Tag: Lao Tze

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#13 jì 寄 tuō 託

loving—your heart-core in your throat

Favoring a pampered wild pet/concubine and

disgracing yourself in private….

both are startling.

(That is to say… favoring efforting, Heaven-Below:

whether gathering riches

or dropping things,

either way startles.)

Treasuring riches and

piercing your heart core with worry…

both are part of one’s pregnant self.

(That is to say… I, myself, yup that exact person:

whether a Being who’s efforting one’s pregnant self

or a Not-Being who’s reached one’s pregnant self,

either way pierces the heart core with worry.)

That’s why treasuring riches means one’s pregnant self is entrusted with Heaven-Below the way that someone exiled east to a house of strange, great men as punishment is still counted on to translate there;

and loving—your heart-core in your throat—means one’s pregnant self is trusted with Heaven-Below like someone committed to care for a blade of grass by words spoken from a mouth.

That’s my interpretation of Chapter 13. To see what liberties I may have taken, visit my literal transcription here. The most interesting thing to me about this chapter (aside from how people worrying over pregnancy has apparently always been a thing!), is the difference between the two kinds of “trusted with.”

  • jì 寄: The very top part of the pictogram shows a house’s roof. Everything below there is supposedly is the phonetic sub-component, and it does indeed sound like jī. But of course you know that I feel its image is important also. It shows a great giant person above the word kê, which you’ve seen I translate as about which one can purse one’s lips like a piece of cane and puff: ‘Yup, that’s it, definitely.’ The modern definition of that phonetic sub-component is strange, odd, weird, unusual; wonderful, fantastic, or remarkable. The whole character means living away from here. More typically, in modern times, it means to entrust (as with a task). Historically, though, it was a government official in charge of translation to ethnic non-Chinese people in the east. It also historically meant to punish criminals by sending them into exile in the east. I put it all together into my translation:

entrusted with—as one exiled east to a house of strange, great men as a punishment but still counted on to translate there—

  • tuō 託 has almost the same modern meaning: to entrust (to someone’s care), to commit (something) to someone’s care, to rely on, to depend on. It’s understandable that translators of the Dao use the same translation for both tuō and jì. But this character’s pictogram shows something different. The left sub-component is familiar to us as it’s used a lot on its own as well as in compound words. It means speaking—words, like slaves or criminals branded by a chisel emerging from a mouth. The right component is a picture of a grass leaf. It doesn’t seem to have a meaning on its own in modern Chinese other than maybe stuff or thing. My translation is therefore:

trusted with—committed to caring for something like a blade of grass by speaking words emerging from a mouth—

The first one seems a little more obligatory and heart-felt. The second one seems more like an intrinsic commitment.

But whether you’re a Being who’s efforting one’s pregnant self and treasuring riches OR a Not-Being who’s reached one’s pregnant self and is loving… either way you’re one’s pregnant self AND having your heart-core pierced with worry AND entrusted with Heaven-Below.

~

We saw loving back in Chapter 10, as part of our hero’s task. Then the question was: could our hero love civilians, govern the nation AND be capable of Not-Being sure. The old Western Zhou script—likely most similar to what Laozi used—for this word shows a pictogram of a throat with something stuck in it above an image of a heart:

Aw. Some feelings have felt the same since forever.

~

We’ve also seen treasuring riches before. In Chapter 3, we saw the advantages of not treasuring “difficult-to-gather-riches” transforming (that way the civilians aren’t really thieving). Put more simply: not over-valuing scarce riches means people won’t steal.

And in Chapter 9 we saw that if treasuring riches and yet, now bearded, arrogantly riding around like a young man on a runaway steed through town, you leave behind a legacy of calamity.

“Treasuring riches” seems to be more associated with Being and “loving” seems more associated with Not-Being. The former’s entrusted by assignment, perhaps as an official or perhaps as a criminal (or both?). The latter’s entrusted by verbal vow.

If Being and Not-Being are two sides of the same person… well that’s more interesting yet. It seems like a win-win for the person, the government, the civilians, and for any family or actual babies involved. It is, however, a lot to sustain—quite a balancing act. Tune in next time to see if our hero can continue to pull it all off. Meanwhile, thank you for being here, and please feel free to use the contact form to send me your comments.

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#12 qù 取

grabbing the ear of—marrying

qù, 取

Five times

the color—like from hand-clawing a kneeling person, tinting their complexion to a feminine charm albeit sometimes lewdly or even to a perverted countenance—

controlling someone—joining together from three sides over a kneeling person and ordering them to do something, perhaps sending them somewhere:

that person,

their eyesight,

is blind—what the eye sees is lost.

Five times

one tone—a note from your mouth—

controlling someone:

that person,

their ear, 

is deaf—a dragon with an ice-cold bow ear.

Five times

the tasting—reflecting on the flavor in your mouth which is still forming like a tree whose top branches aren’t yet fully grown—

controlling someone:

that person,

their mouth—their words,

are cleared and bright as a person awake and alert in the morning sunshine.

Galloping—’oh yeah, vagina,’

galloping like a horse given free rein by a chivalrous knight with frank words on a sob

tilling a field, hitting it lightly, marking it up like a tattoo

with a bristly dog beating the game toward you on a hunt, a witch hunt—

controlling someone:

that person,

their heart-core,

is felled—shot, ‘thwang!’ by a bow…

a mad dog roaring as insanely, unrestrainedly, as a king.

Solidly hard

hand-picking-riches-along-the-road’s

transformation of riches—like from a right-side-up person to an upside down person—

controlling someone:

that person,

on a public road, practicing,

is oppositional—holding the tip of a sword over a kneeling young woman.

This list comprises the bulk of Chapter 12. It comes immediately after Chapter 11’s beautiful description of how Not-Being and Being work together (Being carves a physical shape that creates the perfect negative space of Not-Being which allows truly usable work, like a water bucket does with its carrying capacity). And I think it’s a cautionary list of what NOT to do. A list of five excessive practices that result in a person being controlled by sensory experiences and ending up not seeing, not hearing, not tasting, insane, and aggressively threatening.

Yikes.

Chapter 12 then concludes like this:

~

The sun—walking across the sundial a while, stopping a while—sees indeed

this means

the grounded sage

person is

efforting

inside—the gut, the meat belly—and

just the husk of the protective bud casing but not really the true inner flower of

efforting 

what the eye sees;

OK, so because of that list of excesses, the wise person efforts internally. The wise person doesn’t really effort visibly—with the external. And then that’s followed by the last line’s summary of the sage:

therefore—anciently, for ten generations, this lightly hits and leaves this mark of reason:

withdrawing like a person with a mouth or cave between their legs—leaving

that—that fur stripped from its pelt on the road where you stepped slowly with only the left leg leading the way;

grabbing the ear of—marrying (qù, 取)

this here—the foot stops a person here on their footprint.

The wise person is leaving that entire list of behaviors and is holding onto this: to internal efforting and not to visible external efforting.

