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)
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 inappro- priate 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 reinte- gration. 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 repre- sentative of the so-called Mingjia (Logicians/Terminologists).
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 experi- ences 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), non-knowing (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 transform- ative 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