The Gourd and the Cross: Daoism and Christianity in Dialogue 1931483280, 9781931483285

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The Gourd and the Cross

Daoism and Christianity in Dialogue

Sung-hae Kim Three Pines Press

Three Pines Press P.O. Box 530416 St.Petersburg, Fl 33747 www.threepinespress.com © 2014 by Sung-hae Kim All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. 87654321 First Three Pines Press Edition, 2014 Printed in the United States of America  This edition is printed on acid-free paper that meets the American National Standard Institute Z39.48 Standard. Distributed in the United States by Three Pines Press. Kan Song and National Museum art works used by permission. Cover art: Design by Brent Cochran. ___________________________________________ Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kim, Sung-hye, 1943[Tokyo wa kiristokyo. English] The gourd and the cross : Daoism and Christianity in dialogue / SungHae Kim. -- First [edition]. pages cm Includes index. ISBN 978-1-931483-28-5 (alk. paper) 1. Christianity and other religions--Taoism. 2. Taoism--Relations-Christianity. I. Title. BR128.T34K5613 2014 299.5'14152--dc23 2014025925 ISBN 978-1-931483-28-5

Contents Illustrations Acknowledgments 1. Daoist Culture from a Christian Perspective

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2. Dao and the Reign of God

34

3. Jesus and the Sage

63

4. Freedom in Zhuangzi and the New Testament

94

5. Mind-Fasting and Unknowing

127

6. Immortality and Egalitarianism

148

7. The Gourd of Small Penglai

173

8. Daoism and Christianity in Korean Folk Piety

197

Index

225

Illustrations Fig. 1. The Eight Immortals. Source: Baiyun guan mural. Fig. 2. Ironcrutch Li. Source: Painting by Yi Han-ch’ŏl (1808-1880), Kan Song 澗松 Museum, Seoul. Fig. 3. Zhang Guolao. Source: Painting by Kim Hong-to (1745-1806). Kan Song Museum, Seoul Fig. 4. Confucius. Source: Rubbing of stone stele, Qufu, China. Fig. 5. Laozi on His Ox. Source: Painting by Kim Hong-to (1745-1806). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 6. Zhuangzi. Source: Zengxiang liexian zhuan. Fig. 7. The Three Clarities. Source: Altar in mainland China, photograph by Livia Kohn. Fig. 8. Portrait of Matteo Ricci. Source: Kyoulon oe i p’yŏn (On Friendship and Other Writings), by Matteo Ricci, translated by Song Yŏng-pae, Seoul National University Press. Fig. 9. The Cover Page of the Tianzhi shiyi in English Translation. Source: Institut Ricci, Taipei. Fig. 10. Zhang Daoling. Source: Liexian quanzhuan. Fig. 11. Lü Dongbin. Source: Painting by an unknown painter. Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 12. Zhongli Quan. Source: Painting by Cho Chung-muk (ca. 1828). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 13. The Character for “Dao.” Source: Modern calligraphy. Fig. 14. Yin and Yang. Source: Modern symbol. Fig. 15. Laozi Transmitting the Dao to Yin Xi. Source: Painting by Chŏng Sŏn (1776-1759). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 16. The Ancient Graph for “Heaven.” Source: Chinese calligraphy textbook. Fig. 17. A Daoist Looking at the Moon. Painting by Yi Chŏng (15541626). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 18. Unearthed Bamboo Slips. Source: Wenwu reproduction. Fig. 19. A Daoist Sage. Source: Painting by Kim Hong-to (1745-1806). Kan Song Museum, Seoul

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Fig. 20. An Immortal Leaning on a Tiger. Source: Painting by Chi Unyŏng (1852-1935). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 21. Laozi as Daoist Sage. Source: Mural at the Bagua Xundao Gong Red Cross Medical Exchange Center, Beijing. Fig. 22. Perfected with Peach. Source: Painting by Kim Hong-to (1745-1806). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 23. Immortals Playing Music. Source: Painting by Yu Suk (18371873), Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 24. The Giant Peng. Source: Chuang-tzu Illustrated. Fig. 25. The Immortal Pengzu. Source: Zengxiang liexian zhuan. Fig. 26. Cook Ding Cutting Up the Ox. Source: Rubbing of Han stele. Fig. 27. Three Masters Exploring a Scroll. Source: Painting by Yi Han-ch’ŏl (1808-1880), Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 28. A Gigantic Tree. Source: Singapore tree, photograph by Livia Kohn. Fig. 29. Thomas Merton. Source: Merton Fellowship for Peace and Contemplation. Fig. 30. The Chan Master Linji. Source: Linji lu. Fig. 31. A Daoist Sitting in Oblivion. Source: Liexian quanzhuan. Fig. 32. Daoist Ritual Vessel. Source: Ceramic in National Museum, Seoul. Fig. 33. The Ancient Graph for “Qi.” Source: Chinese calligraphy textbook. Fig. 34. Cover of The Cloud. Source: Modern printed edition. Fig. 35. The Jade Emperor. Source: Modern temple print. Fig. 36. A Daoist Talisman. Source: Yangsheng yuanhai. Fig. 37. A Daoist Concocting an Elixir. Source: Painting by Yi In-mun (1745-1824). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 38. The Divinized Laozi. Source: Statue on Mount Wudang, photograph by Michael Saso. Fig. 39. Xiwangmu Riding on a Crane. Source: Painting in Gamsinchong Tomb, Kokyuryŏ (37 BC – AD 668). National Museum, Seoul. Fig. 40. The Yellow Emperor. Source: Statue in a temple in Taipei, photograph by Livia Kohn. Fig. 41. The Star Gods of the Northern Dipper. Source: Buddhist painting from the later Chosŏn period. National Museum, Seoul. Fig. 42. The Five Phases. Source: Diagram drawn by Shawn Arthur.

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Fig. 43. A Holy Daoist Mountain. Source: Mount Hua, photograph by Sung-hae Kim. Fig. 44. The Isles of Penglai. Source: Traditional ink painting. Fig. 45. A Pleasant Life in a Gourd. Source: Painting by Tomika Tessai (1837-1924). Fig. 46. Qiu Changchun. Source: Ming-dynasty painting. Fig. 47. Immortal Landscape. Source: Mount Hua, photograph taken by Livia Kohn. Fig. 48. The Chongyang gong Temple. Source: Archived photograph. Fig. 49. The Score of the Exsultet Chant. Source: Manuscript reprint. Fig. 50. Hanging Gourds Near a Beijing Temple. Source: Photograph by Norman J. Girardot. Fig. 51. The God of Long Life. Source: Painting by Chang Sŭngŏp (1843-1897). Kan Song Museum, Seoul. Fig. 52. Mountain God Handing Down Secret Methods. Painting by Yi To-yŏng (1922), National Museum, Seoul. Fig. 53. Chŏng Yak-chong. Souce: Photography from Korean Martyrs’ Shrine at Chŏltusan, Seoul. Fig. 54. The Cover of the Chukyo yochi. Source: Korean Resource Institute Publication. Fig. 55. Tan’gun. Source: www.lifeinkorea.com. Fig. 56. The Macrocosmic Orbit. Source: Drawing by Michael Winn, Healing Dao. Fig. 57. Immortals Crossing the Sea. Source: Silk screen painting by Kim Hong-to (1745-1806), National Museum, Seoul. Fig. 58. Pastor Kil Sŏn-ju and His Associates. Source: Archival photograph. Fig. 59. Yi Yong-to and His Congregation. Source: www.chojin.com. Fig. 60. Two Immortals of Good Fortune. Source: Painting by Kim Tŭk-sin (1754-1822). Kan Song Museum, Seoul.

Acknowledgments This work goes back to a series of lectures on interreligious dialogue, given at the Seton Research Center in Seoul, Korea, from March to December 1998. I gave seven of the ten 2-hour lectures, speaking from the position of comparative religion as well as from my personal experience as a Catholic nun. At the time, I was teaching Chinese religions in the Department of Religious Studies at Sogang University (Seoul) and actively involved in the Korean Association of Daoist Culture. I invited two of my colleagues, the Daoist thinker Yi Kang-soo of Yŏnse University and the Daoist historian and practitioner of internal alchemy, Kim Nak-pil of Wŏn’gwang University, for a year-long Daoist and Christian dialogue. The lectures from the three different perspectives enriched our dialogue. At the end of each lecture, there was some time for—the mostly Christian—participants to engage in the dialogue by offering questions and comments. The original lectures appeared under the title Tokyowa Kŭlisŭtokyo (Daoism and Christianity) in 2003. For the dialogue between Daoism and Christianity, it was helpful to have three presenters with different perspectives. However, there was quite a bit of overlap and repetition among the lectures. For this reason, we decided to focus on my lectures for this volume in English, with two alterations. One is the addition of a paper I gave in 2007, at the 4th International Conference on Daoist Studies in Hong Kong, on “The Gourd of Small Penglai: Environmental Ethics in Quanzhen Poetry.” The paper appeared later in the Journal of Daoist Studies (vol. 5, 2012). It is reprinted here as Chapter 7, with revisions that reorient the content toward interreligious dialogue and supplement Christian material on the cross. The paper also gave this book its title, The Gourd and the Cross. Another addition is Chapter 8, on “Daoism and Christianity in Korean Folk Piety,” which presents a substantially revised and updated version of my original lecture during the series. The book would not have been possible without the continuous support of Dr. Choi Soo-been, an expert in medieval Daoism, who translated it from Korean to English, and of Dr. Livia Kohn, who enthusiastivii

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cally edited it for academic presentation. I am deeply indebted to them both. I am also grateful to the Dutch foundation Porticus, who generously provided funding for the English translation. Further, I would like to offer sincere gratitude to the National Museum of Korea. They freely gave me permission to use sixteen photos from their special exhibition on “Taoist Culture in Korea: The Road to Happiness,” held December 10, 2013 to March 2, 2014 in Seoul. Another major source of illustration was the Kan Song Museum in Seoul. They, too, were very generous in providing permission to use nineteen photos from their catalog on Daoist and Buddhist Paintings (no. 48, 2009). Finally, I am grateful to the Korean Martyrs’ Shrine Museum at Chŏltusan and the permission they offered to use three photos on Korean martyrs. I hope that my humble endeavor helps to enhance and deepen the spiritual dialogue between the Daoist and Christian traditions, to bear much fruit in the future and serve to the benefit of the contemporary world—a world where many feel the spiritual thirst for an unknown God and persistently search for freedom in truth. —Sister Sung-hae Kim 金勝惠, Chicago, June 2014

Chapter One Daoist Culture from a Christian Perspective I have two points in mind for this dialogic exploration of Daoism and Christianity. First, I want to introduce the general characteristics of Daoism and its culture in East Asia, especially in China and Korea. Second, I want to examine Daoism from a Christian perspective, so that the close affinity of religious thoughts and eschatological vision between the two religions may become clearer and better appreciated.

Understanding Daoist Culture What is your impression of Daoism? Generally, the image people have involves immortals (shenxian 神仙), nonaction (wuwei 無爲), and naturalness (ziran 自然). Immortals are popular figures throughout East Asia. In China and Korea, there is a popular type of painting, called “Portrait of the Eight Immortals” (Baxiantu 八 仙 圖 ). It depicts each figure with distinctive iconographic attributes, based on the legends about them. Fig. 1. The Eight Immortals 1

2 / CHAPTER ONE

They include Zhongli Quan 鍾離權, a general of the Han dynasty ((206 BC-AD 6), who later became a Daoist (daoshi 道士); he holds a fan that resurrects the dead. The famous Lü Dongbin 呂洞賓, a wandering healer and poet, carries a demon-slaying sword that relieves people from disasters. He supposedly lived in the Tang dynasty (618-907). Li Tieguai 李鐵拐 has a crippled leg and gets around on an iron crutch; he also holds a gourd. Stories tell how he went on an ecstatic journey outside his body. When he returned, he could not find his body because his disciple had taken him for dead and cremated it. Having to find a body for himself, he adopted that of a beggar who had just died. This new body—lame, untidy, shaggy, with bulging eyes—was rather perfect for moving about unencumbered in the world, so he used an iron crutch to get around.

