Geof Nanto

I was kind of hoping when I came back to this topic that the conversation would have moved on. Instead I now feel obliged to reply to Stosh as well as Rara. Whole books have been written on these subjects and my words can only be meagre in comparison. Also these Dao Bums threads tend to move fast. Sometimes that’s appropriate but I like to explore in depth topics I’m interested in. For instance, I still plan on returning to ‘The Dream of the Butterfly’ thread. To my mind, our conceptual reality is an ever evolving web of myths created to fill the needs of our human psyche for meaning. At the core of our consciousness we are mythical beings; hence philosopher John Gray suggests the best a thinking person can do is to recognize the myths (illusions) he or she cannot live without. (Or perhaps, more modestly, I can only expect to recognise myths I can live without. By necessity those myths I truly depend on must remain hidden beyond the fringes of my awareness. ) It’s morning where I live and I have things to do outside. I’ve just made some sourdough bread dough and it will have risen by this afternoon and be ready for baking. And hopefully by then my replies will also be ready for ‘baking’ in this alchemical cauldron of Dao Bums discussion. Really, I get too caught up in heaviness of ideas and therefore like these words of François Jullien from Vital Nourishment . “Life can escape whatever confines it and regain its freedom, allowing it to remain open to unfiltered transformation. Based on deliberate de-ontologisation (and de-theologisation), this release from meaning (from dogma, belief, truth) results in a depressurisation of existence, which ceases to be episodic or forced. The homeostasis whereby life maintains itself is restored, replacing the tension of existence (projecting toward a goal, akin to meaning).”

Rara, it seems I edited my original comment whilst you were writing your post, but I haven't changed anything of what you're asking about. Your questions require some detail to answer and I haven't time immediately, but I will reply later.

Transcend (Definition from OED) 1. Be or go beyond the range or limits of (a field of activity or conceptual sphere). 1.1 Surpass (a person or achievement). I know you relish an argument and consequently always hone in on what you perceive as weak points in a comment, but I don't particularly like to engage in such oppositional debates. From Arthur Waley's Three Ways of Thought in Ancient China: 'Do not seek precision,' says Chuang Tzu, speaking of the realm of Tao. .. . `I myself have traversed it this way and that; yet still know only where it begins. I have roamed at will through its stupendous spaces. I know how to get to them, but I do not know where they end.’ PS. I've edited my previous post since your reply.

Yes, the field of Daoist studies is becoming increasingly sophisticated as more and more research is published and scholars are able to build on each other's efforts through both agreement and opposition. I can only applaud these efforts. For instance, Louis Komjathy draws on a vast body of work from prior scholarship for his compilation of The Daoist Tradition. Such a comprehensive overview could not have been written decades ago. I especially like his focus on Daoism in its totality as a native Chinese religion. He uses the term Classical Daoism and acknowledges that it was named as such retrospectively, as is commonly recognised. Other than his ‘jihad’ against what he calls New Age Taoists, he is objective in his overview of Daoism as an ancient and still living tradition; he doesn’t shy away from the spiritual and mystical, and he avoids philosophical analysis of Daoist ideas. I also like insightful analysis of Daoist philosophy and Daoist related topics, of which there is plenty available. I particularly like Hans-Georg Moeller’s work, and Scott Barnwell publishes the excellent blog that you link to above – to name but two of many excellent researchers. However I suspect Zhuang Zhou would smile with amusement on this Western focus of ours on conceptual 'truth'. Aren't we thereby trapped in following the Platonic tradition of trying to distinguish what is illusion and what is reality? Such an attitude is typical of our whole contemporary, scientific-minded society. For instance, while reading the allegories of the Zhuangzi, there is the temptation to find oneself ‘understanding everything correctly.’ Our temptation is to evaluate, define and explain the thoughts of this ancient Chinese sage and to place them within one or another group of philosophical ideas. But doesn't such way of thinking confine us in the same realm of illusion / reality opposition that Zhuangzi is trying to transcend? It is informative to realise that Chinese Daoists did not concern themselves with such analysis to any significant degree.

