Komjathy, Daoist Tradition:
Table of Contents
Part 1: Historical Overview
1. Approaching Daoism
2. The Daoist Tradition
Part 2: The Daoist Worldview
3. Ways to Affiliation
4. Community and Social Organization
5. Informing Views and Foundational Concerns
6. Cosmogony, Cosmology, and Theology
7. Virtue, Ethics and Conduct Guidelines
Part 3: Daoist Practice
8. Dietetics
9. Health and Longevity Practice
10. Meditation
11. Scriptures and Scripture Study
12. Ritual
Part 4: Place, Sacred Space and Material Culture
13. Temples and Sacred Sites
14. Material Culture
Part 5: Daoism in the Modern World
15. Daoism in the Modern World
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5 Informing
views and foundational concerns
Daoism has distinctive beliefs, doctrines and worldviews. These “views” are the principles, values, commitments, and concerns that Daoists have endeavored to live by. Following Geertz’s (1977) “definition” of religion, Daoist views are the “symbol system” of Daoism, providing a specific conception of “reality” and creating meaning and purpose. Drawing upon the metaphors of Chapter 1, these views might be thought of as the roots of the old growth forest of Daoism.
This chapter is perhaps the most problematic of all of the chapters of the present book. As repeatedly emphasized, Daoism is a tradition characterized by diversity and complexity, and consequently, it is difficult to make generalizations or to discuss its “defining characteristics.” Daoism has no universally accepted orthodoxy or orthopraxy, nor is there a centralized Daoist institution. Rather, there are identifiable, often movement-specific and lineage-specific views, practice styles, and distinctive methods.
For example, although the Tianshi and Quanzhen movements based much of their foundational worldview on the Daode jing, Lingbao did not. This fact does not make Lingbao “less Daoist” than the other movements, especially given the fact that Lu Xiujing (406–77) was so central in the development of organized Daoism; rather, it tells us something fundamental about the Daoist tradition, specifically the Daoist tendency towards ambiguity, inclusivity, and plurality within every period of Daoist history, including within classical Daoism itself. That is, doctrinal difference is not simply about “between,” but also about “within.” For example, the Primitivist lineage of classical Daoism emphasized eremitic withdrawal, while the Syncretic lineage emphasized social engagement and political involvement (see Chapters 2 and 3). While these “schools” were connected by shared worldviews, as well as foundational meditative techniques, on some level their existential applications were at variance. Given these facts, this chapter should not be read as the “essence” or “normative doctrine” of Daoism.
This chapter covers major informing views and foundational concerns of Daoism. In concert with Chapters 3, 6, 7, and 8, it attempts to provide a framework for understanding major Daoist beliefs, principles, values, commitments, and concerns. Knowledge of these allows one to understand the continuities and departures, divergences and convergences among different Daoist communities and movements. Such dimensions of Daoism also relate to Daoist cosmogony, cosmology, and theology and to Daoist views of self, which are covered in Chapters 6 and 7, respectively. Together with this chapter, these three chapters comprise the “worldview chapters” of the present book. They reveal some of the key Daoist views of the world and accounts of “reality.”
1] Orientations
Daoists have traditionally recognized the importance of the Three Treasures (sanbao). Although conventionally associated with internal alchemy (see Chapters 7 and 11), there is actually a reference to this concept in the Daode jing.
THE THREE TREASURES OF CLASSICAL DAOISM
I have Three Treasures that I cherish and protect:
The first is compassion;
The second is frugality;
And the third is not daring to be first [humility].
Through compassion, one can be brave.
Through frugality, one can be expansive.
Through humility, one can become a vessel-elder.
Bravery without compassion,
Expansiveness without frugality, And advancing without retreating, These are fatal.
(Daode jing, Chapter 67)
Here emphasis is placed on core Daoist principles and commitments, including humility, circumspection, and deference, which are also expressed in Daoist ethics (see Chapter 8). In the later tradition, the Three Treasures refer to both the internal Three Treasures (nei sanbao) and the external Three Treasures (wai sanbao). The former refer to vital essence (jing), qi, and spirit (shen). Adapting the Three Refuges of Buddhism (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha), the external Three Treasures refer to the Dao, the scriptures (jing), and the teachers (shi ). The latter may be understood as specific teachers (embodied and disembodied), community elders, and the Daoist religious community as a whole. The external Three Treasures are also used in a manner parallel to Buddhism: Daoists often “take refuge” in the Three Treasures as the first step towards affiliation (see Chapter 13). From a Daoist perspective, all three are an essential part of the tradition, and they are interrelated and mutually dependent. The scriptures and the teachers, specifically realized beings, ordained priests and monastics, are manifestations of the Dao. Reading Daoist scriptures and receiving teachings from advanced practitioners is an encounter with the Dao. Each embodies and transmits the Dao. The Three Treasures are associated with other dimensions of the tradition as well, especially the Three Purities (sanqing), Three Heavens (santian), and three elixir fields in the body (san dantian) (see Chapters 6 and 7). The correspondences are as follows:
CHART 7 Ternary Dimensions of the Daoist Tradition
Of the external Three Treasures, the Dao is the fundamental orientation of Daoists and Daoist communities. On the most basic level, it is the sacred or ultimate concern of Daoists. Daoists are thus those who orient themselves towards the Dao. However, such an orientation is a necessary, but not a sufficient condition for being a Daoist. Properly speaking, “Daoist” designates an adherent of Daoism, someone who is following a Daoist religious path. In contrast to “Daoist adherent,” we might reserve the term “Daoist sympathizer” for someone interested in the Dao, the Daode jing, or other aspects extracted from community and tradition (see Chapter 16).