Fig. 2. Ironcrutch Li

Zhang Guolao 張果老, also supposedly of the Tang dynasty, is depicted as riding a white mule, which he transformed into a paper image and folded up to put in his sleeve when he wanted to walk about on foot. Lan Caihe 藍采和, sometimes shown as male and sometimes as female,

DAOIST CULTURE / 3

carries a basket of flowers. He would sing a song and give away money when drunk. Hearing the sound of a flute, Lan would rise into the heavens riding on a crane. As this shows, immortals are beings that enjoy freedom and transcendence regardless of social position and gender. They are attractive to people of the 21st century since they go for what they like and represent equality. As a group, the Eight Immortals became popular in Yuandynasty China (1260-1368); since then, people have placed their picture on walls and prayed to them for good fortune and longevity. The cult moved into Korea soon after this time. There it was associated particularly with longevity, one among the Five Blessings (wufu 五福), which also include wealth, posterity, love of virtue, and peaceful death. Living a long life without diseases and obstacles is a wish all human beings harbor—and its pursuit is a key characteristic of Daoism, from where it spread throughout the Three Teachings (sanjiao 三敎) of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. Each one of these teachings plays its own role in the various areas of Korean spiritual culture. Confucianism tends to focus on morality, required to maintain social order and manage social life. Its teachings claim that human beings are inherently moral, naturally containing virtue or inner power (de 德), and that the ultimate goal of life is moral completion. Confucianism thus focuses on a morally integrated society as its foremost ideal. As a result, its representatives have played a pivotal role in moral education and shaped the fundamental principles of society. They believe that the gradual proliferation of morality is the effect of the increasingly moral behavior of individuals. Once individuals behave morally, this grows into the harmonious management of every family, creating good order in local communities and realizing righteous politics in the state, thereby creating a completely moral world. Given this predilection, it is understandable that Confucianism has had a pervasive influence on human relationship and society in all East Asian societies. However, it also comes with a strong emphasis on strict courtesy and formality, which has a stifling effect on human interaction. Buddhism and Daoism have played complementary roles to ease the social strictures of Confucianism. Buddhism is an ascetic religion; it first introduced monasticism into Korea. It places self-denial and spiritual values over mundane desires, such as wealth, reputation, and domestic happiness. It also focuses strongly on the problem of suffering and

4 / CHAPTER ONE

death, proposing the doctrine of karma and rebirth and providing specific funerary rituals. Under its influence, many Koreans perform a major funerary ceremony on the 49th day after a person’s death (sishijiu zhai 四 十九齋); they also venerate various buddhas, bodhisattvas, and other divine helpers, depicted in statues and housed in a variety of temples and pagodas. Daoism, in contrast, has been somewhat more marginal in Korean society than Confucianism and Buddhism. While well organized and highly influential in China, it is here more diffuse than these other teachings, lacking an organized ordination system, formal temples, and particular priesthood (daoshi 道士). It is thus more of a latent religion, but with a pervasive influence on the internal aspects and life styles of the Korean people. In traditional society, when a man suffered failure in sosocial activities, he would find consolation in the Daoist classics. Disappointed to the point of retiring from the society or having lost his status and reputation, he would find spiritual comfort in Daoism, restoring the security he felt as a child when he was at his mother’s bosom and giving him new energies to go on with his life. Daoism in many ways is thus like a big, gnarled tree: apparently useless it yet provides shade and allows people to rest under it. Fig. 3. Zhang Guolao

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In addition, Daoism also offers spiritual emancipation that allows people to break away from social formality and restrictions. Ideal Daoists, such as the Eight Immortals, often drink wine, compose poems, engage in banter with friends, and generally enjoy life: this shows the Daoist ethos. The religion focuses on artistic creativity and centers on the vital energy known as qi 氣, the fundamental power of all life. Activating qi, Daoists also worship various deities, pray for good fortune, carry about sacred talismans, arrange their houses according to Fengshui, and practice exercises along the guidelines of Chinese medicine.

Daoism in Society Daoism is a complex religion. It embraces both—personal freedom attained through high spiritual states as described in the ancient classics, Daode jing 道德經 (Book of Dao and Its Virtue) and the Zhuangzi (Book of Master Zhuang); and it embraces numerous popular, even superstitious elements. It is, therefore, all-inclusive, embracing the high as much as the low levels of human spiritual activity. Westerners today are particularly fond of it, moreover, because it echoes post-modern views. Their core idea is that, until the 20th century, there was only one pivotal axis underlying the world, both in its political and cultural dimensions. Now, there is pluralism in all respects, plus a strong belief in the need to respect individual personalities and guaranteeing the mental freedom of all. Only based on these principles can we build a new and better society. For example, there is the concept of the X generation, i.e., of people born close to the new millennium. A true generation-Xer establishes his or her self-identity clearly and strongly, knowing exactly who s/he is so that s/he can stand on his or her own feet without bothering about anyone else’s opinions. Post-modernism, although it did away with the central, pivotal axis of a unified teaching that influenced traditional culture, cannot provide a clear-cut, valid direction where we have to go—secular individualism alone will not suffice. While the openness and variety of Daoist teachings and practices closely echoes this, unlike post-modernism, they provide distinctive points of focus for intention and direction. Already Laozi describes Dao as the ultimate principle underlying all existence, the origin of the myri-

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ad beings. Dao brings all things into being, raises, and nurtures them. Benevolent (ren 仁) and caring (ci 慈), Dao is like an affectionate mother the maternal affection. As the Daode jing says, The whole world says Dao is great and unlike anything else. Because it is great, it is unlike anything else. If it were like other things, it would have been small long ago. I have three treasures to keep and treasure; First caring, second thriftiness, Third is not daring to be ahead of the world. Caring, you can be brave. Thrifty, you can be generous. Not presuming, you can be master of all vessels. Now, not caring yet wanting to be brave, Not thrifty yet wanting to be generous, Not staying behind yet wanting to be in front—this is death! Caring—attack with it and win; defend with it and hold firm. Heaven saves and protects through caring alone. (ch. 67)

Thus, it is due to the greatness of Dao that people in the world, in “all under Heaven,” claim Dao is too big to be compared to other things. If Dao is similar to things in any way, it will get small and impermanent just like them, and lose its original character. Laozi illustrates the features of Dao with three treasures (sanbao 三寶): caring, thriftiness (jian 儉), and “not daring to be ahead of the world” (bugan wei tianxia xian 不敢爲 天下先). The latter is a way of expressing nonaction, the way Dao nurtures the myriad beings without domination or contention, just by letting them transform naturally. We can be courageous because we are caring; we can be generous because we are thrifty. This applies both to material and mental aspects: we can have mercy on other people because we are conservative with ourselves. As long as we are full of self-interest, there is no way we can afford to consider others. The more we empty ourselves, the more we get along with others, care for them, and become generous and merciful.

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Never daring to be ahead of anybody else, we can be true rulers of ourselves and in the world. The same holds true for a group or a community, as well as the world of politics: compulsion inevitably creates repugnance, but no one will ever hate a ruler who allows people to realize themselves. According to Laozi, if such a person becomes ruler, people will not feel oppressed and do not suffer under the weight of their chief; they are at ease with authority. He, therefore, insists that such a person is capable of being a true ruler. On the other hand, it is death to try to be brave, generous, or in the lead without solidly embodying the qualities of the three treasures. They are the means by which we will triumph and become invulnerable. Thus, Heaven comes to save and protect us. “Heaven” (tian 天) was a way of referring to the highest god in ancient China, an anthropomorphized personal aspect of universal power. Dao, in contrast, is the more abstract, metaphysical dimension of the same idea. Both connect to humanity and offer support and protection as long as we hold on to the three treasures.

Proto-Daoist Hermits The first traces of proto-Daoist hermits appear around the lifetime of Laozi, i.e., 500 BC. The Lunyu 論語 (Analects) of Confucius (551-479 BC), the founder of Confucianism, is a reliable historical source providing information. It contains several scenes showing Confucius and his disciples confronting hermits during their travels from state to state in search of political influence. Hermits at the time were men who removed themselves from a luxuriant, excessive society, embracing a simple life without words. To withdraw meant resist secular society. The Lunyu has three episodes where Confucius meets hermits. For example, he once acted on behalf of the minister of justice in his native state of Lu and thus traveled by carriage, which signaled high social status. A man by the name of Jieyu 接輿 from the southern state of Chu 楚 came by his house and sang: Phoenix, oh phoenix! How thy virtue has declined!

8 / CHAPTER ONE What is past is beyond help, What is to come is not yet lost. Give up, give up! Perilous is the lot of those in office today. (18.5)

The phoenix, with its brightly shining variegated colors, is a symbol of the pure times of peace and tranquility. Here it is used to satirize Confucius who tried to contribute to a peaceful world but acted recklessly. The hermit says that Confucius’ virtue had declined and that any engagement in political activities was perilous: he would gain nothing for all his efforts. Hearing this song, Confucius got down from the carriage with the intention of talking to him, but he ran away, pretending to be a lunatic. The story shows Confucius’ respect for Jieyu as well as his awareness that even hermits sincerely criticized the corruption of the secular world and devoted their lives to its improvement. Fig. 4. Confucius

According to another tale, Changju 長沮 and Jieni 桀溺 were plowing a field, when Confucius passed by. He sent his disciple Zilu 子路 to ask them for the location of the nearest river ford. The men said, Muddy water overflows the entire world. Who are you to change this state of affairs? Better follow the model of those who simply withdraw from this world. Moreover, for your own sake, would it not be better if you followed one who leaves the world altogether rather than running after this man who keeps on wandering through the world in hopes of reform? (18.6).

Zilu immediately realized that these two were not ordinary farmers. He went back and reported their words to Confucius. The Master was lost in

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thought for a while, then said, “One cannot associate with birds and beasts. So, if I do not associate with people, who can I associate with? If Dao prevailed in the world, I would not try to change anything.” Both Confucius and the two recluses, Changju and Jieni, shared the critical awareness that their world lacked Dao but they had different solutions. Hermits voice their criticism of society by withdrawing from the secular world and maintaining their personal purity. Confucius, in contrast, endeavored to reform the world while remaining active in it— through political influence or, failing that, by educating and shaping men of superior moral capability. Another, third story features Zilu. Having fallen behind on the road, he encountered an old man carrying a basket on a staff over his shoulder. He asked, “Have you seen my master?” The old man said, “Your four limbs have not toiled and you cannot distinguish the five grains—who may your master be?” His words point to the limitations of Confucian scholars, who were mainly literary men, devoted to studying. He may possibly be a member of the School of the Tillers or Agriculturalists (Nongjia 農家). Zilu just stood there with his arms folded, not responding. The old man, however, turned out to be hospitable and invited him to stay the night. He killed a chicken and cooked some millet (18.7). The tale shows that Confucians and hermits respected each other despite their differences in outlook. Similar episodes appear in also in the Mengzi 孟子 (Book of Mencius; 372-289 BC). In this time, about a hundred years after the death of Confucius, the School of Tillers insisted that all people should provide for themselves by farming equally, regardless their social status, including even king and senior officials. Mencius disagreed with this and insisted on the efficiency of specialization. In another line, he also mentions a figure called Yang Zhu 楊朱, noting that he would not do anything that might harm his body and life: he would not pull out a single hair, even if he could save the whole world by doing so. Mencius criticizes this stance as highly egotistical, but he does not quite appreciate the full significance of this view, which is commonly called hedonist. Yang Zhu focused on “keeping inner nature whole and preserving life” (quanxing baozhen 全性保眞), proposing ways to “nourish life” (yangsheng 養生). What he means by this is that “we must never throw our life away or abandon sincerity in favor of worldly

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reputation or material wealth.” Another type of hermit, he is a strong forerunner of later Daoists, whose thinking is best represented in the Daode jing and the Zhuangzi.

