In other words, the tao that can be described, cited as authority, and praised is not the immutable way. This point is repeated in chapter XXXII
The way is for ever nameless (72),
and again in chapter XLI,
The way conceals itself in being nameless. (92)
There is no name that is applicable to the tao because language is totally inadequate for such a purpose. And yet if the tao is to be taught at all, some means, no matter how inadequate, must be found to give an idea of what it is like. This is a difficult task, for even the term ‘tao’ is not its proper name but a name we use for want of something better, and if we insist on characterizing it in some manner we can only describe it, not altogether appropriately, as ‘great’ (XXV, 56a).
The difficulty of finding appropriate language to describe the tao lies in the fact that although the tao is conceived of as that which is responsible for the creation as well as the support of the universe, yet the description the Taoist aimed at was a description in terms of tangible qualities as though the tao were a concrete thing.
In chapter XLII, it is said
The way begets one; one begets two; two begets three; three begets the myriad creatures. (93)
Although here it is said that ‘the way begets one’, ‘the One’ is, in fact, very often used as another name for the ‘tao’. Understood in this way, we can see that it is ‘the One’ or the ‘tao’ which is responsible for creating as well as supporting the universe.
Of old, these came to be in possession of the One:
Heaven in virtue of the One is limpid;
Earth in virtue of the One is settled;
Gods in virtue of the One have their potencies;
The valley in virtue of the One is full;
The myriad creatures in virtue of the One are alive;
Lords and princes in virtue of the One become leaders in
the empire.
It is the One that makes these what they are. (XXXIX, 85)
The point is pressed home by what immediately follows,
Without what makes it limpid heaven might split;
Without what makes it settled earth might sink;
Without what gives them their potencies gods might spend
themselves;
Without what makes it full the valley might run dry;
Without what keeps them alive the myriad creatures might
perish;
Without what makes them leaders lords and princes might
fall. (85a)
If this tao which is behind the universe is to be described in physical terms, this is the result:
Its upper part is not dazzling;
Its lower part is not obscure.
Dimly visible, it cannot be named
And returns to that which is without substance.
This is called the shape that has no shape,
The image that is without substance.
This is called indistinct and shadowy.
Go up to it and you will not see its head;
Follow behind it and you will not see its rear (XIV 33);
and
As a thing the way is
Shadowy, indistinct.
Indistinct and shadowy,
Yet within it is an image;
Shadowy and indistinct,
Yet within it is a substance.
Dim and dark,
Yet within it is an essence.
This essence is quite genuine
And within it is something that can be tested (XXI, 49),
and
There is a thing confusedly formed,
Born before heaven and earth.
Silent and void
It stands alone and does not change,
Goes round and docs not weary, (XXV, 56)
From these passages we can see that the entity called the tao existed before the universe came into being. This, for the author, is an absolutely indisputable fact. It has an essence which is genuine, and this genuineness is vouched for by the existence of the universe which it has produced and continues to sustain. But beyond this there is nothing we can say about the tao. The difficulty is indicated by saying that it is ‘shadowy and indistinct’, that it is ‘the shape that has no shape, the image that is without substance’. In fact, even to say that it produced the universe is misleading. It did not produce the universe in the same way that a father produces a son.
Deep, it is like the ancestor of the myriad creatures, (IV, 11)
It images the forefather of God. (IV, 13)
To say that it is ‘like’ the ancestor of the myriad creatures and that it ‘images’ the forefather of God is to say that the tao produced the universe only in a figurative sense.
