Thoughts on the Tao te Ching 34

Poem 34

The great Tao flows everywhere.

All things are born from it,

yet it doesn't create them.

It pours itself into its work,

yet it makes no claim.

It nourishes infinite worlds,

yet it doesn't hold on to them.

Since it is merged with all things

and hidden in their hearts,

it can be called humble.

Since all things vanish into it

and it alone endures,

it can be called great.

It isn't aware of its greatness;

thus it is truly great.

Commentary

Pond, Parc de Montsouris, Paris, June, 2006

From the beginning of civilisation, human beings have been preoccupied with getting to know and understand the things of the world and indeed themselves.  It is perhaps beyond argument that self-consciousness was and is the key to all civilisation.  One of our early musings as to what life was about concerned the nature of the environment that surrounded us.  The earliest philosophers proposed the make-up of that environment to be the four essential elements, namely earth, air, fire and water.  One can readily understand why a lot of cultures proposed their surroundings to be constituted by these basic elements, for they were self-evidently in front of them, and they needed all of them to survive.

Turtle on the same pond of Parc de Montsouris

What may not be so evident is that ancient cultures also proposed that there was a fifth element that made up reality, viz., an element called "quintessence" from the word "quint" which means "fifth." Hinduism and Buddhism proposed this fifth element as did the Greeks, with the Hindu calling it "akasha" and the Greek philosophers naming it the "aether," a term indeed that persisted in the history of science right up to the late nineteenth century. Indeed, it is also worth noting here that what we now call the natural sciences were once called natural philosophy and that the knowledge of the sciences grew out of the thrust to and thirst for knowledge which began in wonder, that is, in philosophy itself.  Moreover, it is worth noting here also that one of the big questions in philosophy is that of the nature of reality? Is reality all that is noted/noticed/documented by the five senses, that is empirically or is there more to reality?  The idea of the fifth element brings with it all these bigger questions of philosophy as the nature of reality is inextricably linked with other big questions like the origin and destiny of life and all its possible meanings.  The WIKI article on the classical elements is worth perusing for those who require a little extra background on the subject than is demanded in this brief post. See Classical Elements.

My footprints in the sand, Donabate, summer 2006

Living in our modern world where global warning is without doubt drenching, swamping and even drowning our places of habitation and work in water, we cannot but be ever more cognisant of this major element of the four.  Water, both fortunately and unfortunately, will manage to get anywhere at all as those poor souls who have been flooded out in their very homes will attest to.  The human body is mostly water, and we are anywhere between 50 and 75 per cent constituted of it depending on our age, sex and physical condition.

Is it any wonder, then, that the essence or quintessence (that fifth element!) of life, the very Tao is imaginatively described as having the attributes of water, that it "flows," that it "pours itself into its (creative) work," "it nourishes infinite worlds." and yet it does not hold on to them; rather it lets them go to flourish on their own.  Like water, the Tao does not cling onto things, it flows through and by them and lets all things go.

Indeed, all things, our Taoist poet tells us, vanishes into the Tao, and s/he reliably tells us that it alone will endure forever.  Interestingly, and paradoxically, our author believes that the Tao is not conscious of his/her/its own greatness.

Once again, by way of conclusion please read over the above poem and let a line, a phrase or a word suggest itself as a mantra for five minutes meditation.

Thoughts on the Tao Te Ching 8

Poem 8

The supreme good is like water,

which nourishes all things without trying to.

It is content with the low places that people disdain.

Thus it is like the Tao.

In dwelling, live close to the ground.

In thinking, keep to the simple.

In conflict, be fair and generous.

In governing, don't try to control.

In work, do what you enjoy.

In family life, be completely present.

When you are content to be simply yourself

and don't compare and compete,

everybody will respect you.