Here are some excerpts from Louis Komjathy’s The Daoist Tradition that I find helpful for clarifying and giving context to some of the themes emerging form this discussion; in particular, Daoist views of the self, death, and reincarnation. Composite personhood Paralleling a traditional Chinese worldview, the foundational Daoist view of self is that of composite personhood. It appears that there were two principal classical Daoist maps of personhood. The first was the fairly standard Chinese view of a composite self consisting of two primary spiritual elements. The second was also a composite view, but here the person was seen as a temporary accumulation of qi, of subtle breath as animating power. These are not mutually exclusive, and they may have been simply different ways of expressing the same fundamental Daoist anthropology. The key connective strand is that, from a traditional Chinese and foundational Daoist perspective, one's self is composite and ephemeral. Human beings contain both "biological" and "spiritual" elements. However—and this is centrally important for understanding Daoism—every aspect of self is transitory and impermanent. We may think of this in terms of atoms, although that concept is foreign to Daoism. Just as atoms break apart and reform into new configurations, so too every dimension of self is reabsorbed and recycled in the energy system of the cosmos. This is an impersonal view of the cosmos and selfhood, and it stands in contrast to classical Hellenistic and Hindu views of an eternal soul, whether going through one lifetime or multiple ones (reincarnation). That is, from a classical and foundational Daoist perspective, one is not eternal, and if there is post-mortem existence, it is temporary. The ultimate fate of ordinary human beings is to disappear into the cosmos. The first Daoist expression of a composite view of personhood is the so-called "two-soul model." We find this view expressed in some classical Daoist sources such as Chapter 10 of the Daodejing, "Carrying the ethereal and corporeal souls, embracing the One, can you be without separation?"' The Zhuangzi expresses a similar view. SELF AS ETHEREAL AND CORPOREAL SOULS Life between the heavens and earth resembles the passing of a white colt glimpsed through a crack in the wall—whoosh, and then it's gone. Overflowing, starting forth, there is nothing that does not come out; gliding away, slipping into silence, there is nothing that does not go back in. Having been transformed (hua), things find themselves alive; another transformation and they are dead. Living things grieve over it, and humanity mourns. But it is like the untying of a Heaven-lent bow-bag, the unloading of a Heaven-lent satchel—a yielding, a mild mutation, and the hun and po are on their way, the body following after, on at last to the Great Return. (Zhuangzi, Chapter 22; adapted from Watson 1968: 240) From this perspective, the person consists of one hun and one po…. The former is conventionally translated as "cloud" or "ethereal soul," while the latter is conventionally rendered as "white" or "corporeal soul." The use of "soul" is misleading, as it implies something substantial and eternal….. For clarity's sake, one may think of the hun as the yang-ghost and the po as the yin-ghost: the yang-ghost is associated with subtle and celestial aspects of self, while the yin-ghost is associated with the flesh and bones. According to the standard account, after death, the various composite aspects of self separate. The hun ascends into the heavens to become an ancestor, while the po descends into the earth, eventually dissipating as the body decomposes….. In any case, it is important to note that the hun and po are ephemeral, and eventually dissipate into the cosmos. The second Daoist expression of a composite view of personhood centers on qi: "Human life is a coming-together of qi. If it comes together, there is life; if it scatters, there is death" (Zhuangzi, Chapter 22; see also ibid., Chapter 4; Daode jing, Chapter 42). According to this perspective, one's being is a relatively random occurrence, wherein qi happens to come together in a specific way at a specific time. This apparent randomness is, of course, offset by various factors, which Daoists recognize: one is born in a specific place at a specific time within a specific family. There are thus astronomical, astrological, and constitutional aspects of personhood that manifest as one's unique being. SELF AS ACCUMULATION OF Q1 "Your master happened to come because it was his time, and he happened to leave because things follow along. If you are content with the time arid willing to follow along, then grief and joy have no way to enter in. In the old days, this was called being freed from the bonds of Di (Thearch). Though the grease burns out of the torch, the fire passes on, and no one knows where it ends." (Zhuangzi, Chapter 3) "I received life because the time had come; I will lose it because the order of things passes on. Be content with this time and dwell in this order and then neither sorrow nor joy can touch you. In ancient times this was called 'freeing the bound.' There are those who cannot free themselves because they are bound by things. But nothing can ever win against the heavens—that's the way it's always been." (ibid., Chapter 6) These passages point towards the Dao as an impersonal, cosmological process, and challenge the nearly ubiquitous anthropocentrism of the world's cultures. At times, 1hese Daoist views of personhood seem to border on being ecological, in which each and every being is part of a larger system. Within that system, the death and decomposition of some beings is necessary for the sustenance and flourishing of others. Here compost seems to be both a viable metaphor and lived experience of human existence. COMPOSITION, DECOMPOSITION, RECOMPOSITION The seeds of things have mysterious workings (ji). In the water they become Break Vine; on the edges of the water they become Frog's Robe. If they sprout on slopes, they become Hill Slippers. If Hill Slippers get rich soil, they turn into Crow's Feet. The roots of Crow's Feet turn into maggots and their leaves turn into butterflies. Before long the butterflies are transformed and turn into insects that live under the stove; they look like snakes and their name is Qutuo. After a thousand days, the Qutuo insects become birds called Dried Leftover Bones. The saliva of the Dried Leftover Bones becomes Simi bugs, and the Simi bugs become Vinegar Eaters. Yiluo bugs are born from the Vinegar Eaters, and Huangshuang bugs from Jiuyou bugs. Jiuyou bugs are born from Mourui bugs and Mourui bugs are born from Rot Grubs and Rot Grubs are born from Sheep's Groom. Sheep's Groom couples with bamboo that has not sprouted for a long while and produces Green Peace plants. Green Peace plants produce leopards and leopards produce horses and horses produce humans. Humans in time return again to the mysterious workings. So all beings come out of the mysterious workings and go back into it again. (Zhuangzi, Chapter 18; adapted from Watson 1968: 195-6) While this passage seems to derive from both the close observation of natural cycles and creative imaginings about the relation between sentient beings and the "mysterious workings," the text expresses a biocentric and organicist understanding of the Dao as transformative process. Through reciprocal and mutually influencing patterns of interaction, some beings are born from and nourished by others. This is a complex, interdependent set of relationships-, it is beyond the comprehension of most