return us to the spontaneous, pre-cognitive expression of the up-welling of Life within us. This is true human happiness — surrender into the flow of life, freely following along with wherever it takes us, just like fish. In other words, Zhuangzi would have us return to being like fishes, though, being human and self-aware, that spontaneity would be expressed in an altogether different way.

Zhuangzi knows the happiness of fish because fish do what fish do and he can see them doing it. The same could not be said after observing humanity — quite the contrary. But having observed humanity, Zhuangzi has discovered what could return us to that very same happiness. And, assuming that he has himself experienced this return to rootedness in the spontaneous up-welling of Life within, then Zhuangzi knows the happiness of fish because it is also his own happiness.

Little of this has to do with the actual logical structure of the debate, of course, but I think Zhuangzi would have intended us to find and ponder it, nonetheless. With this profound thinker there are always wheels within wheels. But this logical structure and two glaringly different ways of ‘knowing’ reality do here take center stage.

Zhuangzi expresses his knowledge of the happiness of fish, but Huizi will have nothing of it. Since Zhuangzi is not a fish how could he possibly know what brings them happiness, just as the two of them cannot possibly know what the other knows or does not know. What is immediately clear is that Zhuangzi’s apples are Huizi’s oranges. What the former means by ‘knowing’ is not what is meant by the latter. Huizi is a logician and attempts to understand reality logically. That in this he excels is plainly seen here. He no doubt left the bridge over the River Hao convinced that he had won the debate, though, as usual, his wily adversary somehow seemed to make it seem otherwise.

Logically, according to Huizi, the south is both bounded and boundless, so one can go to Yue today and get there yesterday. To understand the world is to understand that you cannot understand it. But isn’t this precisely what Zhuangzi so forcibly declared: when the understanding consciousness comes to rest in what it does not know, it has reached its utmost. Yes, but what for one is the end of all organic integration with the world is, for the other, the very means to that integration. [Though Huizi declared the oneness of all things: Love all things without exception, for Heaven and earth are one body, he did so on the basis of the application of his form of reasoning. And this, Zhuangzi described as to labor your spirit ‑-­ trying to make all things one, without realizing that it is all the same . . . . (Italics mine).

If all is one it is so because it is, not because one proves it to be. If one knows this oneness, he does so organically, not rationally.] Camus meets Kierkegaard, existentialists both, but for one the apparent absurdity of humanity is a door to alienation and despair, while for the other, to union with the Source. Zhuangzi’s response to the unknowability of the world is to use it to discover unity with it: Let yourself be jostled and shaken by the boundlessness — for that is how to be lodged securely in the boundlessness! For him, not-knowing is a way of knowing, not a rejection of all knowing. Indeed, what is especially intriguing in this passage is Zhuangzi’s defense of knowing, for we have become so used to his attacks upon it.

In fact, we are frequently told by commentators that he rejected knowledge altogether. But this is far from the truth; what concerned him (for I would not say that he ‘rejected’ anything) was that the wonderful gift of a deliberating mind should overpower and dominate the entire expression of the human experience. And this, of course, is at the heart of this debate; Huizi would bring all experience under the dominion of logic, whereas Zhuangzi would open his heart to the full range of the human experience. In the final chapter of the Zhuangzi, its author describes him thusly: He opened himself broadly to the vastness of the root of things, abandoning himself to it even unto the very depths. And such an opening of oneself requires insuring that the understanding consciousness comes to rest in what it does not know. It is thus that he comes to know the happiness of fish.

What, then, is Zhuangzi’s knowing by not-knowing? It is what Guo Xiang calls "knowing spontaneously: But the world does not understand that knowing knows spontaneously, and thus they try to deliberately operate some ‘knowing’ to know it." We know because we know, not because we have come to a logical conclusion after careful deliberation. How do I know that I can know? How does Huizi know that his logic allows him to know? He knows because he knows—spontaneously. But he does not know this; he believes his logic proves itself by its own proofs. Huizi would operate ‘knowing’ to know the happiness of fish, but could not thereby know it. Zhuangzi, on the other hand, knows their happiness because like them, he is rooted in the source of his doing. He has experienced this knowing.

The word intuitive naturally comes to mind in this context, and I would like to ignore it, hoping to avoid the many questions and objections that the idea of intuitive knowledge provokes. (And thereby avoid exposing my inability to answer them). But admittedly, that is a disingenuous dodge. So, I will briefly address those that come to mind as best I can...

