Category: Foundations

Daoism has a great many fascinating conceptual principles and practice methods.  But our Daoism is really only about one thing – bringing in the raw, creative power of Dao.

If we’re always doing this or doing that – even if it’s some fascinating and profound spiritual practice – Dao will just keep yielding to our movement forever.  It’s not very assertive – it just sits back, staying hidden and silent, allowing us to do as we please.

But if we take up the mantle of yin – empty ourselves completely – this provides a space for the shy power of Dao to come through.  As Laozi suggests, it’s like we have to become a passive, quiet, and submissive maiden to encourage the reluctant Dao to bring forth its own yang.

If we’re not clear about this one thing, then it really doesn’t matter whether we can perform the myriad methods – we’re simply technicians operating in the dark.  But if we are clear about this one thing, then we can use the myriad methods to effectively support our practice.

The raw power comes down from above and enters though the top of the head.  The entry point is the soft spot just in front of the crown – the fontanel.  We want to keep this spot soft like a newborn baby’s.  We also want to avoid too much thinking or exertion and just let the incoming power settle down to the lower dantian.  From there it will gather and grow, rebounding to reach the fingers and toes and every pore of the skin, pervading the entire body.  It’s like bathing in a sweet elixir all the way through.  Foundational practices are so important to enable us to receive this power without collapsing or going crazy.  Keeping the head open and the base stable in formal practice and the moment-to-moment informal conduct of our daily lives is the central method of wuweidao.

“Yi” (Hexagram 42) courtesy of LiSe Lotti Voute.

There has been a lot of rumination and debate in the West about whether Daoism is a philosophy or a religion.  This started when early Western observers (primarily Jesuit missionaries) perceived a disconnect between the “philosophy” they read about in Laozi, Zhuangzi, and other early Daoist texts, and the actual “religious” practices they observed in Daoist ritual.  A perspective grew in the West during the 20^th-century that there were in fact two Daoisms – the original pure philosophy, and the latter-day religion.

Chinese Daoists don’t tend to recognize any such bifurcation, and 21^st-century scholars have largely debunked the notion of two separate Daoisms as they have continued their research and discussions with actual practitioners.

Indeed, early Daoist texts do not recommend the kind of complex & elaborate ritual practices that came later.  As we know, Laozi & Zhuangzi emphasize simplicity and naturalness.  We also know that much of the religiosity of later Daoism appeared as a nativist response to the introduction of Buddhism from India.  So there may be a case for distinguishing the original Daoism from later traditions.  But many of the practices of Daoist ritual actually pre-date Laozi, dating back to pre-Daoist shamanism.  Many “Daoist” practices are not necessarily Daoist but were forms of shamanism that Daoism embraced.  More importantly, however, is the dynamic and harmonious interplay of these practices with the various aspects of Daoist “philosophy”.

Let’s look at the meaning of the words philosophy & religion.  Philosophy comes from the Greek philosophia, meaning “lover of knowledge” – it implies using rational analysis to satisfy an appetite for understanding.  Religion comes from the Greek religare, meaning “binding” – it implies offering sacrifice and relying on a deity for some kind of deliverance.  So we can say philosophers are rational thinkers in search of insight into the nature of reality, whereas religious adherents faithfully bind themselves to a higher power.

Daoism is neither of these.  Based on the above definitions, we could say philosophy concentrates qi in the head, and religion concentrates qi in the heart.  Daoism at its basis relaxes qi from the head and heart, letting it gather in the belly and likewise letting it circulate all over.  Indeed, there are many philosophical concepts underlying Daoism that are important to understand, such as the cosmogeny of wuji, taiji, yin-yang, and the five phases of qi – not to mention how wuwei relates to these concepts.  And there are numerous ritual practices, precepts, and even deities – but in Daoism these are all simply ways of cultivating qi and expressing Dao-De.

Daoism is a system – or rather a broad family of varied systems – of qi-cultivation with a philosophical basis in ancient Chinese thought and various methods of hygiene, meditation, & ritual.  Is this philosophy or religion?