Laozi Laozi 老子 is the name of a semihistorical figure as well as of a book. According to the Shiji 史記 (Record of the Historian, ch. 63), compiled by Sima Qian 司馬遷 around 100 BC, he was a native of Chu. His personal name was Er 耳; his family name, Li 李—later also the name of the ruling house of the Tang dynasty who claimed descent from Laozi and held Daoism in high esteem. His personal name Er means “ear,” and since long-lived persons supposedly have long ears, he often appears with long ears. In addition, the feature connects to the Daoist predilection for longevity. According to the Shiji, Laozi was a historiographer at the Zhou court. Fig. 5. Laozi on His Ox This means, he was most likely litrate and probably somewhat of an intellectual. The story goes that he was particularly knowledgeable about ritual and Confucius heard of him. Taking the trouble to travel to Zhou, he met Laozi and asked him how best to improve the world. Laozi told him he was too ambitious and had better give up his covetousness. This story is apocryphal: it may well show Confucius’ sincerity in his efforts at learning as well as the high wisdom of the Daoist sage. During the Han, it became part of the official state doctrine. Sima Qian as well as his father Sima Tan 司馬談, historiographers (taishi ling 太史令) at the Han court, respected Daoism and were steeped in the

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thought of Huang-Lao 黃老, a combination of teachings traced back to the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi 黃帝) and Laozi. Laozi’s fate, too, is rather legendary. According to the Shiji, Laozi realized that Dao was fast disappeared in his world and decided to leave his country, choosing seclusion from the secular world and riding into emigration on his ox. As he reached the western frontier, the border guard Yin Xi 尹喜 held him back: “We shall see no more of you; we will not able to listen to your teaching. Please write down your thoughts for us.” Laozi complied and dictated his main thoughts, which Yin Xi compiled into a work of about 5,000 words. This is the book called Laozi, later renamed, and more commonly known as, Daode jing. The transmitted text divides into two parts (pian 篇) and 81 chapters (zhang 章). Part one, comprising chapters 1-37, has come to be known as the Daojing 道經, while chapters 38-81 make up the Dejing 德經. The text is poetic in style, and three quarters of the chapters are rhymed; in contents, it shows profound insight into human beings and the nature of the world. Scholars, such as Bernard Karlgren, Burton Watson, and William Baxter, who have studied its literary style, conclude that the standard version was completed in the 3rd-to-4th centuries BC, while its alleged author Laozi supposedly lived in the sixth so that the text contains his transmitted teachings. The text also is extant in several manuscripts. The oldest version of the standard edition appears first in two silk manuscripts, discovered in 1973 in a tomb at Mawangdui 馬王堆 near Changsha 長沙 in Hunan. They date to before 168 BC. In late 1993, another tomb was excavated in Guodian 廓店 near the city of Jingmen in Hubei. It yielded 804 inscribed bamboo strips in three distinct groups, some of which match the Daode jing. Known as the “Bamboo Laozi," this dates from before 300 BC. The manuscripts allow a much better knowledge of possible the text’s formation and thus the early history of Daoist thought.

Zhuangzi Zhuangzi’ s native name was Zhuang Zhou 莊 周 (d. 289 BC) lived in the late Warring States period. A citizen of a small country called Meng 蒙, a vassal of the Zhou kingdom, he served as a minor government official,

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then retired to pursue his thinking. He seems to have had several disciples, and the book associated with his name, the Zhuangzi, contains several episodes telling about hermits in joint pursuit of Dao who keep each other company, smile, and communicate silently from mind to mind. The language of this text, which is written in prose, is of high literary quality, and the Zhuangzi is considered the first work of Chinese fiction. Judging from his exposition, its difficult but witty and highly imaginary nature as well as its elaborate style, its writer must have been a person of great learning. It is thus likely, that Zhuangzi was a recluse who had been well educated and was of semi-high social standing. Chapter 17 tells a story about him. Once Zhuangzi was fishing on the River Pu 濮, when two emissaries from the king of Chu arrived and asked him to serve in the royal administration. Zhuangzi went on fishing without turning his head and said, I have heard, there is a tortoise in Chu, dead for these three years. The king keeps it carefully wrapped in cloth and boxed, and stores it in the ancestral temple. Now would this tortoise rather be dead and have its bones left behind and honored or would it rather be alive and dragging its tail in the mud? Fig. 6. Zhuangzi

The two emissaries immediately agreed that the tortoise would much rather be alive. Zhuangzi responded, “Go away! I too will drag my tail in my mud,” thus refusing to serve. This shows that Zhuangzi stayed away from society in a quasi-hermit situation. In addition, the Zhuangzi contains many anecdotes about Laozi. In paintings, he usually appears as someone in the position of teaching others and always wins in debates. This suggests that Zhuangzi admired Laozi as a great teacher. In terms of literary styles, the two texts are significantly different. The Daode jing consists for the most part of poems; its sentences are tight and written in a serious, even solemn tone. It is sober and trans-historical

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in the sense that it contains no mention of any particular person’s name or place at all. This shows that it was intended as a work reaching beyond the limitations of history, a text to show lasting truths and the transcendence of Dao applicable to any period. The Zhuangzi, in contrast, consists of long, prose sentences. It is full of stories, allegories, humor, and eccentric figures. A number of fables feature protagonists who expose just how ridiculous people are who take pride in their knowledge, moral rectitude, and social position. Zhuangzi shows them for fools, then lets them recognize how absurd their behavior is. He also intentionally makes use of famous historical figures, such as Confucius and his disciples, like Yan Hui 顔回 and Zigong 子貢. Many dialogues involve a Daoist hermit and a worldly figure. They typically show the worldly figure in a position where he cannot but admit his inferiority in relation to the hermit—who has realized ultimate Dao. The stories are fabulations and bear little relation to actual history, other than showing that certain masters were well known. The Zhuangzi generally stresses that the things people tend to value highly are relative. He uses all kinds of techniques to awaken the reader to the essential meaninglessness of conventional values, hoping to free him or her from bondage. All mental concepts, such as beautiful and ugly, long and short, and good and bad are relative to each other and do not contain absolute truth. They are conventional values, dependent on species, time, and culture; there is nothing constant or ultimate about them. The only real, true level of valuation is from the perspective of Dao—a cosmic force beyond all values. Zhuangzi thus considers all worldly knowledge as small or trivial (xiaozhi 小知) and never tires of pointing out its limitations. The standard version of Zhuangzi consists of thirty-tree chapters, edited down the original 52 by its main commentator Guo Xiang 郭象 (d. AD 312). They divide into three groups: the first seven sections are called the Inner Chapters (neipian 內篇)—most scholars consider them closest to, or even authored by, Zhuangzi himself. The next fifteen are the Outer Chapters (waipian 外篇), reflecting the thought of Zhuangzi’s disciples; and the last eleven make up the Miscellaneous Chapters (zapian 雜篇), containing more materials of his disciples as well as texts from other Daoist schools, such as that of Yang Zhu. That is to say, a total of 26 chapters go back to later disciples, representing the school of Zhuangzi

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and other Daoist followers; as A. C. Graham has shown, they were compiled over a about century after Zhuangzi’s life time. This means that, to study Zhuangzi’s ideas in particular, it is best to focus on the inner chapters and consider the others separately.

Key Characteristics The characteristics of the thought of both, Laozi and Zhuangzi, can be summarized in three dimensions. First, they developed the concept of nonbeing or nothingness (wu 無). Nonbeing is primarily an epistemological concept that recognizes the limitation of all human thinking. Ordinary understanding sees knowledge as matching certain objects, based on their particular, sensory qualities such as color, shape, smell, and so on. We can perceive them with our senses—unlike Dao, which is beyond all that and has neither shape nor smell or color. To appreciate Dao, we must go beyond the limitations of ordinary sensory perception and embrace the “darkness of consciousness.” This means, Dao can only be found when we are in a state free from all definitions, prejudices, and criteria. This is a state of an empty mind, a mind of nonbeing. The concept is thus one way to describe Dao perception; it points to the limitations of human cognitive faculties. Nonbeing is also an ontological concept. As such it stands in contrast with being (you 有). Being implies the active existence of individual objects, while nonbeing transcends them; it has no name and cannot be named. Not having any better word, we speak of nonbeing. However, it underlies all being, is the foundation and origin of all individual things. The Daode jing speaks of nonbeing in this sense, however, in later Daoist thought it evolved into a higher-level concept, into absolute nonbeing transcending both ordinary being and nonbeing. Nonbeing thus went beyond all relativistic connotations. Unlike this, here nonbeing is still paired with being, pointing to the level of origination and creation, the root of all existence. A second dimension of Laozi and Zhuangzi is their contrast to the established philosophy of Confucianism with its emphasis on ritual or social propriety (li 禮) and its method of the rectification of names (zhengming 正名), both placing major emphasis on recognizing and ful-

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filling one’s proper duty in society, always acting in strict accordance with one’s social position. The Daoist thinkers both point out that cultural education and formal behavior structures curb the inherent personality of the individual, causing people to lose their fundamental humanity as well as their original equality in Dao. They therefore propose to do less and act less willfully and less contrived, an ideal described in terms of nonaction and naturalness. They both agree people should recover a simpler and more direct level human culture, giving up all formal rites and virtues: “Forget benevolence, get rid of righteousness, and eliminate propriety.” A third major characteristic is the concept of Dao as a transcendent power beyond any personal divinities, including even Heaven and the Lord on High (Shangdi 上帝). Personal divinities always appear in the image of humanity and are described in comparison to it. They can never fully represent ultimate reality but are just metaphors for its power. To go beyond this, Laozi and Zhuangzi emphasizes both the absolute nature of nonbeing as beyond all individuality and the principal immanence of Dao as the force that gives rise to all beings and is always present in and with all-that-is, i.e., in the myriad beings. Still, Daoists did not completely discard specific deities or the personal aspect of Heaven, but embraced both, the personal and the impersonal, the transcendent and the immanent. Thus, Zhuangzi describes Dao as a “great smith,” someone who forges metal with his hands. Dao thus creates and shapes the myriad beings in its unique way, determining their looks, characteristics, and function in life. Embracing both aspects of Dao, Laozi and Zhuangzi acknowledge both its absolute nature and personal character, adopting either one as needed to describe Dao or further its realization. This, to me, is a strong point of this mode of thought. Recognizing the value of both dimensions, Daoists yet know the limitations of the metaphorical aspect and understand that it represents merely images. People speak by using language; they depend on images. Take, for example, the expression “benevolence of Dao.” It indicates that Dao is benevolent, like a mother who nurtures her children; it is like a person and has a personal relationship to human beings. Still, while recognizing this personal dimension, Daoists also understand that this relationship is a mere image and insist on the essential character of Dao as nonbeing. Due to the latter, we are all essentially one

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with Dao but to realize that fully we must reach a state where all images, names, definitions, and other limitations of language evaporate.