human beings. Thus, one must speak of it as both observable and mysterious. All beings participate in and express the Dao's transformative process, emerging from and then eventually returning to its interconnected totality. This is as true for human beings as for fern leafs and maggots. Viewing the classical and foundational Daoist composite view of self, various interpretations are possible. At times, this view seems to be more materialistic and naturalistic, more biological and organic. One gets the impression of participating in a vast compost system. At other times, there seems to be a spiritist dimension, that is, it seems that human beings contain spiritual elements that, at least for some period of time, transcend physical death. It is important to note, however, that the Daoist composite view of self has a psychosomatic ("mind-body") dimension'. one's postmortem fate, at least the fate of the po, is dependent upon the proper treatment of the body. This is expressed in the traditional Chinese and Daoist practice of full-body interment as the primary burial and funeral practice. Ascetic and alchemical views In order to understand various later Daoist practices, goals, and ideals, it is essential to be familiar with the foundational Daoist view of personhood as composite self. The ordinary human being, like all organic entities, is destined to decompose and be reabsorbed into the cosmos. The classical Daoist response to such an existential given was acceptance and cosmic integration. Within the context of the inner cultivation lineages, Daoist adepts practiced apophatic meditation with the goal of mystical union with the Dao. This transpersonal experience revealed the transitory and illusory nature of separate existence. To be a separate individual, especially one rooted in egoistic desires, was to be separated from the Dao, at least when viewed from an experiential and psychological perspective. Once one attained disappearance of self and abided in the Dao, one came to understand that death and life are part of the same transformative process. In some sense, higher-level Daoist practitioners die while still alive, and so their way of perceiving death becomes transformed. Nonetheless, death was still the end of personhood and terrestrial being. One dies, and death is nothingness on a personal level. However, as time went on, some Daoists proposed a different response and solution to the givenness of a composite self and its dissipation through death. From this perspective, which I refer to as the "alchemical view,” one can unite the disparate aspects of the self into a single whole. That imagined goal is actualized and accomplished; it is not given. Through complex alchemical processes, whether external or i internal, one could create a transcendent spirit, one could ensure personal post-mortem existence. Considered from a more encompassing Daoist perspective, one can simply accept one's bio-spiritual fate to disappear into the cosmos; within such a Daoist religious path, one cultivates a sense of cosmological and mystical integration. However, if one wants personal post-mortem existence, there is only one choice: to engage in alchemical practice. Even then, perhaps disturbingly, there is no guarantee of success. Buddhist-influenced perspectives The previously painted picture becomes more complex with the introduction of Buddhism as one of the so-called Three Teachings (sanjiao). Introduced into China by Central Asian merchants and missionary-monks during the first and second centuries CE, Buddhism was initially rejected as a "foreign,”' and therefore inferior, religion. However, after about two hundred years, Chinese people began converting to Buddhism in larger numbers. Buddhist views and practices became more commonplace, and Daoists began adopting various elements of Buddhism. This led to pivotal cross-pollinations: Chan (Zen) Buddhism developed under the influence of classical Daoist texts, while Daoists began to systematize their tradition along Buddhist lines, including the creation of Daoist monasticism. In terms of the present discussion, Buddhism introduced an entirely new worldview from India into Chinese culture. This worldview centered on karma, samsara, and nivana…… According to the Four Noble Truths, the nature of existence is suffering (dukkha), and suffering is caused by desire. In order to overcome suffering, and eventually attain nivana, one must extinguish desires. That is, ordinary human existence is a source of suffering, especially in the form of sickness, old age, and death. This suffering continues through each subsequent lifetime based on one's accumulated karma. Second, Buddhism emphasizes that an abiding self or eternal soul (atman) is illusory. In fact, what we mistakenly identify as "self" is composed of the Five Aggregates (Skt.: skandha), which are also impermanent. The Five Aggregates include form/ matter, feeling/sensation, perception, conception, and consciousness. Here an inevitable question emerges: if there is no self, then what reincarnates? The standard Buddhist response is that there is a transference of consciousness and karma from one existence to another, like the passing of a flame from one candle to another. In this way, Buddhism appears to replace a strict interpretation of self as radically impermanent with a quasi-docetic view, and in practice emphasizes mind or consciousness over the body. This stands in contrast to traditional Chinese psychosomatic views. Buddhism exerted a profound influence on Chinese culture, and Daoists increasingly accepted the Buddhist idea of reincarnation. While Daoists tended to reject claims concerning the body and world as samsaric, as sources of suffering as such, there were parallel classical Daoist ideas about the potentially disorienting effects of desire. Lingbao was the first Daoist sub-tradition to incorporate the Buddhist view of reincarnation (lunhui), also rendered as transmigration. Although reincarnation did not replace the earlier composite and alchemical views, it did become one of the dominant Daoist views of self, and today the majority of mainland Chinese Daoists tend to believe in reincarnation. With the addition of reincarnation, the rationale for internal alchemy became slightly reconceptualized. Daoists now tend to frame this rationale in terms of "realizing innate nature" (dexing) or "awakening original spirit" (wu yuanshen). The ultimate goal of internal alchemy also shifts from the formation of a transcendent spirit to the ability to consciously direct one's subsequent existences. Unfortunately, little research has been conducted on the place of reincarnation in specific systems of internal alchemy. Death, dying and the afterlife Just as there are three primary Daoist views of self, namely, composite, alchemical, and Buddhistic (quasi-docetic), so too there are three corresponding Daoist views of death and the afterlife: (1) Death as dissipation into the cosmos, (2) Death as immortality, and (3) Death as reincarnation. There are ways in which these are mutually exclusive, and ways in which they are compatible. As the third view is quite straightforward (see above), here I will focus on the first two, which are indigenously Chinese. The classical location for the first view, death as dissipation, is in the texts of classical Daoism, specifically the Zhuangzi. Here two representative passages from Chapter 6, "The Great Ancestral Teacher," will suffice. This is probably the key chapter for understanding classical Daoist perspectives on death and dying. ADEPT YU AND ADEPT LAI EMBRACE THE