Wang Meng
WHAT IS THE TAO?
December 2008
[Wang
Meng, born 1934, is one of contemporary China’s most important authors. He
served in the PLA prior to Liberation. In 1956, during the short-lived
“blooming and contending” period of relative free speech, he published a
much-discussed short story, “The Young Newcomer in the Organization
Department,” describing the atrophy of the sense of revolutionary commitment
under the pressure of daily work in a Party office. Wang was labeled a rightist
and exiled to Xinjiang until 1979. He resumed writing fiction and also achieved a certain official approbation. Indeed, at
international writers’ conferences authors from Taiwan took to calling him the
“Old Man in the Organization Department,” mocking his willingness to explain
away continued shortcomings in mainland literary policy. In the late 1980s he
served as Minister of Culture, but was fired after the June 4 1989 crackdown on
dissent. He continued to publish however, including some transparent satires on
Deng Xiaoping and Deng Xiaoping’s manner of governing.
The current essay is a semi-playful
explication of the important philosophical concept of Tao, and it is not always
easy to figure out how to take it: when is Wang Meng joking and when is he
being serious? Thus, the Tao is a principle of unity, and Wang remarks that
“our countrymen are fond of unity.” One suspects that this is satire, since
Wang has previously argued for the value of western concepts of plurality or
pluralism. Also, the analysis here is often hard to follow, and one is at a
loss to know whether the confusion is intended facetiously or whether it is
simply plain old confusion.
The general argument begins with the
standard Marxist critique of religion: theology is really anthropology;
statements about God are really statements about man. But, Wang says, according
to Taoist thinking, behind religion, Marx, and everything else, there is Tao.
Wang may or may not be aware that this is what the orthodox Christian would
call God (with the exception that the Tao seems to be a purely immanent
principle within and behind the universe, whereas God, as creator, transcends
the universe). Tao is the functioning of all things. Tao cannot be perceived
and so it cannot be described or spoken of, although we may know something of
it from its effects. Wang Meng would seem to subscribe to a rather subjective
concept of the Tao: since the Tao cannot be described or even clearly
conceived, any conception of it is apparently as good as anyone else’s. The Tao
for me is whatever is most basic for me—and the Tao for you is whatever is most
basic for you. But the Tao has no limits, so everything is always within the
scope of the Tao.]
What is the Tao (道, Dao; the Way)? The Cihai (辭海) dictionary explains it in terms of a road, a method, and a rule. Another classic reference work, the Guide to a Hundred Fields of Study, explains it as the basis and origin of the world and the rules of its operation. It especially cites Zhuangzi: Tao is the origin of the ultimate; there is nothing it does not include, nowhere that it does not move. It is the self-creating self-transforming structure of the universe.
This theory may perhaps give rise to doubts, since at the time of Laozi our countrymen did not talk that much about the world or the universe. No matter: in Laozi there are references to Heaven and Earth, the ten thousand things, the ten thousand phenomena—and these will do.
Naturally, Laozi was not the first to use the term Tao. It appears in the Book of Odes, where it means a road. Confucius said, “If in the morning I hear the Tao, I’ll be content to die that evening.” Here the Tao is the sum of all value. But Laozi and Zhuangzi treat the Tao as the origin, essence, or basic structure of the world. This is a manner of theorizing peculiar to themselves.
Laozi seeks the Tao in what is common to the world, Heaven and Earth, the ten thousand things[1] and the ten thousand phenomena. One characteristic of the thinking of philosophers is concern for the ten thousand things and the ten thousand phenomena, for what is valid for ten thousand generations and ten thousand years. The ten thousand things, the thousand expressions, the hundred forms constantly produce and extinguish each other, always in flux. Can they, then, have anything in common? If you can grasp that commonality, isn’t that tantamount to grasping the ox of the world by the nose? This is something very appealing to a philosopher, to one who pursues wisdom.
When Laozi discourses on the nature of Tao, in fact he is addressing what is common to the ten thousand things. This commonality is described in terms of:
One, spontaneity. Things move of themselves and undergo their own transformations, not as a result of outside force or of will—whether the will of man or the will of God. They are not subject to concepts of value, moral standards, or love or hate. This is the primary characteristic of Tao. Non-action, non-speaking, simplicity, non-wisdom: these also arise from this spontaneous self-motion.
