Taoist Origins and Philosophy

Taoism and Confucianism are the two great philosophical traditions of China. While most Westerners trace Taoism to the Tao Te Ching written by the mythological Lao Tzu, Taoism derives at least as much from the philosopher Chuang Tzu, who lived in the 4th Century BC. Taoism's umbrella covers assorted naturalistic or mystical religions. Because of its focus on nature, Taoism can accommodate any local Chinese religion with its regional natural Gods. Taoism became accepted throughout China because it is malleable.

Both the Tao Te Ching and the Tao of Chuang Tzu are composite texts written and rewritten over centuries with input from multiple anonymous writers. Each has a distinctive style, the Tao Te Ching poetic mysticism, the Tao of Chuang Tzu funny fantasy dialogues. Both texts flow from reflections on the nature of Tao, which was the central issue in Ancient China's philosophical dialogues. Although we treat Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu as the founders of Taoism, Taoism arose long after their deaths. Chuang Tzu never knew he was a Taoist, and he didn't know he was following Lao Tzu. While the Tao of Chuang Tzu reveals an affinity for the Tao Te Ching and uses the character of Lao Tzu in some parables, anonymous students of Chuang Tzu and Lao Tzu, reshaped the texts to make them better reflect one another.

The traditional story of the Tao Te Ching credits the text to Lao Tzu who was stopped at a gate while attempting to leave China—to go to India and become the Buddha. The gate-keeper required Lao Tzu to leave behind his Tao, so Lao Tzu dashed off 5000 characters of poetry. Chuang Tzu inherited Lao Tzu's insights and recast the Taoist outlook in parables. Lao Tzu's existence is disputed because the traditional story seems impossible, and we have no credible historical record of Lao Tzu. However, a credible alternative story reveals how Lao Tzu came to be regarded as the author of the Tao Te Ching. Lao Tzu translates Honorable Man, and the term is applied to scholars and teachers in general. The existence of Chuang Tzu is more probable, though we know nothing of him except what we learn from his Tao, and most of his stories are clearly fanciful. The linkages between the two texts began when students of Chuang Tzu and Lao Tzu exchanged ideas.

Tao translates as path or way, but that is the lesser tao. The Great Tao is both a way of living to the fullest, and the essence of the universe—the source of all power, matter, and natural laws. Western philosophy hardly notices the word way, but it dwells endlessly truth, reason, beauty, existence, and goodness. Early Chinese thought was dominated by ethics, politics, and psychology, while metaphysics and epistemology dominated early Western philosophy. Chinese nouns lack plural forms, so the word tao is both singular and plural. What we think of as one way is one part of the Great Tao that includes numerous ways. So we can talk about, my-Tao, the King's-Tao, and nature's-Tao. To be human is to be in a realm of ways. Humans encounter each other in Tao as fish do in the ocean. Tao resembles the ocean—a realm where fish live, but fish are also part of the ocean. Although it is insightful to say humans live in Tao as fish do in water, the insight is lost if we simply treat Tao as being. Tao also serves as a guide. Tao paired with Te, forms the Chinese term for ethics. Te means virtue. Taoists explore all aspects of Tao, while Confucians focus on their favorite part of Tao—the rules of conduct in society. Unlike the English word way, Tao can be used as a verb. The first line of the Tao Te Ching, translated literally is "Tao can be Tao not constant Tao." The Tao in the middle is usually translated as the spoken. Throughout classical texts, Taos are spoken, forgotten, studied, understood and misunderstood, distorted, mastered, and performed with grace.

Around 100 BC, Han dynasty historians named six schools of classical thought—Confucian, Mohist, Yin-yang, Legalist, Taoist, and the School of Names. They identified Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu as founding Taoist philosophers. So Han historians defined Taoism as what Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu taught. Subsequent Taoist writers restated ideas from the original texts but exhibited little original thinking. The Han Dynasty, 206 BC–AD 220, is considered by most Chinese citizens to be one of the greatest periods in Chinese history. Most Chinese people are Han descendents and they gladly accept propaganda asserting that the Han period was a golden age. Chinese people to this day call themselves People of Han. However, many Western historians consider the Han Dynasty to be China's Dark Age. During the Han Dynasty, China became an oppressive Confucian state. Rice agriculture became well established, and the well-fed population exploded to over 55 million. Through military conquest the empire extended its influence over Korea, Mongolia, Vietnam, and Central Asia. Han rulers established an exploitative feudal system to feed the Han bureaucracy and its war machine. Oppression and conquest did have an upside—the empire's westward expansion allowed secure caravan traffic across Central Asia, which we call the Silk Road. The Han Dynasty declined due to internal strife resulting from government corruption and the government's oppression of the peasants. In 311, Huns sacked the capitol and erased lingering Han residue. The Chin Dynasty followed and gave its name to the country we know as China.