Daoism Meets Christianity The first encounter between Daoism and Christianity took place in AD 635, under the Tang dynasty, which used the major indigenous religion of Daoism as a quasi-state cult. Under the reign of emperor Taizong (r. 627-650), the Tang empire reached well into what is today Afghanistan and its court engaged in a great deal of international exchange. The first Christians to arrive on Chinese soil came from Syria, starting with the Nestorian bishop Alopen. He and a group of missionaries arrived in the capital of Chang’an 長安 (modern Xi’an), translated the Bible, and dedicated it to the emperor. The emperor permitted their missionary activity under the name of Luminous Religion (Jingjiao 景敎), and had a center erected for them—a Nestorian church known as the Taiqin si 太秦寺 (Temple of Greater Rome). The Nestorian monks placed portraits of Tang emperors on its walls and prayed for them, fitting right in with the dominant way of religion in China at the time. In 781, Nestorian Christians erected a stone stele at the temple, the Daqin jingjiao Zhongguo liuxing pei 大秦景敎中國流行碑 (Stele on the Transmission of the Roman Luminous Teaching to China). It was buried during the Huichang persecution in 845, when the Tang rulers needed all the money and metal they could get to stave off rebellions, and thus persecuted all foreign religions, including Buddhism. The stele was recovered in 1625, under the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) when Jesuit missionaries were active at court. The text begins by explaining Nestorian doctrine, then records Nestorian history in China over 150 years. It notes that the teaching was transmitted from Syria and that emperor Gaozong (r. 650-684) ordered Christian temples to be built in every province, so that Nestorian churches were founded in over a hundred Chinese cities. Its last part shows the date of its compilation and lists the names of priests in Chinese and Syriac. In addition to this stele, there were over thirty volumes of Nestorian books translated in the Tang dynasty. Nine of them are still extant, including several that speak of Jesus as the messiah.

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From these sources it becomes clear that Nestorian Christianity in the Tang dynasty was subject to influence from the three teachings, Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism, most strongly from Daoism—partly because it was dominant at the time, the Tang ruling house claiming descent from Laozi. Of particular impact were the Daoist understanding of divinity and its vision of immortality. Nestorians translated Yahweh elohim, i.e., the name of God, as Heavenly Worthy (tianzun 天尊), a title directly adopted from Daoism, whose highest god at the time was the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi tianzun 元始天尊). Dao is originally formless and invisible, but its key creative power of primordial energy (yuanqi 元氣) shaped itself into a creator deity known as Primordial Beginning. He stands for the origin of all through activating of inherent cosmic vitality.

Fig. 7. The Three Clarities

In addition, Daoists venerated two further deities, creating the Daoist trinity known as the Three Clarities (Sanqing 三淸). They include the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning, the personified representative of creative Dao as primordial energy, as well as the Highest God of the Dao (Taishang daojun 太上道君), the teaching aspect of Dao who reveals the scriptures, and the Highest Lord Lao (Taishang laojun 太

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上老君) who masters techniques and appears to humanity in apparitions and miracles master. Nestorians, faced with the need to translate Yahweh Elohim, adopted not only the title Heavenly Worthy for their Heavenly Lord, but also the Daoist notion of nonbeing, thus better to introduce the mystery of God. They also used other epithets borrowed from Daoism, such as mysterious and wondrous (xianmiao 玄妙), empty / vacuous (xu 虛), and calm / serene (ji 寂). “The Heavenly Lord is empty and calm, yet he creates all movements and transformations of the myriad being in mysterious ways. Our Triune and Mysterious God (sanyi miaoshen 三一妙神) is the lord of nowords and absolute truth (wuyan zhenzhu 無言眞主).” Phrases such as these show how Christians explained their belief in the Holy Trinity in Daoist terms. In fact, the expression “no-words” or “silent” is more suited to describe the faith in Heaven in China than God of the Bible. Jingjiao Christians, moreover, expressed God’s transcendent way of acting with clearly Daoist terms like “no-desire” (wuyu 無欲) and nonaction. Jesus, moreover, is introduced as a “heavenly immortal” (tianxian 天 仙). He opened the gate of the Three Constant Principles (sanchang 三 常)—the three virtues of faith, hope, and love—to teach humanity how best to live and left behind twenty-seven sacred books, the New Testament. At the time, books were very important to the Chinese, not only because of the influence of Confucianism but also due to Daoism. Scriptures were offered particular respect since they originated in the heavens and were transmitted in revelation. It seems thus that the Jingjiao Christians felt it necessary to describe Jesus as the author of the New Testament, thereby raising his dignity. They also emphasize how, quite like a Daoist immortal, he ascended into heaven before the eyes of his disciples. There is, interestingly enough, no mention at all of Jesus’ death on the cross in any Nestorian inscriptions. This is most likely because they thought any mention of death, let alone execution, would not be helpful in the Tang mission. Rather than presenting his death on the cross, they therefore showed Jesus ascending in the presence of his disciples—, which is in fact mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles. The Tang people, accustomed to the idea of immortality, would accept the divinity of Jesus that much more easily.

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The rank of heavenly immortal, moreover, was the top level of immortality in medieval Daoism, as already described in Ge Hong’s 葛洪 (283-343) Baopuzi 抱朴子 (Book of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity). In this early compilation of immortality ideas, he lists three kinds of Immortals, among whom the heavenly ones are highest. The human body in Daoist understanding consists of a vital, cosmic energy known as qi, which we can use up and destroy. To live eternally, we must refine this qi into a more durable and subtler energetic level described as spirit (shen 神). Then we can live eternally, imperishable like gold, pure and light like dew. We must transmute the impure qi of the body into purity and light, then we can fly off like a bird and “ascend into heaven in broad daylight.” On occasion, highly accomplished cultivators ascend before the eyes of ordinary people, sometimes even to the accompaniment of celestial music. Such heavenly immortals are amazing creatures: more at home in heaven than on earth, they are true representatives of pure, cosmic energy in the world. It is thus no accident that Jesus matches this. Second-level immortals are earthly or terrestrial (dixian 地仙). They do not ascend into heaven but reside on sacred mountains for many centuries. They can transform their bodies at will and move with amazing speed; beyond death, they enjoy a state of free and easy wandering in the mountains. Below them are, third, immortals, who liberate themselves through the corpse (shijie xian 尸解仙). They neither vanish into heaven without a trace nor live forever in seclusion, but go through the appearance of death. They seem to die like ordinary mortals, but then emerge from their coffins in spirit form. When such coffins are later opened, they are devoid of human shapes and only contain clothes or shoes or maybe a staff or sword to replace the corpse. In accordance with this belief, the Nestorians never mentioned the story of Jesus being buried and the later discovery of his vacant grave. Avoiding the stigma of the low-level immortal, they instead characterized him as a heavenly immortal who transformed directly. While the Nestorians molded the image of Jesus according to Daoist models, they yet emphasized notions of social equality, typical of Christianity and not easily acceptable in China. Thus, for example, they outlined their concerns for the poor and prescribed rules for Jingjiao priests

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that prohibited the use of slaves and any form of discrimination of low and high. Another major encounter of Daoism and Christianity took place in the Ming dynasty, when the Jesuits arrived in China and taught the doctrines of the Catholic Church. Their major representative was Matteo Ricci, who wrote the Tianzhu shiyi 天主實義 (The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven; dat. 1603).

Fig. 8. Portrait of Matteo Ricci

Fig. 9. Cover Page of the Tianzhu shiyi

At this time, the status of Daoism was a great deal less prominent at court and in literati circles, with Neo-Confucianism taking center stage as the official doctrine, but it still played a major role as part of popular culture. It participated actively in the worship of the highest popular god, the Jade Emperor Lord on High (Yuhuang shangdi 玉皇上帝) as well as of various popular deities. Daoists integrated these figures into their pantheon and enshrined their portraits and statues in temples of all different regions. Confronted with this form of Daoism, Matteo Ricci—in close alignment with the views of Chinese literati—came to see it as superstition. Chapter 2 of the Tianzhu shiyi thus criticizes both Daoism and

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Buddhism as nihilistic religions, showing that he thought of Daoist nonbeing as mere nihility. However, Matteo Ricci also concluded that Confucianism was a religion, considering it closer to the truth than others because it taught moral sincerity and righteous way to live. Its main interest, to him, was the subject of being (yu 有) and sincerity (cheng 誠). Since he highly valued the belief in the Lord on High and esteemed the Confucian moral way of life, he chose it as his bridge for the introduction of Christianity. At the same time, he took a rather negative attitude toward Buddhism and Daoism. The first Korean book on Christian doctrine, the Chonju yoji 天主要旨 (The Essentials of the Lord’s Teaching), by Chŏng Yak-chong 丁若鍾 (1760-1801) around 1795, expressed the same opinion, operating under Ricci’s influence. In sum, the history of Christianity in China shows just how much its attitude toward Daoism ranged between negation and affirmation. In the Tang dynasty, Christians regarded Daoism as close to their religion and adopted it; in the Ming (and during the Chosŏn dynasty in Korea, 13921910), they evaluated it negatively and denied it. How, then, do Christians today look at Daoism?

Comparison of Thought During a regular interreligious dialogue meeting at the Seton Research Center, I mentioned to Bhikkhu Chung-bŭm, a Buddhist monk-scholar, that the theme of the upcoming lecture series would be the dialogue between Daoism and Christianity, suggesting that this might be the reason why fewer than normal people were present. He said this was only natural. Half jokingly, he commented, “How can there be any parallels between Christianity with its focus on Jesus’ death on the cross and Daoism with its pursuit of ultimate freedom? The two can never be matched.” To a certain degree, he had it right, but this is not the whole story. The cross is the main symbol of Christianity. Even if described ever so beautifully, it symbolizes pain and suffering and we as Christians continuously search for meaning and salvation in the pain of the cross. Doing so, we realize that pain is not an illusion but something very real: a

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light that illuminates the meaning of life. Thus, Christians are very interested in questions of evil in human life and place a great deal of weight on all elements of evil, friction, and tragedy in this world. Dying on the cross is, in itself, a tragedy. William James (1842-1910), renowned psychologist and philosopher, in his The Varieties of Religious Experience, describes both Buddhism and Christianity as religions suitable for “sick souls.” Rather than the mentally ill, by this he means people who dare to face the evil in the world. Some people simply refuse to condone any irregularities and evils of society, others, and themselves; they agonize over inequality and injustice, and blame themselves for doing nothing in the face of corruption and destruction. Since they feel the pain of the world deep in their souls, James calls them “sick souls.” According to him, they can overcome their deep inner sense of pain with the help of Buddhism or Christianity. These religions squarely confront the question of evil and human vice. Buddhism sees all human life as full of pain and suffering: birth, aging, disease, and death are unavoidable in everyone’s life. Christianity considers human beings as born with original sin and thus destined to die and bear their cross. Their main difference lies in the solution: Buddhism emphasizes ways of changing one’s perspective on life, while Christianity centers on the meaning of salvation as found in the pain. Those who are optimistic William James calls “healthy minds.” Such folks will not be frustrated when they face evil; they believe that everything will be fine and that evil and suffering will ultimately be for the good. At first glance, Daoism seems to be optimistic, since it pursues nonaction and naturalness, striving for an ultimate state of lightness called “free and easy wandering.” Looking more closely, one realizes that nonaction and naturalness are not automatic but have to be cultivated by in-depth practice of being free from all prejudices. Similarly, free and easy wandering does not just happen: it comes from the sincere and dedicated practice of mental emptying and self-oblivion, which leads to a state of union with Dao. Daoism looks very different from Christianity, but in my studies of both over the last thirty years, I have discovered many parallels. For example, both share the understanding of divinity as transcendent and immanent at the same time, of human beings as longing for return to the

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ultimate (Dao or God), of equality in transcendent values, and of salvation as the guarantee of immortality. Four aspects of commonality stand out particularly: ultimate reality, revelation, eternal life, and the importance of community.