Two, change, transformation. The ten thousand things are in a process of continuous change. Thus, we can’t be shortsighted, like a mouse who can only see an inch from his nose, or act on the basis of a single idea—so forth.
Three, dialectic. Things are mutually opposed and mutually constitutive. When things reach an extreme they will go back. Disaster and good fortune depend each upon the other. Particularly, being and nothingness mutually produce each other. Nothingness necessarily transforms into being and being necessarily transforms into nothingness. Being is produced from the midst of nothingness and nothingness from the midst of being. Being and nothingness are forms of existence and rules of transformation that cannot be departed from.
Four, softness. The great Tao is a giant vulva and womb. It is soft and not firm. Lightness is the root of heft, silence governs noise.
Five, a tendency toward the low. Like water, it flows downward. It self-consciously takes the lowest position, occupying the wet places others are unwilling to dwell in.
Six, selflessness. It produces without owning, acts without assurance, accomplishes without claiming. It knows the male but keeps to the female, knows white but keeps to black.
Seven, thoughtlessness. It is a concentrated disposition, a vacant disposition, a lively disposition. This is related to the Chinese-Mongol legend of the splitting of the Great Clod to produce heaven and earth. It even brings to mind some theories concerning the origins of the universe, such as the nebular hypothesis, so forth.
Eight, mystery. Its words are great, piling mystery upon mystery. It is the gate to myriad marvels. Explanations of the Tao are abstract and penetrate deeply into things; it is not something that can be grasped at one sitting.
Nine, precious. What we value, we preserve (ren zhi bao, ren zhi bao—人之寶，人之保).
If we obtain the Tao, there are no worries, no blame, no harm, no dead ground.
If we lose the Tao, fear of ruin and destruction is never far away.
There
is more of this sort of thing, but these nine points are the most important.
How do we name these nine points? We can say Tao, origin, nature, rules, basic structure.
If
we talk about unity, we can seek it for a long time and become aware of it for
a long time. We will discover and become aware that Tao is all there is, that it
is unitary. If we have that unity, from one thing we can understand a hundred
things. Laozi says (Ch. 39): Heaven obtains One and becomes clear; Earth
obtains One and becomes calm; the Spirit obtains one and becomes numinous; the
Valley obtains One and becomes full. The ten thousand things obtain One and so are productive; the kings and nobles obtain One
and control Under Heaven.
Our
countrymen are fond of unity. We worship unity. We say: understand all things
through one thing; be consistent from beginning to end; act as always in the
past; one heart and one mind; with one mind for the common good; remain
faithful until the end[2]--all
of these are considered to be good sayings. Also, those things that are not one
all contain one: one produces two produces three produces the ten thousand
things, unto the limitlessly large Tao: and the Tao is one, solitary, united,
unified, coordinated.
Laozi
discovered the Tao and discovered the uniqueness of the Tao. This depends first
on the discovery of what all things share in common; secondly, on the discovery
or their sources. And if we trace the sources we come to Tao.
Many
religions are rich in
concern for the Ultimate. But the concern for the Ultimate in
religion tends toward the search for a great Lord, for a Ruler of Heaven and
Earth. We find among us persons of great and unusual natural endowments,
persons who can work miracles, persons with a great sense of mission. These are
angels and demigods sent by the Ultimate Lord, a bridge from this shore to the
other, the messengers of the Lord: for
example, Jesus or Sakyamuni. In the end, these persons of a divine character
become generally recognized as embodying the divinity in human character.
Laozi,
however, works through the dialectic. He does not seek out the relationship of
god and man, but rather for the ultimate nature of god, what he calls Name (ming; 名), and he gradually raises the
level of the concepts he uses. Laozi, for example, is not satisfied with the
concept of Heaven-Earth-Man, but raises this to the conceptual level of
Nothingness. Regardless of whether it is Heaven, Earth, Man, or none of the
above, if it is not Being then it is Nothingness. All
Nothingness must come from somewhere. Nothingness is the Being of Nothing, and Being is the Nothing of Nothingness. Originally there were
no people. Then the problem and argument about Nothing
and Not Nothing did not exist. Originally Man was Nothing.[3]
There was Nothing to produce Man and Things; nor was
there any concept or discussion of Being. For example, we cannot discuss when
there will be a person who never has been. So before there was no Heaven, no
Earth, and no Man, or after there was no Heaven, no Earth, no
Man—what kind of world was that?