Let it be understood, firstly, that to attack this concept of spontaneous knowing in this way is nothing other than to play the part of Huizi and thus to attempt to deliberately know it. Zhuangzi made no attempt to defend his knowing on Huizi’s terms. Yes, he counters, “You are not I, so whence do you know I don’t know the happiness of fish?”, but his question is really rhetorical, for it would show Huizi that, within the structure of his way of knowing, he cannot know even what he claims to know. If Zhuangzi cannot know the happiness of fish because he is not a fish, then, applying the same reasoning, Huizi cannot know whether Zhuangzi knows it or not. But, as we shall see, there is a sense in which Huizi knows that Zhuangzi knows the happiness of fish. He just cannot ‘prove’ it, and thus feels obliged to reject it. Indeed, Huizi also knows the happiness of fish, but rejects such ‘knowing’ out of hand, since this is a kind of knowing outside the box of the logic to which he has confined himself. If spontaneous knowing required proof of its validity it would not be spontaneous knowing. I know. C’est comme ca.

Huizi’s retort to Zhuangzi’s point that, by his own logic, Huizi cannot know what Zhuangzi knows, is one of agreement (it being his point, after all). "But," he goes on to say, "by the same token, since you are certainly not a fish, my point about your inability to know the happiness of fish stands intact." If the first premise is correct, then this conclusion would certainly seem to logically follow. But, as suggested above, Zhuangzi’s application of Huizi’s logic was purely rhetorical, and was intended to show its inconsistency. If Zhuangzi cannot know the happiness of fish because he is not a fish, then Huizi could not know what Zhuangzi knows or does not know. Between ‘I cannot know you’ and therefore ‘you cannot know fish’ is this glaring contradiction. But Huizi insists on carrying on with this principle of logic, despite this inconsistency (that he cannot know what Zhuangzi knows). Why? Because for Huizi, the understanding consciousness dominates and determines his knowing of reality. The principle reigns supreme. Reason is assumed to have some independent and transcendent existence.

Zhuangzi, on the other hand, realizes that reason has no other foundation than its rootedness in the up-welling of human experience, that is, that it spontaneously arises, and thus has no business contravening his spontaneous ‘knowing’ of the happiness of fish. Zhuangzi, it should also be remembered, would be as likely to declare, while strolling along the bridge on the Hao, that he did not really know if he, Huizi, the bridge or the fish were really there at all. Perhaps it all is but a dream or a dream within a dream.

But none of this would matter, for it is not in knowing—any kind of knowing—that his own special happiness rests, but in the simple experience of following along with the flow of whatever experience arises, as it arises. And thus, he would have no need or serious inclination to defend his knowledge of the happiness of fish, for his own happiness, like theirs, depends on nothing other than being what he is. He ‘knows’ the happiness of fish just as any dreamer ‘knows’ the content of his dream, and this works equally well for the dreaming or ostensibly awake. And in either case, whether dreaming or awake, it does not matter, for it is the experience which has arisen.

Zhuangzi’s views on perspective are, of course, also very much in evidence here. It is probably not coincidental that the passage uses the idiom an chih, ‘whence do you know . . . ?’ to ask ‘how do you know . . . ?’ as Graham points out. This is equivalent to asking, ‘From what perspective do you know . . . ?’ For this reason, both Ziporyn and Graham both italicize ‘whence’, for this is all part of Zhuangzi’s work and playfulness.

Zhuangzi’s perspectival relativism is, indeed, very much in play here. His basic premise is that, since every thing has its own rights and wrongs which oppose the rights and wrongs of other things, there are, in fact, no ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’ manifest here at all. This being the case, he is not in a position to judge the rightness or wrongness of another’s perspective. And thus, from this ‘higher’ perspective (accepting every point of view as being legitimate for that individual), he is able to harmoniously go along with each thing’s point of view. This is Walking Two Roads. Let us just go by the rightness of whatever is before us as the present “this”.

“This” is the subjective perspective of the other. This ‘higher’ perspective is, of course, but another perspective, albeit a more helpful one, and thus the sage does not designate it as the final ‘right’ perspective. Thus , the Radiance of Drift and Doubt is the sage’s only map. He makes no definition of what is right but instead entrusts it to the everyday function of each thing. This is what I call the Illumination of the Obvious.

Zhuangzi knows the happiness of fish by observing their everyday function, their doing what fish do. He is not telling fish what their happiness is; he is affirming them in their choice of what makes them happy. And this is why he, though not a fish, can know the happiness of fish.