At least that’s how I interpret “that” and “this” in the last line. There are other ways to interpret the line (of course and as usual!). Maybe that and this directly point back to the previous line and to the order in which items are presented there. In that case, it would mean the sage is “leaving efforting inside” and “marrying not really efforting what the eye sees.” I kind of doubt it, although really the result isn’t too different, just perhaps a lot easier!

Either way, the sage ends up “qù (取) this here.” Qù, in the Western Zhou script of Lâozî’s era, looked like this:

On the left is an ear, and on the right is a hand. The pictogram’s considered to mean someone is taking hold of an ear. Modern meanings are to take; to fetch, get, or obtain; to receive; to select or choose. Most Dào translators prefer take or choose. But this character was the original form of the word to marry. (The later form of “to marry” added a drawing of a woman below the original drawing we have here.) The ancient Shuowen etymology thought this evolution was necessary because the pictogram we see here came to mean “to take an enemy’s ear and carry it in one’s hand.” Considering other ways in which the Shuowen’s been discredited, together with the fact that none of the modern meanings seem to have this sense, I left that connotation out of my definition. If the word DID come to mean that, I don’t believe it was the original sense during Lâozî’s time at any rate. You’ve seen that my definition, to include the actual drawings and the sense of commitment, is:

grabbing the ear of—marrying

This is the first time this character appears in the Dào Dé Jīng. And it appears only twice more in the first 37 chapters (i.e., the Dào part of the text). Both appearances are almost at the end of Act 2 when things are starting to get very dire:

~ In Chapter 29, we see our hero will soon be wanting to be grabbing the ear of—marrying—Heaven Here Below, and yet now, bearded… efforting what it has. Our narrator sees this does not really result in “gathering riches… already finished in the womb.” Because Heaven Here Below is a “lightning god” set of valuable vessels—sacred—and not something you can “effort.” In other words, you can’t have this heaven below (usually considered to mean Earth) AND “work it” or reshape it.

~ In Chapter 30, we learn traditional virtue Being is ripened, yet now, bearded, already finished “in the womb” and not really daring to effort grabbing the ear of—marrying—any strengthening of their outer casing like an insect.

It’s definitely not clear at this point what any of this means! But what intrigues me is of course the double meaning. Yes, all this stuff about what you do and do not qù can mean something cosmic about how to be a leader or live or engage with the spiritual. But what if it’s ALSO literally true? What if our hero is getting married?

As you recall, I like to (imaginatively! heretically?!) hypothesize that Lâozî’s a pregnant woman posing as a man and successfully functioning as an advisor to the Emperor despite or perhaps exactly because of her feminine, Not-Being sensibilities. This is the basis for the wisdom she’s gleaned on how to lead and live.

Remember, I mean no disrespect to the Taoist traditions or to Lâozî. If my ideas offend you, please believe that much and also of course, know that whatever the truth is, it is in no danger from me. The truth, after all, needs no defense. It is always true. And you, my dear reader, know your truth. So please don’t worry, and I will try not to also.

Of course, worrying is part of the human condition—so better yet, let’s not worry about worrying. And guess what? That’s the exact message of the next chapter as we’ll see next time. Meanwhile, thank you for being here, and I look forward to any comments you want to send me via the contact form.

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#11 lì 利

benefiting like reaping grain with a sharp knife

lì, 利

Here’s Chapter 11, perhaps my favorite chapter, in its entirety:

Three [times]

ten

hem-width strips

share together

One

hub of a wheel—on a carriage used for harvesting;

equally—like the suburbs and field facing one another—

what it holds a basket of…

Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being and

Flesh-and-blood, meat-holding Being:

a carriage

has this

doing truly useful work like a water bucket—by means of carrying-capacity.

Molding clay on a potter’s wheel,

clay that looks straight on—up and down,

this means…

efforting—like lifting up an elephant—

a set of valuable vessels with lots of capacity—worthy of a guard dog;

equally—like the suburbs and field facing one another—

what it holds a basket of…

Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being and

Flesh-and-blood, meat-holding Being:

a set of valuable vessels with lots of capacity—worthy of a guard dog

has this

doing truly useful work like a water bucket—by means of carrying-capacity.

Chiseling—with that tool used to mark slaves and criminals—

the single-gate-doorway to a household,

a window—especially a boudoir window, that sliver of wood that’s half of a double-winged gateway and lets moonlight shine in on the family’s primordial father who’s like ten hung, round spindles,

this means…

efforting—like lifting up an elephant—

living space—where a wife comes to live;

equally—like the suburbs and field facing one another—

what it holds a basket of…

Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being and

Flesh-and-blood, meat-holding Being:

living space—where a wife arrives to live—

has this

doing truly useful work like a water bucket—by means of carrying-capacity.

Anciently, for ten generations, this lightly hits and leaves this mark of reason…

Flesh-and-blood, meat-holding Being…

what it has,

this means,

efforting—like lifting up an elephant:

benefiting, like by reaping grain with a sharp-edged blade.

Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being…

what it has,

this means,

efforting—like lifting up an elephant:

doing truly useful work like a water bucket—by means of carrying-capacity

The first stanza sets the pattern for the whole poem:. Here’s a shorter version:

Thirty strips together share One hub, but just as equally they hold Not-Being and flesh-and-blood Being. This is a carriage’s ability to do truly useful work like a water bucket.

This chapter is often translated even more explicitly, as by Feng and English, to get the point across:

Thirty spokes share the wheel’s hub; it is the center hole that makes it useful.

Shape clay into a vessel; it is the space within that makes it useful.

Cut doors and windows for a room; it is the holes which make it useful.

Therefore profit comes from what is there; usefulness from what is not there.

The Feng and English translation is beautiful and one of the first things that made me fall in love with this book. At the same time, of course, I miss the repetition of the words Not-Being and Being and the fact that here we are learning explicitly about these two characters that figure so prominently in the book from start to finish.

The last stanza exactly spells out those two characters’ relationship and roles. I often re-word it like this for myself:

Being‘s efforting provides benefits in the manner of a sharp knife reaping grain by cutting it.

Not-Being‘s efforting does truly useful work in the manner of a water bucket, via carrying capacity.

Nowhere is it so exactly clear that Not-Being is essential.

Nor is it ever so clear that we need both Being and Not-Being, as we can see by the metaphorical examples: It’s the space that makes a hub, a pot, or a house useable. But the space is only useable in that way because the material stuff was shaped to create this particularly shaped “negative space.”

A bucket is useful in a completely different way than a knife. Some might argue it’s used with more ease and less aggression—it’s the classic “female,” receptive kind of usefulness that’s described everywhere in the Dao in some many examples such as soil growing plants, a womb growing a baby, etc. But the bucket requires this exact metal or wood configuration in order to be useful. There simply is no useful work without the sharp knife of Being helping to form it.