China's Dark Age was spawned by two anti-intellectual movements. Confucianism engendered oppressive social policy and the Five-Element Theory was a silly theory of matter that corrupted Chinese thought. Five-Element Theory categorizes natural phenomena into the Five Elements: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. Five element theory influenced diverse fields including art, music, medicine, military strategy and martial arts. Five element theory corrupts thought because it is preposterous. Rather than enriching thought, it promotes superstition. Modern chemistry has developed valid theories of matter and correctly identified the elements.

The superstition contained in five-element theory is not merely silly. Five-element theory's assertion that we are what we eat threatens endangered species. The tiger symbolizes strength and power, and traditional Chinese medicine uses its bones treat arthritis and muscular diseases, while rhino horn is used to treat fever, convulsions and delirium. Bile from bear gall bladders is used to treat inflammation and bacterial infections. While these remedies cannot ameliorate disease, trade in poached endangered animal species adds to the conservation crisis. Ginseng is used both as a universal cure-all and as a fertility enhancement. Licorice root is used for pain relief and to treat coughs, skin infections, food and drug poisoning. While these plants can be cultivated, Chinese herbalists believe that wild herbs are more efficacious than cultivated sources. Rising demand threatens the survival of ginseng and licorice in the wild. Beyond threatening species with extinction, five-element theory spawned some preposterous medical treatments. Invoking the ancient Chinese medical principle fight poison with poison, traditional Chinese herbalists routinely prescribe arsenic, mercury, and lead. While heavy metals can poison microorganisms, they also poison the patient.

Confucianism arose in northern China from a foundation provided by the legendary scholar Kung Fu Tzu. The name Kung Fu Tzu was Latinized to Confucius by Catholic missionaries. Kung Tzu's greatest deed was nothing less than saving Chinese society from social anarchy. Before China was unified as a nation, the region was a patchwork of small warring kingdoms. Warlords ruled the peasants through despotism. Despotism, coupled with interminable wars, produced social chaos. Chinese culture had been fragmented beyond repair. The Warlords' laws had restrained gross misconduct, but they failed to foster virtues. Kung Tzu understood that no state can forcibly constrain its citizens all the time. Societies need the voluntary cooperation of their members.

Kung Tzu understood that culture can shape people's behavior. We internalize cultural systems automatically. Kung Tzu reasoned that when spontaneous tradition loses its bearing, people could bolster culture by consciously directing its evolution. In directing cultural evolution, Kung Tzu shifted Chinese culture from an unconscious accumulation of ideas to an architect's deliberate effort to shape an ethos. Ethics prescribes ends without providing means. Thus, after determining the essential values, Kung Tzu needed to find the means to promote these values.

Kung Tzu found a greater purpose for education—cultivating moral character—instilling the same moral code in everyone through either education or coercion. His strategy focused education on ensuring the universal acceptance of his prescribed values. Through anecdotes and proverbs, called the Analects, Confucius forged the Chinese ethos. Moral ideals were taught through every conceivable vehicle: religion, entertainment, schools, until they became habits of the heart. This system gave the power of suggestion enough strength that it prompted people to behave properly even when the enforcers were not looking. While Confucianism returned China to social order, it was so oppressive that intellectuals first went underground and eventually disappeared from Chinese society. Despite justifiable criticisms of Confucianism's oppressive indoctrination, the system was effective. Although it strengthened dictators, it also reestablished social order.

After four centuries the Han declined. Confucianism lost its oppressive grip, and intellectuals turned to Taoism for inspiration. But now under the influence of Five-Element Theory, the Chinese viewed Taoism through superstitious cosmological lenses, and under the influence of Confucianism, religious Taoism emerged as an authoritarian institution.