The principle of orientation (fangxiang) is also centrally important for Daoists. It is an informing view and foundational concern. Orientation is an astronomical, geographical, and cartographical metaphor. One thinks of the practice of orienteering, or being able to use map and compass to locate oneself and to navigate through landscapes, both familiar and unfamiliar, known and unknown. It also relates to stellar navigation, both in terms of water navigation and ecstatic journeys. For Daoists, the landscape of the Dao and Daoism is diverse (see Chapters 1 and 2). There are different terrains, territories, inhabitants, paths, and destinations. Some Daoists have preferred the solitude of mountain peaks (see Chapters 4 and 14), even defining their orientation as being lost among valleys and streams, cliffs and caves. Others have oriented themselves towards social participation and engagement. They have worked on political, social, and community levels (see Chapter 4).
Daoists have also been attentive to both physical and subtle landscapes. They have mapped visible and invisible dimensions of the cosmos. This type of interest and activity also relates to another centrally important Daoist principle, namely, observation (guan). The character guan 觀 consists of guan 雚 (“egret”) and jian 見 (“to perceive”). Guan is the quality of an egret observing barely visible or unseen presences. Such observation is rooted in stillness, attentiveness, and presence. Interestingly, the character guan has been used to designate both Daoist monasteries (see Chapters 4, 14 and 15) and a specific type of Daoist meditation called “inner observation” (neiguan; see Chapter 11). With respect to the first, guan originally designated astronomical observatories. Daoist monasteries might thus be understood as places to align oneself with the Dao as cosmos and to explore the inner universe of the self. For this, darkness, silence, and seclusion are essential. With respect to the second, Daoists have understood the body as inner landscape and microcosm (see Chapter 7). By turning one’s gaze inward, one may illuminate the corporeal terrain. The inner landscape and microcosm of the body correspond to and interpenetrate with the external landscape and macrocosm. Thus to observe one is to gain insight into the other, to realize their interconnection and mutual influence.
Such concern for landscape and universe has been expressed in the Daoist tradition, both actually and symbolically. Many Daoists have inhabited, observed, and participated in natural locales. They have also seen Nature and its myriad expressions as teachers and models, especially with respect to self-cultivation. For example, in the Zhuangzi we find a conversation about “governing” (zhi ) and inner power (de) occurring between Madman Jie Yu and Jian Wu.
HOW TO GOVERN THE WORLD
The madman Jie Yu said, “This is inauthentic virtue (de). To try to govern the world like this [through contrivance and manipulation] is like trying to walk the ocean, to drill through a river, or to make a mosquito shoulder a mountain! When the sage governs, does he govern what is on the outside? He makes sure of himself first, and then he acts. He makes absolutely certain that things can do what they are supposed to do, that is all. The bird flies high in the sky where it can escape the danger of stringed arrows. The field mouse burrows deep down under the sacred hill where it won’t have to worry about people digging and smoking it out. Have you got less sense than these two little creatures?” (Zhuangzi, Chapter 7; see also Chapters 1, 17, 24, passim)
This “governance,” also translatable as “regulation,” is first and foremost about self-cultivation. Here we should note that Daoists have tended to use the language of “cultivation” to refer to Daoist religious practice and commitment. This is an agricultural metaphor (see Lakoff and Johnson 1980; Lakoff 1987), and there is some question about the relationship between wildness and cultural refinement in the Daoist tradition. That is, there is an ongoing tension in Daoist history between uninhibited freedom and domestication, between foraging and agriculture. The Daoist emphasis on “cultivation” is, in turn, found in frequent references to “fields” (tian), “roots” (ben; gen), “seeds” (zhong), “sprouts” (ya), “tending” (yang), and so forth. Returning to classical Daoism, such inner cultivation, rooted in stillness and non-interference, is the basis of and has an application to any activity, even politics. In terms of observation of Nature, one can imagine the patience required to understand the life and activity of field mice in the passage above. On one occasion, one sees that they make shallow holes. Viewing them as “pests” and “nuisances,” people then destroy their residences, whether by digging or smoking them out. In response, the field mice learn and adapt, burrowing deeper in order to protect themselves. This becomes a model for those who would avoid chaos and injury.