Ultimate Reality To begin, both traditions center on ultimate reality and have strong notions of divinity. Christians call it God the creator; Daoists call it Dao the One, closely connected to Heaven and the Lord on High. As the Daode jing says, Dao brings forth the One. The One brings forth the Two. The Two bring forth the three. The three brings forth the myriad beings. The myriad beings carry yin and embrace yang. Blending qi, they reach harmony (ch. 42)

The One in this chapter is the primordial qi, the starting point of life. Also called qi of Dao (daoqi 道氣) or ancestral qi (zuqi 祖氣) in the commentaries, it is fully embraced in Dao. Qi is invisible but it bears materiality and vitalizes the myriad beings. Dao begets the One, i.e., primordial qi; that next divides into yin 陰 and yang 陽. These two combine and bring forth the Three. The Three also indicates combination or union (he 合), a state, which allows the merging of yin and yang to bring forth all things, i.e., the myriad beings. Thus the text says that all beings carry yin and embrace yang. This merged, empty qi (chongqi 沖氣) is so mild and deep that it harmonizes all things. Since Dao brings all things forth from the One to the myriad beings, it is their origin. All originates from Dao, yet never artificially created. In other words, since qi is the core aspect of Dao, all that exists comes from Dao—ultimate reality. The word for “bring forth” or “beget” is sheng 生. It also means “life” and “to live.” It can be interpreted in terms of genealogy according to temporal succession and as the origin of all beings from an ontological perspective. In either case, as Dao is the origin of all things, Daoism sees it as ultimate reality and as the origin of all life. In a

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similar manner Christians believe in God as the creator and the origin of all things. God in Christianity is the most merciful; human beings should endeavor to be merciful as He. The mercy of God is like the benevolence of Dao. Not only do they share the same origin, they are also both like a mother’s heart: nurturing, sustaining, and completing all things. Beyond these basic parallels, the two religions also have major disparities, especially with regard to their understanding of ultimate reality, revealing their particular uniqueness while also stimulating each other. Dao, transpersonal in principle, is often expressed in terms of nonbeing and namelessness or ineffability. Most schools and texts emphasize this transpersonal nature, although they also work with the personal metaphor of Dao, often described as the “mother” of the myriad beings. In Christianity, on the other hand, God is dominantly personal: he enters into a direct relationship, a formal covenant, with humanity and is called our “Father.” Despite the fact that some trends today, such as feminist theology, emphasize the maternal aspect of God, He has traditionally been seen as male, as the father, the ruler, the judge of all things. Yet even Christianity has a transpersonal aspect of God. Thus, Moses could not look upon His face (Exodus 34.20). Negative theology focuses strongly on the mystical aspect of God, the part that goes beyond perception of the senses and realization through human epistemological logic. To experience God as He is, we must eliminate all images and representations. More than imagining, we must stop thinking in order to approach God. Christians, too, can realize true understanding of God through inner, heart-based experience rather than through cognitive functions. Seen from this angle, they can learn a lot from Daoist thought. On the Daoist side, yet again, adepts can realize that personalization is a useful way to understand the relationship between Dao and all things. Daoist and Christian concepts of the ultimate contain both personal and transpersonal dimensions. In Christianity, this usually means transcendence; in Daoism, immanence. It is true that Christian expressions of God carry more personal connotations because of the central importance of the covenant between God and humanity. In the Daoist tradition, even the most immanent expressions of Dao as mother, water, and the one indicate the pervading presence of Dao within the world rather than God who speaks and makes the covenant. In spite of these differences in preferred expression, however, it cannot be denied that

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Dao as well as God both contain the two distinctive dimensions of transcendent and immanent. Since the ultimate source of beings in all world religions has these two aspects, we may integrate them as transcendent immanence, a term coined by Tang Yijie in his description of the Confucian concept of Heaven (1992).

Revelation Both Daoism and Christianity place high importance on salvation and centering on revelation. Daoists, unlike members of other East Asian religions, believe that high gods, such as the Heavenly Worthy of the Primordial Beginning, bestow revelations upon humanity. Such revelations were the beginning point of all major Daoist schools. Thus Zhang Daoling 張 道 陵 received the teachings of the Celestial Masters (Tianshi 天師) from Lord Lao, the personified or incarnated Dao, on Mount Heming 鶴鳴山 in Sichuan in AD 142. Fig. 10. Zhang Daoling

The school underwent a major renewal in the 5th century, when Kou Qianzhi 寇謙之(365-448) retired to Mount Song 嵩山 and received the Laojun yinsong jiejing 老君音誦誡經 (Scripture of Recited Precepts of Lord Lao) in 20 scrolls from the same deity. He duly initiated a school called the New Celestial Masters (Xin Tianshi dao 新天師道) and laid the foundation of the Daoist theocracy under the Northern Wei dynasty. Similarly, in the 4th century, a group of heavenly immortals transmitted sacred scriptures and holy methods to a group of aristocratic seekers in a village at the foot of Mount Mao 茅山 near Nanjing. Notably

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represented by the Lady of the Southern Marchmount, Wei Huacun 魏華 存 (251-334), they connected to the medium Yang Xi 楊羲 and, over about a decade beginning in 364, had him record many important scriptures, including the Huangting jing 黃庭經 (Scripture of the Yellow Court) and the Dadong zhenjing 大洞真經 (Perfect Scripture of Great Profundity). The immortals also taught new ways of self-cultivation, such as visualization and scripture recitation, creating a whole new level of sophistication and a new form of Daoist identity in the process. The resulting school of Highest Clarity (Shangqing 上淸) came to play a leading role throughout the middle ages. In more recent years, the school of Complete Perfection (Quanzhen 全眞) came into being in 1170, when Wang Chongyang 王重陽, a recluse in the Zhongnan mountains 終南山, received a direct revelation from Lü Dongbin and Zhongli Quan, the most prominent and senior members of the Eight Immortals. They instructed him to set up religious centers along the lines of Zen Buddhist monasteries, to observe strict moral rules, and to refine the body into higher levels of pure energy. Quite like this, in Christianity God gave revelations through the prophets, such as Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, culminating in the last and highest revelation in Jesus Christ, creating a connection so close that Jesus himself is considered the sacrament. The sacrament here indicates a channel of salvation that allows the invisible God to become visible. The instruction, the life, the death, and the resurrection of Jesus are all revelations in themselves; through them humanity has the chance to see God, the ultimate truth, and obtain salvation. Despite the fact that both traditions work with revelation, they are transmitted differently. Daoist revelation occurs through the written word, the transmission of scriptures that reside originally in the highest heavens, while Christian revelation is overwhelmingly oral and only written down as records. The oldest and most sacred Daoist text, the Daode jing, too is also considered a revelation of Dao by Lord Lao. At the same time, the text also teaches that one should cultivate Dao through nature and in everyday life. It says, Human beings pattern themselves on Earth. Earth patterns itself on Heaven. Heaven patterns itself on Dao. Dao patterns itself on its own naturalness. (ch. 25)

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This means that human beings should follow the pattern of Heaven and Earth, that is, the natural way of the world, in order to realize Dao. The wordless teachings of Dao are thus revealed in all things natural, water and trees, mountains and valleys, and so on.

Fig. 11. Lü Dongbin

Fig. 12. Zhongli Quan

Christianity traditionally distinguishes two kinds of revelation: natural and supernatural. The first is very close to the revelation of Dao as manifest in the natural movements of the universe; the latter matches the revelation of Dao by Lord Lao in the form of scriptures. Still, the traditions place a different emphasis—Christians valuing the revelation in words most highly where Daoists return time and again to the more natural way, the teaching without words.

Eternal Life In addition to revelation, the two religions both have clear views of the afterlife and aim for eternal life, i.e., immortality. Daoist immortals have realized life fully; they have reached the permanence of Dao through moral purification and the refinement of qi. At the point of their ascent

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into heaven, they no longer have corruptible bodies, but consist of purer and more durable forms of energy, reached with the help of alchemy or the “golden elixir” (jindan 金丹). Later Daoist schools, notably that of Complete Perfection—the dominant monastic organization today— internalized this process into internal alchemy (neidan 內丹). For them, the immortal’s body is invisible, marvelously transformed from the common body, a manifestation of pure spirit. Christians, too, pursue eternal life and strive to overcome death. They believe that Jesus died and physically resurrected, appearing to his disciples, eating fish, and teaching his followers on the way of Emmaus. The resurrection implies that Jesus was both, a divine figure and a human being, complete with body and mind. His behavior creates a concrete image of his resurrection, and he physically ascended into heaven, with his body intact. The similarity to Daoist heavenly immortals is obvious, and it is no wonder that the Nestorians, the first Christians in China, emphasized it. Both Daoism and Christianity thus have similar ideals of salvation, but they achieve it differently. Daoists rely on their own efforts, arduously practicing self-cultivation and qi-refinement; they ascend to a world of immortals that is hierarchically organized and consists of multiple heavens. Christians, on the other hand, rely dominantly on the grace of God, being saved from the outside—although monastics and recluses continuously chastise their bodies and minds to make themselves worthy of such grace. The heavens, moreover, are not a mirror image of worldly administration. Although they were thought of as hierarchies in the middle ages, nowadays Christians emphasize the “communion of saints,” an overarching vision of equality centering on Jesus Christ. Nobody thinks of anyone else being above or below in the Christian heaven. Even though it is true that the theology of grace is more developed in the Christian tradition, some Daoists also mention the need to wait for the right time or the reliance on the help from Heaven in the process of internal alchemy. The immortal Changchun says in a poem, I am waiting for the year when my Dao-heart opens. One hundred years is a short time—how many days must I wait? . . . Finally the day arrives and the good news is here. The grotto heaven opens: this is my day of return. (Panxiji 6.13ab).

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Kim Nak-pil, a professor and practitioner of internal alchemy, echoes the common Daoists saying: “If Heaven does not lead you, you cannot reach the realm of immortality.” In Christian terms, this attitude of waiting and working with Heaven is the recognition for the need of grace. Both Christianity and Daoism encompass a wide spectrum in their understanding of the relationship between grace and good works or human efforts for salvation. Still, there is a difference between the Catholic and Protestant understanding, reconciled on the basis of a correct reading of Saint Paul’s Letter to the Romans. He says, Where then are the grounds for boasting? They are excluded! By what principle? Of works? No, but on the principle of faith. For we hold that a person is justified by faith apart from works of the law. Or is God the God of Jews only? Is he not God of Gentiles too? Yes, also of the Gentiles, since God is one, who justifies the circumcision by faith and the uncircumcision through faith. Do we therefore abolish the law through faith? By no means! Instead, we uphold the law. (3: 27-31 see Hultgren 2011, 166)

When Martin Luther translated the New Testament into German, he inserted the world “alone” after “a person is justified by faith.” It is significant for ecumenical concerns to see that some Catholic interpreters have commended that Luther’s understanding of the text poses no difficulty for theology, since the insertion of “alone” provides a correct understanding of the text. The works of the law represent the ritual customs that divided the Jews from the Gentiles, which the Jews may boast about. However, for Paul, Jews and Gentiles stand at the same place before God because redemption occurs in the death and resurrection of God’s own son. Therefore, Paul asserts that God justifies Jewish belief (“the circumcision”) by faith and Gentil belief (“uncircumcision”) through faith. At the same time, he did not want to abolish the law. Rather, he recognized the significance of the law that is holy, spiritual, and good (Romans 7:12, 14, 16). We cannot boast of our works, but after being saved by the grace of God, we should uphold the law and live the life of mercy. The precedence of grace over good works will not be too different from Daoist emphasis on nonaction or self-emptying before the outer works.