While Taoism eludes definition, scholars have an easier time differentiating between philosophical Taoism and religious Taoism. Both philosophical and religious Taoism seek mystical contact with the Great Tao. Mystical contact is essential because the Tao lies beyond language and reason. While both religious and philosophical Taoism rely heavily upon mysticism, philosophical Taoism is genuinely philosophical, since it explores philosophical arguments. Taoist philosophy explores a mystical metaphysics and ethical-political thought through second-level reflection—thinking about thinking. Religious Taoism seeks to control phenomena through direct access to the Great Tao. Because mystical insight eludes those with ordinary perspectives and mystical insight cannot be put into language, Religious Taoism employs esoteric authoritarian systems. Religious Taoism crosses the line separating philosophy from religion, because it claims mystical insight resides in dogma and revelation. Thus, religious Taoism employs a Confucian-style epistemology where students obediently follow teachers and traditions. Furthermore, Confucianism and religious Taoism share an interest in prescribing morality. Thus, Confucianism and religious Taoism complement one another.

Philosophical Taoism displays a distinctive ambivalence—manifested in its indirect, non-argumentative poetry and parables. Philosophical Taoism advocates living according to natural law. Anything contrived opposes natural law, and anything opposed to Tao will cease to be; hence, any contrivance is folly. Taoism's list of contrivances includes religious authority, government, and society in general. Because philosophical Taoism regards government as a contrivance, it favors anarchy. Taoist spontaneity contrasts Confucianism' indoctrination. Taoist philosophers typically express their doubts about Confucian Tao, by considering it a contrived Tao, which is at odds with the Natural Tao and Great Tao. Natural Tao and Great Tao are constant while contrived human Tao is inherently changeable and subject to interpretation.
Before diving too deeply into philosophical Taoism, a brief overview of philosophy might come in handy. Philosophers divide ethical theories into three areas: meta-ethics, normative ethics, and applied ethics. Meta-ethics investigates the origin of ethical principles, and what they mean. Are they merely social inventions? Do they involve more than expressions of our individual emotions? Meta-ethics focuses universal truths, the role of reason in ethics, and the meaning of ethical terms. Normative ethics examines standards that regulate right and wrong conduct. This may involve articulating the good behavior, or the consequences of our behavior on others. Finally, applied ethics examines specific controversies, such as abortion, animal rights, environmental concerns, or war. By using meta-ethics and normative ethics, applied ethics attempts to resolve issues.

Philosophical Taoism is a sophisticated meta-ethics rooted in language analysis that leads to skepticism and relativism. Philosophical Taoism employs anti-logic and deliberately self-contradictory mysticism, as it rebukes rationality and acculturation. Philosophical Taoism includes nihilism, relativism, intuitivism, contrarianism, skepticism, mysticism, primitivism, and naturalist stoicism. Primitive Taoism asserts that nature endorses a particular Tao, but human discourse cannot reveal the true Tao. There is a correct Tao, but it cannot be expressed in any form of communication. Contrarian Taoism deliberately contradicts all the norms and attitudes in the conventional Tao. The Masters are so incomprehensible as to be the opposite of whatever we normally respect. Much of Taoism is a reaction against oppressive Confucianism. Taoist withdrawal from society is an antithesis to Confucianism. Taoism's naturalist, mystical, and intuitive strains draw nuanced conclusions by analyzing the role of Tao in nature. We have an intuitive sense of the Tao because it is our nature, and we can develop that sense by listening to the Tao within.

Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu understood that the world remains in a continual state of flux. What is possible today might become impossible tomorrow. What is good today might become evil tomorrow. What seems right according to one point of view is wrong viewed from another perspective. Right and wrong? Lao Tzu does not see them as the same thing, but he refuses to cling to one or the other as the absolute. When we view a perspective as the absolute good, it immediately becomes evil. To cling to one partial view as the ultimate answer obscures the Tao. Those who harmonize with the Tao understand that happiness pushed to an extreme becomes calamity—that beauty overdone becomes ugliness.

Lao Tzu's stance on language:

The tao that can be named is not the Eternal Tao.
Names can be named, but not the eternal name.
As the origin of heaven and earth, it is nameless.
As the Mother of all things it is, it is nameable.
As ever hidden, we should look at its inner essence.
As always manifest, we should look at its outer aspects.
These two flow from the same source, though differently named.
And both are called mysteries.
The mystery of mysteries is the Door of all essence.