KAAT!

The mountain shadow moves with the sun.

Our tradition emphasizes the importance of View-Method-Fruition.  This trinary mechanism functions as a circle of “Great Completion” (大圓).

View is our perspective – how we see ourselves and how we see reality.  The character guàn (觀) shows a heron watching something, meaning to keenly perceive – this character also means Daoist temple.  Our view informs how we relate to the world, how we approach our formal practice methods, and what we expect to “get” out of our practice.

Method refers to our various formal practices of hygiene, meditation, & ritual, as well as our informal conduct.  The character shù (術) suggests the growth of a tree.  Methods are essentially processes of transformation – like a tree growing through its life-cycle.

Fruition refers to the ripening experience resulting from practicing methods with a view.  The character guǒ (果) shows a tree bearing fruit – the full expression of the process, the tree reaching full maturity.

View-Method-Fruition correspond to Heaven, Earth, & Humankind – Heaven being the primary inspiration, Earth being the field of activity, and Humankind being the resulting fruit of the union of Heaven & Earth.

From this perspective, we can see the importance of looking into our view – what am I?  What is reality?  If method is a process, view is what directs that process – if we apply different views to the same process, it’s not going to have the same result.  Our practice needs to align view & method in order to ripen the fruit.

In the broad suite of spiritual or energetic practices out there, each is inspired by a particular view.  In the West today we have many opportunities to learn practice methods, but their transmission doesn’t always include the underlying view – the view is actually often stripped out in order to make the method more palatable to our existing views.  For example, we can learn yoga, meditation, or taiji by people who tell us we are free to apply our own beliefs to them.  This is the American way – show me what you’ve got, but don’t tell me how to think.  Wonderful.  But practicing Daoist methods without the corresponding view does not lead to the intended fruition.

This is particularly important when approaching the non-conceptual contemplative meditation & qi-cultivation of Laozi.  The method is simple but the view is paramount.  If we are pushing for results, Laozi’s method is futile.  If we are looking to get saved or to become a superhuman being, his method is worthless.  So in our school we study Laozi’s text as a “view” manual for meditation & qi-cultivation.  Laozi may not include many technical points, but his view-teaching deeply informs the correct method of contemplative meditation & qi-cultivation.

As far as I can tell, not all Daoist texts and practice methods are aligned with Laozi.  Alchemical Daoism has a great deal of complex concepts that are important to understand in order to practice its methods effectively.  And the methods may be quite complex & elaborate.  Laozi’s contemplative Daoism by comparison doesn’t rely on many concepts so much as an atmospheric qi-quality shared between mentor & disciple in the context of Laozi’s teaching.  The corresponding method is simply abiding in that atmosphere.

My Daoist teacher was a view-teacher; he didn’t spend much time on method instruction.  Just enough to initiate a natural process.  If you’re studying a Daoist art, I encourage you to tap your teacher to ask about the underlying view of the practice.  In our tradition, when our practice starts to ripen, the view becomes ever more clear and the method becomes ever more effective.  This is the circle of Great Completion.

Wuwei is probably the most inspired concept in all of human history.  Laozi coined this term in the Dao De Jing, and it is indeed the central theme of the text.  Laozi did not develop the basic cosmogony of Daoism – the waxing & waning of yin & yang was already well understood long before, and numerous other Daoist theories & practices are not necessarily inspired by Laozi.  What Laozi presented was wuwei – how the Dao functions in the world and how the sage conducts himself.  Although this term is important in all Daoist traditions, different traditions have different interpretations of what it means.  Let’s look at the old characters* from the perspective of our tradition.