For the difficulty of describing the tao there is a traditional interpretation which is quite ancient but for which there is no explicit support to be found in the Lao tzu itself. This is based on the conception of opposite terms which, as we shall see, play an important part in the thought of the Lao tzu. If we use a term to describe the attribute of a thing, there is also a term opposite to it which is suitable for describing the attribute of some other thing. We describe one thing as strong, but also describe another thing as weak. Similarly for the long and the short, the high and the low, and all conceivable pairs of opposites. Now if we wish to characterize the tao, we have to use such terms and yet none of them is appropriate, for if the tao is responsible for the strong being strong it is no less responsible for the weak being weak. It is argued that in order to be responsible for the strong being strong the tao must, in some sense, be itself strong also; and yet it would not be true to describe it as strong because as it is equally responsible for the weak being weak it must, in some sense, be itself weak as well. Thus we can see that no term can be applied to the tao because all terms are specific, and the specific, if applied to the tao, will impose a limitation on the range of its function. And the tao that is limited in its function can no longer serve as the tao that sustains the manifold universe.
There is no actual textual support for such an interpretation in the Lao tzu, but in all fairness it ought also to be pointed out that there is nothing in the text which is inconsistent with this interpretation either. Whether this is a correct interpretation of the original intention of the Lao tzu or not, it is a possible one and has the merit of being interesting philosophically. It forms a striking contrast to the type i of metaphysical reasoning in the Western tradition of which Plato is a prominent example. According to Plato, the objects of the sensible world are unreal to the extent that it can be said, at the same time, of any one of them that it is both A and not-A. There is no object in this world, no matter how round, of which we cannot say, at the same time, that it is not round. Therefore it fails to be fully round and so truly real. The Forms, on the other hand, are truly real because it is nonsense to say of the Form of Roundness that it is not round. What in Plato qualifies the Forms for reality is precisely that which would disqualify the tao from being the immutable way.
Plato’s view results in a plurality of Forms, each distinct in character from all others, while in the Taoist view there can be, and is, only one tao. The advantage seems to rest with the Taoist, as Plato was, in the end, unable to rest satisfied with a plurality of Forms and had to bring in the Form of the Good as a unifying principle, though how this unification was contrived is not at all clear. Again, Plato’s insistence that of anything real we must be able to make a statement to the exclusion of its contradictory seems to stem from his assumption that the totally real must be totally knowable. Here once more the Taoist takes the opposite position and looks upon the tao as unknowable. As before, the advantage seems to rest with the Taoist. There is no reason for us to assume that the totally real is totally knowable, particularly when the real is thought of as transcendent. The only drawback in saying that the real is unknowable is that it follows from this that the truth must also be ineffable. And this the Taoist is quite prepared to accept.
There may
be some doubt whether the interpretation just set out was the one intended in the Lao tzu, but there is no doubt that in the Lao tzu opposite terms are not treated as equally inadequate in the description of the tao. If we take pairs of opposite terms like Something and Nothing, the high and the low, the long and the short, and so on, we can have two classes each comprising one of the two terms in each pair. We can call Something, the high, and the long the higher terms, and Nothing, the low, and the short, the lower terms. It is clear that in the Lao tzu the lower terms are thought of as far more useful or, at least, far less misleading as descriptions of the tao. For instance, Nothing is often used to indicate the tao,
The myriad creatures in the world are born from Something, and Something from Nothing, (XL, 89)
We can easily understand why lower terms are preferred, for these terms are very often expressed in a negative form, and negative terms have not the same limiting function that positive terms have, and, as we have seen, it is the limiting function that makes specific terms unfit for describing the tao.
Besides Nothing, there are other lower terms which are important in the Lao tzu, but we have to return to them later on. For the time being, it is the use of Nothing as an indication of the nature of the tao that interests us, for this is part and parcel of the difference between the Taoist view and the philosophical views we find in the West.
In the Western tradition, up to the beginning of the present century at least, it has generally been assumed that only what exists can be real, so much so that when, at one time, universals were denied existence, an ad hoc subsistence had to be invented to give them reality. With the Taoist, however, whatever has existence cannot be real, for whatever exists also suffers from the limitations of the specific. Hence it is thought far less misleading to say of the tao that it is like Nothing, though, strictly speaking, the tao can be no more like Nothing than it is like Something.