What does Lao Tzu deny when he says: The Tao that can be named is not the Eternal Tao? The text does not explain, but the issue traces to the Confucian practice of rectifying names. Confucians asserted that a name is rectified if a law containing it correctly guides action. Confucians rectified a name by providing an example of its correct use, or by identifying a correct action taken by following a Tao that contains the term. What does Lao Tzu reject by saying: Names can be named, but not the eternal name? We can view this skepticism in two ways—there is no correct way to use a name, or a pattern of right use in the past cannot determine correct use in the present. Tradition cannot determine correctness in the present, even if tradition was correct in the past. We can interpret this uncertainty in several ways. It might be nihilism—there is no such thing as correct Tao. It might be skepticism—the correct Tao can never be known, or as anti-language—the correct Tao cannot be put in words that convey accurate meaning. The skepticism and anti-language perspectives are compatible with their being a correct Tao. The anti-language option even allows that someone can know the Tao, but it simply cannot be conveyed. The fact that Lao Tzu followed his opening gambit with eighty other chapters, suggests that the nihilist interpretation is off the mark. However, the story of Lao Tzu suggests that we should not place too much emphasis on the fact that after this opening stanza, he wrote a text. Lao Tzu wrote only because the gate-keeper compelled him to write.

Lao Tzu often pairs words—opposites. When we learn the way to use a word by rectifying names, the name becomes associated with a value, and these values then shape our opinions. The artificially created values lead to unnecessary competition and strife. When we see that it is not natural to acquire status, we must conclude that pursuing status is folly. To fall under the spell of social control, is to lose natural spontaneity. Furthermore, Lao Tzu hints that naming systems dull our capacity for appreciation for nature—the five colors blind the eye. We learn to name everything and understand nothing.

The Tao Te Ching entices us to free ourselves from confining social systems by wu-wei, acting through non-action. We must lose our unnatural socialization and return to the state of a newborn. Wu-wei is even formulated in the text in paradox—lack acting and lack non-action. The bulk of the Tao Te Ching fosters this paradoxical attitude. In passage after passage, the Tao Te Ching reverses the values usually taken for granted in society—either rejecting the usual positive connotation of the term or motivating us to value the opposite. The result is a fascinating exercise in normative ethics, including anarchistic political theory. Lao Tzu's anti-logic forces to paint ourselves into a corner, and it induces us to accept one of the three negative positions introduced in the first chapter—there is no Tao; we cannot know Tao; or we cannot communicate Tao. It gives the text a tone that nullifies culturally imposed values that grate against human nature while it cultivates natural attitudes and actions. While the Tao Te Ching teaches nothing, it helps us to become comfortable in our own skins, to look beyond selfish inclinations, and to harmonize with forces greater than ourselves.

Chuang Tzu's stance on language: While Lao Tzu held language in contempt, Chuang Tzu's contact with Chinese philosophy of language, led him to recognize that a blanket anti-language position is self-censuring. Although Lao Tzu analyzes language, he reveals no exposure to the theories of language explored by the School of Names. However, Chuang Tzu clearly does. Ancient Chinese thinkers treated all words as names, and the School of Names emerged in response to the practice of rectifying names. Most disputes about Tao are tied to language—how it works and, what is a correct use of words.

Hui Tzu claimed that the correct use of words depends on patterns of similarity and difference. We can use large and small as an example. Some large things are smaller than other things called small. A small elephant is considerably larger than a large ant. So correct naming must not be based on objective distinctions in the world, but on our point of view. From this, Hui Tzu concluded that we can speak of a great One—nothing lies outside it, and of a small one, a finite object that derives from the Infinite. The One concept is intended to reveal that there are no real distinctions—the cosmos is One, and we should love all things equally.

Hui Tzu had much more influence on Chuang Tzu than Lao Tzu or the Tao Te Ching. Hui Tzu appears more often in dialogue with Chuang Tzu than any other figure, and the stories suggest a long-term philosophical interaction, a relationship between philosophical friends. The Tao of Chuang Tzu shows mastery of the technical terminology and ancient China's theories of language. Chuang Tzu marks the apogee of Taoist philosophy as he finds a better way to answer the School of Names. The way to avoid the anti-language trap is to acknowledge that language is natural, and to avoid the language trap by concluding that since language is natural all language is right or permissible. While this perspective allows Confucianists to claim that the Confucian Tao has nature's endorsement, it deprives the Confucianists of what they really want—to declare that their Taoist rivals lack similar approval. Chuang Tzu asserts that normative questions must be answered from within Tao, not from authority. Thus Chuang Tzu's acceptance of language does not warrant treating all discourse Tao as equal. Normative ethics only works when it harmonizes with the Tao.