2] Foundational values and concerns
One approach to Daoist values and concerns focuses on classical Daoist texts like the Daode jing (Scripture on the Dao and Inner Power) and Zhuangzi (Book of Master Zhuang) (cf. Yin 2005: 25–39). Although there is much doctrinal diversity in the tradition, the principles transmitted by the classical inner cultivation lineages became part of what might be labeled a “foundational Daoist worldview.” They comprise one major element of Daoist doctrine and belief, although Daoists have tended to place greater emphasis on community and tradition as well as on embodiment, practice, and experience than on doctrine or faith as such (see below).
A close reading of the Daode jing, especially with attentiveness to its emphasis on self-cultivation and the qualities of sages (shengren), reveals a variety of principles and key convictions.
CLASSICAL AND FOUNDATIONAL
DAOIST PRINCIPLES
Empty the heart-mind and fill the belly; Weaken the will and strengthen the bones. (Daode jing, Chapter 3)
Appear plain and embrace simplicity;
Lessen personal interest and decrease desires.
(ibid., Chapter 19)
Block the passages;
Close the doorways;
Blunt the sharpness;
Untie the knots;
Harmonize the brightness; Unite with the dust.
(ibid., Chapter 56; also Chapter 4)
Such passages are, of course, open to interpretation, but many Daoists have read these and similar insights as a map for inner cultivation. Emphasis is placed on decreasing: a model of voluntary simplicity, of living through only what is essential. One practices non-action (wuwei ), which may be understood as effortless activity, non-interference, and non-intervention. It means acting with minimum effort, only doing what is necessary. From a cosmological and theological perspective, one ceases doing everything that prevents one from being attuned with the Dao. Here we should note that there is much confusion about the Daoist view of wuwei. It is not “doing nothing,” which is impossible. (Try releasing all of the tension in your body and see what happens!) It is about ease and relaxation in everything, whether thinking, speaking, or moving. It is about complete presence and conservation, or non-dissipation (wulou) (see Chapter 10). The same is true of the sister-term ziran (tzu-jan), often translated as “spontaneity” or “naturalness.” The phrase literally means “self-so.” A more accurate translation might be “so-ness,” “thusness,” or “suchness,” although the latter is often used for Buddhist notions and thus may create confusion without explanation. Using the language of European phenomenology, we might understand ziran as “being-soof-itself.” In any case, ziran is the state or condition realized when one returns to one’s innate nature, which is the Dao. In classical Daoist terms, this is “accomplished” through the practice of wuwei. The Daoist notion of ziran, or suchness, thus assumes a distinction between habituated being and realized being. It does not mean, as often assumed in modern popular culture, the reproduction of habituation or following one’s own desires. Practicing wuwei and abiding in ziran require the mastery of Daoist principles, including decreasing desires.
Ziran in turn relates to another technical term from classical Daoism: pu. Most often rendered as “unadorned simplicity” or “uncarved block,” the character pu 朴/樸 is written with the mu 木 (“tree”) radical, and we can speculate in a Daoist way about how simplicity is comparable to trees. We can think of indigenous trees growing in their own natural and wild environs, which grow and flourish according to their own tendencies and patterns in concert with various natural influences (climate, weather, insects, birds, animals, etc.). They are located in a wider system; there is an ecological and cosmological dimension. This vision of trees as models does not include trees employed for human use, trees made into “lumber.” Such “trees” are no longer trees; they have been altered according to human desires and utilitarian constructs.
The simplicity of the uncarved block leads to numerous discussions of the positive “value” of uselessness (wuyong), and specifically the uselessness of village and mountain trees in the Zhuangzi. One day while traveling, a certain Carpenter Shi and his apprentice pass by an enormous oak tree that serves as a cover for the village earth-shrine.
THE “VALUE” OF USELESSNESS
His apprentice stood staring for a long time and then ran after Carpenter Shi and said, “Since I first took up my ax and followed you, Master, I have never seen timber as beautiful as this. But you don’t even bother to look, and go right on without stopping. Why is that?”
“Forget it—say no more!” said the carpenter. “It’s a worthless tree! Make boats out of it and they’d sink; make coffins and they’d rot in no time; make vessels and they’d break at once. Use it for doors and it would sweat sap like pine; use it for posts and the worms would eat them up. It’s not a timber tree —there’s nothing it can be used for. That’s how it got to be that old!” (Zhuangzi, Chapter 4)
However, the story does not end here. In the subsequent episode, which might be read as evidence of Daoist animism and quasi-shamanism, the oak tree appears to Carpenter Shi in a dream and transmits specific teachings.
AN OLD OAK’S TRANSMISSION
After Carpenter Shi had returned home, the oak tree appeared to him in a dream and said, “As for me, I’ve been trying for a long time to be of no use, and though I almost died, I’ve finally got it. This is of great use to me. If I had been of some use, would I ever have grown this large? Moreover you and I are both of us things. What’s the point of this—things condemning things? You, a worthless person about to die, how do you know I’m a worthless tree?”