~

We looked at the character for doing truly useful work like a water bucket here. Now let’s look at its complement: benefiting like reaping grain with a sharp knife: lì (利). The old Western Zhou script for this character shows grain on the left and a knife on the right:

This character appears five times in the first 37 chapters. Modern meanings are benefit; advantage; interest (in the financial sense); to benefit or be beneficial; to be favourable; successful; sharp; sharp-edged. Though some Dao translators translate this character as profiting, most translate it as work or workings; and in yet other lines these same people translate it as nourishes, gives life to, or is better for. Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Chapter 11’s final line is a typical one:

We work with being,
but non-being is what we use.

The first use of lì (利) was back in Chapter 8, where “someone” said that the highest, ruling level of traditional virtue is like water running down the middle of a river… it benefits The Ten Thousand Things. Now, here in Chapter 11, we see that while such benefiting is important, its highest use is in creating, supporting, or allowing the negative space that we really use.

This rather changes our opinion of that “highest, ruling level of traditional virtue.” It’s not the most useful thing even though it does have benefit. And it appears to be aligned with Being only, rather than both Being and Not-Being like the examples in this chapter.

~

Coming on the heels of Chapter 10 and the task our hero received there ( to integrate Not-Being and Being, perhaps via the De system of ethics), this chapter seems to give particular details of how that integration works. Perhaps it is instructions—or perhaps it’s a description of what our hero is now doing… of how the sage is succeeding at the task assigned in Chapter 10. I like to think so! Next time we will see more of how our hero’s accomplishing this goal and some of the temptations along the way that must be ignored.

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#10 dé 德 Miào Xuán

the Dé—an Ethics system that’s the straight-heart-core of the way

dé (德)

Right in the first chapter, we became aware of a hard-to-see dark structure—like a figure-eight skein of string-dyed-black (xuán). It underlies the true name of the matched pair of Being and Not-Being when they’re together… before stepping out of the cave and acquiring different personal childhood names. And then that hard-to-see dark structure of a figure-eight string dyed black, in turn, has a hard-to-see dark structure of a figure-eight string dyed black. And that—the whole arrangement?—is mysterious feminine essence’s (miào) double-winged gateway.

Now in Chapter 10, we learn more about this mysterious dark structure. And we learn about it in the context of our hero receiving an assignment to complete a task. The previous chapters have led up to this task nicely. Here’s what we learned before:

  • Chapter 7: Heaven-Earth is now long-lasting and “capable of lengthy birthing” and that means
    • the sage’s pregnant self, now bearded, is surviving and
    • the wings are broken off of Not-Being’s disastrous personal concerns, and therefore Not-Being’s capable of completing personal concerns [non-disastrous ones, I presume].
  • Chapter 8: Regarding higher-level ruling traditional virtue:
    • “Someone” says that now bearded, you’re not really competing. [I assume that’s continuing the explanation of how the sage is avoiding disastrous personal concerns.] And we learn that this is very close to The Way.
    • There’s a list of what I assume are the non-disastrous things that are of concern to you: abiding, heart core, speaking, being straight upright, one’s personal role, and laboring. And there’s a corresponding description of what each of these looks like to traditional virtue. In the end, our narrator re-emphasizes that this particular man who’s essentially and only not-competing is therefore, by logic, Not-Being in particular. And possibly this Not-Being has been made lame by resentment and blame. Resentment and blame on the part of themselves or of someone else, like traditional virtue? It’s delightfully ambiguous as usual.
  • Chapter 9:
    • If you, now bearded, are over-doing things, then it’s not really going to be helpful:
      • You’re not going to be finishing what’s in the womb, not long safeguarding a child, not capable of defending your place… you will leave behind you only calamity.
    • Alternately, if one’s pregnant self withdraws after real labor’s completed, then that’s Heaven’s Way of the loose-haired chieftain, walking awhile, stopping awhile, listening, and speaking of it all. That’s exactly The Way.

And now here, in Chapter 10 someone lists what I assume are the very real specific, almost paradoxical details of exactly following The Way. And then they challenge, “pah, can you?!“

  • Can you carry the physical soul and spiritual soul bundled up into one… with being separated from Not-Being?
  • Can you control chi or breath of life and cause softening… with an infant son?
  • Can you do the washing and arranging for moving me to a new mountain posting and have the hard-to-see dark structure that’s like a figure-eight skein of string-dyed-black reflecting like a vessel looking down—all eyes—overseeing… with Not-Being ill on a stretcher?
  • Can you love the civilians and regulate this nation by harnessing the river Happy and regulating yourself… with Not-Being very sure every day?
  • Can you unlatch Heaven’s double gateway and shut it—like a person with a mouth between their legs withdrawing and covering an empty chalice from within the double-winged gateway… with efforting femaleness?
  • Can you be as bright as dawn rising on a crescent moon—enlightened—and have hundreds arriving in all four directions like little lambs… with Not-Being very sure every day?

You can see the verbatim text here, and go here to read others’ traditional translations that leave out all the imagery from the old script. But you have to admit, it’s crazy how much that imagery has to do with having a baby, yes? And how it would fit exactly with my theory that our hero is a pregnant Not-Being—a shamanic woman—posing as a man? She’s trying to do all the impossible things involved in being a pregnant woman while also being a government official. It’s a lot.

The narrator concludes by saying there IS one example of doing all this stuff at once. It comes from nature:

Birthing—a bud sprouting from the ground

has this;

rearing animals—giving them feed from a bag tied with a rope

has this.

But for our hero to do it all? The narrator sums up that situation:

Birthing—a bud sprouting from the ground—

and yet now, bearded, you…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing but not really the true inner flower of

Flesh-and-blood, meat-holding Being;

efforting—like lifting up an elephant—

and yet now, bearded, you…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing but not really the true inner flower of

expecting that will be holding one’s heart-core like a mother;

lengthening like long hair, 

and yet now, bearded, you…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing but not really the true inner flower of

dominating—like the house of that chisel used to mark slaves and criminals.

Our narrator gives our hero, or maybe us, a hint as to how to simultaneously rule and birth while not really a Being:

The sun—walking across the sundial a while, stopping a while—sees indeed

what it’s called when speaking from the gut…

the hard-to-see dark structure—like a figure-eight skein of string-dyed-black…

the Dé—an Ethics system that’s the straight-heart-core of the way.

The Dé is the famous subject of the second half of the Dào Dé Jīng (Chapter 38 through 81). It’s considered to be a set of principles for application of the Dao, for living according to The Way. And it makes its first appearance here, where our hero is tasked with an almost impossible challenge.

~

The old Western Zhou era script shows a compound character. The left side is the symbol for a path, the same as that shown in the Dao. The right hand side show a heart on the bottom. And on the top is a drawing that means “in the center.”

I translate it as:

the Dé—an Ethics system that’s the straight-heart-core of the way

~

Here, in its first appearance, we learn that the Dé is tied to the mysterious structure that underlies the deep union [and yet surface separation] of Being and Not-Being. And based on its appearance in this chapter, it’s all tied to our hero’s challenge. How?