Rather than prescribing right action, the Tao of Chuang Tzu is filled with fantasy conversations among diverse individuals including millipedes, convicts, musicians, and the wind. His poetry and parables teach an essential lesson—open-minded receptivity to all the different voices of Tao. Each has insights that might be surprisingly valuable. However, we gain nothing from trying to imagine an ultimate source of guidance. If there were a perfect person, we probably could not understand him. Would his ways have any relevance for us with our limits? Perfection would likely look like the opposite to ordinary humans.

Chuang Tzu prefers fishing to high status and political office. He asks what a turtle would choose if offered the option of being nailed in a place of worship or staying at the lake and "dragging its tail in the mud." Politics has no attraction for Chuang Tzu, because schemers who struggle against the Tao fall into pits that they dig for themselves. This anti-political stance is more than self-preservation. Chuang Tzu's egalitarian perspectives undermine China's Confucian authoritarianism. While Confucians assert that proper order occurs only when a society follows a single Tao, Chuang Tzu suggests that society could function just fine with people following many Tao's. Chuang Tzu differs in one important attitude from the Lao Tzu—according to Chuang Tzu we need not try to escape from social life and conventions. Conventions underlie the possibility of communication; thus, they are useful. Chuang Tzu's Taoism has less of the primitive thrust than the Tao Te Ching.

Chuang Tzu's most dramatic stories link Taoism to Zen—the mysticism of losing oneself in activity, the absorption in a highly cultivated way. His most famous example describes a butcher who carves flesh with the concentration of a dancer immersed in elegantly choreographed performance. We discover our untarnished human-nature by exercising skills with focus that reaches beyond ourselves to connect intimately with the Tao.

Wu-wei, Taoism's catchphrase, has puzzled translators for centuries. The first character is not the problem. Wu means nonexistent. Pairing wu with wei begins complicating matters. Wei means avoid. Thus, Lao Tzu tells us to avoid nonexistence, but he also warns that we should also not avoid nonexistence. When we give up on translating wu-wei and shift our attention to interpreting what it means, English equivalents include creative quietude, acting through non-acting, and action becoming second nature. Wu wei is not inactivity; instead, it is perfect action. It is action carried out in accord with the Tao, in harmony with nature. It is spontaneous activity that suits our place in the scheme of things. Wu wei can occur in any behavior executed in a state of harmony between mind and action—we act while in an aesthetic trance. Chuang Tzu's parable of butcher who carves meat with grace exemplifies wu wei. Such behavior requires a focus that that resides beyond ordinary self-conscious action. Through wu wei, we become one with our daily activities.

Taoism asserts that humans and all things in nature are endowed with virtue by the mere fact of their existence—every thing in nature has intrinsic virtue. Taoists believe in intrinsic virtue rather than seeing virtue as the fruit of labor. Taoism does not impart virtue through teaching; instead, virtue resides in wu wei, acting through non-action. When we act through wu wei, we act without concern for rewards—doing nothing calculated to bring happiness. In wu wei, we act according to our true human nature, which we do not need to contrive, since it comes to us naturally. Through wu wei we act spontaneously in accord with the Tao; because, wu wei accords with Tao, it is the source of virtue. By acting through wu wei, we grow quietly in the humility, engaged in a simple ordinary life.

The way of conscious striving is fundamentally a way of self-aggrandizement that conflicts with the Tao. Hence, it is self-destructive because things against the Tao will cease to be. For Taoists, virtue arises not from a lifetime of study and practice, but instead from a lifetime of acting without impediment. Acting in accord with wu wei, we must be content of wait, listen, and give up on useless striving. We grow without watching ourselves grow and without an appetite for self-improvement.

Self-conscious cultivation of virtue renders virtue intangible. The more we chase virtue the more elusive it becomes. Taoists retain their virtue by not dwelling on self-conscious contemplative philosophical speculation. All deliberate focus on the self is selfish—whether it be egotistical, contemplative, or socially altruistic. Selfishness distances us from the mysterious Tao. True tranquility resides in the action of non-action, a tranquility that transcends the division between action and contemplation by entering into a union with the nameless and invisible Tao.

