The Tao: Noun or Verb?

According to the World English Dictionary, in traditional grammar a verb is “any of a large class of words in a language that serve to indicate the occurrence or performance of an action.” The same source defines a noun as “a word or group of words that refers to a person, place, or thing” With this as a frame of reference, I believe that in order to properly understand the concept of Tao, it should be viewed as a verb.

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Tao (Wade-Giles), or Dao (Pinyin) is a conception of ancient Chinese philosophy–particularly Taoism–that is traditionally translated as “way,” or “path.” As such, it is typically viewed as a noun or name. During nearly 40 years of studying the contextual usage of Tao–both in Taoist and Buddhist texts–I have come to understand it as referring to an action (verb). In this sense, a more accurate translation might be “process.”

The foundational text of Taoism–the Tao Te Ching (Wade-Giles), or Dao De Jing (Pinyin)–dates back to the 6^th century B.C.E. and is considered to be the primary source for understanding the concept of the Tao. Using this as a guide, let us consider how one’s understanding of Tao changes with its use as a verb rather than a noun.

The first chapter of the Tao Te Ching (Feng & English, 1972) begins:

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.

The name that can be named is not the eternal name.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

The named is the mother of the ten thousand things.

The first two lines indicate that the Tao that can be spoken of or named is not the eternal Tao. In an interesting bit of synchronicity, “name” is synonymous with “noun” in English grammar. Now I doubt that Lao Tzu–the mythological author of the Tao Te Ching–had English grammar in mind when writing about the Tao, but when translated into English, the text appears to be saying that the Tao cannot be named. Thus (at least from the standpoint of English grammar) it is not a noun.

The third line tells us that the “nameless” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. If the nameless is a verb, indicating an action, then the Tao is the process that begets the material Universe (matter = noun). Then in line four, matter (the named) becomes the origin of everything thereafter.

From this line of thought, the first four lines of the Tao Te Ching are in essence saying that an ineffable, nameless action gives rise to that which can be named–matter. Matter–that which can be named–in turn, gives us everything else.

If we apply this concept to modern astrophysics, we could interpret the Tao as the action underlying the “Big Bang.” After all, the “Big Bang” was an event–not a thing–because prior to it, “things” (matter and a Universe in which it could be) did not exist.

We can further apply this principle to virtually any other domain with the Tao being understood as a nameless action underlying its named manifestations– life, growth, evolution, etc.

This reinforces the idea that Taoism is essentially pantheistic in that the Tao is not a “creator” (noun) as such, but rather the action (verb) infused throughout creation. It would also lend support to the concept that matter is not the foundation of being. Rather it is action which gives rise to being.

As a side note, in another instance of synchronicity, while looking up synonyms for the word “process”–the word “route” was listed. This brings us full circle back to the English translation of Tao as path. Perhaps in the subtleties of translating Chinese into English over the year this concept of Tao as a verb, rather than a noun, was lost.

I would invite you to ponder these thoughts as you study the Tao.

The Breath of God

I just finished reading the novel “The Breath of God” by Jeffry Small and it was a delight on many levels. The story is in the style of “The DaVinci Code” in that it is built around a real-life event. In this case, the event was a report by a Russian novelist (in 1887) that he saw a document in a Buddhist monastery in northern India suggesting that Jesus (yes, THAT Jesus) may have spent several years from his adolescence through his twenties studying Hinduism and Buddhism in India, prior to returning to start his own ministry in Judea. The story concerns a doctoral candidate from Emory University who is writing his dissertation on this legend.  While in India trying to find evidence, he learns the documents were moved to Bhutan shortly after their discovery. Some evangelical Christians get wind of this and want to find and destroy the documents—using the help of an ex-military Christian terrorist— before they can be scientifically verified. Within the cloak-and-dagger storyline, the author (Jeffrey Small—acclaimed writer and speaker on religion and spirituality) weaves in ideas on the mystic origins of Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, and even Islam. I highly recommend it!

Zen Ox Herding

Heavily influenced by Taoism, the Zen Ox Herding poems are a parable for the journey to enlightenment–the Ox serving as a metaphor for the differentiated ego. I offer a reverently edited version of a new translation by Lewis Hyde for your amusement.

I:  Searching for the Ox

Alone in the deep woods, searching in darkness.

Flood-swollen rivers, mountains beyond mountains,

The trail endless and unchanging.

Bone-tired, heart-weary, the search seems hopeless.

II: Seeing the Traces

In the woods, along the riverbank, strange marks all around.

What has bent the sweet grass down just there?