Commentary

Having lived for approximately the last half of the twentieth century as well as the first fifteen years of the present, one might forgive oneself for entertaining a certain psychological sophistication.  In that respect, one could forgive oneself for having thought that the above poem was written in contemporary times.  There is a freshness and modernity about the above stanzas that would lead one to believe that they were penned by a modern psychologist or psychotherapist.  Indeed, one of the major distinguishing features of Eastern spirituality  vis-à-vis its Western counterpart is its psychological profundity.  Western spirituality on the other hand is more one that falls down in awe praising the wonder of the divine revelation rather than one that explores the effects that encounter has on the personality of the believer.  Be that as it may, at the risk of generalization, I contend that Eastern spirituality to a large extent partakes of what we may term a perennial philosophical take on life that is concerned with the mental welfare of the humble follower of the path.

The first stanza above is essentially about the taming of the ego or of humankind's pride or hubris.  Our ego, unless it is tamed, will not bring us happiness or contentment.  However, when it is tamed and brought into check, it can of course bring us much happiness.  Many leaders are happy people because quite simply their egos are controlled.  Balance is a word much spoken about in spirituality, as indeed it is in psychology and psychotherapy.  The poet speaks graphically about how naturally water helps all things to grow without despising the low places.  Indeed, it naturally seeks to avoid the high places.  Here, then, it is an image of humility and yet immense power in nurturing growth and life.

The words of wisdom offered by this poem are indeed proverbial and do contain that perennial wisdom adverted to above.  Indeed, one could be reading from the Biblical book of Psalms.  We are advised to live close to the ground, or to be truly in tune with nature. Indeed, here it is interesting to mention than the etymology of the very word "human" is the Latin root "humus" which means "clay."

In thinking and indeed teaching, one should keep the thought processes clear and simple. As a teacher involved in education for some 35 years now I have been long convinced of that piece of rich advice.  When I was a university I was taught by some wise lecturers and fellow students to differentiate the true teacher/lecturer from the poor ego-ridden one by noting whether they were setting out to impress, confuse and mystify rather than inform, clarify and encourage the learner.  The next line recommends being fair and generous in conflict, an aspiration that is an ideal indeed, but somewhat depressing in reality as it would seem that most victors are neither fair nor generous as the sad history of human warring has taught us.

I especially delight in the proverbial wisdom of the line: "In governing, don't try to control." All good leaders, in my experience, have never tried to control, while the bad ones have indeed done so, thereby hurting and alienating many as well as slowing all progress down. Those who try to control are often micro-managers: those who cannot allow their staff to get on with the job without sticking their nose in.  A good leader allows his or her staff the freedom to achieve and no good boss is ever jealous of their achievements, but rather rejoices in them for he/she has allowed that person the freedom to achieve X or Y.  In that special way, the are responsible for the success of their staff.  I remember, a wonderful teacher and great Irish writer Bryan McMahon once remarking that a good teacher delights in the success of all pupils even those who will go on to outshine him intellectually and so on.

Amazingly, the piece of wisdom that recommends that we should work at what we enjoy sounds very contemporary indeed.  There is much sound wisdom in it, but few of us ever get the luxury of doing so.  The most that we can do is to get to know ourselves as deeply as possibly and avoid taking jobs that we might detest or promotions that might ruin our peace of mind.  Knowing our own strengths and playing to them is obviously the best course of action for us in life.

Once again being present to others in our family is a wonderful piece of advice that will lead to harmonious relationships.  Through meditation and other spiritual practices we learn gradually to be present (i) to ourselves, (ii) to others and (iii) to the source of life some of us dare call God.  Being present in the moment is the central recommendation of every spiritual tradition.

Finally, as I've already remarked, we could be reading a modern article in a popular psychology magazine or book when we peruse the final few lines of the above poem. Learning to be content with oneself; being able to be and to sleep with an untroubled conscience; not desiring to compete with anyone else and certainly never needing to compare oneself with others are achievements consequent on much spiritual practice and no little dedication to matters of the soul.

I will finish these few reflections with the usual recommendation to the reader of these lines to re-read the above Taoist poem and to let whatever line, phrase or word spring into your mind and then to close your eyes and use that phrase as a mantra for five or ten minutes. May you always be at peace.

Namaste,  friends.

Thoughts on the Tao Te Ching 4

Tao Te Ching

Poem 4

The Tao is like a well:

used but never used up.