How does the Dé help our hero combine all the complex tasks necessary for this dual role? In the next chapter, we get more details on how this matched pair and its figure-eight structure loop together. Until then, please use the contact form to send me your comments. I look forward to each one. And thank you for being here.

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#9 jiâo 驕

as arrogant as a young person dangerously raving through the city outskirts on a tall horse with its mane flying

jiâo, 驕

Holding on to something—like a patron from a temple or government office that’s expert at stopping and giving a hand—

and yet now, bearded, you…

full to overflowing its vessel

has this:

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

‘as if’—like a woman just doing as told—

what it holds a basket of…

already… finishing it in the womb.

So begins Chapter 9, directly continuing Chapter 8 with a cautionary discussion of what would, could, or does happen to our hero now bearded, living in the world of traditional virtue.

First we learn that holding onto something safe and helpful while your bearded self is full to overflowing isn’t really finishing what’s being developed inside. (The typical translation is that over-filling your cup isn’t a good idea.) Likewise:

Polishing a vessel by hand,

and yet now, bearded, you…

filed to a sharp point like an axe ground between two blocks of metal—like a keen exchange of speech with a person—

has this:

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

that about which one can purse one’s lips like a piece of cane and puff: ‘Yup, that’s it, definitely…’

long—like hair that has to be tied with a brooch—

safeguarding—like carrying a child on one’s back.

When your bearded self is filed so sharp it’s in pointed exchanges with people, then polishing your vessel up is not what’s going to help you safeguard a child for a long time. (Traditional translations: an over-sharpened blade will not last long.) Furthermore:

Gold—joined together from three sides by grinding like an axe between two blocks of metal—

jade totems

packed full—like arrowheads tightly covered with that traditional  ‘ji’ square piece of fabric men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads once they’ve received their adult, public courtesy-names so no water can infiltrate—in

a palace courtyard:

not anything—eh, like the lost-in-the-bushes sinking sun—

has this…

capable—powerful as that legendary bear with deer legs—of

hand-defending this—your building.

A hall filled with riches can’t be protected. And, most terrifying of all:

Wealth—a house full of valuable vessels with lots of capacity—

treasuring—as if as valuable as baskets of cowry-shell-riches—

and yet now, bearded, you…

as arrogant as a young person dangerously raving through the city outskirts on a tall horse with its mane flying;

of course—one’s self personally, right on one’s nose—

leaving behind cowry-like riches—like after dying—on this way of walking a while, stopping for a while…

what it holds a basket of…

calamity—a person plus something with two legs following from behind.

If your bearded self is treasuring wealth and being like this arrogant young guy galloping around the suburbs on a big horse… well, that’s you leaving behind a bequest of calamity.

Instead, we are at last presented with an alternative:

Real work—laboring with the force from a bladed tool, your arm, or a plough—

completed—when you walk a while, stop a while after the harvest, during the time you divide up the pigs,

one’s pregnant self…

withdraw—walk a while and stop a while, retreating from the sun:

Heaven (that sky level above the human head)

has this…

The Way of the loose-haired chieftain—walking a while, stopping a while, listening, and speaking of it all.

I can’t tell if our hero IS behaving in those cautionary ways or if this is just a warning not to. But whereas in the previous chapter, we learned about a life lived very close to The Way, this chapter ends with a short and explicit description of Heaven—or, in some translations, a spirit from up in the sky—’s EXACT version of The Way:

Real labor completed, one’s pregnant self withdraws… that’s Heaven’s Way of the loose-haired chieftain, walking awhile, stopping awhile, listening, and speaking of it all.

What’s our hero to do with this information? We’ll find out more next time. Thank you for being here, now and then!

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#8 Ér néng 能 Shàn Shàng 上 yóu 尤 yuān 淵

traditional virtue—offering up a goat while back and forth speaking words that are like slaves or criminals, branded by a chisel, emerging from a mouth…

shàn (善)

Chapter 8 famously describes higher-level traditional virtue or good, as other Dào translators prefer to call it. Modern definitions of today’s featured character also include virtuous, charitable, and kind. Because of those nuances, and because its pictogram shows us a ritualized and verbal behavior, I prefer a subtly different translation of traditional virtue which I discussed when it first appeared in Chapter 2:

traditional virtue—offering up a goat while back and forth speaking words that are like slaves or criminals, branded by a chisel, emerging from a mouth…

Chapter 2’s introduction to this kind of virtue was in the context of public opinion: when public opinion says one particular thing is traditionally virtuous, then that lops off the opposite before it’s even born.

But here, Chapter 8 talks specifically about a higher level, shàng (上) form of this virtue. Shàng was the name of the dynasty preceding Lâozî’s time, and in Western Zhou script was drawn as one line above another:

This is the first time this character appears in the Dào. In its various contexts throughout the book, it does make sense when seen as a word that calls to mind the ruling class or a ruler, and since that’s also the historical context, I’ve included it in my translation:

higher, ruling level

~

Remember our hero’s mentor/friend/midwife, “someone?” And remember from the end of the last chapter that our hero’s now headed out into the world with a dual role that chops of the wings of Not-Being… unwholesomely personally concerned… meaning therefore… capable of completing personal concerns? Well now, out in that world, our someone’s making a helpful observation. Here’s my short version (you can read the whole thing here):

Higher, ruling level traditional virtue is like water flowing exactly in the center of the Han River, spraying up on both sides. Water-flowing-right-in-its-channel in terms of traditional virtue means benefiting all beings; and yet, now bearded, you’re not really competing (like when two hands are fighting over a ploughshare). In dwelling, that person’s place is disdained as ugly.

This is usually translated to mean the flowing water benefits all creatures while not-competing and dwelling in low places.

But this interpretation causes problems if I stick with my consistent translation of ér as and yet now, bearded, you... Why does this character even appear here if all it means is “while?” Why not just say “not really competing?” There could be many reasons, of course. It could be for poetic reasons like rhythm. Or it could be to emphasize that even exactly at the same time as being beneficial, the water is not really competing. It seems likely that every translator before me is correct since they understand the syntax and contextual implications of the language, and I don’t. Yet… in the course of seeking my own personal experience of these characters and my determination to use the same translation for each character everywhere it appears, I am curious to see what happens if I keep the definition of ér that I constructed carefully and objectively.

And so it sounds to me like someone is saying: “bearded, you are not really competing.” You aren’t really playing this game that the water does of benefiting all people; and that person’s place, in terms of dwelling, is disdained as ugly.

I will just continue my line of exploration to see what happens. (We already know what happens with the traditional interpretation.) The next line continues:

Anciently, this shows that

this here

is quite near

to The Way.

I take that to mean “you not competing in the traditional virtue game but living in this disdained place is quite near to The Way.”