Is Zhuangzi’s final retort merely a semantic sleight of hand, a cheap trick, or does it truly sum up his position and expose an inherent duplicity in Huizi’s position? I now believe the latter. Let’s go back to the starting point . You said, ‘Whence do you know the happiness of fish?’ Since your question was premised on your knowing that I know it I must have known it from here, up above the Hao River. When Huizi asked how Zhuangzi could know the happiness of fish, he likewise knew the happiness of fish—but he could not ‘prove’ it. For this reason he rejected his and Zhuangzi’s knowing of it. It is very much as if Huizi asked himself “How do I know that I am strolling here looking down on fish?” His real question is “How do I know I know . . . ?” And the answer is, “You do not know how you know, but you know just the same — your knowing arises spontaneously.”

From whence, from what perspective, does Zhuangzi know the happiness of fish? I must have known it from here, up above the Hao River, says he. Always playful, Zhuangzi sums it all up by bringing Huizi back from the netherworld of disembodied logic to this very spot where they both stand and bask in the Illumination of the Obvious. And thus, they stroll on, engaging in the happiness of philosophers, doing what philosophers do.

Note: To download and/or print this document replete with footnotes, go here.

The Liberation of the Well-Frog

The Liberation of the Well-Frog: Awakening Within the Dream
by Scott Bradley*

(The text referenced in this post is based on Zhuangzi: The Essential Writings With Selections from Traditional Commentaries by Brook Ziporyn.)

There is a most illuminating story in the seventeenth chapter of the Zhuangzi about a well-frog. Sitting on a piece of broken tile, this frog ruled over his little world at the bottom of a well believing it to be the most wonderful of worlds and himself the master of all. The many tiny creatures, tadpoles and water bugs, that shared the well likewise shared his opinions and acknowledged his wisdom. But it came about one day that a sea turtle, happening by, looked into the well. Seeing this new potential admirer, the frog immediately held forth in praise of his domain and invited the turtle to join him. The turtle agreed to give it a try but found that his size would not permit him to enter. Instead the turtle thought to tell the well-frog of his own domain, the vast and unfathomable sea. The frog was flabbergasted; his delusions of being Someone Important in a world understood and possessed were utterly shattered. And though this is where the story ends, I would like to take it further and consider how the well-frog was thereby transformed and what form that transformation took. But before I do, let us step back and consider the story in its context, who it was that shared it, to whom it was shared, and what was the intended lesson.

With the great autumn floods, the Great River flooded to such an extent that the River God himself overflowed with pride at the vastness of his domain. Thinking to survey and exult in this vastness he followed his River down to the Vast Ocean where his waters were lost without a trace. Suddenly he realized the depths of his folly, the ignorance of his pride. Addressing his distress to the Ocean, the Ocean God replied that it is always folly to believe that one actually comprehends anything at all. It matters not how vast or minute one’s domain, they are all equally nothing in the illumination of the Vast Unknowable. Yes, the Ocean God’s domain dwarfs that of the River God, but even his is but a pimple on the backside of Universe, and that but an expression of a Mystery beyond all knowing. Whatever ‘vastness’ we might imagine, whether of space or consciousness, it is always a relative thing, finitely comparing itself with another finite thing. True Vastness cannot be conceived.

This is the lesson of the well-frog. The frog is to the turtle as the River is to the Ocean, and all finite consciousnesses as the Ocean to the Vast Unknowable. Is there truly any difference between these finite beings? The turtle can gloat over the frog and the Ocean over the River, but in the end every boast would be hubris and folly, for all such distinctions evaporate into nothing in the illuminating radiance of True Vastness.

Let us step back still further and consider the intention of the author who brought us these stories. What was his purpose? It is to present another possibility, a liberation from the tyranny of the finite within the finite. And this liberation is, in the author’s opinion exemplified in the life and teaching of Zhuangzi: As for him, he is no sooner traipsing across the Yellow Springs then he is climbing through the blue heavens, free of both north and south, unobstructed and released in all the four directions, submerged in the unfathomable depths. Devoid of both east and west, he begins anew in dark obscurity and returns to the Great Openness. Liberation is found in transcendence of every relative distinction, and this by the universally equalizing of surrender into the Unknowable, the dark obscurity. Empty of all knowing, the heart abides in the True Vastness, the Great Openness, where no distinctions are possible. Here, nothing is fixed, all is affirmed, nothing is grasped. This is what Zhuangzi himself meant by roaming in the vast wilds of open nowhere, in the far-flung and unconstraining paths of wild, unbound twirling and tumbling and in the homeland of nothing at all, thereby taking my place in the borderless wilds.