When Carpenter Shi woke up, he reported his dream. His apprentice said, “If it’s so intent on being of no use, what’s it doing there at the village shrine?”
“Shhh! Say no more! It’s only resting there. If we carp and criticize, it will merely conclude that we don’t understand it. Even if it weren’t at the shrine, do you suppose it would be cut down? It protects itself in a different way from ordinary people. If you try to judge it by conventional standards, you’ll be way off!” (ibid.; adapted from Watson 1968: 63–5; see also Chapters 1, 4, 9, 12, 19, 20, 24, 25, 29)
Stories like these, especially many contained in the Zhuangzi, form part of the folklore, culture, and oral tradition of Daoism (see Chapters 12 and 15). In terms of foundational Daoist beliefs, the “value of uselessness” is that it allows one to live one’s own life through naturalness, simplicity, and suchness. It allows one to discover one’s own connection to the Dao. At the same time, it protects one from becoming a tool manipulated by others for their own egoistic purposes. The Zhuangzi, in turn, contains various comments on the value of abiding in suchness and simplicity, of being “useless” and “worthless” (see Zhuangzi, Chapters 4 and 20). The suchness of the tree, in turn, stands in contrast to the instrumentalist mentality and conditioned perception of the carpenter. Read from a symbolic perspective, the ax represents the ordinary human mind with its linguistic and conceptual categories and its psycho-pathological way of interacting with the world.
The uselessness of the tree enables it not only to flourish in a free and extended state, but also to become a natural shrine, most likely an outdoor altar to a locality god. That is, the oak tree’s unusability and naturalness create a space for accessing the sacred. The tradition recognizes this value in various other beings as well, including wild birds (free of cages), wild fish (free of nets), wild horses (free of bridles, harnesses, and corrals), sea tortoises (free of divinization methods), and so forth (see Komjathy 2011f). Such animals represent the ideal of pu, or simplicity, and symbolize a life beyond contrivance, convention, utilitarianism, and instrumentalism. Trees and other wild beings become models for humans: their very uselessness provides inspiration for human flourishing and they express existential and spiritual insights through their very being, observation of which may be applied to spiritual practice.
One can connect the classical Daoist notions of ziran and pu to other terms related to one’s core being. In some classical Daoist texts, the view that one’s own being is the Dao becomes expressed through the use of the terms “innate nature” (xing) and “life-destiny” (ming), with the latter also translated as “fate.” In a classical sense, these terms are often employed synonymously, as a kind of endowed capacity or ontological givenness. This stands in contrast to their more nuanced and technical use in the later tradition, especially in internal alchemy lineages, wherein xing is associated with the heart-mind, spirit as well as divine capacities, while ming is associated with the kidneys, vital essence as well as foundational vitality and corporeality (see Chapter 7). For members of the classical inner cultivation lineages, xing and ming designate the ground of one’s being, the Dao manifesting in/as/through one’s own embodied existence. On some level, they are “fate” in the sense of one’s innate and personal capacities, and what one must do in order to have meaning, purpose, and fulfillment. On another level, they must be actualized or expressed as embodied being in the world.
They are both given and actualized.
RETURNING TO THE SOURCE
Apply emptiness completely; Guard stillness steadfastly.
The ten thousand beings arise together; I simply observe their return.
All beings flourish and multiply; Each again returns to the Source.
Returning to the Source is called stillness; This means returning to life-destiny.
Returning to life-destiny is called constancy; Knowing constancy is called illumination.
(Daode jing, Chapter 16)
The Dao was pulled apart for the sake of goodness; virtue was imperiled for the sake of conduct. After this, innate nature was abandoned and minds were set free to roam, heart-mind joining with heart-mind in understanding; there was knowledge, but it could not bring stability to the world. After this, “culture” was added on, and “breadth” was piled on top. “Culture” destroyed
the substantial, “breadth” drowned the heart-mind, and after this the people began to be confused and disordered. They had no way to revert to the true form of their innate nature or to return once more to the Beginning. (Zhuangzi, Chapter 16)
Here is a representative account of the loss of cosmic integration, of separation from the Dao. At root, one becomes disoriented through societal conditioning, familial expectations and obligations, and personal habituation. Such claims of course beg the question of how human beings, as manifestations of the Dao, originally lost their cosmic integration. From a Daoist perspective, the account of human disorientation is existential and psychological, not cosmogonic or theological. That is, it is about the human experience of being in the world, and the consequences of certain human activities. There is thus the following traditional Daoist statement: “Humans may be distant from the Dao, but the Dao is never distant from humans.” That is, one’s “separation from the Dao” is only apparent. Ultimately, separation is impossible. But what about the question of benefit and harm, of morality and immorality? There are two primary Daoist responses. First, from a cosmological and theological perspective, there is no such thing. Terms such as “morality” are human constructs, ways of creating meaning and order in an impersonal universe. Using a famous phrase from Chapter 5 of the Daode jing, everything in the phenomenal world is a “straw dog” (chugou), with straw dogs being effigies used in ancient Chinese ritual. On some level, we are simply sacrificial offerings in the unending decomposition and recomposition ritual of the universe. We simply participate in the unending transformative process of the Dao. Second, in the case of human beings, innate nature is innately good. To express this nature is to act with virtue. But this is not socially constructed morality, as in the case of Confucianism. Rather, it is the way in which one’s innate nature naturally manifests, as a beneficial presence and influence. Such a condition has moral qualities from a conventional perspective, but it is simply one’s own innate nature, the Dao, becoming present in human relationship and interaction (see Chapter 8).