This
is like searching for the largest number that there could be, the highest
height, the deepest depth, the longest period of time, the earliest origins,
the farthest distance. If X is the largest number there can be, there still
must be X+1 or X+X. But X+1 and X+X are both larger than X. And we can keep on
going this way: X+1+1, X+X+X+X: and if we do keep on going, eventually we will
produce ∞--limitlessly large, nameless, inexhaustible.[4]
So:
That which was before Being, before Nothing, before Spirit, God, and the world,
that which is limitlessly big, limitlessly distant, limitlessly deep, eternal,
whose roots are limitlessly roots of all nature, origins, rules, reason, paths,
and methods—what is it? Laozi says that kind of thing is not easy to name, but
if we have to give it a name, we call it Tao.[5]
Concrete
things are produced and destroyed, but Tao is everlasting. The concrete ten
thousand things are like leaves on a tree. Each one sprouts, grows, develops,
dies, and falls. But the great Tao is the tree or the roots of the tree: a
great tree that is invisible, eternal, and limitless.
There
is some rationality to this kind of thought. If there were no principle of
order and existence like the Tao, then Being and Nothing or Heaven, Earth, and
Man could never be able spontaneously to come to life. Nothingness is eternal
and incapable of change, and Being likewise is eternal
and incapable of change; and so is the absence of distinction between Being and
Nothingness. It follows in that sense that Being does
not exist, and neither does Nothingness.
In
the west there is the idea of the so-called Prime Mover. From the perspective
of Newtonian mechanics, it is God that gives things the first shove. After that
the world moves ceaselessly. For Laozi, however, the Tao provides an eternal
motive. This motivation is eternal and without limit. There is no first or
Prime Mover, no more than there is a final mover. Who would be able to discover
something that was there before everything, or will be there after everything
is gone? How can we arrive at the first in something that is inexhaustibly
great or find something that is last, that marks the end? Under conditions of
the inexhaustibly great, a straight thread forms a circle, and the end is the
same as the beginning. That is, there is no end or beginning; or any single
point is itself both end and beginning. While the existence of the Tao is
difficult to prove, it is relatively easy to disprove the nonexistence of the
Tao. That is to say, if there is no such a priori road, rule, or structure like
the Tao, then it is easy to falsify any proposition whatever. Since it is
universally recognized that matter is never destroyed and energy is eternal,
and also that there is motion in the world, then there are roots and sources.
There is, then, a first and last motion and before that the first matter and
energy—if we follow the trail to the end it is very confusing, but we will
arrive at the “Tao.”
The
Ultimate is not a concept from the laboratory or an empirical concept. Rather,
it is a mental concept, a rational concept. It is the expression of a high
degree of spiritual freedom. If the Ultimate does not lead to theology then it
leads to mathematics. It leads to infinity or to zero. Or, alternatively, it
leads to the appearance of philosophical concepts: and that is Tao.
So, then, in the end just what is Tao?
After all, what is it? The question itself is a synonym. As explained above,
Tao is “in the end.” It is the “end” that all people pursue. It is “after
all”—it is the totality of what we seek. According to the famous Taiwan
sinologist Fu Fengrong, Tao points to the “final truth.” The end is Tao and Tao
is the end. Tao is after all, and after all is Tao. People sometimes like to
ask: What came first—the chicken or the egg? Laozi says: Long before there were
chickens or eggs, there was the Tao, and the Tao produced the chicken, the egg,
and everything else.
Tao
is possibly also a process. It may be said that Laozi explored this process and
you may continue to explore it today. Since it is an Ultimate, Laozi did not
reach it and you will never reach it either. It is enough that you grope for it
and that you constantly approach it.
Tao
is also a perfection. Once you have reached the Tao,
you cannot move further beyond the concept of the Ultimate. Tao is itself
infinite and ultimate. From what you understand of the source you get some idea
of the infinite. But from the perspective of the future you are in effect at
point zero, because the future itself is infinitely distant and large.
Perhaps
Tao is in the nature of a philosophical exercise or some similar sort of
belief, perhaps even an emotion, an impetus toward the highest and most distant
origins. If you believe in the Tao, then that is the Tao. If you do not believe
in the Tao, then what Laozi calls the Tao is your unbelief. Since you believe nothing
whatsoever concerning theories or concepts of the Ultimate, the picture of the
Ultimate painted in your brain is pitch black, and consequently your Tao is
also pitch black.