DYING PROCESS All at once Adept Yu fell ill. Adept Si went to ask how he was. "Amazing!:' said Adept Yu. "The transformative process is making me crooked like this! My back sticks up like a hunchback and my vital organs are on top of me. My chin is hidden in my navel, my shoulders are up above my head, and my ponytail points at the sky. It must be some dlislocetion of the qi of yin and yang!" "Do you resent it?" asked Adept Si. "Why no, what would I resent? If the process continues, perhaps in time it will transform my left arm into a rooster. In that case I'll keep watch on the night. Or perhaps in time it will transform my right arm into a crossbow pellet and I'll shoot down an owl for roasting. Or perhaps in time it will transform my buttocks into cartwheels. Then, with spirit for a horse, I'll climb up, and go for a ride. What need will I ever have for a carriage again? I received life because the time had come; I will lose it because the order of things passes on. Be content with this time and dwell in this order and then neither sorrow nor joy can touch you. In ancient times this was called 'freeing the bound’. There are those who cannot free themselves because they are bound by things. But nothing can ever win against the heavens—that's the way it's always been. What would I have to resent?" (Zhuangzi, Chapter 6; adapted from Watson 1968: 84) Suddenly Adept Lai grew ill. Gasping and wheezing, he lay at the point of death. His wife and children gathered round in a circle and began to cry. Adept Li, who had come to ask how he was, said, "Shoo! Get back! Don't disturb the process of change!" Then he leaned against the doorway and talked to Adept Lai. "How marvellous the transformative process is! What is it going to make of you next? Where is it going to send you? Will it make you into a rat's liver? Will it make you into a bug's arm?" Adept Lai said, "A child, obeying his father and mother, goes wherever he is told, east or west, south or north. And yin and yang—how much more are they to a person than father or mother! Now that they have brought me to the verge of death, if I should refuse to obey them, how perverse I would be! What fault is it of theirs? The Great Clod burdens me with form, labors me with life, eases me in old age, and rests me in death. So if I think well of my life, for the same reason I must think well of my death. When a skilled smith is casting metal, if the metal should leap up and say, 'I insist upon being made into a Moye!' he would surely regard it as very inauspicious metal indeed. Now, having had the audacity to take on human form once, if I should say, 'I don't want to be anything but a human! Nothing but a human!', the transformative process would surely regard me as a most inauspicious sort of person. So now I think of the heavens and earth as a great furnace, and the transformative process as a skilled smith. Where could it send me that would not be all right? I will go off to sleep peacefully, and then with a start I will wake up:' (ibid; adapted from Watson 1968: 85; see also Zhuangzi, Chapters 2, 3, 7, 13, 15, 17, 18, 22, 23, and 33) This passage reflects the classical view of the Dao as transformative process (zaohua), which is frequently mistranslated as "creation" or "Creator." Just as one participates in this process, the energetic oscillation of yin and yang, while alive, so too in death. Death is simply another moment in the endless unfolding of the Dao. Taken as a whole, the various passages seem to indicate that death is the dissolution of self, the separation of the various elements of personhood . There is no personal post-mortem existence, no personal survival after death. One becomes reabsorbed and recycled in the cosmos, and different elements, possibly even aspects of consciousness, become redistributed to and as new beings. The second major Daoist view of death, death as immortality, is a response to the first view, which was the standard, received account. The second view developed in the context of Daoist alchemy, both external and internal. This Daoist perspective frequently leads to perplexity among students of Daoism, as many see it as "inconsistent" or "contradictory" with respect to the first. In fact, it is a response, or an alternative, to the foundational Daoist view of death as dissipation into the cosmos. If one is content to decompose, then one simply accepts death as another moment in the transformative process of the Dao. However, there is no subjective experience, no awareness, of that process after physical death, and one loses the capacity of conscious participation. If one desires personal post-mortem existence, "immortality:' one must engage in alchemical practice and transformation. This cannot be emphasized enough. The Daoist view of death as immortality is not a given; it must be actualized and accomplished through training. One must activate the Daoist subtle body; one must create a transcendent spirit. This is the path to immortality and transcendence. Before the influence and adaptation of a Buddhist-inspired reincarnation model, there was no possibility of a prolonged afterlife, especially as a unified being, without alchemical practice—and even then, there was no guarantee of success, of the completion of alchemical transformation. Although these views are often seen as mutually exclusive, a passage from the sixth-century Xisheng jing (Scripture on the Western Ascension; DZ 666; DZ 726) is instructive. The text presents itself as a record of an esoteric transmission given by Laozi to Yin Xi as a supplement to the Daodejing. Throughout the text, Laozi instructs Yin Xi on various dimensions of Daoist training, including practices that might be labeled "proto-neidan." The text in turn oscillates between the Daoist soteriological goals of "return" and "transformation." NON-DUALISTIC MYSTICAL BEING Laozi said, "I will now revert my spirit and return to Namelessness [Dao]. I will abandon separate personhood and end my existence; in this way I will live continuously. Now I will leave this world and return to the unified Source" Suddenly he disappeared. At that moment, the building was illuminated by a five-colored radiance, dark and brilliant. Yin Xi went into the courtyard, prostrated himself and said, "Please, spirit being, appear one more time. Let me receive one more essential principle so that I may guard the Source (shouyuan).' Yin Xi then looked up and saw Laozi's body suspended in mid-air several meters above the ground. He looked like a statue (jinren) [possibly "golden being"]. The apparition appeared and disappeared, vague and indistinct. His countenance had no constancy. Laozi then spoke, "I will give you one more admonition. Make sure to follow it: Get rid of all impurities and stop your thoughts; still the heart-mind and guard the One. When all impurities are gone, the myriad affairs are done. These are the essentials of my way (dao)." Finishing this, the apparition vanished. (Xisheng jing, DZ 666, 6.15a-17b) While there are a variety of ways to read this passage contextually, one especially relevant to the present discussion is that it is possible to merge with the Dao and attain the ability to manifest as a differentiated being. That is, one may reside in a post-mortem state wherein one is simultaneously everything (Oneness) and an individual thing (one). Just as all beings participate in and express the Dao, the Dao manifests in every individual being. Here Laozi is simultaneously Dao, personal god, as well as historical figure and human being. This is the Daoist adept's own potentiality as well.