And then what follows is a list of different parts of life and, presumably, what they mean in terms of traditional virtue. It’s remarkable how many ways we can interpret this list’s simple sequencing of words. Here’s the first entry:

abiding, dwelling where birthed…

traditional virtue…

Earth, this soil vagina

Most people translate this as “the virtuous form of living is close to the earth.” And they see this whole list as being the detailed version of the previous line, so in other words: “this virtuous form of living close to the earth is very near to The Way.”

But there are other possible interpretations. It could be saying that “your non-competing and disdained way of abiding has been very near to The Way, but traditional virtue calls it earth (this soil vagina).

Here’s an objective version of the whole list:

  • abiding in terms of traditional virtue = Earth (this soil vagina).
    • The character used here for abiding means “dwelling where birthed” and shows a person sitting or squatting over ten mouths. Does that mean dwelling where you birthed all those mouths or where you were birthed?
  • heart-core in terms of traditional virtue = the deep water
    • We saw this same character for deep water, yuān 淵, in Chapter 4 when we learned that The Way is pouring water from the center while doing useful work like a water bucket and not overflowing:
  • supporting in terms of traditional virtue = personable
    • Supporting is shown by offering to carry another on one’s shoulders
  • speaking in terms of traditional virtue = truth-telling
  • straight upright in terms of traditional virtue = governing by harnessing the river named Happy or speaking of turning oneself.
    • We learned about this, the sage’s way of governing, in Chapter 3.
  • one’s personal role in terms of traditional virtue = capable and powerful as that legendary bear with deer legs
    • The character for this kind of “capable” is néng, 能, and it’s one of my favorite images in the book… even though/especially because it does raise questions about reality! It’s the same adjective used in the last line of Chapter 7, just as our hero set out to live this new dual role.
  • laboring in terms of traditional virtue = seasonally timely
    • “Laboring” is shown as moving heavy bags with great strength.
    • “Appropriate seasonal timeliness” is shown as when the sun is between your footprint and the position on your arm where you measure your pulse. Good timing.

Then here’s the conclusion to Chapter 8:

That is to say, this particular grown man with a hairpin and public courtesy name…

essentially and only—like the heart of the ‘short-tailed bird’—

“the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

competing—two hands clawing over a ploughshare,”

therefore—anciently, for ten generations, this lightly hits and leaves this mark of reason:

Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being

in particular—made lame by resentment.

~

The final word, yóu (尤) is a another puzzle to me. Etymologists say the character is a drawing of a man with bent legs plus that slash over top, which is a punctuation mark. The bent man alone traditionally meant lame and then came to mean anger or resentment. But combined with the punctuation mark, its modern meaning is strictly especially or particularly. The old Western Zhou script drew the character like this:

That does not look like a man (大) with bent legs to me. The Western Zhou version of a man looked like this:

Rather, that old version of yóu looks maybe more like some variation of the old symbol for a hand. Remember the symbol for competing— two hands on a plow:

Yet virtually all translators of the Dao translate that last line as “he’s not competing, and therefore not blamed.”

Of course, with my view of Not-Being as a character with its own life—perhaps as the secret, private, shamanic feminine self that Lâozî keeps hidden at home—I look at this a little differently. I think Chapter 8 is just a continuation of Chapter 7. There, we left off knowing that Heaven-Earth being now long-lasting and “capable of lengthy birthing” means that 1. the sage’s pregnant self, now bearded, is surviving and 2. the wings are broken off of Not-Being’s disastrous personal concerns, and therefore Not-Being’s capable of completing personal concerns [non-disastrous ones, I presume].

Now Chapter 8 follows up with this description of those personal concerns. When our hero isn’t fully playing the competitive traditional virtue game but is instead dwelling in a lowly disdained place, very close to The Way, those personal concerns look a certain way to traditional virtue. And that whole list is to say, “this particular man who’s essentially and only not competing is therefore, by logic, Not-Being in particular.” And possibly he is Not-Being, when Not-Being is crippled by resentment. It does summarize the situation when regular culture acts with blame and resentment toward Not-Beings.

It’s a rather un-satisfying way to live, I think. And while it’s close to The Way, it isn’t exactly The Way. But that’s possibly better than being far from The Way!

In the next chapter, we’ll learn more about what engagement in a more typical life would involve for our hero. Until then, thank you for reading, and please send me a note using the contact form. I know this is radically different, so tell me what you think. And, see you next time!

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#7 Ér Dì jiû 久 Tiān Wú 無

enduring through time—like someone receiving moxibustion treatments with mugwort used for cramps, turning a breech baby, or other health issues—

jiû (久)

Heaven (that sky level above the human head)…

lengthy as hair that has to be tied with a brooch;

Earth (this soil vagina)…

enduring for years—like someone receiving moxibustion treatments with mugwort used for cramps, turning a breech baby, or other health issues;

Thus begins Chapter 6.

Lâozî’s referred to Heaven-Earth several times by now:

  • In Chapter 1, we learned that Not-Being personal naming is Heaven-Earth’s beginning—like conception in a woman.
  • In Chapter 5, we learned that Heaven-Earth is not really personable, and it has an interstice that is like a bellows.
  • Last time, in Chapter 6, Lâozî said the double-winged gateway of the hard-to-see structure of a mother’s lap (vagina) is called Heaven-Earth root of the family tree (penis)… and is barely perceptible. Also: surviving.

Here, though, Lâozî’s pulled Heaven and Earth apart and is telling us something about each one, on its own. Heaven is long. Earth is enduring. Dào Dé Jīng translators variously say heaven is eternal or long-lasting and earth abides or is everlasting; or they lump them together and say they are enduring, or infinite and eternal.

In our last discussion of Heaven-Earth, I went into the images a little more, the history of each word, their association with all these pregnancy pictures… and confessed that I think Lâozî’s using a sort of double code where Heaven represents not only an abstract idea of a place/state but also a literal celestial spirit. Like: a person’s soul. And Earth represents not just this earthly plane but also an actual womb like the one pictured in the original glyph. That would mean that in the first line of Chapter 6, Lâozî’s just told us that a fetus is alive and also the womb is intact. Next we learn how that affects the combo of the two, when considered as a “place” or unit:

Heaven (that sky level above the human head)-Earth (this soil vagina) 

‘place’— somewhere intentionally created, like a door chopped with an axe…

this means

capable—powerful as that legendary bear with deer legs—of

“lengthy as hair that has to be tied with a brooch…”

abiding for a long time—the erect penis of a male ancestor—

“enduring for years—like someone receiving moxibustion treatments with mugwort used for cramps, turning a breech baby, or other health issues—”

—now this is cooking!