When virtue does not flourish, this is due not to the “presence of evil” in the world, but rather to widespread psychological and spiritual confusion. On the personal level, the primary sources of such confusion include sensory engagement with the world through the “passages” and “doorways” mentioned in the Daode jing passage above, and emotionality, especially negative, harmful, and inappropriate emotional reactions. This leads to a state of disorientation that is manifest in distinctions, categories, biases, and opinions emanating from one’s own limited, egoistic viewpoint. This Daoist description of disintegration is also a map for reintegration. The most important principle here is “returning to the Source” (guigen), a term that means attunement with the Dao. The tradition proposes various ways to do this, but taking classical Daoism to its logical conclusion, it simply involves abiding in the ground of one’s being. One accepts what is, and allows each being to unfold according to its own innate nature. With respect to religious discipline, one trains oneself to have a positive and accepting view of oneself and others. Generally speaking, the ideal here is not becoming emotionless. Rather, it is to attain a state of “true joy,” a calm contentment and buoyancy undisturbed by gain and loss, by the trials and tribulations of existence, or by fulfillment or frustration of mundane desires. It requires recognition of change as the one universal constant. “The sage penetrates bafflement and complication, rounding all into a single body, yet he does not know why—it is his innate nature. He returns to fate and acts accordingly, using the cosmos (tianxia) as his teacher” (Zhuangzi, Chapter 25; also Chapter 5).
This foundational worldview incorporates a vision of human existence in a larger energetic, cosmological and theological context (see Chapter 6). One endeavors to follow a way of life that is participatory, that is fully present to the moment. For example, we encounter an exchange between Zhuangzi and Huizi, a famous representative of the so-called Mingjia
(Logicians/Terminologists).
THE JOY OF FISH
Zhuangzi and Huizi were strolling along the dam of the Hao River when Zhuangzi said, “See how the minnows come out and dart around where they please! That’s what fish really enjoy!”
Huizi said, “You’re not a fish, so how do you know what fish enjoy?”
Zhuangzi said, “You’re not me, so how do you know I don’t know what fish enjoy?”
Huizi said, “I’m not you, so I certainly don’t know what you know. On the other hand, you’re certainly not a fish—so that still proves you don’t know what fish enjoy!”
Zhuangzi said, “Let’s go back to your original question. You asked me how I know what fish enjoy—so you already knew I knew it when you asked the question. I know it by standing here beside the Hao River.” (Zhuangzi, Chapter 17; adapted from Watson 1968: 188-9)
Although passages like this tend to be read “philosophically,” I would suggest that they are about being alive in the world. Huizi can only understand the conversation and “reality” through his own linguistic and conceptual frameworks. He can only speak from the limited perspective of his own philosophical commitments, especially through the cognitive faculty of intellect and reason. In contrast, Zhuangzi views existence from a different perspective. By walking through the landscape, by enjoying its contours and presences, by observing the joy of fish, Zhuangzi participates in the underlying mystery and all-pervading sacred presence of the Dao. While the experiences of fish and humans appear to be different, the actual condition of experiencing and participation is the same.
Within the texts of classical Daoism, we also find other core Daoist values and commitments. These include non-contention (wuzheng), nonknowing (wuzhi ), and clarity and stillness (qingjing). Within the phrases wuwei, wuzheng, and wuzhi, one notices the repetition of wu (“without”), that is, the term that negates the character which follows. This type of discourse has led some scholars to characterize classical Daoist views as “quietistic” or “apophatic,” emptying the heart-mind of emotional and intellectual content. While this might seem to support a philosophical reading of classical Daoism in terms of “relativism,” “skepticism,” and philosophy of language (see, e.g. Kjellberg and Ivanhoe 1996; Cook 2003), such language rather draws one’s attention to the disruptive effects of “acting,” “contending,” and “knowing,” especially in conventional ways. They also point towards something else, namely, the transformative effect of contemplative practice and a larger vision of personhood and being. The stillness at the ground of one’s being, often identified as innate nature (see above), is the Stillness which is the Dao (LaFargue 1992: 229–30; also 53– 85, 243). Here we find a high anthropology and a sophisticated psychological understanding (see Chapter 7). From this perspective, human beings have untapped potential, and consciousness cannot be reduced to intellect or reason. Consciousness in a more complete sense includes “spiritual capacities” such as contentless and non-conceptual awareness as well as mystical abiding, a condition of non-dualistic being. This is not to say that intellect and reason are unimportant or irrelevant. Rather, they have a function that must be understood and appropriately employed.