I didn’t click the “Thank you” button on this post because it would feel like I’m thanking you for asking forgiveness when I see nothing that needs forgiving. On the contrary, your replies are most welcome – especially, but not only, for your knowledge of Chinese. Your comments read as the work of someone striving with personal honesty towards objective translation and interpretation. There’s a lot to Moeller’s essay; it must have taken him considerable time and effort to write, similarly it also takes time and effort to fully appreciate his perspective. And even after fully understanding his perspective, agreement doesn’t necessarily follow.

My main motivation for posting Moeller’s interpretation of ‘The Dream of the Butterfly’ was to provide a reference resource for those interested. To my mind, such detailed commentary by a learned researcher schooled in both Eastern and Western thought deserves the widest possible audience. Whilst I welcome comments – and fully appreciate that there are different perspectives on the meaning of the allegory – I don't expect anyone to find flaws with his arguments as presented. His interpretation is the product of much research utilising a network of Chinese and Western academics, and has been peer reviewed by some of the best minds in the field of comparative philosophy. It was first published as an article in the journal Philosophy East and West in 1999 and later in his book Daoism Explained in 2004. The abstract below gives a good outline of his purpose. Zhuangzi's "dream of the butterfly": A Daoist interpretation Hans-Georg Moeller Philosophy East and West 49 (4):439-450 (1999) Abstract: Guo Xiang's (252-312) reading of the famous "Butterfly Dream" passage from the Zhuangzi differs significantly from modern readings, particularly those that follow the Giles translation. Guo Xiang's view is based on the assumption that the character of Zhuang Zhou has no recollection of his dream after awakening and therefore does not entertain doubts about what or who he really is. This leads to a specific understanding of the allegorical and philosophical meaning of the text that stands in contradistinction to most modern interpretations.