Yes, now we’re cooking! The celestial spirit in the earthen womb can be long-lasting for a long time and endure like someone receiving moxibustion treatments with mugwort used for cramps, turning a breech baby, or other health issues. Moxibustion really was, and still is, used in Chinese medicine for the exact OB/GYN uses described here. The pictogram of that process evolved to the modern character 久 (jiǔ) meaning a long time, presumably because it promotes health and longevity. This is the first place this character occurs in the Dào Dé Jīng. And what does it mean for our story? The next lines say:

This means

what it holds a basket of…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

of course—one’s self personally, right on one’s nose…

birthing—a bud sprouting from the ground;

anciently, for ten generations, this therefore lightly hits and leaves a mark of reason…

“capable—powerful as that legendary bear with deer legs—of

lengthy as hair that has to be tied with a brooch…”

birthing—a bud sprouting from the ground.

So: not really oneself birthing, therefore capable of long-lasting birthing.

Okay, even if you don’t agree, you must admit that you can see how I might imagine that our midwife someone from the last chapter has just prevented premature labor and thereby allowed our hero to be birthing later?!

And how in the world do other translators make sense of this line, you ask? Referring to Heaven and Earth, they say:

  • Yi Wu: Is because they do not live for themselves. So, they can live long.
  • Feng and English: They are unborn, so ever living.
  • John C H Wu: Is it not because they do not live for themselves 
    That they can live so long?
  • Chao-Hsiu ChHen: because they have no ego; therefore they can live for ever.

It’s not that I disagree with these interpretations. It’s just that I wish we didn’t have to lose that other level of the earthy, intimate, domestic, human parts of life that Lâozî use to convey those lofty ideas.

And there’s more. As a result of all of the above, the sage’s life is a certain way:

The sun—walking across the sundial a while, stopping a while—sees indeed

this means…

the grounded sage—listening and speaking, standing connected to earth as well as the heavens,

that person:

being behind—what remains afterward when stepping slowly, only one’s left leg leading the way, leaving the tiniest of silk thread footprints—one’s descendants…

what it holds a basket of…

one’s pregnant self, 

The sage’s pregnant self is behind… or it’s what’s left behind. It’s the sage’s descendants, you could say.

and yet now, bearded, you: (ér, 而)

one’s pregnant self…

being long before—like one’s dead ancestor;

So, at the same time, that “bearded” pregnant self is ahead… it’s the sage’s ancestor, you could say.

It’s a paradox that most translators describe as: the sage puts himself behind and therefore is ahead. The description of the sage continues:

‘outside’ or foreign—like the relatives of your mother, sister, and daughter who divine by the moon…

what it holds a basket of…

one’s pregnant self,

and yet now, bearded, you:

one’s pregnant self…

surviving—on the plane of a baby with health issues, maybe a large head, but still sprouting;

Once more, phew: surviving despite being foreign or an outsider (with suspiciously witchy female relatives, at that!). And here’s what happens as a result:

breaking the little wings off…

this means…

what it holds a basket of…

Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being (wú, 無)

personal concerns—like about one’s private grain field—

of a disastrous nature—like that disease-causing environment around Tusk Town—

This reads like a double or triple negative! I see it as: this stops the sage’s Not-Being from potentially disastrous personal concern. (Also it makes me wonder about Tusk Town! Some think it was the old name of Langya. What calamity happened there—was it swampy and malarial? Was there some kind of unwholesome behavior thereabouts? In Classical Chinese medicine the term referred to pathogenetic factors… were there a large number of children born with issues? I can find reference to sulfur springs in the area, so maybe it was just the smell?) Anyway, as a result of this…

therefore—anciently, for ten generations, this lightly hits and leaves this mark of reason…

capable—powerful as that legendary bear with deer legs—of

completing—that final nail in the weapon on a pole—

what it holds a basket of…

personal concerns—like about one’s private grain field

Now the sage can complete his personal concern.

Without my habit of seeing the character Not-Being as a persona, it gets even more complicated: “stopping not being unhealthily personally-concerned means the sage can complete his personal-concern?”

Here’s how others translate this passage:

  • Yi Wu says: Is it not because he has no self that his self is realized?
  • Feng and English: Through selfless action, he attains fulfillment.
  • John C H Wu: Is it not because he is selfless that his self is realized?
  • Chao-Hsiu ChHen: Only through unselfishness can he achieve fulfillment.

Much easier to read! And I’m not saying they’re wrong, of course. But I like seeing where Not-Being shows up, especially after all that pregnancy and moxibustion. And I like seeing where the “bearded, you” appears.

To me, in the sub-text story, the day has been saved—that labor from the last chapter has been averted by moxibustion performed by our midwife-someone. And that means that our pregnant sage adopts a beard and sallies forth into this new double life.

Ok, well we CAN agree that the sage gives up a certain kind of personal concern in order to complete another kind of personal concern. That seems to be true no matter whether you agree with my imagination or not! And now here we go… into Act 2 and a whole new world with this new kind of selfless self in action.

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#6 cún 存 Cháng Dào Dì dì 帝 Fú 夫 lâo 老 mián 綿 ruò 若 Tiān Xuán xī 希

someone compliantly combing their loose hair seems to be saying: ‘this is as if…’

ruò (若)

Within that valley mouth between two mountains,

a lightning god…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

being mortal—going from a standing person to a pile of bones;

the sun—walking across the sundial a while, stopping a while—sees indeed

what it’s called when speaking from the gut—words, like slaves or criminals branded by a chisel emerging from a mouth,

the hard-to-see dark structure—like a figure-eight skein of string-dyed-black:

a mother’s lap—a cow with an arrow… a vagina.

“Hard-to-see dark structure—like a figure-eight skein of string-dyed-black,

a mother’s lap—a cow with an arrow… a vagina,

has this

double-winged gateway… “[from Chapter 1]

the sun—walking across the sundial a while, stopping a while—sees indeed

what it’s called when speaking from the gut—words, like slaves or criminals branded by a chisel emerging from a mouth:

Heaven (that sky level above the human head)-Earth (this soil vagina)…

root of the family tree—penis…

barely perceptible—like the fine, white silk threads making up that ever-present, timeless, whole head-cloth ‘ji’ our grown men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads once they’ve received their adult, public courtesy-names.

Barely perceptible—like the fine, white silk threads making up that ever-present, timeless, whole head-cloth ‘ji’ our grown men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads once they’ve received their adult, public courtesy-names…

someone compliantly combing their loose hair seems to be saying: ‘this is as if…’ (ruò, 若)

surviving—on the plane of a baby with health issues, maybe a large head, but still sprouting… (cún,存)

doing truly useful work like a water bucket—by means of carrying-capacity

has this…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing, but not really the true inner flower, of

exerting with force—working hard with the strength of an arm, a bladed tool, or a plough on the soil.

That’s all of Chapter 6 in its entirety. It’s a pivotal chapter because here we meet a new character, ruò, 若. Its bronze inscription character is a pictogram of a person combing their hair:

Its modern translations are to be obedient or compliant, to trim vegetables, to choose, you/yours, he/his, like, as if, and supposing. Dào translators usually interpret it as is like, seems, or as. Or they just ignore it altogether or use “is” in its place. In two key places in Chapter 37, the final chapter of the Dào part of the Dào Dé Jīng, they almost universally translate it as “if.” As is my custom, I incorporate the modern meanings, the pictogram, and the traditional translations into one consistent translation every where it occurs:

someone compliantly combing their loose hair seems to be saying: ‘this is as if…’

Since there are other, more specific, ways to say each of the traditional meanings (if, like), I think this character has some particular use for Lâozî.