Daoist traditions formulated precepts and practices based on these classical foundations. For example, in the early Tianshi movement, community members applied Nine Practices (jiuxing).
THE NINE PRACTICES OF EARLY TIANSHI DAOISM
1. Practice non-action (wuwei ).
2. Practice softness and weakness (rouruo).
3. Practice guarding the feminine (shouci ). Do not initiate actions.
4. Practice being nameless (wuming).
5. Practice clarity and stillness (qingjing).
6. Practice being adept (zhushan).
7. Practice being desireless (wuyu).
8. Practice ceasing with sufficiency (zhizu).
9. Practice yielding and withdrawing (tuirang).
(Laojun jinglü, DZ 786, 1a; see also Bokenkamp 1997: 49; Kohn 2004c: 59)
These nine principles derive from various chapters of the Daode jing (see Komjathy 2008a, v. 5), and form a clear connective strand between classical Daoism and early Daoism. In this respect, it is also noteworthy that the
Daode jing had a central position in this movement. The third Celestial Master, Zhang Lu (d. 215), may have written a commentary to the text, which is titled the Laozi Xiang’er zhu (Commentary Thinking Through the Laozi; DH 56; S. 6825; see Bokenkamp 1997). The Xiang’er commentary is only one of over a hundred extant Daoist commentaries on the Daode jing in the Daoist Canon (see Chapter 12), almost none of which have unfortunately been studied or translated. The early Tianshi community also extracted precepts, the Twenty-Seven Xiang’er Precepts, from their early commentary (see Chapter 8). These conduct guidelines, in turn, became collected in various Daoist precept texts (see Kohn 2004c).
3] Embodiment, practice, experience
Viewed from a comprehensive and integrated perspective, one finds a strong emphasis on embodiment, practice, and experience within the Daoist tradition. The foundational Daoist view of human being and existence is psychosomatic, and recognizes physical, physiological, psychological, and spiritual dimensions of personhood. At the same time, “self,” from a traditional Daoist perspective, is relational, communal (human and “nonhuman”), cosmological, as well as theological. Thus, complete “embodiment” is about integration and participation. It is about being and presence. On a cosmological and theological level, it is about the mysteriousness and numinosity of the Dao manifesting through one’s life. It is about becoming an embodiment of the Dao in the world.
Here one notices a fundamental Daoist concern: physicality and aliveness. Daoists tend to have body-affirming and world-affirming views. Even in Daoist communities where “immortality” and “transcendence” are primary, the attainment of such a state occurs within and through the body in an intentional way. Going farther, many Daoists have sought to encounter the Dao in all things. First and foremost, this involves attentiveness to one’s own body and corporeal reality, including diet (see Chapter 9) as well as vitality and longevity (see Chapter 10). It also involves training oneself to see the Dao manifesting through each and every being. As an embodied being in the world, there are different ways of experiencing the Dao’s innumerable manifestations. These may be mapped along a spectrum from personal to impersonal and transpersonal, from psychological to cosmological and mystical. Such categories, of course, are not necessarily mutually exclusive.
Daoist practice has included aesthetics, art (e.g. calligraphy, music, painting, and poetry), dietetics, health and longevity practice, meditation, ritual, scripture study, and so forth. The point to be made here is that whatever path Daoists follow, practice is essential. That is, although there are clearly distinctive Daoist worldviews, Daoists have tended to deemphasize belief and doctrine. The importance of practice throughout Daoist history has often been neglected by those who would construct Daoism primarily as “philosophy” or “way of life.” This view is especially prominent among readers and interpreters of classical Daoist texts, which are frequently read as about disembodied “ideas” and “ways of thinking.” However, if contextualized appropriately and read carefully, one finds that Daoists and Daoist communities are less interested in epistemology (ways of knowing); they tend to be more interested in ontology (ways of being) and soteriology (ways towards the Dao). That is, although worldview, practice, and experience are interrelated, Daoists have tended to place primary emphasis on practice and experience. One cannot understand the views expressed in Daoist texts without understanding the practices that inspired, are informed by and express those views.
For this reason, “practice” in Daoism most often refers to both one’s own spiritual discipline and one’s training at the hands of teachers, the community, and tradition. While auto-didacticism (teaching oneself) is not completely absent from the Daoist tradition, it tends to be a minority viewpoint. Self-directed spiritual practice often leads to confusion and selfabsorption, perhaps even narcissism. Authentic teachers and community elders can inhibit such tendencies and provide spiritual direction.