So let us now return to our well-frog—is there liberation for him, and if so, what form would it take? Must we send down a bucket and lift him up to a wider world? But what difference would that make? There is no world wide enough, no understanding broad enough, to liberate the heart. No, the liberation of the well-frog can as easily take place in the confines of his well as in the vastness of the Universe, for it is a liberation beyond and from every confinement, however ‘narrow’, however ‘vast’. The limitations of the well-frog’s existence are, in the light of True Vastness, no different from those of most expansive consciousness. His liberation is to be had in the transcendence of his own particular limitations, and the limitlessness in which he roams is precisely the same as that experienced by any other relative ‘vastness’.

Let us then imagine that our well-frog has surrendered into his own particular limitations and roams joyfully in the limitless. Here he sits on that very same tile, surveying his domain much as before. And so he is liberated indeed, right here in his well, having seen no greater world nor gained any new knowledge. Still a well-frog—what else could he be?—he frolics contentedly within the realm in which he was destined to be. And when asked by the admiring tadpoles what is the truth about everything and all he only smiles and says: That we are here in our well which is part of it All.

Zhuangzi tells us that we all live in a dream. To dream is to believe that we know what is true. Some are so fortunate as to awaken within the dream and realize they are dreaming. This is the beginning of liberation. But others go further and presume to interpret the dream within the dream. These are those who ‘know’ and share ‘The Truth’. But alas, to awaken to the dream is but to awaken to the dreaming; to believe that one has thereby ceased to dream is to fall back into unconscious belief in a dream. Zhuangzi would have us awaken to our dreaming, realize that it is all a great dreaming, and find our joy therein. This (too) is Walking Two Roads.

*Who is Scott Bradley? Well, let him tell you:

I'm 61. I have lived on a 32' sailboat for about 20 years. I did a 10 year circumnavigation and have come back to the Sea of Cortez, Mexico to hang out. I used to teach English as a Foreign Language (Morocco and Saudi Arabia). I'm a recovering True Believer (Christian) and have an MA in Cross-Cultural Studies from a theological seminary.

Scott's writings will be appearing on this blog frequently. I will also work on getting his writings uploaded to Google Docs and will provide the appropriate links.

To download or print this document replete with footnotes, go here.

An Open Invitation

One of the points I've written about numerous times is that the information, insight and opinion you find on this blog solely represents one man's thoughts on philosophical Taoism -- mine. While I genuinely hope that each post will impact your own thinking in some way, shape or form, nothing on this blog should be viewed as what Taoism is. Determining that is up to each person.

Two of the mechanisms I've employed to underscore this point are the extensive links to other Taoist blogs and highlighting these links in the New Voices Along the Path series. My Tumblr blog solely highlights the words and thoughts of others.

Recently, I have thought about underscoring this point further by transforming this blog from that of a single person to a team blog. Along these lines, a fellow has contacted me and I will soon be featuring his writings as a regular Guest Columnist. Scott doesn't have much experience with the blogging platform, so I will be handling the formatting end.

So, here's my invitation: If you have an interest in writing about philosophical Taoism and would like to join this blog as a writer, contact me. This invitation is open to those of you who don't have a blog of your own as well as to those of you who do. Re the latter, you could post original writings here or simply feature cross-posts from your current blog. And there will be no hard and fast stipulations as to how much or how little you post.

If one or more of you are interested, an "s" will be added to the name of this blog. It will be transformed into The Rambling Taoists. If no one is interested in this invitation, that's okay too. I leave the decision in your collective hands.

Ooh, Don't You Just Hate That?

I was working on another post about beliefs, when all of a sudden, I completely lost my train of thought. When I sat down in front of my keyboard, I had the post all laid out in my head. I started to type and then POOF, it all seemed to melt away.

I stared at my monitor. Somehow, I thought staring at my monitor would magically make it reappear. It didn't.

I stared at the ceiling for a while and that didn't work either.

So, here I am typing a post about the fact that the post I had planned to write at this time has up and left. I don't know where it went or if it will return.

Who knows? Maybe it IS on the ceiling staring down at me and laughing. It's laughing because I'm penning a post about nothing.

Hmm. Chuang Tzu now is laughing too.

