Tao te ching_ annotated & explained - Derek Lin [10]
The Language Barrier
Even with these strategies in place, however, I still had to deal with the fundamental barrier between Chinese and English. Chinese comes from linguistic roots that are entirely different from those of European languages, and rendering an understandable yet accurate translation can be difficult to achieve. Specifically, I wanted to pay special attention to vocabularly and word choice to avoid the errors common to many other translations of the Tao Te Ching.
Few translators possess native command of both languages, and the result is the greatly varying quality of translations available today. Inaccurate translations do a disservice to the reader because they may distort the original meaning or even obscure it completely. We may end up with something that bears little resemblance to the original, genuine wisdom—and we may not be aware of what we are missing. Chapter 46 is an example of this. It starts with the image of fast horses, formerly used by the army for scouting missions, being retired to till the fields. This is the ancient Chinese equivalent of beating swords into plowshares, as well as a deft depiction of peace and harmony. Lao Tzu then contrasts it with the description of a pregnant mare being forced to give birth in the middle of the battlefield—a singularly powerful image that evokes the misery and horrors of war.
What happens when this chapter goes through the translation process? In one popular version, all references to horses have disappeared, replaced by factories, trucks, tractors, warheads, and cities. None of these things can be found in the original text, and—obviously—none of them existed in ancient China. This creative license is clearly an interpretation, not a translation. Even more important, it denies the reader the beauty and power of the original vision.
Sometimes translators may guess at the meaning of a character without consulting a dictionary. For instance, some have rendered the first line of the Tao Te Ching as “the path that can be trodden,” guessing that dao, the character for the Tao or the path, should mean “to walk” when used as a verb. Some scholars also assert that this is the original meaning, which differs from modern usage. However, there is no compelling evidence to support this assertion, and it contradicts virtually all Chinese commentaries on chapter 1.
When used as a verb, dao can only mean “to speak, to talk, to discuss.” Walking simply isn’t one of the definitions. Therefore, to translate the first line as “the path that can be trodden” is like saying “I am waying” in English when you really mean “I am walking.” This is not a valid usage because “way” doesn’t have that meaning. It is the same with dao.
Another example of distortion is the “uncarved block,” a concept that everyone studying the Tao will come across sooner or later. It is a reference to pu, the Taoist principle of simplicity. The uncarved block refers to things in their original, primal state, filled with the inherent power of potential and possibilities, before that power is lost to human contrivance as the block is carved into a specific form.
In modern Chinese, pu means “plain.” In ancient Chinese, it can also mean “plain wood.” Either way, the meaning of pu does not include a block of any sort. Thus, “uncarved block” is actually a mistranslation. Plain wood represents the original state of simplicity far better than the uncarved block. A plain piece of wood may be found in nature, completely untouched by human hands. The uncarved block, on the other hand, has already been worked on—someone had to cut a plain piece of wood in order to get a block out of it. Therefore, “uncarved block” is more than just a mistranslation. It is also an obstruction to those who seek the authentic teaching.
Translation Techniques
Ultimately, my translation