Yes, absolutely! I agree that Western interpretations are important. But the interpreter must totally understand the original tradition and how it fits its Eastern culture before he or she can validly adapt the essential features so that the essence of the teaching is retained within our Western cultural context. This is a big ask and is something that takes time. To my observation Buddhism, due to its greater penetration over time, has progressed further down the Westernisation path than Daoism. Daoism is certainly less definable, less a coherent whole, than Buddhism and therefore more open to flexible interpretations. But this can mean it loses its potency, its de. In my experience this is true. Theravadin monks are so restricted by the vinaya that much of their practice is simply about keeping their behaviour within the rules. For instance, they need an attendant to accompany them when travelling - unless they choose to walk and beg for food as per their tradition - because they cannot handle money, amongst many other restrictions. Also the attitude of the tradition to women is atrocious. In general, it's an austere, patriarchal and hierarchical tradition, and consequently of very limited appeal in the West.

I'll await your comments with interest. Personally, I like Moeller’s approach. He is a gifted communicator steeped in both Western and Eastern thought. His insights have given me new perspectives on how we humans construct meaning.

To my understanding the term ‘Dao’ was a fundamental concept of Chinese thought in existence long before the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi. Simply put, it means the Way or the Track. Each of the six dominant schools of ancient Chinese thought had its own particular Way. The Confucians, for example, promoted the way of humans. Those who later became known as Daoists advocated the Way of the Way (cosmos or a universalised concept of nature), and hence what they meant by the Dao is outside and beyond containment in words and ideas (as the comments on this thread confirm). Here are some more thoughts on the difficulty of defining the Dao from Arthur Waley’s Three Ways of Thought in Ancient China. “It may seem strange that, as often as the term Tao appears on the foregoing pages, I have made no attempt to explain what the Taoists meant by Tao. I have purposely avoided doing so because I think that a better idea of this can be got from the anecdotes that I have translated than from any attempt at a definition. In Chuang Tzu there is, of course, no systematic exposition of what Tao is; there are only dithyrambic descriptions (chiefly in verse), similar to those in the better known Taoist book Tao Te Ching, which I have translated in The Way and Its Power. Here are one or two such passages: `Tao is real, is faithful, yet does nothing and has no form. Can be handed down, yet cannot be passed from hand to hand, can be got but cannot be seen. Is its own trunk, its own root. `Before Heaven and Earth existed, from the beginning Tao was there. It is Tao that gave ghosts their holy power (she'n), that gave holy power to Dead Kings. It gave life to Heaven, gave life to Earth. It can mount above the Pole-star without becoming high; it can sink below (the Springs of Death) without becoming deep. It existed before Heaven and Earth, yet has no duration; its age is greater than that of the Longest Ago, yet it does not grow old. `Without it Heaven could not be high, Earth could not be wide, the sun and moon could not stay their course, the ten thousand things could not flourish.' In another passage (which unfortunately, owing to corruption of the text, becomes unintelligible at the end) we learn Tao is 'in the ant, in the broken tile, in dung, in mire.' 'Do not seek precision,' says Chuang Tzu, speaking of the realm of Tao. .. . `I myself have traversed it this way and that; yet still know only where it begins. I have roamed at will through its stupendous spaces. I know how to get to them, but I do not know where they end.’ "