It is like the eternal void:

filled with infinite possibilities.

It is hidden but always present.

I don't know who gave birth to it.

It is older than God.

Commentary

Wells are central to community just as water is central to life. Civilizations grew up around water, around rivers and lakes and wells. What could be more natural?  Indeed water is the source and summit of life.  Indeed, it is worth calling to mind that, depending on age, sex, health and weight, the human body is made up of anywhere between 55 - 75 % of water.  On a physical level water slakes our thirst.  In the Gospels, as in the Scriptural texts of all religions, water as an element and as a symbol features centrally.  One of the more popular of the stories relating to Jesus is that of his encounter with the woman at the well, where Jesus promises the woman "living water," a water that has the promise for the drinker that he or she will never get thirsty again.  Within traditional societies the well was the focal point of the very community because everyone had to go there to draw water.

The Woman at the Well by Carl Heinrich Bloch

Language works in a wonderful way by pushing its boundaries beyond its physical referents in order to attempt to describe abstract and theoretical concepts.  One might call this faculty within language the thrust to metaphor.  And so language pushes the word "heart" into more abstract territory to come up with a formula like "the heart of the matter" to express a more complex thought.  And so language always forces itself beyond its physical boundaries to embrace higher and loftier thoughts; ideas and experiences on many levels that must be explained.

There is a most famous and equally popular Christian spiritual classic based on Liberation Theology called We Drink From Our Own Wells: The Spiritual Journey of a People by the Catholic theologian of note Gustavo Gutiérrez, a classic well worth reading and pondering.  Once again it is about the wells of inspiration that give a whole people hope.

"Void" refers to "a completely empty space."  Emptiness is, once again, one of a binary pair; its polar bedfellow being the idea of "fullness."  Being empty seems to invite being "filled up."  Or to put it another way, how can I know what fullness is unless I know what its contrary is, namely, emptiness. Our poem above invites us to see the emptiness of the Tao, or indeed our own emptiness which shares in that ultimate emptiness, as inviting an "infinity of possibilities." The notions of inspiration and enthusiasm are indeed also linked insofar as these words also imply a filling of the emptiness within.  The Latin root "inspirare" means "to breathe into," while the root of the word enthusiasm is to be "filled with the divine."  Hence, the notion of "void" is not one of total sterility, a conclusion we might jump to rather superficially at first glance.

The word "void" used above reminds me of a related word, namely "abyss." An abyss is "a deep and seemingly bottomless chasm."  It is a word that appears in much religious and spiritual writing like that of "void."  When speaking of mysticism, we often used both these words in an attempt to describe a mystical experience.  The psalms speak and pray and meditate about "deep calls onto deep" as in Psalm 42:7 where we read: "deep calls onto deep at the sound of your waterfalls.  And your breakers and your waves have rolled over me."  This is pure poetry like the poem above from the Tao and its implications are similar  to that insinuated by the above quoted poetic lines. Nietzsche says somewhere that when one gazes long enough into the abyss that the abyss stares back into you. Unfortunately, Nietzsche's abyss does not promise a polar opposite or possibilities of creativity, and, like its author, his words are redolent of depression and negativity.  For Nietzsche, it appears to me, the abyss calls us to our destruction, unlike its function in mysticism where it is preparatory for being filled with the divine, that is, with meaning.

The mysterious or mystical Tao is at once hidden and present - here we have our polarities or binaries or pairs of opposites again.  And again the line "older than God" is somewhat mind-blowing.  It seems to suggest that any human notion of God is always redundant as it can never capture whatever the source of meaning to and in life may be.  Even all the various religions, with all their various dogmatic formulas, fall far short of capturing whatever God may or may not be.  Hence the Tao must surely be older than any conception possible of God.