I think I'll join them.

Don't Know Much About History

In my last post, What is Taoism?, I discussed a bit about the differences between philosophical and religious Taoism. In the comments section, Baroness Radon touched on another point that is a very important for this overall discussion. She wrote, "Taoism is so intricately connected with Chinese culture, it really is the fundamental element of Chinese culture, and that is how I came to it."

One thing that I need to make as clear as day is that I am no student of almost anything Chinese, save for philosophical Taoism. As is too often the case in the American educational system, little attention is paid to the history of the Far East. If it is touched on ever so briefly, about the only thing that is covered is 20th century Japan and this is done only in the most superficial manner.

Before I began to study the chief topic of this blog, I knew nothing of Chinese history. I have since picked up a little along the way, but I want to emphasize the word, little. I know next to nothing about Chinese culture and, of course, I neither speak nor read a lick of Mandarin or any other Chinese language or dialect.

Consequently, my understanding, analysis and commentary on the works of Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu are indebted to the understanding and translations of others. Were it not for their scholarship and insights, this blog would not exist and I would still be flailing about trying to find a way of seeing the world that made sense to me.

As you read my various ramblings, you need to keep in mind my limitations. While I can certainly tease out conceptual ideas from the ancient texts, I fully acknowledge that I do so from a westernized perspective. There is nothing inherently wrong with this type of perspective, but it doesn't make use of the cultural moorings that are extant in the Taoist worldview.

What Is Taoism?

On this blog, I have gone to great pains to demarcate a distinct boundary between philosophical and religious Taoism. From time to time, however, people leaving comments have questioned whether or not such a sharp distinction is valid. This leads to a most pertinent question: Does philosophical Taoism exist apart from its religious form?

This question can be answered no, yes and maybe! Does this clear things up for you? :-D

For me, I suppose the big distinction could be drawn between what I will call religion (small r) and organized Religion (capital R). Since its earliest formulation as a school of thought, Taoism has been infused with aspects of Chinese native folk religions, shamanism and mysticism. This fusion can be seen in the works of Lao Tzu by the many references to heaven and the aspects of Tao that appear similar to the kind of god westerners are more accustomed to.

However, this understanding of Taoism differs from what most people consider religion because it contains no creeds, rituals, hard and fast morality or specific gods/deities. So, if we wish to entertain that Taoism is, in fact, religious, it is so with an emphasis on the small r.

On the other hand, if we strip away the vestiges of what most people term religion, what we're left with is a basic philosophy for life. A significant number of people -- me included --hold that the main thrust of the thought of the legendary Taoist sages Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu was more focused toward a manner of living in the real world as opposed to supernatural speculations. In this vein, the Taoism of the ancients can be viewed as more of a philosophical school of thought than either a small r or capital R religion.

Finally, there is no question that what is termed philosophical Taoism shares much in common with what is termed religious Taoism. The chief difference is that the latter has evolved to take its place among the organized religions of the world. As explained on this Canadian site,

Alongside the development of Taoism as a philosophy another more strictly religious interpretation of Taoism was evolving. This 'religious' Taoism had its own temples, priests, rites and symbolic images. Lao Tsu was venerated as a 'saint' and imperial sacrifices were made to him. It drew strongly upon the ideas of yin-yang and of the 'Five Agents' (metal, wood, water, fire & earth).

During this time there began to develop a pantheon of TAOIST DEITIES which were often venerated as gods.

I have read that the development of an organized religious Taoism came into being because of the influences of and competition with Buddhism. Many Buddhist ideas were introduced into Taoist thought and the creation of specific religious forms was a strategy used to try to woo people who were embracing this imported religion.

In the end, I suppose that Taoism can be viewed from a number of perspectives. Since this particular Taoist rejects the notion of anything supernatural, you should now understand why I stress the philosophical aspects as opposed to the religious ones.

Seeing What We Want to See

A frequent feature of beliefs is that when examining evidence relevant to a given belief, people are inclined to see what they expect to see and conclude what they expect to conclude. We only become critical of information when it is clearly not consistent with our beliefs, and even then may not give up that belief. Moreover, confirmatory information or events are much better remembered and recalled than those that contradict what we hold to be true.
~ from Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast: The Evolutionary Origins of Belief by Lewis Wolpert ~

The above quote dovetails nicely with many of the passages of the Wen Tzu and Tao Te Ching. It helps to explain why Lao Tzu seemed incessantly to harp on the idea that we need to encounter life without bias and prejudice -- simply to go with the flow.

