by Lao Tzu
VITAL BREATH/ch’i (pronounced chee)
While it only appears three times in the text, this term is key due to its role in the development of Taoist meditation techniques. These methods for calming the mind and prolonging life are described in the next part of the Afterword and in the Appendix.
The analogies between Chinese ch’i (“vital breath”) and its Western and Indian equivalents are even more uncanny than in the case of sheng-jen. Ch’i refers to the metaphysical concept of material energy coursing through the body and the universe. The same concept exists in the Indian tradition as prāa, in the Greek tradition as pneuma, in the Latin tradition as Spiritus, and in the Hebrew tradition as rua.
Moreover, there is evidence of a relationship between the Chinese word and certain Western terms. The archaic sound of ch’i is roughly k’ied, although the oldest Sinitic form of the word may have been something like kvept. There is little question about the early Chinese meaning of ch’i (kvept), because the pictograph used to represent it shows a few wisps of vapor rising. This calls to mind the Proto-Indo-European root kwēp (to smoke, to be emotionally agitated, etc.) and its derivatives. Most prominent among these derivatives is English “vapor” itself, which has lost the initial consonant and added an ending. Other Indo-European cognates are Lithuanian kvēpti (to blow the breath), Lettish kvēpt (steam, smoke), Greek kapnós (smoke, vapor), and so forth. Most amazing is the cognate Sanskrit verb kupyati (he swells with rage, is angry), which literally means “he is smoking, steaming [mad].” This is precisely the same, very common idiomatic usage as in modern standard Mandarin t’a sheng ch’i[-le] (he is angry)—literally “he is generating vapors,” the origin of which has long puzzled even native speakers.
BEING, NONBEING/yu, wu (pronounced yo, woo)
This pair of terms literally means “there is” and “there is not.” Together, these words constitute the ontological ground upon which the phenomenal world is played out. The Tao, ineffable and without attribute, is identified with nonbeing, yet it is the source of all creation, which is characterized as being. The Old Chinese pronunciation of yu was approximately yex. This seems to link it with English “is,” which goes back to the Indo-European root es (to be). Wu is the same word with a negative prefix.
NONACTION/wu-wei (pronounced woo-weigh)
If Tao and te are the most significant static or nounal concepts in the Tao Te Ching, wu-wei is certainly the most important dynamic or verbal notion set forth in the classic. Of all the Old Master’s ideas, it is also the most difficult to grasp. Wu-wei does not imply absence of action. Rather, it indicates spontaneity and noninterference; that is, letting things follow their own natural course. For the ruler, this implies reliance on capable officials and the avoidance of an authoritarian posture. For the individual, it means accomplishing what is necessary without ulterior motive. Some commentators have explained wu-wei as connoting “nonpurposive” or “nonassertive” action. The Old Chinese pronunciation of wei, which means “to act as, be, make, do,” was roughly wjar. This is quite likely related to “were” in English. Wu is simply the negative, which I have already discussed above.
MYRIAD CREATURES/wan-wu (pronounced wawn-woo)
Literally “ten thousand objects,” this expression refers to all things in the universe that have existence or being, in contrast to their origin—the Tao—which is without existence. The figure “ten thousand” signifies the vast variety of creatures and things in the world. It stands in opposition to the unity of the Tao from which they spring. The Old Chinese pronunciation of wan-wu was roughly myanh-var. This expression is clearly related to English “many varieties.” The connection between myanh and “many” is obvious without having to cite earlier Indo-European antecedents. Still more striking is the affinity between Chinese var and the Indo-European root var of “variety,” since both originally referred to the multicolored fur of animals (compare English “vair” and “miniver”). The earliest character used to write wu actually depicts a speckled bovine.
UNHEWN LOG/p’u (pronounced pooh)
P’u (also translated as “uncarved block”) is the most frequent metaphor in the Tao Te Ching for expressing the utter simplicity of the Way. Those who coined the phrase “Tao of Pooh” have captured a deeper truth than they may be aware of. The Old Chinese pronunciation of p’u was phluk. This is almost certainly related to the English word “block,” which probably derives from the Indo-European root bhelk (beam).
REVERSAL, RETURN, RENEWAL/fan, kuei, fu (pronounced fawn, gway, foo)
All of these terms suggest the continual return of the myriad creatures to the cosmic principle from which they arose. This is the “myth of the eternal return” so well analyzed by the great authority on comparative religion Mircea Eliade. The Old Chinese reconstruction of kuei is roughly kwyed and that of fan roughly pran. Since there are Sino-Tibetan roots for both (respectively kwyerd [turn in a circle] and pran [turn around]), we should not expect to find any immediate Indo-European cognates. The Old Chinese reconstruction of fu (literally “go/come back”) is roughly byok. A close cognate, written with the same character, may be tentatively reconstructed as byog and means “again.” This reminds us of words such as paky (again) in Church Slavonic and öfugr (turned backward) in Old Norse that derive from Indo-European apo.