Buddhism's influence on Taoism: The Taoist movement coincided with the spread of Buddhism in China. Taoism helped introduce Buddhist ideas into China, and Taoism heavily influenced Chinese Buddhism, particularly Chian, which evolved into Japanese Zen. Buddhism arrived in China when intellectuals were hungry for fresh ideas. However, most of Buddhism was beyond Chinese acceptance. Buddhism was too focused on its desire-psychology and its notion that reason is both an innate human faculty and faculty that can be enhanced through education. Taoism, with its abstruse metaphysics of being and non-being, was the only Chinese philosophy that could domesticate Buddhism. The Taoist anti-logic of being and non-being resonated well with the Buddhist mystery about the nature of Nirvana. If Nirvana is the opposite of Samsara, the cycle of reincarnation, then is Nirvana a state of being or of non-being? Buddhism brought a paradox that would delight Taoist thinkers—the paradox of desire. Desire caused the cycle of suffering and Nirvana could be reached only by ending desire. That meant that to reach Nirvana, we had to cease wanting to reach Nirvana.

Mahayana Buddhism includes the notion of the Bodhisattva—someone who qualifies for Nirvana but voluntarily stays behind in the cycle of rebirth to help the rest of us. The Bodhisattva concept parallels the Taoist concept of the Sage. Furthermore, Mahayana Buddhism resonated in China because it is egalitarian—everyone can become a Buddha, just as everyone can be a Taoist Sage. Madyamika Buddhism gained ground in China because it answered the question of the Buddha nature by not answering it. To Madyamika Buddhists, enlightenment is inexpressible and mystical, which sounds like Lao Tzu's Tao. The introduction of Buddhist monasticism to China launched organized Taoist religions modeled in the style of Buddhism. Progressively the content of Taoism and Buddhism converged.

Although much of Mahayana dwells on fanciful notions of afterlife and supernatural beings, its mystical thread parallels Taoist mysticism. Madyamika Buddhism provided Mahayana with its mystic perspectives. Madyamika asserts that the mind's original nature is pure, but it can be contaminated by passions and defilements. Meditation provides the means of discovering the conscious mind. Madyamika teaches that the self is non-existent, but also the finite phenomenal world is non-existent. Madyamika negates phenomena through a kind of anti-logic to arrive at the ineffable absolute or Void that is the only Reality. All finite phenomena have temporary existence; thus, no finite thing absolutely exists. True existence resides in a single, underlying essence, a stream of existence with an everlasting becoming. Only Void has Infinite Reality. The everyday world exists, but it is composed of finite phenomena, which lack Infinite Reality. The phenomenal world arises from the Infinite Reality, so all finite phenomena have the Buddha nature, and every person has already reached Nirvana. We just need to realize it. To modern science the Infinite Reality is really just the Universe—infinitely vast, infinitely miniscule, infinitely powerful, the source of all wisdom, beyond beginning, and beyond end. At conception, we emerge from the Universe. We spend our lives in the Universe, and when we die, we return to the Universe. We can never escape the Universe. The Universe, the Great Tao, Nirvana, and Heaven are all names for the same thing. Madyamika deemphasizes the cycle of rebirths; since, Nirvana is omnipresent. Why would we need a cycle of rebirths to reach Nirvana, if everyone has already reached Nirvana? Madyamika ruthlessly negates all dichotomies—good versus bad, beautiful versus ugly—to distinguish relative truth from Ultimate Truth. Relative truth derives from finite phenomena experienced by the senses, while we can glimpse the Ultimate Infinite Truth through transcendent intuitive insight.

Madyamika asserts that Buddhist scriptures occupy the realm of relative truth, and they are subject to change and constant improvement. Scriptures are like a finger pointing at the moon. When we recognize the moon and its brightness, the finger is of no more use. As the finger has no brightness, likewise the scriptures are not sacred. Scripture is religious currency representing spiritual wealth. What scripture represents is sacred. But by itself, scripture is only as valuable as paper and ink.

