Dao of Rob

There are some good points made here, but there is an 'end of history' theme implied by the question. By that I mean that we have good historical knowledge of how texts, and the relatively rare individuals who could read them in centuries gone by, have 'transmitted' knowledge and ideas down to the modern era. The problem with so many scholarly questions is that at some point in the 20th century (probably the point at which there was a sharp increase in people gaining university degrees and hence the language/methods of academia) an unexamined assumption seems to have spread around the world -- the assumption that we'd finally arrived at the criticial/epistemological place from which everything past and future could be rationally assessed. Therefore we 'behave' as if the long tradition we loosely call 'daoism' (in English) has finished and we can now pick over its bones to see what it was all about and extract the 'true' meaning. Thus we have 'daoism the evolving, changing, and ever-augmented body of texts and practices' being replaced with 'no new daoism can be created, so let's just analyse the real historical version'. In my view, this assumption runs all through this web-site in a way that I do not notice so much in western buddhism. Groups like Triratna (with whom I often practiced/studied under their old FWBO name), Tibetan groups, and many other other groups estabilished in non-native settings overtly ask how the ancient teachings can be adapted to fit with the modern world. Daoism should be the same -- that is, the meanings of its texts, and the translations of those texts, have always been free to shift, change and be reinvented (until now it seems) for one simple reason: the nature of the universe inside and outside the reader is the same, and each of these texts is a necessarily imperfect way of helping the reader to throw off misconceptions and see it existence for what it is. All of that said, it's can't be true that ANY interpretation of a text can fit into the loose category of 'daoism', which begs the question of how any scholar or follower of these teachings can judge for themselves if an interpretation of a text is an addition to the canon or a distortion of themes common to all other canonical texts. This is where it gets difficult for the contemporary academic, because their critical practice usually proceeds for the assumption that language/logic can be used to make this assessment and nothing outside of language/logic can be the litmus test of whether a text fits the 'daoist' category. There is another way, of course, and that is to engage in direct practice oneself and to experience the so-called mystical and inexpressable truths that just about every daoist text is hinting at and then return to the texts to see if they serve as a guide towards, or away from those experiences. In younger days I sought out those experiences with around a dozen buddhist groups but it was not until I did strict and rigidly traditional Japanese zen training with a monastery-trained teacher that I realised how wrong most of my conceptions of buddhist/daoist texts were. I felt like somebody who had read everything ever written on boxing, but for the first time was experiencing the pain and excitement of standing in the ring, striking out and being hit. I suppose you could say that 'boxing' is one tradtion and 'writing about boxing' is another tradition -- they appear to be connected, but the practitioners of each are never (or very rarely) the same individuals. That idea can be confronting for academics (I was on staff at a large univerisity for seven years) but should not be at all confronting for somebody interested in using daoist text as the catalyst, inspiration or even instruction on how to experience self/universe as they really are rather than as they have been described to us. So to answer the original question, I think learning various kinds of Chinese language would be useful if the texts you have available in your own language are unsatisfying or you suspect their essential mean has been corrupted. To use a christian analogy, if there is a particular passage or the King James bible at odds with one in the Good News bible, and if it is important to your practice as a christian or you think it threatens to derail for others the tradition you love, then you'd better go back to Hebrew.

In my reading there is nothing more at odds with the spirit and practice of daoist philosophy and tradition than sitting around 'proving' to one another that a culturally specific practice is the 'real' daoism and everything else is a false version. Global versions of Christianity don't 'get' ancient cultural practices around Galilee, western Buddhists don't 'get' the small city-state structures and traditions of what we now call India and Vietnames zen buddhists (with whom I've practised) have their own take on Bodhidharma. The person trying to prove they have the 'right' version of any of these is the person making Chuang laugh. There are many English versions of the opening lines of the dao de jing ... and none of them say that one person, or one cultural practice owns the true meaning of the way. In fact, they all say the opposite

Correct. There is only one day, and we're in it. Some years back I had and interview with an old vietnamese nun to see if I could attend zen meditation at her centre. She said very matter-of-factly 'the past is not real, the future is not real'. It is paradoxical to minds that think in terms of 'before and after', 'cause and effect' and for whom it's true that 'if I save money for retirement now I'll be better off in the future'. But that's because language and the concept of time are bound up together. Forgetting both for a while helps us see what is real rather than imagined ... and sorry to say it, but we spend most of our lives inside the imagined. How does this relate to Master Chuang? Many of his stories show how different behaviour is when the illusions are removed. When he wife dies he beats a drum and sings because of his deep knowledge that 'Chuang' and 'Chuang's wife' are flowerings of the same field (to use an Alan Watts metaphor). The field remains. In the same way, when my dog died my other dog sniffed around the corpse and decided he was dead ... and then pretty much carried on. A dog's sense of 'self' and 'time' is more elemental, more accurate. But because we live in language and concept rather than in direct experience, we find it hard to beat a drum and sing when things die.

Everything about daoism is 'relational' in the sense that a line of the text gets its meaning by its relationship to the reader and the reader's life-world. That's true about all texts, but especially daoist texts because they tend to start from the premise of the 'unwriteability' of knowledge that must be perceived directly. I read the Graham Lieh Tzu translation a long time ago and was absolutely mad about it -- it was my favourite book at the time. But when I read it these days if feels a bit more ho-hum. So I think the translation that suits depends upon where you're at in life, and about the direct knowledge you've gained along the way. In 2007 I spent a year learning zazen meditation with a very traditional japanese teacher and everything I had read in the past was reinterpreted after that. Zen is sometimes called 'daoism in buddhist robes' and I certainly found it to be so ... One more point: as there are relatively few good English translations for the major daoist works, I enjoy ordering them online (or finding in the increasingly rare bookshops) and adding them to my shelf anyway. That way when I find a really great couple of lines I can check in with the other translators and form an opinion (or 'author' a meaning that other readers might not experience). I speak no Chinese languages, modern or ancient, so I rely on translations. In the same way, I have a poet friend who comes up with his own 'translations' of Baudelaire, despite not speaking any French. He reads all the translations and then makes his own judgement about meaning. In JJ Clarke's book 'The tao of the west' he uses the metaphor of a creeping vine to describe how ALL taoist strands have evolved over time. A vine puts a tendril out in one direction and finds the environment harsh, and the leaves and stems it tries to grow there will wither away (as would an unfruitful translation of some daoist lines). Other parts of the vine flourish, thicken and become like the trunk of the vine. In this sense, translations are not right or wrong, but are themselves searching for the readers and the conditions in which this radical and wonderful kind of thought an action can live.

Hi All I'm a new user of this forum, but have been around the daoist texts and commentaries since a friend shoved 'The Tao of Pooh' into my hands in 1991. At that time I fell in love with the unique viewpoints I was reading and they informed many practices I was developing over the following years - karate, self-defence (in the more general sense), buddhist meditation, career jobs, friendships and relationships, sailing, diving, fishing, cooking and maintaining the home. I can honestly say that nothing has influenced me more or poured more joy into my daily activities. When the complex world is grinding me down I pick up a very well-thumbed copy of Elizabeth Breuilly and Martin Palmer's version of the 'Book of Chuang Tzu' or any one of the dozens of other books (and versions) I have and suddenly I can sit at the kitchen table again, doing nothing and realising how unnecessarily hard we make life for ourselves a lot of the time. Why it took me all these years to google 'Daoism forum' I can't quite explain. I look forward to swapping notes with fellow travellers. R.

Thanks Apech - I didn't know of that poem. But yes, that's sailing ... You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables, The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables— To pitch her sides and go over her cables.