THE IMPORTANCE OF TEACHERS AND TRAINING
Perfected Jin said, “Alas, as I look at people in the world seeking a teacher and inquiring about the Dao, [I find that] they are not willing to subordinate themselves to others. They only speak about everyone else as inferior to themselves. When it comes to cultivation, they are unwilling to be diligent and attentive, patient and forbearing. They merely engage in hollow speech and never even start the right effort towards perfection. Moreover, they are not truly committed to cultivation. When they see people in poverty, they lack any inclination to be of assistance or to come to the rescue. With each successive step, they squander their efforts and practice until they utterly lose their hidden virtue and act in opposition to the Dao. Adepts like this who want to complete immortality and have confirmation of the Dao—how much more distant could they be!” (Jin zhenren yulu, DZ 1056, 2b-3a)
This quotation from the early twelfth-century Jin zhenren yulu (Discourse Record of Perfected Jin) emphasizes the importance of guidance under a teacher. It recalls Chapter 70 of the Daode jing: “My words are very easy to understand and very easy to practice, but no one understands or practices them” (see also Chapter 41). Ideally, Daoist teachers have a deep root in practice and familiarity with the challenges and contributions of committed religious practice. Such teachers, usually referred to as “master-fathers” (shifu), also help to clarify the disciple’s vocation.
Here one example will suffice to illustrate the importance of formal religious training. As discussed in Chapter 13, ritual is one of the primary religious activities of Daoists. Daoist ritual tends to include an officiant (head priest), cantors (assistant priests), and attending members of the larger religious community, whether patrons, other priests and monastics, or ordinary believers. The first two positions require long-term and intensive training. This is especially the case for the officiant, who leads the ritual. He is the primary intermediary between deities and the community. While lay believers may have personal altars, where they bow and make offerings such as incense and fruit, they lack the formal training, expertise, and standing to ascend the community altar, to lead the ritual, and to have audience with divinities. This requires the services of an officiant with the necessary training to perform such a complex ritual.
The final element of the tripartite understanding of Daoist practice and attainment is experience. Religious practice and religious experience are interrelated. Specific types of practice lead to specific types of experiences, and specific types of experiences confirm the efficacy of specific training regimens (Komjathy 2007a). These include theistic and dualistic encounters with deities, immortals, and Perfected as well as monistic and unitive experiences of the Dao, whether as Nature (panenhenic) or as primordial undifferentiation (monistic) (see Chapters 3 and 6). At the same time, Daoists have tended to view such experiences as blessings, beyond one’s personal control, or as by-products of practice.
In terms of religious practice and religious experience, some Daoists have emphasized “experiential confirmation” and “verification” (zhengyan), also translated as “signs of proof” (Eskildsen 2001; see also Eskildsen 2004; Komjathy 2007a). For example, the final section of the tenth-century Chuandao ji (Anthology on the Transmission of the Dao; DZ 263, j. 14–16), one of the most influential early Zhong-Lü texts, is titled “Lun zhengyan” (On Experiential Confirmation). It informs the Daoist adept that specific training regimens may result in specific experiences. After one conserves vital essence, opens the body’s meridians, and generates saliva, one begins a process of self-rarification and self-divinization (see Chapters 7 and 11). At the most advanced stages of alchemical transformation, one becomes free of karmic obstructions and entanglements and one’s name becomes registered in the records of the Three Purities. The embryo of immortality matures, which includes the ability to manifest as the body-beyond-the-body and to have greater communion with celestial realms. After the adept’s bones begin to disappear and become infused with golden light, he or she may receive visitations from divine beings. This process of experiential confirmation is said to culminate as follows: “In a solemn and grand ceremony, you will be given the purple writ of the celestial books and immortal regalia. Immortals will appear on your left and right, and you will be escorted to Penglai. You will have audience with the Perfect Lord of Great Tenuity in the Purple Palace. Here your name and place of birth will be entered into the registers. According to your level of accomplishment, you will be given a dwellingplace on the Three Islands. Then you may be called a Perfected (zhenren) or immortal (xianzi )” (16.30a; see Komjathy 2007a).
Closely associated with these signs of proof, Daoist practitioners have suggested that Daoist religious practice may result in certain “boons along the way,” specifically in the acquisition of “numinous abilities” (shentong) and “numinous pervasion” (lingtong). The “Lun liutong jue” (Instructions on the Six Pervasions), a Yuan dynasty internal alchemy text, provides a clear description.
THE SIX PERVASIONS
(1) Pervasion of Heart-mind Conditions, involving the ability toexperience unified nature as distinct from the ordinary body.
(2) Pervasion of Spirit Conditions, involving the ability to knowthings beyond ordinary perception.
(3) Pervasion of Celestial Vision, involving the ability to perceive internal landscapes within the body.
(4) Pervasion of Celestial Hearing, involving the ability to hearthe subtle communications of spirits and humans.
(5) Pervasion of Past Occurrences, involving the ability to understand the karmic causes and effects relating to the Three Realms of desire, form, and formlessness.