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Importance of Community Not only in the afterlife, community is essential for both religions even in this life. Both religions had large numbers of followers and greatly appealed to the common people—gratifying their main interests of long life and good fortune. Both contain abundant elements to meet such public demands. In Daoism, gods and immortals are open to anyone’s pleas, rich or poor, intelligent or stupid, noble or humble. Daoist priests are conveyors of miracles and healings; they provide talismans and rituals— even confessions of sins. Christianity, too, answers questions of death and suffering with miracles, healings, and repentances. Since both had great mass appeal, they placed a great deal of emphasis on equality and exhibited considerable concern for the poor. Daoist egalitarianism appears most clearly in the practices of the early Celestial Masters. They founder’s grandson, Zhang Lu 張魯 (d. 215), who ruled the Hanzhong region in modern Sichuan and southern Shaanxi over twenty-five years, set up free way stations for poor travelers, the socalled Lodges of Righteousness (yishe 義舍). He showed great concern for social welfare and embraced ideas of public ownership. When pressed by the warlord Cao Cao 曺操, he did not burn military provisions in spite of his advisors’ counsel but surrendered peacefully—showing his concerns for the people and his care for the poor. Christianity, too, has always been much concerned with the disenfranchised and dedicated to helping those in need.

Conclusion Among the three major religions of East Asia, Daoism is closest to Christian spirituality despite the fact that, at first glance, it seems to be very different. Closer inspection makes it obvious that they are similar in various important respects: the notion of ultimate reality as the highest divinity, the view of salvation beyond this world, the teachings of immortals with the characteristics of revelation, and the pursuit of the completion of life and harboring of community.

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The overlap and integration is particularly strong in Korea, where Daoism joined the mainstream culture but never developed a particular system of ordination or temple structure. This makes it easier to adopt Daoist ideas in thought and spirit and opens ways of inculturation with Christianity—much more so than Buddhism and Confucianism. Attempts to apply Buddhist elements to Christianity often lead to resistance, not only from the side of Christianity but also from the Buddhists. Since both have their particular religious communities, they tend to be reserved and maybe jealous toward each other. Therefore, special attention is needed when Christians adopt certain aspects of Buddhism, and it is best to work with interreligious dialogue. The latter is not much of an option with Daoism, since there are no particular Daoists in Korea. There may be individual practitioners of Daoism, but most tend to be absorbed into various new religious movements. Yet this makes it easier to integrate and absorb Daoist elements into Christian worldview and practice. More specifically, Daoism has contributed much to the cultural heritage of Korean Christians by providing them with the notion of nonbeing, specific ways of selfcultivation, methods of meditation, the symbolism of immortality, and a whole plethora artistic visions and images. Finally, I would like to clarify that the hermeneutical vision I as a Christian carry when I encounter Daoist culture is Hans-Georg Gadamer’s “fusion of two horizons,” from which a new and more universal understanding is born. It always has been consoling to me to know that my present horizon with all its prejudices, particularities, and historical limitations can open to a dialogue for truth—as long as if I am willing to listen to the text and to accept the challenges of the new horizon the other offers. Gadamer assures us that through the fusion of two horizons, we build bridges between past and present and, in my case, between two different cultures. By this fusion or integration, we reach a wider universal understanding, which then opens us to yet new questions. Of course, this hermeneutical cycle continues as long as our search for truth. One of the happy moments in my forty years of Daoist studies was when a British Daoist Master wrote me an e-mail, asking me to send him my paper, "Studies on Daoist Morning and Evening Services of the Quanzhen Order," which I presented at the International Daoist Conference. He wanted to publish it in his bulletin for Daoist masters in Eng-

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land. I was really pleased to know I was able to assist the spiritual growth of Daoists in the West. Recently I read an interview with Dominican priest and author, Donald Goergen, and recalled the feeling I had when I was able to assist the Daoists. He says, "Most people will come to an awareness of God and have access to the life of the Spirit through their religious tradition. The challenge, though, will be how religious traditions allow themselves to evolve." Dialogue is for mutual growth and a way of our common search for truth. I hope this book serves as an example of this.

Further Readings Araki Kengko 荒木見悟. 1979. Meimatsu shūkyō shisō kenkyū 明末宗敎思想硏究. Tokyo: Sōbunsha. Clark, William H. 1970. The Church in China. New York: Council Press. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1976. Philosophical Hermeneutics. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gernet, Jacques. 1985. China and the Christian Impact. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goergen, Donald. 2013. "Encountering the Holy Spirit." Leadership Conference of Women Religious Occasional Papers, Summer 2013. Graham, A. C. 1981. Chuang-tzu: The Seven Inner Chapters and Other Writings from the Book of Chuang-tzu. London: Allan & Unwin. Hendrischke, Barbara. 2000. “Early Daoist Movements.” In Daoism Handbook, edited by Livia Kohn, 134-64. Leiden: Brill. Henricks, Robert. 1989. Lao-Tzu: Te-Tao ching. New York: Ballantine. _____. 2000. Lau Tzu’s Tao Te Ching: A Translation of the Startling New Documents Found at Guodian. New York: Columbia University Press. Hultgren, Arland J. 2011. Paul’s Letter to the Romans: A Commentary. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. James, William. 1958. The Varieties of Religious Experience. New York: New American Library.

DAOIST CULTURE / 33 Kim, Sung-hae. 1999. Tongasia chongkyo chŏntong wa kŭrisŭtokyo (Encounter between East Asian Religious Traditions and Christianity). Seoul: Spirituality Life Press. Kleeman, Terry. 1998. Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millenarian Kingdom. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Kohn, Livia. 2014. Zhuangzi: Text and Context. St. Petersburg, Fla.: Three Pines Press. _____, and Michael LaFargue, eds. 1998. Lao-tzu and the Tao-te-ching. Albany: State University of New York Press. Legge, James. 1966 [1888]. The Nestorian Monument of Hsi-an Fu. New York: Paragon. Mather, Richard. 1979. “K’ou Ch’ien-chih and the Daoist Theocracy at the Northern Wei Court 425-451.” In Facets of Daoism, edited by Holmes Welch and Anna Seidel, 103-22. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press. Miller, James. 2008. The Way of Highest Clarity: Nature, Vision and Revelation in Medieval Daoism. Magdalena, NM: Three Pines Press. Ricci, Matteo, S.J. 1985. The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven. Taipei: Institut Ricci. Saek, P. Y. 1951. The Nestorian Documents and Relics in China. Tokyo: Maruzen. Tang Yijie. 1992. “Transcendence and Immanence in Confucian Philosophy.” In Confucian-Christian Encounters in Historical and Contemporary Perspective, edited by Peter K.H. Lee., 171-81. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press. Watson, Burton. 1968. The Complete Works of Chuang-tzu. New York: Columbia University Press.

Chapter Two Dao and the Reign of God The word dao has two meanings: one is way, road, or path, including its verbal use as “opening a road” or “leading a person on a way;” the other is to speak or express, with the connotations of “orthodoxy,” “teaching,” “order,” and “discipline.” In the Daode jing, where it appears seventy-six times, it has a cosmic and abstract dimension. Except for one exception, the term refers to the ultimate source of the myriad beings, their core principle. Fig. 13. The Character for Dao

The one exception occurs in chapter 77: “Can the way [Dao] of Heaven not be compared to stretching a bow?” According to the ancient commentary Laozi yi 老子翼 (Wings to the Laozi), when the ancient Chinese pulled a bow, they exerted pressure on the center so that it jutted out while pushing the two ends in so that they were sunk. Doing so, the entire bowstring was in balance and the arrow could hit the mark. Laozi here uses the bow as a metaphor to point to the impartiality of Dao. The chapter continues, “The high part [of the bow] is brought low; its low part is raised.” This suggests that we can live in Dao by pursuing equality in society, just as the bowstring is balanced between the bow’s ends and middle to release an exact shot. The latter is transcendental aspect of Dao, while the former is its immanent dimension. The principle applies in the world in that “Heaven takes away where there is abundance and increases where there is lack.” The dis34

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crepancy between rich and poor should be overcome and equilibrium be established. One way of doing this is by collecting taxes from the rich and offering welfare to the poor. Thus, there is more equality in society and a better balance in the world. The text continues, “This is not the case in the way [Dao] of human society, which is to take away from those who are in want in order to give to those who already have more than enough.” This means that in secular society, the rich continue to amass more and more wealth by taking away from those lacking in property. In ancient China, royals and aristocrats did not pay taxes; they were supported by levies collected from the poor. Laozi sharply criticizes this social situation of his time. He then concludes: “Who can take his abundance and serve the world? Only he really has Dao. Therefore, the sage acts without claiming any results as his. He fulfills his merit and never rests arrogantly in it.” This means that the sage, the ideal human being in the Daode jing, does not dwell on whatever meritorious deeds he has performed; he does not expect praise from others nor brag of his merits. The idea is not that the sage does nothing and rests idly. Rather, he fulfills his duty and quietly returns to his proper place. As Laozi says, “the sage has no desire to display his worthiness.” This chapter contrasts the Dao of Heaven with the Dao of human society—the former indicates the original feature of the cosmic flow, while the latter refers to the secular world with its discrimination and oppression. “Dao” here signifies the way of Heaven or humanity, their actual pattern of life—the only place in the text where it does so. In all other chapters, Dao means the ultimate, the cosmic principle of life; it serves as a specialized term for the universal force underlying all. Its best-known definition appears in chapter 1: “The Dao that can be spoken of [dao’ed] is not the constant Dao.” The first and third dao here are nouns, but the second one is a verb, dao’ed—which means, “to speak,” “to tell.” “Constant” or “eternal” (chang 常) means ultimate, absolute, unalterable. That is to say, once defined as something, the original meaning of infinite Dao is restricted. Dao is beyond all description because we can only use language to describe a time part of it. That is to say, any Dao defined in words is inevitably relative and limited; it can never be absolute and permanent—but this ultimate Dao is what Laozi desires to show in this chapter.

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The chapter continues, “The name that can be named is not the constant name.” What does it mean to “name” (ming 名)? We all have our own name, given to us by a close relative who has authority over us, someone like our parents or grandparents. Having a name is to be named by somebody: this means we are not completely independent but dependent on others. In addition, names are limiting since they indicate particular entities or selves, granting subjective individuality. The name of our individual self creates definition and limitation. On the other hand, Dao is part of the eternal name, i.e., it cannot be named and thus remains unlimited. The text here indicates that Heaven and Earth, the entire universe, originate from Dao—the fathomless, nameless origin of all. Having no name, if Dao remains transcendent, it will forever be beyond our cognition, so that we can never have a real, concrete relationship with it. Nevertheless, Dao also manifests itself by being immanent in all things, is known, and can be named as the “mother of the myriad beings.” In this sense, it is ultimate being that nurtures all things by existing deep within them. Mother is a metaphor for the nurturing role of Dao. The Daode jing continues: “Always eliminate desires so you can observe its mystery; always allow yourself to have desires so you can observe its manifestations.” The word jiao 徼, “manifestations,” originally means “wandering” or “border;” it indicates the fringe or the outside. In the Mawangdui manuscripts, it is replaced with jiao 噭, “to shout.” However, as the passage focuses on concepts of space, it also means “fringe” here, so the phrase is rendered, “observe its manifestations.” Next, the text has, in the rendition by D. C. Lau: “These two come out together yet have different names;” or, “These two are the same; they diverge in name as they issue forth.” The expression “these two” refers to the two aspects of Dao, the nameless and the named, i.e., “the beginning of Heaven and Earth” and “the mother of the myriad beings”—in other words, nonbeing and being. Dao contains both, manifesting particularly the latter. Dao as the mother of all things reveals itself so we can recognize it; Dao as the origin of Heaven and Earth is nonbeing, its aspect beyond words, observation, and cognition. The following verse says, “Being the same, they are called mysteries, mystery upon mystery—the gateway to a host of mysteries.” Laozi here states that all the mysteries of the world come from the two aspects

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of Dao, nonbeing and being, emphasizing yet again the two sides of Dao as the originator of Heaven and Earth and the mother of all things.