When we encounter situations with a belief-driven ego, we can never see things as clearly as possible. Because of our beliefs, we will inflate certain bits of evidence, while downgrading others. We may even see things that aren't really there, while completely ignoring variables that stare us in the face.

Remember from the Tao Te Ching the metaphor of a bowl? The utility of a bowl comes from the space not occupied. If a bowl is filled to the brim, no more can be added. In this same vein, if our mind is filled with beliefs, new information can't be added and so we will continue to cling to ideas about our lives and the world around us that may not stand up to muster.

Blinders

When I was first diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome (a high functioning form of autism) back in November 2008, I must admit it threw me for a loop. I had known all my life that there was something distinctly different about me from most of the rest of the population, but the word autism is scary. For long-time readers, you watched me write about this discovery and to struggle through doubt, increased anxiety and perplexity.

I now accept it more for what it is. I don't obsess on it like I did before. More importantly, I realize what many of you have told me is true: It's just a label! Learning about Asperger's hasn't really changed me; I simply understand my inherent quirkiness in a new light.

When I first started on my self-exploration of autism, I tended to view all my sundry Aspie traits in a negative manner. I've come to realize, though, that each trait can have both positive and negative effects. I simply need to accentuate the positive aspects and try to minimize the negative ones as much as possible.

For example, I seem to have an amazing ability to concentrate on particular things. When I deem a concept, idea, project or task as being important, I can block out all types of distractions. I can work for hours on end until the situation is resolved or my curiosity has been satisfied. In many situations, this represents a very positive plus.

On the other hand, there are times when my obsessive nature can be a huge negative. When I obsess on circumstances that create anxiety, I can easily work myself into a froth over virtually nothing! When I experience bouts of extreme pain -- something that, unfortunately, occurs quite frequently -- I can sit at my computer for hours on end researching some arcane topic.

I did this very thing last night/early this morning. For some odd reason, I started thinking about the old 60s sitcom The Beverly Hillbillies. So, until nearly 5:00 a.m. this morning, I surfed the web to find information about the show itself, watched videos on YouTube, and then read up on all the stars of the series. I followed the very same tack with two other TV sitcoms -- Green Acres and Petticoat Junction -- that were loosely connected to The Beverly Hillbillies.

Needless to say, by the time I finally moved from my chair, I was a lot sorer than when I sat down several hours earlier. I'm also not feeling very chipper today due to lack of sleep. Who would have thunk that!!

Leaders of Inefficiency

It wasn't that long ago that we Americans were really darn full of ourselves. We believed our athletes were the best, our military was the mightiest, our children were the smartest and "American know how" was the most productive. Over the last ten to fifteen years, we've witnessed our standing fall in almost every area.

Of course, the George W. Bush administration played a big role in America's public relations demise. His arrogance and buffoonery sorely hurt our nation's standing with most of the rest of the world. But, while it would be nice and neat to lay our sorry state on the former president's doorstep, that wouldn't be fair at all.

While Dubya and his cabal certainly played their part, our government as a whole has been less than sterling for quite some time. This patent inefficiency is on display again in relation to the environmental calamity bubbling up in the Gulf of Mexico.

After the debacle of our national government's inadequate response to the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina, a lot of people thought things would be far different under the Obama administration. Well, guess again!!

As The New York Times reports, "The federal government [also] had opportunities to move more quickly, but did not do so" and now a severe problem has become a catastrophic one. When decisive action may have turned the tide, our federal government sat on its thumbs and spent far more time and resources trying to undersell the impending disaster, rather than trying to resolve it.

Officials initially seemed to underestimate the threat of a leak, just as BP did last year when it told the government such an event was highly unlikely. Rear Adm. Mary E. Landry, the chief Coast Guard official in charge of the response, said on April 22, after the rig sank, that the oil that was on the surface appeared to be merely residual oil from the fire, though she said it was unclear what was going on underwater. The day after, officials said that it appeared the well’s blowout preventer had kicked in and that there did not seem to be any oil leaking from the well, though they cautioned it was not a guarantee.

Why no guarantee? Because, of course, the damn thing was leaking like no tomorrow!

Why is it that our nation seems so inept at responding to emergency situations? We hear about such calamities occurring in other industrial countries and their governments tend to move swiftly and decisively. While they are saving lives and minimizing severe impacts, our leaders tell us not to worry and to continue shopping at the mall as usual.