The deepest canyons, the highest peaks–

Nothing can hide the imprint of the Ox.

III: Finding the Ox

The meadowlark sings, sitting on a branch.

Warm sun, light breeze, green willows by the river.

The Ox stands right there;

Where could it hide?

IV: Catching the Ox

He holds the rope with all his might,

The Ox is two-thousand pounds of old habit.

One moment it runs to the high meadows,

Then gets lost in fog-bound river bottoms.

V: Taming the Ox

Without the whip and rope near at hand,

The Ox will soon seek out the nearest muddy wallow.

But, care for it properly and it becomes gentle.

Following willingly, the rope gone slack.

VI:  Riding Home

Riding home on the back of the Ox, he is in no hurry.

Evening mist absorbs the flute tones.

Their harmony carries his heart to the horizon line.

Grass alone is not what keeps this Ox alive.

VII: Ox Forgotten

Arriving home, the Ox disappears.

He sits by himself, content.

His reverie does not bear the marks of time.

The rope and whip lie forgotten.

VIII:  Self and Ox Forgotten

Empty whip, empty rope, empty Ox, empty human being.

"The vast blue sky" is not at all the vast blue sky.

Think of snow falling on a blazing fire.

Just there the spirit of the ancient masters is fully present.

IX:   Back to the Beginning

Seeking the Source, the One True Origin: why all this hard work?

Better to stay at home as if ears and eyes had never opened.

He sits in the cabin. There is nothing to seek beyond the gate.

The streams flow and flowers open, vividly red.

X:  Entering the Village Bestowing Bliss

Barefoot, he walks into the villiage.

Dusty, spattered with mud, how broadly he grins!

He has no need of magic powers.

Near him the withered trees come into bloom again.

Meeting the Buddha on the Road

I teach one thing–how to end suffering.

The Buddha

IMHO, Buddhism is the most misunderstood of the world's major religions–not only by those outside looking in, but by its followers as well (bad enough I've got the Christians coming for me with pitchforks and torches, now the Buddhists will be joining them). This is because what I see in Buddhism is NOT (and never was intended to be) a religion. The problem is that Siddhārtha Gautama (i.e., the Buddha) was so far ahead of his time (5^th century B.C.E.) that there was no other paradigm for his teachings. What he actually taught was what today we would call cognitive psychology. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I submit for your consideration the first two verses of the Dhammapada–the Buddha's first teaching:
Mind precedes its objects. They are mind-governed and mind-made. To speak or act with a defiled mind is to draw pain after oneself, like a cart behind the feet of the ox drawing it.
Mind precedes its objects. They are mind-governed and mind-made. To speak or act with a peaceful mind, is to draw happiness after oneself, like an inseparable shadow.
If this is not cognitive psychology, then butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Cognitive psychology and Buddhism are founded upon the same principle: Our thoughts–which include our perceptions, interpretations, judgments, beliefs, etc.–are the source of, and means to ending our suffering. Put another way, we do not see the world as it is–we see the world as we are.
In fact, the Buddha's lack of any traditionally "religious" content has led some Buddhist scholars, such as Stephen Batchelor, to conclude the Buddha was agnostic–if not atheist–in his religious views. This is, I believe, one of the reasons Buddhism spread so quickly throughout Asia. Without any of the typical religious trappings to get in the way, when Buddhism entered a new country, it simply incorporated its own established religious beliefs into Buddhism (much like early Christians co-opted Pagan holidays to make it easier to gain converts). This is why, for example, Tibetan Buddhism is very different from Japanese Buddhism. In fact, without the iconography of the Buddha–one would probably not recognize these as the same religions.
Another example of this is the widespread belief that Buddhists believe in reincarnation. Many do, but not because of anything the Buddha taught. When studying the origins of a religion, one of the difficulties faced is to separate what is an essential religious teaching from things that are simply artifacts of the time and culture from which it came. In the Indian subcontinent during the 5^th century B.C.E. people did not just believe in reincarnation–it was considered a fact, just like the sky is blue and water is wet. Not only did no one question it, no one would even think to question it. So of course when this new teacher came along and didn't specifically say anything one way or the other about it, reincarnation was just absorbed into the Buddha's teachings. Since reincarnation was seen as a form of suffering and the Buddha was teaching a way to end suffering, it just made sense that the goal of Nirvana was to be freed from the cycle of birth and rebirth.
One would never suspect that within the Buddha's teachings is the concept that we do not have a soul or spirit that exists independently of the mind. The only Buddhists who directly confront this are Ch'an (Chinese) or Zen (Japanese) Buddhists–which were heavily influenced by Taoist philosophy when Buddhism came to China. Ch'an and Zen Buddhism has a distinctly existential–almost nihilistic–focus.
So what then is the core of the Buddha's teaching? First, the Four Noble Truths:

1.    The truth of the existence of suffering;

2.    The truth of the cause of suffering;

3.    The truth that suffering can be eliminated; and

4.    The truth of how to eliminate suffering (the Noble Eightfold Path).

The first of these is pretty much a no-brainer–at times, life sucks. The surprise comes in the second truth–we (specifically our minds) are the cause of life sucking. The actual word the Buddha used for this is dukkha, which is usually translated as "unsatisfactoriness." Simply put, we find life unsatisfactory because it often doesn't meet our expectations. "What is" is not the way we think it "should" be, so we blame what is for not meeting our expectations–never stopping to realize (until the Buddha came along) that it's our expectations that are the true cause of our suffering. Aaron Beck, Albert Ellis, or David Burns (three prominent cognitive psychologists) couldn't have said it better.
The third truth follows from the second–if we know the cause of suffering, we can eliminate it (or at least greatly reduce it). OK, so how do we do this? Enter the fourth truth–the Noble Eightfold Path.
The Noble Eightfold Path is divided into three aspects: Wisdom (1, 2), Ethical Conduct (3, 4, 5), and Concentration (6, 7, 8). Specifically, the Eightfold path consists of:

1.    Right Understanding;

2.    Right Thought;

3.    Right Speech;

4.    Right Action;

5.    Right Livelihood;

6.    Right Effort;

7.    Right Mindfulness; and

8.    Right Concentration.

Now keep in mind that during the past 2,500 years whole forests have been sacrificed to written discourses on the Noble Eightfold Path. I'll just be flying high overhead to give a broad picture of the landscape. You can parachute down and hack through the brush on your own.
Right Understanding is pretty simple–it basically refers back to the Four Noble Truths. This is the "right understanding" of suffering. The Greek stoic philosopher, Epictetus, echoed the Buddha's concept of suffering in the 1^st century C.E. when he said "Men are not upset by things, but by the views they take of them." Right Understanding also includes the law of karma–that every action produces a result (what goes around, comes around).
In the language of cognitive psychology, Right Thought means to identify and challenge one's cognitive distortions and irrational beliefs about themselves, other people, and the world around them.
The first of the three dealing with Ethical Conduct is Right Speech. The specifics of which are basically to be truthful and to not engage in divisive or abusive speech. Pretty straightforward.
Right Action is basically doing nothing that brings suffering to others. I like to think of it as the Buddhist version of the "Golden Rule"–treat others as you would have them treat you.
Right Livelihood takes right action into how one makes a living. Again, the idea is that you do not engage in an occupation that brings suffering to others (Republicans need not apply. Opps! That's not right speech. Shame on me!).
The last three have to do specifically with the practices of meditation. Right Effort primarily has to do with mental discipline. Not only in keeping the first five steps on the path always in mind, but also to provide the discipline for the remaining two steps.
Mindfulness is a specific Buddhist meditation technique, the goal of which is to bring mindful awareness to everything we do. Right Mindfulness is specifically referring to this last aspect.
Finally, we get to Right Concentration, which is actually the practice of meditation itself. Within the Buddhist tradition there are many specific meditation techniques, but all require focused attention and concentration.
There it is–Buddhism in a nutshell. As I said, one could spend many lifetimes (if you buy into the whole reincarnation thing) studying the details of all this, but this is what I consider the essence of what the Buddha taught. Once I was able to peel away all the superfluous B.S. that had little, if anything, to do with the core teaching–I found a genuine affection for Buddhism. But, I still would file it under "Psychology," rather than "Religion."

Spiritual Eclecticism

Most of my prior posts were about how I got to be who I am. My future posts will be more about who I am and who I am becoming.

One of the spiritual realities that I have learned in my wanderings is that no one tradition has a monopoly on truth and that by remaining open-minded I am able discover truth wherever it may be. I cannot with any degree of honesty pin myself down to any of the established spiritual or religious categories. Although I love dogs, I can’t stand dogmas. So let me begin to answer two seemingly simple questions, “What is my religion” and “Do I believe in God?”

I suppose my best answer to the first question would be to just say I’m a “Spiritual Eclectic,” meaning that I draw upon many religious/spiritual/philosophical traditions, but ally myself with none. If I had to put my beliefs in one sentence, the best I can come up with at the moment would be: I’m equal parts Taoist, Buddhist, Natural Pantheist, and Existentialist bound together with a liberal dose* of Amazonian shamanism. Maybe you can understand why I don’t normally like to get into casual exchanges with people about religion. If someone REALLY wants to know “what I am” the answer’s going to take awhile.

