Tao Te Ching (Translated by Sam Hamill) - Lao Tzu [1]
When K’ung-fu Tzu met Lao Tzu (ca. 516 B.C.E.), the former was in his mid-thirties, the latter likely in his late eighties. Master K’ung remarked afterward, “He is a dragon among men.” The Old Dragon’s The-Way-and-Its-Virtue Classic has kept people intrigued and learning for two and a half millennia. When encountered, interpreted, and incorporated by early Chinese Buddhists over a thousand years ago, it produced Ch’an (Zen) Buddhism and the practice of what we know most commonly by its Japanese name, shikantaza, “deep sitting meditation.” Taoist-like use of paradox is everywhere evident in Zen koan or “case.” Taoism also grew into a religion and various kinds of cults, all sorts of sects that grew increasingly farther away from the teachings of Lao Tzu’s classic.
During the collapse of the Chou dynasty, there was a lot of philosophical argument between the Confucians and their main rivals, the Mohists. The Confucians believed in building the state through the structure of the family, and that filial piety and philosophical and familial lineation could best build a strong state. Mohists argued in favor of a meritocracy and against the idea that the emperor could actually be the “Son of Heaven.” Both philosophies were devoted to empire building. Both argued by quoting ancient sages, historical precedent, and anecdote.
Some scholars have claimed the Tao Te Ching as a philosophical argument against Confucianism, Mohism, and the whole notion of empire. Lao Tzu clearly preferred a smaller, less-threatening, less-powerful state. But unlike the philosophical texts of its time, the Tao Te Ching makes no reference to historical times or personae and cuts directly through the Chinese traditions of formal argument. Some have claimed the Tao Te Ching as a political or military treatise; others explicate its existential metaphysics. All are, to a degree, correct.
Master K’ung also spoke about a “way” in the Ta Hsueh (“Great Learning”) and elsewhere, but the Confucian way is one to be studied and attained; it is a purely human way based on the teachings and inspiration of old masters, a way of character building rooted in virtuous behavior. Lao Tzu’s Tao is more the “way-of-nature,” not something earned, but something inherently within all beings and to which we must become attuned if we are to live wisely and harmoniously for our time in this world. These two paths sometimes worked harmoniously, but often conflicted. “Give up all attainment!” Lao Tzu cries, and the good Confucian replies, “Agreed. To give up attainment is to attain transcendence. Such a person is fit to lead.”
The classical Chinese mind enjoyed the arguments between the primary schools of philosophy, drawing from each, and, centuries later, adding the fundamental philosophy of Buddhism to create san chiao, three interlocking, cross-pollinating systems of thought from which arose the great cultures of the T’ang and other periods. In classical Confucian poets, one finds elemental Taoism; in Buddhist poets, elemental Confucianism. Taoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism became the intricately interwoven threads that produced the great complex fabric of classical Chinese culture.
Chuang Tzu says, “A great person’s words are as simple and clear as water, while a small one’s words are sweet as wine.” In our age of political and social doublespeak and psychobabble, his observation cuts two ways and rings as true as ever. Lao Tzu’s clear, simple language harbors great complexity within. Even the character for tao is simultaneously simple and complex.