~

It’s interesting that ruò so prominently features hair since that’s a recurring motif… beginning with The Way itself. In the character for Dào, the head very obviously has a head of big loose hair.

And in Chapter 1, right away we’re struck by how that seems to very obviously differ from the conventional hairstyle of a grown man with a top knot (fú, 夫) and especially from a grown man whose top knot’s covered by a traditional head cloth. This head cloth image occurs not only in that word for the timeless, never-changing traditional version of things (cháng, 常) but also in the characters showing God in Heaven or emperor (dì, 帝, as we saw in Chapter 4), barely perceptible (mián, 綿, as we see in this chapter), and sparse (xī, 希).

Hair style appears in many other characters including, not least of all, lâo, 老: an old man with long hair and a cane. This word is the first part of Lâo Zî’s honorific name.

~

It’s fascinating to me that this character ruò first appears in this particular place in our story. In Joseph Campbell’s classic Hero’s Journey story arc, this is the place where the hero would get outside help, usually from a supernatural, larger-than-life, or unexpected source.

In the last chapter, there was the doubtful sentiment of “pah, can you?!” The call to the daunting adventure of living according to The Way of the Loose-Haired Chieftain seemed rather undoable. But now we have someone compliantly combing their loose hair who seems to be saying: ‘this is as if’ surviving—on the plane of a baby with health issues, maybe a large head, but still sprouting.

Chapter 4 introduced the possibility of surviving. But here, our magic someone not only rather drolly says that’s what’s happening but elaborates what this means: the doing of truly useful work (like a water bucket) has this: non-exertion.

OHHHHH. Doing useful work like a water bucket without overflowing (while pouring water our from the center hollow drum!) was the calling for The Way at the beginning of Chapter 4.

So what does Chapter 6 tell us?

  • Here’s the situation: The lightning god within that valley mouth between two mountains isn’t really turning into a pile of bones. Phew.
  • The sun sees indeed what it’s truly called, that hard-to-see dark structure—like a figure-eight skein of string dyed black:a mother’s lap/vagina…
  • and the “hard-to-see dark structure, a mother’s lap/vagina’s double-winged gateway” (remember that phrase dramatically ending Chapter 1?) is truly called… Heaven-Earth… root-of-the-family-tree or penis…
  • barely perceptible. Mián, 綿, or “barely perceptible” is drawn by showing the fine, white silk threads making up that ever-present, timeless, whole head-cloth ‘ji’ that grown men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads once they’ve received their adult, public courtesy-names. The modern translation of this word is soft, downy, or sometimes cotton. Dào translators variously call it continuously, always present, like a veil, lingering like gossamer, or invisible.

As usual, the lack of punctuation and various potential syntaxes make those first five lines interpretable in many ways. Also as usual, I interpret it based on how the drawings and double-meanings make something occur to me. What with all the pregnancy and baby images, I’m starting to think that Heaven (tiān, that sky level above the human head)-Earth (dì, this soil vagina) refers to a spirit from above when it is down here, manifest, in the womb. In other words a fetus.

In the Western Zhou bronze inscription age just preceding Lâozî’s era, tiān was drawn as a person with a large head:

In the even older Shang oracle bone script, it was drawn with a line above a person’s head, supposedly indicating a higher level:

It is thought that the oldest meaning was sky. It’s also been used to mean heavens, celestial, heaven as a place for deities or departed souls, heaven as a deity, overhead, top, climate, a 24-hour day, daytime, season, nature, natural, innate.

So is my interpretation far-reaching? Maybe. But when I re-read everywhere this phrase occurs, it totally can fit this secondary-level interpretation at the same time that it fits into a meta- or symbolic story about “Heaven on Earth” or “Heaven and Earth.” In this use of it, I see someone literally trying to figure out what’s going on inside a laboring uterus and barely being able to discern the fetus. Maybe they can tell it’s a boy? Or maybe they know that after the fact. Or maybe the vagina’s product is called the family root, attributed to the work of a penis. Okay back to what we see for sure…

  • Even though it’s barely perceptible, our magically helpful someone, compliantly combing their loose hair, seems to be saying: ‘this is as if’ it’s surviving —on the plane of a baby with health issues, maybe a large head, but still sprouting. Now you can see how, based on my imagination and the previous and following chapters, I like to think of our someone as a midwife helping with premature labor.
  • And given this situation, she says that surviving means doing truly useful work like a water bucket, by means of carrying capacity, has this “not really exerting with force.” I see that as “the most useful work now is just to carry that baby. Don’t labor. Especially don’t push.”

There you go… I’ve fully bared my most wild, favorite theory. And you can understand my admiration for Lâozî, given that this story is buried within characters that ALSO can be translated as a cosmic, existential, life handbook. Here’s how Yi Wu translates this chapter:

The spirit of the valley never dies;
It is called the mysterious female.
The gate of the mysterious female is called the root of Heaven and Earth.
Continuously it seems to exist.
There is no labour in its use.

And here’s how Feng and English translated it:

The valley spirit never dies;
It is the woman, primal mother.
Her gateway is the root of heaven and Earth.
It is like a veil barely seen.
Use it; it will never fail.

Thomas Cleary translates it as:

The valley spirit not dying is called the mysterious female.
The opening of the mysterious female is called the root of heaven and earth.
Continuous, on the brink of existence, to put in into practice, don’t try to force it.

Is this non-forcing possible? Sometimes—whether because you’re in actual labor or you’ve found yourself in the habit of over-efforting in life and not relying on the “female” type of creativity—it doesn’t seem like it. Can our magical someone help in ways more tangible than just saying “don’t labor; don’t force it?”

We’ll find out next time. And now, until then, please use the contact form to send me your responses to my theory! I hope you’ll go back and re-read all the chapters we’ve looked at thus far and see how my ideas do or don’t make sense to you. Thanks for being here.

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#5 shôu 守 zhōng 中

hand-defending this—one’s building—

shôu (守)

If Chapter 4 was the call to The Way of The Loose-Haired Chieftain, then Chapter 5 is where our hero does NOT jump at that call. There’s some doubt whether its even possible. Here is Chapter 5 in its entirety:

Heaven (that sky level above the human head)-Earth (this soil vagina)…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

being a personable person relating to others;

this means

the myriad scorpion medicine-dancing Ten Thousand

Things cut off—all matter external to oneself like cows etc…

efforting—like lifting up an elephant…

wrapped straw-

dogs—decorated, symbolic sacrificial objects.

The grounded sage—listening and speaking, standing connected to earth as well as the heavens,

that person…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

being a personable person relating to others;

this means

a hundred

family names that women, kneeling with breasts, sprout from the ground…

efforting—like lifting up an elephant…

wrapped straw-

dogs—decorated, symbolic sacrificial objects.