The conception of the tao as the creator of the universe is interesting, because, as far as we know, this was an innovation of the Warring States period, and the Lao tzu is one of the works where it is to be found. Traditionally, the role of creator belonged to heaven (t’ien). This was so from the earliest times. Heaven was the term used in the earliest extant works, the Book of Odes and the Book of History. It is the term used in the Analects of Confucius and the Mo tzu, and continued to be used in the Mencius and even in the Hsün tzu, where, under the influence of Taoist thought, the term had undergone a significant change in meaning. What is interesting is that even in the Chuang tzu side by side with the tao heaven continued to be a key term. This can be seen from the remark in the Hsün tzu (chapter 21) that Chuang Tzu was prevented from realizing the significance of man because of his obsession with the significance of heaven, and this is borne out by the impression one gets in reading the Chuang tzu, where heaven is certainly one of the most important concepts, if not the most important.
In these works where the concept of heaven remains central, the term tao is always used in the sense of ’the way of something’, even when it is used without qualifications. In relation to heaven it means the way that heaven follows, and in relation to man it means the way that he ought to follow, whether it be in the leading of his own life or in the government of the state.
In the Lao tzu, the tao is no longer ‘the way of something’, but a completely independent entity, and replaces heaven in all its functions. But the tao is also the way followed by the inanimate universe as well as by man. As a result, in reading the Lao tzu one sometimes gets the feeling that the line is blurred between the tao as an entity and the tao as an abstract principle which is followed. These two are confused because they share in common the characteristic of transcending the senses. This is a confusion not unlike the one mentioned in chapter XIV:
What cannot be seen is called evanescent;
What cannot be heard is called rarefied;
What cannot be touched is called minute.
These three cannot be fathomed
And so they arc confused and looked upon as one. (32, 32a)
Since in the Lao tzu the term tao has, to all intents and purposes, replaced heaven, it is curious to note that the phrase ‘the way of heaven’ occurs a number of times. In some cases at least, the use of this phrase seems to indicate that the passage belongs to a somewhat different, and most probably earlier, tradition. Apart from two uses in chapters ix and XLVII which are not typical, the phrase occurs only in the last ten chapters, in some of which the ideas contained seem to be contrary to the view taken of the tao in the Lao tzu generally. In chapter LXXVII we find:
Is not the way of heaven like the stretching of a bow?
The high it presses down,
The low it lifts up;
The excessive it takes from,
The deficient it gives to. (184)
It is the way of heaven to take from what has in excess in order to make good what is deficient. (184a)
Then in chapter LXXIX,
It is the way of heaven to show no favouritism.
It is for ever on the side of the good man. (192)
In these passages heaven is conceived of as taking an active hand in redressing the iniquities of this world. It is always on the side of the good and the oppressed. This runs contrary to the view of the tao generally to be found in the book as something non-personal and amoral.
In replacing the concept of heaven by that of the tao, although the Lao tzu sets itself apart from most ancient works, including to some extent even the Chuang tzu, it is by no means unique. In this respect it shows a certain affinity with a group of chapters (12, 36 to 38, and 49) in the Kuan tzu, another work, probably of the same period, which is also an anthology of early writings. These chapters have, in recent years, been considered by some scholars as representing the teachings of the school of Sung K’eng and Yin Wen. Sung K’eng is certainly mentioned both in the Mencius and the Hsün tzu, and is probably the same as the Sung Jung Tzu mentioned in the Chuang tzu. There is no doubt that in his strong opposition to war and in his attempt to persuade people that they do not, in fact, desire much, he was very close to the Mohist school. Yet in the bibliographical chapter of the Han shu (History of the Western Han Dynasty) by Pan Ku (AD 32- 92), the comment on Sung K’eng is that he advocated views of Huang and Lao, in other words, Taoist views. This seems to be an indication that there was some connexion between the early Taoist schools and the later Mohists.