Journal of a Soul 16

Aridity and a Note on Tradition

The word "aridity" is one beloved of monks, nuns and mystics.  I recently read some excerpts from the works of Teresa of Avila (1515-1582), Counter Reformation mystic and one of the foremost Spanish Renaissance writers, and she refers to having to suffer through those long desert periods, those long dry patches when the soul is thirsting for a little libation in the form of inspiration or wisdom or, at least, a little sustenance for the journey that is life (which is indeed, essentially and existentially, a camino.)  Apparently, the mystics look on such desert experiences as important periods which test our perseverance when seemingly God (or Truth or the Ultimate Good, or whatever term you wish to use for that power of life greater than us that seemingly sustains the universe) is experienced in absence. 

Ballintubber Abbey, Co. Mayo, May, 2011

The Peruvian, Gustava Gutiérrez, Dominican priest and theologian, who is generally regarded as the founder of Liberation Theology, once wrote a wonderful book called We Drink from Our Own Wells: The Spiritual Journey of a People which I read in the early 1980s.  It was a wonderful read, and it is a book to which I must return.  The reason I called this particular blog by the title Wellsprings  was because of that book.  Truly, we must drink from our own wells.  

What, in God's name, I hear you ask, has the aridity of the first paragraph got to do with the seemingly abundantly well watered pastures of the second?  Well the second modern spiritual classic (it dates from 1983) argues that the Spirit of Liberation is alive and well in the lives of the poor as they search for the inner resources of their identity as a struggling people and to gain real and true liberation from both their material and spiritual oppressors.

What has all this got to do with the one who types these words here in virtual reality?  Well, when I arrive at the inevitable aridity, described above, in my personal spiritual quest I have no other option than to return to those personal and educational experiences that have made me the unique individual that I am.  In short, we are forced to fall back on our own roots, culturally and spiritually.

Last evening, I had the pleasure of attending a  concert, at which some 30 or 40 Irish traditional musicians played.  All these musicians spoke of person X, Y or Z from whom they got this, that or the other tune.  They realise all too clearly that they live, move and have their musical being, to coin a phrase, in and through a specific musical tradition.

Tulip, Ballintubber Abbey, May, 2011

In that sense, while I feel I have moved away from the central and solid structures of the Roman Catholic Church in all its orthodoxy, yet I am still deeply steeped in its spirituality and its richer practices, ceremonies, insights and more profound wisdom.  No tradition can be written off. In a sense, we can never discard our origins like an old coat cast aside after long wearing, because we have been shaped and formed to a great sense by it.  Of course, we must and we should do new things with that tradition.  

It appears to me at this juncture in my life that my religious upbringing was formative in my life like a great river.  However, I admit that I have now run off on my very own rivulet from it.  I will keep running my own way as I must be loyal to my own sense of self and selfhood.  In other words, as the existential philosophers say, I must be authentic in and to my own lived reality.  I can be nothing if not true to my inner self, call it my core self, or my real self as Carl Ransom Rogers, the great psychotherapist puts it.

And when I have no more to say, I feel exactly like what T.S. Eliot so well puts it in his wonderful poem Gerontion, the first two lines of which run: "Here I am, an old man in a dry month//Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain" and which finishes in similar tenor with this line: "Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season."  Then, I also bring to mind other lines of favourite poets like Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J.: "Oh Lord, send my roots rain!"

To finish, then, let us never deny our origins, any little aspect of it even, as it all went to making us who we are.  To be spiritually alive means learning to accept everything that went to make us who and what we are both essentially and existentially.  Where problems emerge in the psyche, that is, where all those legions of neuroses kick in, is exactly where we have denied significant experiences in the previous years of our little lives.  Much of this acknowledgement, of course, may involve forgiveness of self or of others; dealing with anger, regret, pain and loss in all their eruptions into our lives as well as other positive experiences of love and care that are manifested in what Abraham Maslow so rightly calls "peak experiences."  One way or another, all experiences, positive and negative, that went to make us who we are cannot be denied.  

This appreciation of our tradition is, on the one hand, something very natural to us, and on the other, something which T.S. Eliot famously said we must work hard at cultivating.  Admittedly, he was adverting to any specific tradition in which any writer or poet finds himself or herself writing: "It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labour." 

Alas, dear reader, nothing of any value is ever gained in the absence of hard work.