Heaven (that sky level above the human head)-Earth (this soil vagina)

has this

interstice—space where moonlight’s peeking leisurely through the double-winged gateway…

what it holds a basket of…

indeed, like a dog that rises to the top of the alcohol vat…

a bellows-flute—bamboo with three frets, played with the mouth;

—pah, can you?!

Emptying—like lifted land below tiger fur—

and yet now, bearded, you:

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

bending—like  one who represents the dead in a rite, flexing to step out of a cave;

laboring—like moving heavy bags with great strength—

and yet now, bearded, you:

more and even more—like someone gathering themselves together from three sides by moonlight over their heart-core after a blade cut off their foot as punishment and now they’ve recovered from that illness—

stepping out of their cave.

Much more—like a double serving of meat—

speaking—words, like slaves or criminals branded by a chisel emerging from a mouth…

is counting up—like a mother, lightly hitting, scolding her daughter—to

being used up and destitute—your pregnant self, buried with a bow:

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

‘as if’—like a woman just doing as told—

hand-defending this—your building—

in the center—like that drum with a flagpole placed in the middle of a field to gather the people, detect the wind.

In addition to doubt, we also learn a bit more about what’s required in answering the call. It involves being like Heaven-Earth’s interstice. Specifically:

  • It’s like a bellows-flute—an instrument resembling a bagpipe. Like those bellows, can you empty like land lifted below tiger fur, and yet now, bearded, not really bend into that position of someone acting the part of a dead person in a ritual play or someone flexing at the waist to step out of a cave? The imagery is at once dire and also harkening back to when Being and Not-Being separated, stepping out of a cave, in Chapter 1. And we saw emptying before too—in Chapter 3. There we learned about “a sage’s governing: emptying what it holds a basket of… heart-core.”
  • Can you labor, and yet now, bearded, more and even more step out of your cave? The imagery gets even more dire. The pictogram for “more and even more” shows someone gathering themselves together from three sides by moonlight over their heart-core after a blade cut off their foot as punishment, and now they’ve recovered from their illness. Surely Lâozî didn’t personally undergo this? Maybe it was a punishment witnessed or heard of that made a big impression. A punishment for what? We can’t know, but the next sentence is cautionary, so perhaps they’re related…

“Much more speaking counts up—like a mother lightly hitting and scolding her daughter—to being used up and destitute—your pregnant self, buried with a bow.”

So, you must do this balancing act of emptying (without bending) and laboring (while stepping out of your cave more and more)… AND do it without saying much. Or else. Because speaking much more is not really as if you’re hand-defending this—your building—in the center—like that drum with a flagpole.

With such a vital calling, our hero needs to be able to step up. Lâozî needs some assistance. Join me next time to see if/from where that might come! Meanwhile, thanks for being here, and please continue to send me your impressions. If you haven’t yet, please don’t be shy. Use the contact form to write questions, ideas, or more about your experience of this mysterious text.

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#4 Bù 不 Dào dì 帝 Zī 子

‘God of Heaven’—as we call our emperors, for they’re like flower sepals connecting to above

dì (帝)

I—we—our five mouths…

the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of

firing arrows from the mouth—sure

of whom the short-tailed bird speaks, the one that

has this

baby with arms wide open and legs swaddled [this word is the second, “zî’,子”part of Lâozî’s honorific name]…

likeness—like an elephant skeleton letting us imagine a living elephant—of

‘God of Heaven’—as we call our emperors, for they’re like flower sepals connecting to above with their covering of that ever-present, timeless, whole head-cloth ‘ji’ square fabric which our grown men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads once they’ve received their adult, public courtesy-names— (dì, 帝)

has this

being long before—like one’s dead ancestor.

That’s the last line of Chapter 4. As you recall, Lâozî began Chapter 4 with some details about following The Way of the loose-haired chieftain. Specifically it involves pouring water from the center, like from the hollow drum at the base of a flagpole, and yet now bearded, you’re doing truly useful work like a water bucket by means of carrying capacity. And at the same time, this particular territory is not really full to overflowing it vessel. It’s concealed like sugar cane sweetness tucked in the ends of folded cloth and frozen like ice—Oh! A breath like wind through tree branches!—and surviving like a baby that has health issues but still is sprouting. That’s a relief, whether we’re considering The Way or this little baby used to symbolize survival.

And now here, in the next line, Lâozî concludes Chapter 4 by saying “I am not really sure whose baby… it looks like the God of Heaven’s ancestor.” Other translators keep some aspects of these old glyph images of child/parenthood in their versions of this line:

Yi Wu translates it as:

I do not know whose son it is.
It symbolizes that which precedes the Creator.

Feng and English translate it as:

I do not know from whence it comes.
It is the forefather of the gods.

~

This is the only place in the first 37 chapters of the Dào Dé Jīng where we see the word dì (帝):

The image is sometimes considered to be a sepal, like that which we see so commonly in the word bù (不) which has this pictogram:

Indeed if you compare the drawings, you see that does seem to be a big part of the dì character though not all of it. Others consider the central element in the character’s composition to be jin 巾, the traditional head cloth for adults:

And yet other etymologists say the dì character is a picture of tied up firewood (perhaps for a sacrifice) or an altar. At any rate, early on, this image was used to mean “God of Heaven” and then emperor.

~

What all did we learn in Chapter 4?

Point 1: This is the first time since Chapter 1 that Lâozî circles back and actually starts talking about The Way of the loose-haired chieftain. We learn its paradoxical pouring out of water “and yet, now, bearded,” doing of useful work in the fashion of a water bucket has this particular territory: it’s not overflowing its vessel.

So… how do you pour out water, do useful work, and not overflow your vessel? Use a bucket. Or maybe: be like a bucket.

Point 2: And this particular territory is concealed and surviving like a vulnerable but sprouting baby.

So… that seems like good news. Although, to be honest, until now I didn’t know it was in danger of not surviving. This makes me re-read the intervening list of paradoxes with a new eye. Is it a list of the dangers of this particular territory? Or a list of corrective actions taken to make this particular territory survive? Re-read our last post yourself and see what you think.

Point 3: And by the way: we don’t know whose baby it is, but it looks like God/the emperor’s ancestor.

So…The Way’s origin isn’t known, but it pre-dates even God.

And/or there’s a baby whose parenthood isn’t known, but it looks like the emperor.

Or both.

~

Once more, I’m filled with curiosity, some wild theories, and great admiration for Lâozî’s ability to write short lines of one-syllable words with complex images that carry multiple (!) layers of meaning.

In the next chapter, we’ll see if our hero is up to this call to the Way, whether it’s a literal Way of working and having a baby or the meta-Way so beloved by philosophers and meaning-seekers for millenia.

Thanks for being here, and be sure to use the contact form to let me know what you’re thinking. See you next time!