NATURE/tzu-jan (pronounced dze-zrawn)
Tzu-jan literally means “self-so.” This expression is also sometimes translated as “spontaneous.” It implies that things are what they are by themselves; no agent causes them to be so. The Old Chinese reconstruction is approximately sdyelv-lyan, which resembles the old Germanic equivalent selbh-lik (self-like).
At the end of Part III and in the Appendix, I shall provide justification from the history of civilization for the wide-ranging approach to core Taoist terminology advocated here. But first we must examine more closely the rudiments of Taoist religion and thought. A good point of departure for this subject is the comparison of Taoism with the Hindu spiritual discipline known as Yoga (“union” or, more literally, “yoking [with godhead]”). We shall find that they agree in such varied aspects as the philosophies they espouse and the religious practices they advocate. Studying either is valuable for gaining an understanding of the other.
Part III:
Parallels Between Taoism and Yoga
From our examination of the oral background and of the title of the Tao Te Ching, we have already seen hints of Indian influence on its formation. In this part of the Afterword, I will provide evidence of a close relationship between the Tao Te Ching and the Bhagavad Gītā, widely considered to be the most important scripture of Hindu religion. Furthermore, as B. K. S. Iyengar and other experts hold, the basic philosophical premises of Yoga were given their first authoritative expression in the Bhagavad Gītā, just as Taoists regard the Tao Te Ching as the fountainhead of their tradition. Although a few earlier scholars have hinted at the possibility of a connection between Taoism and Yoga and between the Bhagavad Gītā and the Tao Te Ching, no one has been able to prove that they are actually related. I believe that the materials I present in this section, the Appendix, and the textual notes constitute convincing evidence that the obvious resemblances between the two traditions are not merely happenstance.
Since we are by now familiar with the rise of the Tao Te Ching, I will begin this section with a brief glimpse at the history of the Bhagavad Gītā. Unlike the Tao Te Ching, the Bhagavad Gītā has an explicit narrative context; it forms an essential part of parvan (book) VI of the great Indian epic Mahābhārata. This fact is also evident from its very title, which means “Song of the Lord [that is, Krishna].” The Mahābhārata (Great Epic of the Bhārata Dynasty) recounts events that took place between about 1400 and 800 B.C. The Bhagavad Gītā and the epic of which it is a part were probably written down sometime between about the fourth century B.c. and the second century A.D. Complicating their dating is the fact that both the epic and the Bhagavad Gītā must have undergone a long period of oral tran
smission before they were committed to writing. In any case, the core of the Bhagavad Gītā is probably at least one or two centuries older than the Tao Te Ching.
The Bhagavad Gītā consists of a very long dialogue between the warrior prince Arjuna and Krishna, a manifestation of the god Vishnu, who doubles as Arjuna’s counselor and charioteer. This takes place on the battleground called Kuruketra (Field of the Kurus) as the war between the Pāndavas and the Kauravas, two ancient Indian clans, is about to commence. When the two armies draw up their ranks and face off, Arjuna becomes depressed at the thought of having to fight against many of his acquaintances and relatives who are in the opposing camp. He questions whether he should throw away his weapons and submit to a sure death or participate in a war that, no matter how just, is certain to result in much slaughter. Krishna reminds him that it is his duty to be a warrior and embarks upon a long discourse on action.
The chief lesson Krishna has to offer Arjuna is that altruistic or disinterested action (nikāma karma) leads to realization of Brahma. That is to say, one should act without regard or desire for the fruits (phala) of one’s action. This idea is repeated over and over again in countless different formulations. These passages are of great importance for understanding the enigmatic concept of “nonaction” that is so prominent in the Tao Te Ching. “The person of superior integrity takes no action,” says the Old Master, “nor has he a purpose for acting.” We are told straightaway to “act through nonaction” and that “through nonaction, no action is left undone.” In spite of the fact that this idea appears a dozen times and is obviously central to the Old Master’s teachings, we can only vaguely surmise from the Tao Te Ching the specific implications of wu-wei (nonaction).
However, when we read the Bhagavad Gītā, we discover an exceedingly elaborate analysis of the nature and purpose of nonaction. The ideal of action without attachment is conveyed in many guises throughout the Bhagavad Gītā, for example, akta (nonaction), akarma (inaction), naikarmya (freedom from action or actionlessness), karmaām anārambhān (noncommencement of action), and so forth. Krishna refers to himself as the “eternal nondoer” and states that the Yogin should think, “I do not do anything.” He declares that he “sits indifferently unattached by these actions.” Elsewhere, he condemns sitting and remembering. All of this reminds us of the “sitting and forgetting” advocated by the Taoists that later developed into a type of meditative practice.