Yogācāra provides Mahayana's methodology for embarking on the Bodhisattva path. Meditation provides the laboratory where we study how the mind operates. Yogācāra examines consciousness from a variety of approaches, including meditation, psychological analysis, meta-analysis—how we know what we know, how perception operates, what validates knowledge, scholastic categorization, and karmic analysis. To Yogācāra, consciousness is neither the ultimate reality nor the solution; instead, consciousness is the root problem. What we think using our consciousness is really self-consciousness. The human problem emerges from ordinary mental operations, and it can only be solved by bringing those operations to an end. We are like the mythological Prince suffers amnesia and wanders his kingdom in rags, not knowing that he has everything worth having. Our consciousness leads us to seek Enlightenment, to reach Nirvana, to ascend into Heaven. Consciousness leads us to believe that Heaven is elusive, when in reality, we cannot escape it.

Chian is the most Taoist of Chinese Buddhists sects, and Chian evolved into Japanese Zen. Chian reveals its Taoist character when it addresses the paradox of desire. Lao Tzu asserts that artificial desires emerge from learned distinctions. If we eliminate the desire for Nirvana, it must be by forgetting the distinction between Nirvana and Samsara. To forget the dichotomy between Nirvana and Samsara, we must become absorbed in wu wei as we practice living here and now—every moment Zen. Through wu wei, we realize that we are already enlightened. The Buddha-nature is our true human-nature. Chian abandoned elaborate Buddhist theories to focus on wu wei. Chian is dominated by the notion of sudden enlightenment, which denies that practice can lead us closer to the Buddha-nature. We cannot be led to enlightenment—we are enlightened. Pay attention.

Taoism versus Confucianism: Virtues prescribed by Confucianism produce well-behaved cultured people. But Confucianism also imprisons people within fixed norms dictated by society. Prescribed systems make it impossible for people to act freely and creatively in response to the world's ever changing conditions. A system that pursues tranquility, peace, and joy makes such demands on human nature that it cannot be realized; instead, it cramps and distorts humans. The lesser tao of Confucianism never comes close to the Great Tao of Taoism, the Tao that resides beyond names. Kung Fu Tzu refused to concern himself with an unknowable Tao, because an unknowable Tao resides beyond the realm of rational discourse. Chuang Tzu asserted that only when we contact the mysterious Tao could we really understand how to live. To live merely by the Tao of Man is to stray from both the Tao of Nature and the Mysterious Tao. We abide by the lesser and stray from the Great.

Chuang Tzu observed that prescriptive social systems fail because their prescriptions dictate human virtues, without understanding human nature. Happiness resides neither in hedonism nor utilitarianism. Pursuit of riches, social status, and pleasure leads to intolerable servitude—we pursue what is always out of reach. In pursuing goals, we struggle to live in the future and become incapable of living in the present. The self-sacrificing public servant ultimately lands in the same ambiguities as the hedonist, because the public servant views the public good as the object. He engages in a self-conscious campaign to do his duty in the belief that public service is good; therefore, it will lead to happiness. He sees happiness as a thing that can be obtained; thus, he places happiness outside himself in the world of objects. He separates himself from both the present and happiness because happiness dwells within some distant goal. He separates himself from his own nature because he pursues an unnatural prescribed nature.

We estrange ourselves from the Tao both by the means that we seek happiness but also by our vision of the happiness we seek. Taoism regards the concepts of happiness and unhappiness as ambiguous; since they reside in the world of objects. For all virtues—good versus evil, right versus wrong—from the moment we treat them as objects to be attained, we are doomed to delusion and alienation. Good becomes evil because it becomes something that we do not have and we must constantly pursue it. We transform good into the unobtainable. The more we seek it, the more we analyze it. Analysis leads to abstractions that confuse the issue. Thus goodness degenerates into some unobtainable abstraction residing in the future. The means to obtain happiness become increasingly elaborate until the study of happiness becomes so complex that we must devote all our effort on analyzing happiness. In the end we lose happiness. We devote ourselves to a useless pursuit of a means that leads nowhere, while we ignore the good that is intrinsic to all elements of the Tao's creation.

While Taoism is usually seen as critical of the Confucian system, Taoism is also critical of Taoists who try to impart knowledge of the Tao, since it cannot be imparted. When people are ready to realize the Tao, they realize it. Badly timed zealous communication of the Tao fails. The Tao communicates itself, in its own way, when the right moment arrives. After realizing the Tao, we become at home on two levels—at home with the divine mysterious Tao and with ordinary everyday existence.