Although in the Lao tzu the tao which replaces heaven has ceased to be an intelligence and to be moral, nevertheless, the Lao tzu continued in the tradition that man should model his behaviour on heaven, only here he is urged to model himself on the tao. In order to do this, we must first find out how the tao functions. Although the tao is said to leave nothing undone by resorting to no action, there are indications of how it works.
Turning back is how the way moves;
Weakness is the means the way employs, (XL, 88)
This sums up the way the tao functions. That ‘weakness’ and other kindred concepts are important in the Lao tzu can be seen from the way the thought of the Lao tzu is summed up in two works. In the Lit shih ch’un ch’iu (chiian 17, pt 7) it is said that Lao Tan valued ‘the submissive (jou)’, while in the Hsün tzu (chapter 17) it is said that Lao Tzu saw the value of’the bent’ but not that of ‘the straight’. The weak, the submissive, the bent, these are the important concepts in the Lao tzu because these are the qualities the tao exhibits.
The movement of the tao is described as ‘turning back’. This is usually interpreted as meaning that the tao causes all things to undergo a process of cyclic change. What is weak inevitably develops into something strong, but when this process of development reaches its limit, the opposite process of decline sets in and what is strong once again becomes something weak, and decline reaches its lowest limit only to give way once more to development. Thus there is an endless cycle of development and decline.
There is a further theory concerning the submissive a
nd the weak which is equally prominent in the Lao tzu. The submissive and the weak overcome the hard and the strong. Again this is usually given a cyclic interpretation which links up with that of the theory of change. The weak overcomes the strong and in so doing it becomes strong itself and so falls victim in turn to the weak.
The whole interpretation seems reasonable enough at first sight, but as soon as we look more carefully into the value of the submissive and the weak we become aware of certain difficulties. The precept in die Lao tzu is that we should ‘hold fast to the submissive’. But is the precept tenable if the cyclic interpretation is correct? If we are exhorted to hold fast to the submissive because in the conflict between the hard and the submissive it is the latter that emerges triumphant, is not this triumph short lived if the submissive becomes hard in the hour of its triumph? This, if true, would make it impossible to put the precept into practice. Moreover, if change is cyclic and a thing that reaches the limit in one direction will revert to the opposite direction, then the precept is both useless and impracticable. It is useless, if both development and decline are inevitable, since the purpose is in the first instance to avoid decline; and impracticable, if it advocates that we should remain stationary in a world of inexorable and incessant change. As this precept of holding fast to the submissive seems central to the teachings in the Lao tzu, it is the cyclic interpretation that has to be given up.
It is necessary then to re-interpret both the process of change and the nature of the victory the submissive gains over the hard. First, in the line
Turning back is how the way moves,
we notice that the term used is ‘turning back’. To turn back is ‘to return to one’s roots’, and one’s roots are of course the submissive and the weak. All that is said is that a thing, once it has reached the limits of development, will return to its roots, i.e. will decline. This is inevitable. Nothing is said about development being equally inevitable once one has returned to one’s roots. In other words, it is never said that the process of change is cyclic. In fact, not only is development not inevitable, it is a slow and gradual process, every step of which has to be sustained by deliberate effort. Development and decline are totally different in nature. Development is slow and gradual; decline is quick and abrupt. Development can only be achieved by deliberate effort; decline comes about naturally and inexorably. Rather than a merry-go-round, the process of change is like a children’s slide. One climbs laboriously to the top, but once over the edge the downward movement is quick, abrupt, inevitable, and complete. This makes it not only possible, but also useful, to follow the precept of holding fast to the submissive. One can follow the precept by refusing to make the effort necessary for development and in unusual circumstances by making a positive effort to defeat such development. A poor man can remain poor simply by not making the effort to acquire wealth, but should he be left, against his will, a large legacy by a non-Taoist uncle, he can still stubbornly hold on to his poverty by giving the money away.