The old character for wu (無) shows a person (人) holding wood (木) in either hand.  Perhaps because of the homophones for shaman (巫) and dancer (舞), it is often understood as a dancing shaman holding ritual sticks.  I also see a person in the forest – a homeless hermit with nothing to his/her name, or a person holding “the uncarved block” – grasping unmanifest simplicity.  I also notice the entire character conveys the image of fire (火), and the modern traditional character places the radical for fire (灬) at the bottom, so the image of burning wood (i.e. transformation) may be important to understanding the meaning of wu.  Finally, some observers note the modern character looks like bundled crops with seeds in the ground, suggesting an empty field after harvest, full of potential.  Taking the gestalt of these images, I see a shaman-sage conducting a ritual dance on the edge of existence & nothingness – transforming something from one state to another.  This ritual represents what Hindus call the dance of Shiva.  What Brahma creates, Shiva destroys.  Shiva is not a devil; Shiva is that aspect of Dao that moves things along – transformation through destruction.  So wu means emptying things out, purging and moving them along, sending spirit up and leaving only ashes below.  It can also mean having nothing – no home or belongings, no agendas or delusions.  Wu is commonly used to denote nothingness or the lack of something.

The old character for wei (為) shows a claw above an elephant.  I’m not sure about this, but whereas hand (手) represents skillful activity, claw (爪) seems to imply exertion of force.  I believe elephant (象) symbolizes strength and intelligence.  This makes sense, as wei means cleverly wielding strength – deliberate, intentional activity undertaken in order to achieve some result.  Leading the elephant where you want it to go.  The character for elephant also means form or appearance, so another meaning could be to claw at appearances, which also implies exerting force to get something.  Most of Daoism throughout history has indeed consisted of undertaking intentional methods in order to achieve specific results.  Interestingly, when the character for person is added to the left, it generates another character wei (偽) that means false pretense, artificial, or contrived.  I think wei also suggests the magical “getting what you want” practices that exist within Daoism.

What does it mean when we put these two words together?  The Dao De Jing has no punctuation marks and the language is very terse, so terms like wuwei can be read separately as wu & wei or together as a single concept.  Some schools interpret wuwei as using emptiness (wu) in order to achieve certain results (wei); others interpret it as using intention (wei) in order to push things along to another state (wu).  In our tradition, we view wuwei as a single concept that describes the way nature functions.

Wu is our state before birth.  Before our mother & father were born, what were we?  Long after our children pass away, what are we?  In our practice, we become intimate with the nothingness that precedes, underlies, and outlasts our lives.  Our tradition notes that no matter how much effort (wei) we apply in shaping the world to meet our desires, wu always comes along and transforms our creations back into nothingness.  Even if we make some huge mark on the world, eventually that mark passes away.  Wuwei invites us to try something different.  What would it be like to apply wu to our wei?  Extinguish all effort.  Abandon strength and cleverness.  This shift opens up the possibility of relating to the world (and to our practice of meditation & qi-cultivation) in a different way.  Relating without struggle & strain.

Wei is based on wanting things to be other than they are.  Wuwei is accepting things as they are, and adjusting to the continuous transformations of nature.  Laozi’s practice is not about getting what we want but relaxing into the way things are.

Wuwei is how we come into the world and how we grow and change and return.  Wuwei is how water flows downstream, how clouds form and break apart, how trees grow and blow in the wind.  Nature functions through wuwei – the birth, growth, maturation, decline, & death of myriad worlds & creatures is not driven by intention and effort.  It just happens.  Like good art.  The ritual image of wu suggests personal engagement in this natural process.

Laozi said: “wuwei but not buwei” – wuwei is not “doing nothing” as a direct translation might suggest.  Daoism includes various active practices of hygiene, meditation, & ritual.  But Laozi’s tradition does not focus on practicing particular methods so much as on how we practice whatever we are practicing.  Wuwei invokes a qualitative shift away from struggle & strain, finding natural ease in our conduct moment-to-moment.  Retract the claws and dance with Shiva.

*image source: Richard Sears – thank you!

I was recently asked whether I consider our tradition to be old-school or new-school Daoism.  Interesting question.  Here’s my response.