Dao as Nonbeing Nonbeing is the most fundamental aspect of Dao, but what aspect in particular? Chapter 14 of the Daode jing says, “Looked at but not seen, Dao is called formless” (or “colorless,” yi 夷). As Dao has no form, it has also no color. Being beyond form and color, it is invisible. This is one reason why white, the color that has no color, is valued so highly in early Chinese society when as the emperor rode an unadorned carriage (suche 素車) in order to value simplicity (suqizhi 貴其質) when he went to offer the sacrifice to the Heaven (Liji 11). “Listened for but not heard, it is called faint” (or “rarified,” xi 希). Dao is beyond sound, thus the word can be interpreted as “being too faint to hear” or “inaudible.” Dao thus has neither shape nor tone. “Reached for but not touched, it is called subtle” (or “minute,” wei 微). This means that Dao is too subtle, too elusive to be grasped. “These three cannot be fathomed.” In other words, Dao has these three qualities of being invisible, inaudible, and subtle, beyond vision, hearing, and touch: it can neither be fathomed nor defined or described. “They all blend into one.” That is to say, Dao is one; it embraces all beings and unites them. Dao, therefore, is nonbeing in the sense that it does not have individual form but is the metaphysical origin of all. Formless, it cannot be individualized or named. In chapter 25, the text says, “There is something chaotic yet formed, existing before Heaven and Earth.” “Something” is expressed with the word wu 物, “being” or “entity,” a term that usually refers to empirically manifest things. Nevertheless, in this phrase, it does not indicate an individual thing but “something existing.” This something exists in the condition of chaos (huncheng 混成), the primordial state before the myriad beings came into existence. This is an interesting point. In Western thought, “chaos” indicates a negative state, filled with confusion and disorder. Creation begins and the universe comes into being by transforming from chaos to cosmos, which is the condition of order. The chaotic state has a negative meaning; it stands for the disorder that needs to be eliminated. This hold true not

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only for the Bible (Genesis), but also for the Mesopotamian myth of creation, Enuma Elish. Chaos means disorder, a negative state albeit the source of creative order. In East Asian thought, and especially Daoism, chaos is understood differently. Daoist see it as a positive state, as the original source of life before individualization. It considers the world of nonbeing as much more fundamental than that of existence, which is epistemologically fragmented and differentiated. Nonbeing can be never defined; it indicates the ultimate source of all things before the differentiating process, i.e., Dao. Nonbeing is accordingly a chaotic state before creation and individualization. Creation occurs when the original energy or qi of Dao divides into yin and yang, and the myriad beings emerge from their combination. Nonbeing is the proto-state before this division, a state filled with pure cosmic vitality and potentiality—the original state of Dao. Fig. 14. Yin and Yang

In addition, nonbeing does not mean, “not being,” “nothingness,” or “nonexistence,” but indicates a fundamentally positive and original feature, the latent, powerfully potent state before all processes of division, distinction, and cognition. Before all this, there was something; it existed before Heaven and Earth, before all living things. Dao as nonbeing is “silent and void; it stands alone and does not change.” “Silent” or “serene” (ji 寂) expresses the formless and tranquil state; “void” (liao 廖) indicates something empty and without configuration. Both are supplemented with the word xi 兮, a postpositional particle used to describe a state; as such it appears frequently in literary works of ancient South China such as the Chuci 楚辭 (Elegies of Chu). Dao is thus silent and void, independent of all things, resting in and by itself. It does not depend on anything for its existence nor undergo any changes.

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Chapter 25 continues by noting that Dao “goes round and reaches everywhere; it does not weary and is in no danger of being exhausted-capable of being the mother of the world.” Here it is called the mother of the world, supplementing the earlier description as the mother of the myriad beings. Daoists typically speak of Dao using the symbol of the mother rather than the father, although the word “father” also appears (once) in the Daode jing. They thus emphasize the nurturing qualities of the mother: her lack of intention to possess anything as well as her vitality as the bearer of life. “I do not know its name, so I style it Dao. If forced to give it a name, I shall call it great.” The pronoun “I” indicates Laozi himself. Dao to him is nothing but a makeshift name; he gives it with some reluctance because he has to call something. This is similar to our inability to name or define ultimate reality: we resort to words like God, Elohim, or Yahweh, and the like—but they are merely names. The mystical source of universal vitality cannot be explained in words. All names are born from our need to call it something. Laozi thus says that, if forced to give it a name, he shall call it “great.” That is in this passage. In other places, he calls it “small.” There is no one name for Dao. He continues, “Being great, it is described as receding.” The latter represents the core activity of Dao: it has active power and does not stagnate or stand still but persistently bears and nurtures things. “Receding, it is described as far away. Far away, it is described as turning back. Therefore Dao is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; and the king is also great.” Some manuscripts replace “king” with “human being,” indicating that “human beings are also great.” However, the meaning remains the same, because the king is the representative of humanity, and all participate in Dao equally, are thus all great. Pursuing this further, the text concludes: “Within the realm in the universe, there are four that are great, and the king [human being] is one of them.” This shows Laozi’s insight that the action of Dao is revealed in Heaven and on Earth as well as in the king and all humanity: they mutually illuminate each other. The ending of chapter 25 is most famous: “Human beings pattern themselves on Earth; Earth patterns itself on Heaven; Heaven patterns itself on Dao; Dao patterns on its own nature.” This shows that Laozi regards Earth as closest to humanity: it forms the basis of our lives and provides our living environment. He further sees Heaven and Earth as representatives of entire natural world: they reveal Dao more naturally

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than humanity. This perspective pervades East Asian paintings, where people typically appear as tiny figures surrounded overarching natural features. The wider implication is that humans need to learn how to live in accordance with Heaven and Earth, i. e., nature. Heaven, moreover, “patterns itself on Dao”: the universe always bears the mystery of Dao. What, then, does it mean to say, “Dao patterns itself on its own nature”? Does it mean that Dao takes its “law” from “nature”? This does not seem likely. Dao is itself the source of nature as ultimate reality. It cannot take its law from nature. Ziran today means nature as opposed to culture, but it did not carry this meaning in Laozi’s time. The closest term for “nature” in those days was Heaven and Earth. Ziran, on the other hand, in the Daode jing always appears verbally, with the literal meaning of “to be so by itself,” “being what is” (chs. 27, 23, 51, 64). The term is thus best translated as “naturalness.” The two best known early commentaries to the Daode jing are by Wang Bi 王弼 (226-249) and Heshang gong 河上公 (1st c. BC). Wang Bi considers naturalness as a key quality of Dao and defines it as the ultimate concept, never to be named. It means the natural flow of things as they self-transform and self-accomplish, developing naturally. He supplements it with the notion of nonaction: the human attitude of not disturbing or modifying the essential character or disposition of things. Naturalness here is a primary concept, the core feature, on which human beings, Heaven, Earth, and even Dao all pattern themselves. Heshang gong, on the other hand, sees Dao as natural in its essence. He reads the phrase as meaning that there is nothing for Dao to follow— Dao is as it is. To me, his commentary makes more sense. I read the passage as “Dao patterns itself on its own naturalness,” which means it does not follow anything except itself. This “except itself,” in turn, is nonbeing. Dao is the source of the myriad beings; it is absolute and has no name. It is nothing beyond itself: we cannot grasp it at all.

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Dao as Being The concept of being in this context indicates that Dao as the mother of the myriad beings is immanent in everything that exists. In other words, there is something in the mountains, the sea, the flowers, and the human being, that is, in all the myriad beings that makes them what they are.

Fig. 15. Laozi Transmitting the Dao to Yin Xi

Dao does not control anything from the outside but exists by being present and inherent in all and everything. Thus, Dao that makes each of the myriad beings be what it is. Chapter 21 of the Daode jing has, “A person of great virtue follows only Dao. The thing called Dao is elusive and vague. Vague and elusive, it yet contains a form. Elusive, vague, yet it contains thingness.” Here Laozi endeavors to expound “the thing called Dao” really is. He first proposes that Dao is something that can never be explained: it is vague

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and elusive, evasive, indistinct, and mysterious (huanghu 恍惚). This term is used when East Asians express a feeling of great excitement; it means something like “enchanted.” However, the term first appears here in the Daoist context, describing Dao. Even though Dao obviously exists, it cannot be properly clarified, thus it is called elusive and vague. Still, it contains a “form.” The term used here is xiang 象, which denotes an image, a simulacrum, a symbol. The phrase implies that Dao has a certain form, an image, a shape to be revealed. Still, that does not distract from the fact that it is essentially “vague and elusive.” Yet it also contains wu 物—beings, things, objects, the quality of thingness. The passage thus reiterates the affirmation that Dao is not mere nonbeing in the literal sense; rather, it is being, an existence full of substance. In other words, there is a certain thing that all beings owe their existence to, and it is called Dao. The text goes on to say, “It is dim and dark, yet contains an essence.” Within Dao, then, there is something called the essence, the core, the inherent life-force of the world. “Its essence is genuine [true, perfect], and it contains full certainty.” This means that Dao is what trustworthy and reliable, the one thing we can always be certain of, we can always count on. Laozi next praises it by saying, “From antiquity to today, its name never ceased. Thus we can see the beginning of the host of all things. How can we know that the beginnings of all things are like that? Just because of this.” This answer implies a sort of inner enlightenment, indicating that we know about Dao only by being illuminated internally. For Laozi, Dao is the ultimate reality, present in all things, yet beyond names and appellations.

Metaphors for Dao Laozi’s discourse about being (existence) and nonbeing (nothingness) is highly theoretical and abstract; it cannot be easily understood. He seems to appreciate this fact and suggests various metaphors to give a better explanation of the two aspects, using concrete examples of things observed in the natural world. For example, to express for Dao as being, he uses “the spirit of the valley” (gushen 谷神), which stands for a mysterious empty space inside a deep valley. Other symbols include water in its

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various forms (river, sea, rain), stars and planets, such as the sun and the moon, as well as the empty room and the empty vessel. The primary and most frequently used metaphor here is the mother, the female as birthing and nurturing power. The text says, There was a beginning of the world. This beginning is the mother of the world. From the mother, we may know the children. After knowing the children, keep to the mother— Then you remain free from all danger of decay. Even though the body may perish, To the end of your days you will not meet with danger. (ch. 52)

” Here “mother” indicates Dao while the “children” refer to the myriad beings, the living entities of the world. The chapter expresses the belief that, if one realizes Dao through the myriad beings and keeps it in oneself, we may reach immortality. Chapter 6 states, “The spirit of the valley never dies. It is called the mystical female. The door of the mystical female is called the root of Heaven and Earth.” “Mother” generally is the agent that gives birth to human beings; the “female” in this passage is the creatrix of all living beings on earth. Due to its hollow sunken shape like a bowl or vessel, the valley stands for the place where the mystical vitality of the mountains is stored. Laozi finds the features of Dao in the sacrality and vitality of the valley, in its openness and empty space. Chapter 8 has, “The highest good is like water. Water benefits the myriad beings and does not compete with them. It dwells in lowly places that others disdain. Thus it comes close to Dao.” People dislike being in lowly, inferior, or humble positions; they desire higher positions or preeminence. Water, on the other hand, always flows down. People close to Dao, unlike what most people pursue in the world, are willing to keep a low profile and content with remaining in lowly positions. In the old days, water was found everywhere, not like today when we have to buy it in stores and get bottled spring water safe from pollution. However common it may have been, there is nothing more precious than water. Since the human body consists to seventy percent of water, water is life. Thus water is such a powerful representative of Dao. Chapter 11 uses the metaphor of the wheel. “Thirty spokes come together around a hub to make wheel, but its usefulness depends on the