If
you believe that the Ultimate in the world is emptiness, then emptiness has
already taken the position of the Tao discussed by Laozi in your eyes.
Nothingness that comes from Nothingness and returns to Nothingness: is this not
your Tao, even your God? Your God is Non-God! If a person thinks about,
studies, senses God and comes to the decision that it is nothing, then isn’t Nothing your God? God does not push out the other, nor is
God a standard form or brand.
If
you believe that the Ultimate in the world is matter and the movement of
matter, then matter and the movement of matter are your Tao. If you believe
that the world is ruled and created by Spirit or Soul, then Spirit and Soul are
your Tao.
Laozi
clearly said: “I don’t know its name, so I will call it Tao; if compelled to go
further, I will call it Great.” There is an interesting play here between
“name” and what it is “called.” The nameless, the named, the
eternal name refer to that without designation, to the designation, to the
eternal designation: this explication has been around since antiquity. This is
certainly acceptable, but then we have to go back to that “if compelled to go
further.” Let’s make a daring conjecture and treat “designation” as a courtesy
name (biao zi—表字):
is this OK? As in: “His surname was Li, his name was Er, his courtesy name
Boyang” (from the biography of Laozi in the Historical
Records). “Tao” is a courtesy name [used in public, among strangers], not a
true name. Laozi says: “The eternal Tao is nameless.” Tao in itself has no
name, only this “after all” and “at bottom.” Tao is its courtesy name, a
secondary name used in place of the true name. The name is the host and the
designation the guest. Tao is what is after all and at bottom, what is
highest—it is the host. Designating it, calling it the Tao is the “guest.” I
don’t know whether this has anything to do with the etiquette of calling
someone by his courtesy name instead of his more intimate name. Thus, we talk
about [Sun] Zhongshan or Yat-sen, but very rarely do we use his formal name Sun
Wen. But in the past some people, writing to Mao Zedong, would address him as
“Runzhi” [Mao’s courtesy name]. Tao’s formal name is yet to be provided. Its
courtesy name is Tao, and if forced to provide a name, it would be
“Great”—limitlessly great.
So whether we call it Tao or not doesn’t matter.
Tao here is simply a term of convenience, a nickname for the Ultimate. Just as
there may be substitute Prime Ministers or substitute grand officers, there may
also be substitute concepts. It is the Original, the Ultimate, the
Inexhaustible, the Highest, the supreme concept. It is the absolute and the
spirit of all concepts.
According,
then, to what Laozi says, aside from this all suppositions, explications, and
quests, all alternative theories, denominations, beliefs are the products of
later human civilization. They all appeared after the Tao; they are
by-products, not the original thing. These include Nothingness, Nameless,
Being, the Named, the World, the Universe, the Ten Thousand Things, the Ten
Thousand Phenomena, Spirit, God, worship, reason, science, religion, and
civilization: all of these are products of the Tao, manifestations of the Tao,
expressions of the Tao.
The
limitlessly great includes all; there is nothing that is excluded from it.
There is no escape from it: you are always under Laozi’s spotlight.
Xin
Hua Wenzhai, 3 March 2009
[1] A classic way of referring to the universe, everything that is.
[2] All of these phrases in
Chinese contain the character yi (一), one.
[3] Such statements, to those
of a positivist mindset, must seem incoherent, and remain so even on a
sympathetic reading. As used in western philosophy, Nonbeing often comes across
simply as a special kind of being, in which case the concept may lack
intellectual respectability (as if it consisted of statements about things that
do not exist—although, of course, being and existence are strictly speaking not
identical. In Chinese, “being” (有) means having
specific properties or traits, and nonbeing (無)
means not having properties and traits. Each of the ten thousand things has its
own peculiarities. The Tao, the source of the ten thousand things, has no
particular properties of its own: it is not a thing, and in that sense it lacks “being.”
[4] Actually, in mathematics there are different infinities, some larger than others.
[5] Language makes the world intelligible, and names denote things. But the Tao is not a thing and cannot be named—and is not intelligible. We know Tao (to the extent we do) from its operations and its effects.