Many interesting comments on this thread. As to 'mind' and 'consciousness', these are great mysteries. The fact that scientists have made almost no inroads into unravelling the nature of mind and consciousness suggests the need for a fundamental reassessment of our basic assumptions. And Daoism with its dynamic systems approach could well provide a way forward. However, it's far too complex a topic to broach here, but think of how complex life consists of multiple systems that have evolved to form a web of symbiotic relationships.

More positively I'd say "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." From Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind by Shunryu Suzuki. (And I'm certainly no expert here.) Yeah, but the beauty of allegory is that it encourages creative function.

I think Zhuang Zhou would concur with Jung when he writes…….. “The writing lies before you and always says the same, if you believe in words. But if you believe in things in whose places only words stand, you never come to the end. And yet you must go an endless road, since life flows not only down a finite path but also an infinite one. But the unbounded makes you anxious since the unbounded is fearful and your humanity rebels against it. Consequently you seek limits and restraints so that you do not lose yourself, tumbling into infinity. Restraint becomes imperative for you. You cry out for the word which has one meaning and no other, so that you escape boundless ambiguity. The word becomes your God, since it protects you from the countless possibilities of interpretation. The word is protective magic against the daimons of the unending, which tear at your soul and want to scatter you to the winds. You are saved if you can say at last: that is that and only that. You speak the magic word, and the limitless is finally banished. Because of that men seek and make words. He who breaks the wall of words overthrows Gods and defiles temples.” From The Red Book, C G Jung

Yes, I understand what you mean now. I definitely agree with " Until youve gone and done something you dont really know the pitfalls and drawbacks." My problem was I was so trapped in my own interpretations of the allegory that I couldn't relate it to what you were seeing. I'm not sure how much I agree with as it relates to the allegory - but I definitely like the way your thinking breaks through previous interpretive boundaries,

I definitely agree with this. I'm not entirely clear on your meaning here. Perhaps you could explain a little more. I like it that you're seeing the rabbit and fish as real living animals. I could see this image in the allegory but didn't mention it because it was outside the focus of the thread. Indigenous hunters were big on eating the qi of the animals they hunted and killed. They weren't solely after dead meat - they wanted to consume and be nourished by the ineffable essence of spirit. So the allegory for me has an image of living energy being trapped first in the animals and then in the words. And it's the trapped qi in both the Daoist wants for nourishment.

From a broader perspective it’s interesting to consider why people are drawn to different teachings and practices; different paths. When I was younger I avidly searched out teachings and spent a number of years living, for longer or shorter periods, at many Buddhist centres of different lineages. Although each centre was based on either the Theravada, Mahayana or Vajrayana tradition, they all had distinctive flavours within these traditions derived from the ’power’ (here the Daoist concept of de is better) of the founding teacher. I couldn’t help but note how a practice that was the focus of one centre could well be proscribed at another. I came to the conclusion that all these different practices / teachings were like medicines aimed at redressing specific imbalances within each practitioner. From this perspective I encourage people to explore all that is available. However, once appropriate teachings / practice is found it’s important to stick with it to get real results. The power of working for a long period of time under the personal guidance of a wise and gifted teacher is what helped me the most – and this teacher was of a Daoist lineage. (For me personally Daoism resonates with and expands my own experience of reality – but I emphasise that this is only a personal preference. Also, nothing is rigidly fixed, my needs have changed over time and hence I’ve never called myself a Daoist. Now, I'd consider my main teacher as nature itself as well as learning to deal wisely with all real life experiences that come my way of themselves.)

Many years ago I lived for a while in a Theravadin monastery, so I'm familiar with the tradition in general, but I don't know from your post how strictly you follow the vinaya, or how much you know about the diverse nature of the Daoist tradition. Both similarities and differences can be found within the two traditions, but as an overview I'd say the practices are almost diametrically opposed to each other. Daoism is underpinned by spontaneity,naturalness and non-doing, whereas the Theravadin emphasises mindfulness and compassion. But perhaps the starkest difference is that Daoist praxis is focused on cultivating the whole body, whereas Theravadin Buddhism shuns the body. Basically though, I think the implications of your question are just too broad to have any meaningful answer. I'd suggest for you to experiment and decide for yourself.