The second question is problematic on two levels. First, it is framed as a “yes” or “no” question. Second, it presupposes that there is a universal definition of “God” that both the person asking and the person answering agree upon. I’m not just being a smart ass (well, maybe a little) when I give my usual response: “First you have to tell me what you mean by God.” This usually ends the conversation (try it if you don’t believe me), but if it doesn’t–this answer’s going to take awhile as well. But you’ll have to wait for my next post.

*Yes, that pun was intended.

California Dreamin’

After a year in Virginia Beach, I was transferred to San Diego, CA. This came at the perfect time as I now had a direction for my spiritual quest and was heading to the center of the new age spiritual universe–California. I was assigned to the administrative staff of the Rear Admiral in charge of all surface forces in the Pacific Fleet (basically everything except submarines and aircraft). I was stationed at the Naval Amphibious Base at Coronado–home of Navy Seals basic training.

San Diego was paradise for someone who spent his first 18 years of life in rainy, gloomy Western Washington. Nearly perfect weather every day. It rained in San Diego about as often as it snowed in the lowlands of Western Washington. The other 360 days it was sunny and in the 70s during the “Winter” and in the 80’s during the Summer. Next door to a warm Pacific Ocean that you could actually swim in and only a few hours drive away from the San Bernadino Mountains and miles of desert that included Joshua Tree and the Coachella Valley.

I began reading every book I could find on Buddhism and Taoism (and there were a lot of them). I also began taking yoga classes along with practicing Transcendental Meditation (something I picked-up in Virginia Beach). In my readings, it seemed that the general consensus was that spiritual experiences via psychoactive substances were not the “real” thing–they could be a catalyst for beginning a spiritual journey, but they needed to be supplanted by more traditional practices if one wanted a permanent transformation. As Houston Smith–the great scholar of world religions–said, “Having a spiritual experience is easy, living a spiritual life as a result of that experience is what’s hard.”

During this time, the one writer primarily responsible for my initial understanding of Buddhism and Taoism was a popular interpreter of Eastern philosophy–Alan Watts. I liked Watts because, like me, he was a mostly self-taught religious scholar with a strong affinity for Eastern philosophy. Born in England, he served as an Episcopal priest for 5 years before moving to the United States in 1951 to accept a teaching position at the American Academy of Asian Studies in San Francisco. During his lifetime he also had a teaching fellowship at Harvard and was a frequent speaker at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Watts had a way of taking the most complex philosophical concepts and making them easily understandable, which was a big part of his popularity.

Alan Watts was close friends with a fellow British expatriate–Aldous Huxley. Like Huxley, Watts experimented with Mescaline, Psilocybin, and LSD in America. But unlike Huxley, Watts came to reject these substances as valid tools for a spiritual seeker. Ironic, because Watts died at age 58 due to heart failure exacerbated by his lifelong alcoholism.

Armed with a foundation of key concepts in Eastern philosophy thanks to Watts, I was able to gain a better understanding of source texts in Buddhism and Taoism. I found myself particularly drawn to Taoism. I think this was because I had not yet learned to separate the teachings of the Buddha from the religion that sprouted up around them. Later on, I would discover that the quickest way to destroy a spiritual teaching is to make it an organized religion.

Taoism led me to t’ai chi–the ancient Chinese slow-motion martial art based upon Taoist philosophy. Since learning Transcendental Meditation, I had experienced ongoing difficulties with seated meditation. For one, no matter what position I tried to sit in after about 5 minutes my lower back hijacked my attention leaving little left for meditation. Also, I seemed to have hit a wall with seated mediation and wasn’t getting much from it.

T’ai chi was often described as a “moving” form of meditation. I was ready to give it a try. All I needed to do was find a teacher. One Saturday I was strolling through Balboa Park, when I saw a group of about 10 people doing–you guessed it–t’ai chi. They were led my an elder Chinese man who simply went by “Mr. Leong.” All I needed to do to join the class was show-up on Saturdays and give Mr. Leong $5 when class was over. Sounded simple enough. I studied with Mr. Leong for about a year, learning Wu style empty hand and short staff t’ai chi forms.

The more I practiced t’ai chi, the more I wanted to learn–not only of t’ai chi, but of its sister arts. This has been a recurring theme in my life–if I decide to get into something, I jump in with both feet and don’t look back. I realized that continuing with Mr. Leong was no longer enough for me.