(6) Pervasion of the Heart-minds of Others, involving the abilityto manifest the body-beyond-the-body. (Neidan jiyao, DZ 1258,
3.12a-14a; see also Chapter 11 herein)
These parallel the Buddhist emphasis on the attainment of “supernatural powers” and “paranormal abilities” (Skt.: siddhi ), including magical powers, the divine ear (clair-audience), penetration of the minds of others (clairvoyance), the divine eye (ability to see into time and space), memory of former existences, and knowledge of the extinction of karmic outflows. As is the case among Buddhists, Daoists have tended to identify such abilities as a natural outcome of practice. One should not pursue, elevate, or become attached to such abilities. Instead, one must recognize them for what they are: byproducts of practice. They are simply one possible form of experiential confirmation. Other forms include an increased sense of meaning and purpose, a teacher’s recognition, or veneration by others. At the same time, none of these things may occur. It depends on one’s affinities, constitution, and the time.
4] Adherence and community
Adherence is also a foundational dimension of the Daoist religious tradition. Adherence refers to a person’s formal association with a religious tradition. An “adherent” is a member of a religious tradition, and the concept replaces earlier terms such as “believer.” With respect to the academic study of religion, adherence is often framed in terms of “belief” and “selfidentification” (see Chapters 1 and 16). It thus relates to religious identity (see Chapter 3). However, simply understanding adherence in terms of the individual fails to recognize pivotal elements of religious identity, including community and tradition. In the case of Daoism, adherence, community, and tradition are interrelated.
One does not have to directly participate in a formal religious community to receive indirect influences from it. Take, for example, the Daode jing, a “text” that has become part of contemporary global culture. As many have pointed out, the text is second only to the Bible as the most translated book in “world literature.” However, how is it that the Daode jing exists? How is it that the Daode jing is accessible in the contemporary world? Members of the inner cultivation lineages of classical Daoism remembered sayings, compiled earlier anthologies, and preserved and transmitted those manuscripts (see Chapters 2 and 3). At the same time, throughout Chinese history, Daoists created standardized editions of the Daode jing with their own unique commentaries, which express the views of specific Daoists and specific Daoist communities. Daoists have tended to read the Daode jing with the guidance of Daoist teachers rooted in Daoist traditions of reading and interpretation. Thus, the Daode jing not only is a Daoist scripture, a sacred text written in classical Chinese, but also exists because of Daoists and Daoist communities. The very existence of the scripture and the opportunity to read it in English today locates one on some level in the Daoist tradition, a tradition with specific views and interpretations of scripture (see Chapter 12).
Closely associated with community is place. Daoists have tended to place a strong emphasis on place, especially intentional communities living in hermitages, temples, or monasteries in natural environs (see also Chapter 1). Typical examples include Taiqing gong (Palace of Great Clarity), an oceanside monastery near Qingdao, Shandong, and Yuquan yuan (Temple of the Jade Spring), a mountain monastery near Huayin, Shaanxi. These places reveal one resolution of the above-mentioned tension between wildness and cultural refinement in Daoism. On the one hand, these places are highly cultured: they are temple compounds that house monastics adhering to a regulated life, which consists of a daily schedule, simple vegetarian meals, no intoxicants, celibacy, and cenobitic monasticism. The temple compound also includes altars to specific gods, liturgical performances, and other dimensions of Daoist culture, such as calligraphy and temple boards (see Chapter 15). On the other hand, the temples exist within a moreencompassing wild environment. It is filled with granite boulders, untamed trees, and wild birds and animals. Both temple compounds located in the surrounding locale remind one of Chinese landscape paintings: the monastics and temples are barely noticeable from the viewpoint of landscape and cosmos. Finally, although the mountains are “wild” on some level, they are traversed by walking paths and mountain trails; they also house other smaller hermitages and temples. There is a way in. There is a space for human residence and participation.
Thus, place-specific community is centrally important in Daoism. One might go so far as to say that “Daoist practice” outside of a Daoist context, Daoist community, and Daoist place lacks key elements. For Daoists, participation in the tradition involves certain values, qualities, places, and responsibilities. In terms of religious standing, it consists of connection (tong). On the most basic level, such connection refers to one’s degree of alignment and attunement with the Dao, the degree to which one is living through the Dao. In this respect we may recall the external Three Treasures of the Dao, the scriptures, and the teachers. Each one of these is an aspect of tradition, and ideally each one has a connection to the unnamable mystery and all-pervading sacred presence of the Dao.
FURTHER READING
Kohn, Livia. 2002. Living with the Dao: Conceptual Issues in Daoist Practice. E-dao (electronic) publication. Cambridge, MA: Three Pines Press.
Komjathy, Louis. 2008 (2003). Handbooks for Daoist Practice. 10 vols. Hong Kong: Yuen Yuen Institute.
Schipper, Kristofer. 1993. The Taoist Body. Translated by Karen C. Duval. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Silvers, Brock. 2005. The Taoist Manual: Applying Taoism to Daily Life.
Nederland, CO: Sacred Mountain Press.