The more I think about this, the happier I am to leave it alone. For me it’s been enough to read Taomeow’s initial post and learn someone else shares these concerns. (A heartfelt thank you, Taomeow.) I've spoken my piece and I’m happy to leave the outcome to members who have used this forum for longer periods of time than me. But speaking personally, I’m not comfortable with clicking buttons that post judgements on other people’s comments. I can just cope with ‘Like’ but that’s about it. Sure, in my own mind I may make other distinctions but if I have something I deem worth saying I’ll post a reply. I’m no Daoist fundamentalist but I hold the ideals as worthy of great respect, and, in my opinion, such distinctions as these buttons would imply are out of line with Daoism. For instance, from chapter 2 of the Daodejing about Daoist sages (Philip Ivanhoe translation)….. They work with the myriad creatures and turn none away. They produce without possessing. They act with no expectation of reward. When their work is done, they do not linger. And, by not lingering, merit never deserts them.

Specifically on the topic of adding a 'Noteworthy' button...... Although I agree with the issues Taomeow addresses, I don't like the idea of a 'Noteworthy' button. If there was one I'd feel obliged to click it on just about every post I read here. Provided a comment reads as a genuinely thoughtful contribution I consider it as noteworthy. And I assume everyone feels their contribution is noteworthy, otherwise they wouldn't be bothered posting it.

Totally agree. Personally I prefer to use the like button sparingly. I mostly only use it when something in a post particularly impresses me, though I claim no consistency. That's because there is so much content on this forum that I like, rather than so little. Also, although I like feedback, I'm OK about not getting any. Sharing on a forum like this with people of somewhat similar psyches works on so many different levels the act of being involved is significant in itself. For me, the most significant 'feedback' is in the form of subtle intuitive feelings of connection.

That's been my experience too. The 'Like' button is usually used to mean "your comment confirms to my own pattern of thinking". And on that level it's always feels good to have my comments liked. However on the few occasions where I've attempted to write something that's more deeply meaningful for me, I've had little or no response at all. I don't know whether more buttons are the answer. Perhaps that would help. My concern is such an approach encourages superficial engagement - the instant response. I know for me, when I read something intelligent outside of my normal perspective, it can take days - even weeks or longer - for me to fully appreciate the writer's perspective. So I very much appreciate reading of other people's deeper thoughts and feelings on this forum. And I'd prefer for someone to think about what I write over time rather than give an instantaneous response then equally as instantaneously forget. But my bottom line is that the format of this whole forum works very well and I'm very content with the level of engagement from the members.

Interesting thoughts. Here's another interpretation along similar lines....... Chinese thinkers such as Zhuangzi did not focus on happiness but rather the question of how to ‘feed life’ or nourish it. In his book Vital Nourishment: Departing from Happiness sinologist Francois Jullien suggests that happiness implies a concept that, if not disjunctive, is at least adversarial (happiness against unhappiness). It hints at rupture, or in any case dissociation (between quest and satisfaction). And above all it is grafted onto a philosophy of finality (happiness, we have always been told, is the final goal). Jullien claims Daoist thought dissolves this coagulated cluster of notions so completely that it exempts itself from its demands. ‘Feeding my life’ opens up a possibility other than happiness. Life is something that passes through each of us, and we have a duty to become amenable to its ebbs and flows. We must cultivate a sense of being adequate to it so that we can house it. From this perspective questions of happiness and unhappiness lose their primacy, rather the focus shifts to the actual experience of life itself in all its manifestations.

Thanks for the link, Cobi. It looks excellent from what I've read so far. "He [Zhuang Zhou] attacks our belief that there are any firm facts in the world....." This is a conclusion that Western philosophers are only recently rediscovering - some with the help of Daoism and especially Zhuang Zhou.

No problem. I'm relieved I haven't got myself embroiled in a dispute I never meant to start in the first place.

Daoism as a tradition is like a mother with many children. It has developed with a great diversity of practices and beliefs. I certainly don't label myself a philosophical Daoist, or for that matter any sort of Daoist. What interests me is the support Daoist based praxis and classical Daoist texts have given me. Daoism resonants with, reinforces and helps grow my own experience of life. Thus, it is not Daoism as such I seek to join; what I seek is more immediate experience of the ineffable Dao itself.