About this time, I met an interesting fellow from Oklahoma. He professed to not only teach t’ai chi, but many other Chinese martial arts. His name–Mike Brown. Mike had been into martial arts for quite some time before meeting a petroleum geologist from Taiwan, Her Yu Wong. Dr. Wong had studied Chinese martial arts since he was a boy in Taiwan. Since moving to the U.S. he continued his practice, but never took on any students thinking no one in this country would be interested. Mike was interested and soon became Dr. Wong’s first student.

Eventually, Mike Brown and Dr. Wong had started the Ching Yi Kung Fu Association to share Dr. Wong’s knowledge with others. In so doing, they set minimum standards for what anyone wanting to teach these arts needed to be considered proficient. So, if I wanted to teach t’ai chi as an instructor certified by the Ching Yi Kung Fu Association, I had to learn all the Ching Yi martial arts. This way, even if all I ever taught was t’ai chi, I would have a well-rounded background and understanding of the tradition from which t’ai chi emerged.

This was just what I was looking for. Now I could get a more comprehensive training in these disciplines from both the Taoist and Buddhist heritage. Through t’ai chi I had found a physical discipline that combined gentle exercise with meditative focus. Since I found the Taoist philosophical teachings so compelling, I wanted to see how the physical practices born of this philosophy could further my spiritual development.

After being discharged from the Navy, I stayed another two years in San Diego. During this time my life consisted of eating, working (just enough to pay expenses), sleeping, and practicing kung fu. I was learning everything I could from Mike and, eventually, helping him teach as an informal assistant instructor. At the time, I thought I would never return to Washington except to visit. San Diego was my new home. But shortly after passing my test to become a certified Ching Yi Kung Fu instructor, I decided it was time to head back North. My four plus years in the Golden State had come to an end. I loaded everything I owned into a VW Super Beetle and began driving North on I-5. The moment I crossed the border into Washington, it started snowing (this was in April). I should have seen that as an omen and turned around. I didn’t.

Leaving Home

Have you ever done something without really knowing why, only to find out later it was probably the best thing you could have done at the time? Before even graduating from high school, I had enlisted to enter the U.S. Navy following my graduation. At the time, I wasn't completely sure why I did it–but, in hindsight, it was probably the best choice I could have made at the time. Many of my friends were shocked. I'm sure if there had been a "Least Likely to Enter the Military" vote by my classmates, I would have finished at least in the top ten.
I could have gone to college like most of my friends, and was even accepted at The Evergreen State College. But some part of me knew going from high school straight into college would have ultimately been a waste of time (a very fun waste of time, but a waste of time nevertheless). I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and needed some time to "find myself." Having grown up in a small town where everybody not only knew me, but knew my parents and grandparents as well–I wanted to get as far away as I could. Somewhere where no one knew me and I could become whoever I wanted to be. Since I didn't have any money, I decided my best option was to spend a few years working for my Uncle Sam.
A couple weeks after my 18^th birthday, I left for boot camp in Orlando, Florida. I couldn't have gotten farther away from Washington and still remained in the continental U.S. Eight weeks in boot camp, a short visit home for Christmas, then back to Orlando for 12 weeks of Navy Personnelman school. After graduating, I went to my first duty station–Virginia Beach, VA–working in the Educational Services Office of a Naval Aircraft Squadron.
While stationed in Virginia Beach, I spent nearly every night in the base library studying the world's major religions. I had decided that I was going to see if any of them contained anything that made sense to me. I ended up focusing my attention on Buddhism and Taoism.
I liked Buddhism because it is a non-theistic religion. Although many Buddhist followers revere the Buddha in a god-like manner, the Buddha himself denied any divinity. Whenever he was asked if he was a god, he said "No, I am awake." This, in fact, is what the term "Buddha" means–awakened one. The focus of Buddhism is on the mind as the source of all existence. In his first discourse, the Buddha said "The mind is the forerunner of all things." For anyone who has delved into the world of substances such as LSD, this makes perfect sense.
Taoism, on the other hand, revered the natural world and viewed the divine as being expressed throughout the rhythms of nature. Although some try to equate the Tao with "god," there is little similarity with what most people conceive of as god. God in the Judeao-Christian tradition–as well as most other theistic traditions–is a supernatural being that exists outside of the natural world. The Tao on the other hand is a natural force that is both the source and substance of all existence. Out of it all things arise, while simultaneously it is a part of all things.
From that point on, Buddhism and Taoism became the primary focus of my study as I began in earnest my spiritual self-education. Where else to go, but California?