One of the names I’ve taken for our school is “Original Root Order” (源根派).  Let there be no mistake: we trace our lineage-inspiration to the old-school original Daoist teaching as expressed by Laozi.  And yet, as we enter into Laozi’s teaching, we come to realize there is in fact no authentic Daoist expression except that which spontaneously arises moment-by-moment.

What is often referred to as old-school Daoism can also be referred to as Daoist traditionalism.  Traditionalist schools may be brimming with millennia of accoutrements that may deeply inspire and support or, from the perspective of our tradition, may in fact weigh us down and inhibit authentic cultivation, depending on how we engage them.

On the other hand, a casual, free-wheeling approach to Daoism (which, beware, lends itself to the individualistic and self-assured nature of the Western mind), may in fact be nothing but a branch broken from its root – destined to wither and die before it bears fruit.

As it turns out, “Laozi” translates as “old-new”.  Lao (老) means elder – those who have come before us.  Laoshi means teacher.  Dao (道) itself is the ultimate lao – “that which precedes the gods”.  Zi (子) means baby or child – that which recently emerged, or perhaps that which is arising this very moment – fresh, with no accumulated merit or baggage.  We use the term De (德) to denote the moment-to-moment expression of Dao.  So Laozi means Dao-De.  The term also suggests “ripening the seed” as the text includes instructions for bringing forth a direct experience of Dao-De.

The authentic Daoist experience is rooted in the unborn Dao and spontaneously expresses itself moment-by-moment.  To the extent that we lose touch with this experience, let’s take a cue from Confucius and bow to those ancients who wrote down guidelines and passed along methods to return us to this experience.  As we bow, we give reverence and receive inspiration.  But let’s not overly rely on provisional teachings and methods and thus overlook the direct, uncontrived experience of our own nature.

The training I received from my root-Daoist teacher was centered on Daoist “view” and the proper method of contemplative non-conceptual meditation (zuowang, 坐忘).  This approach was present in both the early Tian-Shi and Quan-Zhen traditions and has continued alongside various ritual and alchemy traditions throughout Daoist history.  Its presence however always tends to be overshadowed by the more remarkable aspects of those traditions.

Daoism is steeped in numerous cultural elements and social dynamics that may or may not be inspired by wuweidao.  There were few accoutrements in my training.  My teacher actively discouraged Westerners from taking on the cultural elements of Chinese Daoism.  He focused on view-transmission and playfully and adeptly shared his extensive knowledge of numerous Daoist arts – always emphasizing the essence of the art above the form.  There may be something contrived about Westerners adopting too much Chinese tradition.  We need to attend to our own ancestors.  Wuweidao is the way things are – our tradition is to stay with reality as it is and not necessarily hold to traditional forms of expression.

When his teacher, “old Master Liu”, fled from northern China during the Japanese invasion, he wasn’t able to bring much with him.  His family had perished; his temple had been destroyed.  Eventually he made his way into a cave outside Taipei, where he stayed on retreat for 20 years until he was visited by a young Euro-American savant.  After a year of training, he passed on his thousand-year old family lineage, trusting that the root of his tradition of “wuweidao” would effectively transmit to the West without the old cultural accoutrements.

Daoism in general suffered severely during the 20^th century – in the civil war, the Japanese invasion, and the Cultural Revolution.  In the past 25 years, the traditions have been opening up quite a bit, and now Daoism is becoming robust once again.  That’s wonderful – it’s tempting to rejoice, but nothing in Laozi’s teaching supports us getting too excited about the waxing or waning of traditions.  Just continue.

As far as our tradition, we are carrying forward the fundamental view & method of Laozi’s wuweidao.  We’re exploring different elements of Chinese hygiene, alchemy, ritual, and more, but we are centered totally on Laozi’s non-conceptual meditation and a thorough steeping in the Dao De Jing.  My teacher opened up this text for me, as old Master Liu did for him.

So are we old-school or new-school?  All I know is: we’re keeping the cauldron warm, and sweet dew falls from above.

I hope you have enjoyed this blog.  Please contact me with any questions or if you would like to discuss.