If one acts in Brahman, he has abandoned attachment and will not be defiled by evil “any more than a lotus leaf by water,” an eloquent image that subsequently became very popular in China. It is not actions themselves that are to be eschewed; it is only undue concern for their results (“fruits,” in the language of the Bhagavad Gītā), which binds one to desires. Repeatedly, Krishna enjoins Arjuna to relinquish actions prompted by desire. There is a linkage between actions and desires in the Tao Te Ching as well, although it is not spelled out so explicitly.
Krishna makes clear his views on action and nonaction in the following passage:
I desire no fruit of actions,
and actions do not defile me;
one who knows this about me
is not bound by actions.
Knowing this, even ancient seekers
of freedom performed action—
do as these seers
did in ancient times.
What is action? What is inaction?
Even the poets were confused—
what I shall teach you of action
will free you from misfortune.
One should understand action,
understand wrong action,
and understand inaction too;
the way of action is obscure.
A man who sees inaction in action
and action in inaction
has understanding among men,
disciplined in all action he performs.
The wise say a man is learned
when his plans lack constructs of desire,
when his actions are burned
by the fire of knowledge.
Abandoning attachment to fruits
of action, always content, independent,
he does nothing at all
even when he engages in action.
He incurs no guilt if he has no hope,
restrains his thought and himself,
abandons possessions,
and performs actions with his body only.
Content with whatever comes by chance,
beyond dualities, free from envy,
impartial to failure and success,
he is not bound even when he acts.
(IV. 14–22, trans. Barbara Stoler Miller)
In the end, Krishna counsels Arjuna to rise above the dichotomy of action and nonaction.
Aside from this striking fundamental resemblance between the Tao Te Ching and the Bhagavad Gītā with regard to nonaction, there are numerous other affinities between the two works. One is a shared concern for the relationship between the multitude, or aggregate, of created beings and the eternal cosmic principle that is their origin. Both focus on being and nonbeing. Both are preoccupied with the significance of wisdom, or knowledge, and nescience, or ignorance. Both texts strongly emphasize becoming free from desires and not prizing rare and costly goods. Both are concerned with birth, (long) life, and death. Like the Bhagavad Gītā, the Tao Te Ching openly discusses the purposes of war and the obligations of a soldier. Just a few of the key terms encountered in both texts are those for “return,” “subtlety” (or “fineness”), “disorder,” “affairs,” “desire,” “tranquility” (or “calm”), “taste,” “supreme,” “percipient sage,” and “peace.”
Entire stanzas of the Bhagavad Gītā read like miniature foreshadowings of the Tao Te Ching. In a burst of nominatives that would have warmed the heart of the Old Master when contemplating the Way, Krishna unfolds his all-encompassing nature:
Understanding, knowledge, nondelusion,
patience, truth, control, tranquility,
joy, suffering, being, nonbeing,
fear, and fearlessness …
Nonviolence, equanimity, contentment,
penance, charity, glory, disgrace,
these diverse attitudes
�
�� of creatures arise from me.
(X.4–5, Miller)
There are whole passages in the Tao Te Ching where the imagery and wording are very close to those of the Bhagavad Gītā. In book 3, stanza 38, of the Bhagavad Gītā, the obscuring of a mirror by dust as a metaphor for the clouding of the mind is almost identical to chapter 54, lines 6–7, of the Tao Te Ching. Even more startling is the likeness between book 8, stanza 12 of the Bhagavad Gītā and chapter 19, lines 4–5, of the Tao Te Ching: The former begins with “closing all the doors [of the body], shutting up the mind in the heart” and then goes on to direct the practitioner to channel his vital breath (prāa) up into his head to establish himself in Yogic concentration. The latter states that the practitioner “stopples the openings of his heart, closes his doors.” Since these two lines are repeated verbatim in chapter 15, lines 9–10 of the Tao Te Ching, it appears as if they were taken over directly from Indian Yoga into Chinese Taoism. The manifestly Yogic content of the Tao Te Ching is also to be seen in the beginning of chapter 54, especially lines 4–5, which advise the practitioner to focus the breath until it is supremely soft.
By no means am I implying that the “author” of the Tao Te Ching sat down with a copy of the Bhagavad Gītā in hand and proceeded to translate it into Chinese. The fact that both texts evolved from oral traditions precludes such a simplistic scenario. Moreover, the sayings of the Old Master have a style and socioreligious character all their own. The Tao Te Ching was as much, if not far more, the product of internal sociopolitical conditions as it was the reaction to radically new religious and philosophical stimuli from without. As a result, it comes to very different conclusions from those of the Bhagavad Gītā. The Chinese classic emphasizes political skills and social harmony in preference to the theistic orientation of the Indian scripture. The Bhagavad Gītāā is essentially a manual of spiritual discipline that has applications in the real world; the Tao Te Ching is basically a handbook for the ruler with mystical overtones. The Bhagavad Gītā advocates control of the mind and ultimate liberation; adherents of the Tao Te Ching espouse the indefinite protraction of the physical body.