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empty space where nothing exists.” In the old days, wheels were made from wood and consisted of thirty spokes around a central hub—the latter being completely indispensable. The hub itself is hollow—it needs to be fitted on an axle to perform; were it filled compactly without any empty space, the wheel would not work. The empty hub at the center is what allows the wheel to roll. Emptiness is thus an essential necessity of function. The same holds also true for the eating or drinking vessel made of clay. When you knead clay to make a vessel, you must remember that its use depends on the empty space, the opening where there is nothing. A vessel can be only filled because it is hollow. Just think of a drinking glass. What is its most useful? The empty hollow, the opening. A thick slab of glass is useless: full without leaving an empty hollow, it cannot be used for drinking. This principle of emptiness also applies to the human being. A person whose mind is completely filled with self-interest, personal goals and high ambitions, desires and agonies, has no room to be concerned with others, no place where Dao could come to stay. Such a person is not helpful to others or the world, however long he may live. Only when we empty our mind, can we be useful to the world and come close to Dao— thus we are like the open hub or the empty vessel. With regard to Dao as nonbeing, Laozi describes Dao as an uncarved block of wood (pu 朴) (ch. 32). The term refers to the natural state of wood and, by extension of any object that remains unaffected by artificiality; it stands for the simplicity of Dao. He also uses the symbol of the newborn infant (chs. 10, 55). A newborn baby, just starting out in life, possesses pure, unadulterated, primordial nature. It does not yet know what is artificial and plainly and openly expresses all its feeling. Its vitality and purity are just like Dao. Another representation of Dao in Laozi is the One, which brings forth the two (yin-yang) and thus sets creation into motion. Oneness, the state of origin of all things, symbolizes Dao as primordial unity. In Daoist practice, it is the central focus of mental concentration as in “guarding,” “embracing,” or “attaining” the One (shouyi 守一; baoyi, 抱一, deyi, 得一; chs. 10, 39). “Heaven attained the One and became clear” (ch. 39). This means that the core feature of Heaven, its clarity, comes directly from Dao as One. “Earth attained the One and became stable.” All living beings can

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live peacefully on earth only when it is stable; it becomes so by obtaining Dao. “Gods and spirits attained the One and became potent; valleys attained the One and became full; the myriad beings attained the One and came to life.” Dao is thus the ultimate origin of the myriad beings yet at the same time it is also immanent in them. Because Dao is in them as their immanent core principle, Heaven becomes what it is, Earth becomes what it is, human beings become what they are, and all the different aspects of physical nature becomes what they are. For example, trees sprout new leaves in the spring. What is the vital power behind that? Christians may say it is the providence of God the creator; Daoists state that it is the operation of Dao. Because Dao is immanent in the tree, it comes into buds and blossoms in the spring. Everything in the world has its natural principle: all is naturally full of vitality. Daoists accordingly, without overlooking the ultimate transcendence of Dao, have come to pay more attention to the practical usefulness of the immanent Dao, to its immanent potentiality. Chapter 40 explains Dao further: “Turning back is the way Dao moves.” Koreans typically describe a person’s dying as “returning”—a way of thinking that goes back to this Daoist perspective. People all come from Dao and return to Dao. We all come from the ultimate source and eventually return to it. From this perspective, death is not the annihilation of life but a creative return to the source. The burial of the body by the same toke can be described as a way of actively showing this return—to the origin, to the earth. Thus turning back is the movement of Dao, and all things in the world not only following it but eventually return to it. “Weakness is the function [application] of Dao.” Laozi clearly places much greater importance on weakness than strength. Similarly, he pays more attention to the female than the male, the yin rather than the yang. The living body is soft and pliable, while the corpse is hard and stiff. Living things are soft and tender, flexible and malleable. So is the human mind. When you are angry or hate someone, what do you feel? You feel rigid and stiff. Just look at your face in the mirror: rigid and tense. At that moment, you take a step closer to your death, are just that much more like a corpse. Daoists claim that when we love, accept, and appreciate others, we get soft and mild. Softness or mildness is the very core of life; benevolence is the basic character of Dao. For this reason, Laozi says that weakness is the function of Dao. When we love someone, we make

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ourselves weak; even though we could be strong, we weaken ourselves. This is because we can accept and tolerate others only when we place ourselves into a position of weakness. Weakness as the capacity for tolerance is the core character of Dao. A mother maybe physically stronger than her children, but she does not bring up them by force—not because she does not have strength, but because she intentionally chooses to be weak in relation to her children. This is the essential feature of the mother. Laozi says, “All things under Heaven take life from being. Being takes life from nonbeing.” Being or existence here indicates the revealed aspect of Dao as visible in all existence, symbolized by the One. But as being you came to life from nonbeing, its most fundamental and ultimate aspect of Dao.

Dao and the Lord on High Another important aspect of Dao is its relation to the Lord on High, the traditional supreme deity in ancient China who appears in the oracle bones and early poems appears as having a personal character. He presided over nature, good harvest, and the destiny of humans and countries, and was imagined as a supreme deity seated in the heavenly halls like a king on the throne. Since the Lord on High was described as anthropomorphic and—like everything in the world—he also has his own individuality. Laozi wished to differentiate Dao from this anthropomorphic highest deity and to this end purified the configuration and secured the metaphysical character of Dao. Chapter 4 is the only place where the highest deity is mentioned in relationship with Dao whose unfathomable quality is described as follows: “Dao is empty; as you use it, it is never full [ying 盈]” or, in some editions “exhausted” (qiong 窮). “Deep it is, unfathomable: like the ancestor of the myriad beings! Blunt sharpness, untangle complexity, soften brightness and join the dust [of the world].” Usually we are sharp in our youth but become soft and pliant as we get older day by day. Softness is one the nourishing characteristics of Dao and so Laozi recommends that we blunt our sharpness. For the same reason, he urges us to untangle complexity, i. e., unravel the multiplicity of entanglements created by

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arguments about right and wrong, excessive analysis of things, and quarrels with one another. In addition, excessive brightness or glare, an overwhelming radiance also puts us far away from Dao. To be conspicuous is not considered good; rather, we should soften our brightness in the world and live with its dust. The word for “dust” (chen 塵) indicates dirt and grime as it continuously sticks to us in this world. Laozi thus asks us to embrace everything, even the contradictions and the apparent impurity of the world; we should not try to remain pure and unburdened by ourselves. We can come closer to Dao by living simple, ordinary, and unadorned lives without struggle to beat others. This state, then, is like “Dao gathering quietly and comfortably, continuing ever more.” Here the word “quietly” (zhan 湛) indicates a tranquil state of deep water. Like water, we should exist naturally and calmly, restfully embracing others rather than endeavoring to stand out conspicuously. At the end of the chapter, Laozi relates Dao to the Lord on High. “I do not know whose son it is, but it seems to precede the Lord.” Dao is the origin of all things, so that it cannot be the son of anyone or anything; it is the ultimate ancestor of all. Because Dao is final source of the myriad beings, it is of a higher level of ultimacy and integrity than the Lord on High, the personal king of Heaven. The concept of Dao in the Daode jing thus refines and enhances the idea of the supreme God by transforming the personalized anthropomorphic concept of the Lord on High into the metaphysical concept. In Christianity, children typically imagine God as an old man with a long white beard, an idea that fades as we grow up. The adult vision of the deity is that God is beyond the reach of our perception and transcends all our images of the divine. In order to reach truer understanding of God, we should learn from the contemplative experience of the Christian mystics. Following the via negativa by discarding all images we make of God is similar to Laozi’s understanding of Dao that purified and transcended the traditional Chinese concept of Lord on High. It is also true in Christianity, however, that God is conceived as personal as making covenants with people by which God saves and aids the world. This relational aspect of the divine both within the Trinity and human-divine relationship is probably the most typical characteristics of Christian understanding of God. However, we have to keep in mind that

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this relational character of God does not force God to act in the same way that a human being acts in the area of justice and compassion. The Prophet Isaiah reminds us that we cannot ever fathom God’s ways. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:9). Both Christianity and Daoism teach the way of emptiness when relating to the ultimate reality as nonbeing.

Dao and Heaven The word for “Heaven” (tian 天) first of all indicates the sky, as in the compound tiandi 天地, sky and earth. However, the term “Dao of Heaven” (tian zhi dao 天之道) indicates the ultimate Dao and sometimes Heaven connotes the ancient Lord on High. Here Heaven is seen as saving human beings and helping them to overcome hardships. Fig. 16: The Ancient Graph

In other words, Heaven sometimes signifies the relational dimension of Dao in connection with human beings. This usage appears more frequently in the latter part of the Daode jing. Chapter 73, for example, says: “He whose boldness manifests in daring will meet death; he whose boldness manifests in not daring will stay alive.” In concrete terms, this means that one who always gets ahead of others and yells, “I will do it!” tends to lose his life while one who does not audaciously come forward continues to live. This statement is based on the observation of social phenomena. However, Laozi does not accept it as such. Rather, he asks, “Which of these two attitudes is advantageous? Which one is harmful?” This is typical of Laozi: he illuminates things all the way to the bottom of life, questioning ever more to penetrate the truth of generally accepted ideas. His answer is interestingly very religious: “Heaven hates what it hates, who knows the reason why?” Here Heaven judges with a personal feeling of hatred, but it also leads us to acknowledge the limitations of human thought by saying that “no one knows the reason why Heaven hates what it hates.”

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“Therefore, even the sage thinks of it as difficult.” It is very difficult even for the sage who has reached enlightenment to know what Heaven truly loves and hates. Such is the mystery of human life. We meet something that we cannot change or describe and have to accept it as destiny. In East Asian culture, the concept of destiny (ming 命) is directly related to the belief in Heaven; there is always a certain obscurity in the workings of Heaven that human cognition cannot grasp. The chapter concludes, The Dao of Heaven Excels in overcoming, but does not contend; Responds to all, but does not speak; Attracts widely, but does not summon; Lays plans, but appears slack.

Here, the word for “slack” (chen 繟) literally indicates a belt that is loosened: Heaven’s workings do not tighten but loosen. To make this more concrete, Laozi adds, “The net of Heaven is broad and wide. It has a wide mesh, yet lets nothing slip though.” The word for “wide mesh” (hui 恢) literally means “sparse” or “broad and wide;” the image of the net of Heaven first appears in the Shijing 詩經 (Book of Songs, 264). According to Laozi, although Heaven’s net is wide, broad, widely mesh, nothing can slip through. This closely reflects traditional ideas of Heaven. Although Heaven is revered as a more personalized deity in the Zhou dynasty, it generally refers to the sky while the Lord on High represents the heavenly king residing in heaven. Laozi refines these concepts and alternates them with Dao, using them to reveal the fundamental, essential features of ultimate reality. As the French sinologist Henri Maspero notes, Dao in the Daode jing is a technical term indicating ultimate reality or the final principle. With this concept of Dao as ultimate reality and his explanation of its relation to all things in the universe, Laozi greatly widened the traditional Chinese perspective, which until then had been limited to the relation between people and the king or the Lord on High. He opened human beings to the entire universe. By articulating that Dao, especially as nonbeing and nameless nonexistence, gives life to human and all other beings in the cosmos, Laozi greatly deepened East Asian thought. Dao is nonbeing but not vain nihility, which denies all existence. Rather, it has

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the benevolence of the mother who nurtures and perfects all things from, with, and through nonbeing. Does all this mean, finally, that Dao has a relational character? Or is there no personal character in Dao? In fact, it is not true that there is absolutely no personal aspect in Dao. There is a relational dimension when it is described as the mother of the myriad beings. That is to say, when Dao is mentioned in relation to the world of being, its personal character is presupposed. Thus, the Daode jing says, “Heaven hates what it hates” (ch. 73); and “Who becomes one with Dao, Dao is always glad to welcome him or her” (ch. 23). However, most parts of the Daode jing emphasize the nonbeing aspect of Dao and focus on it as its essential quality. In this dimension, we cannot know its essential character until and unless we go beyond our particular, isolated individuality. Laozi, therefore, does not deny the personal aspect of Dao, but connects it to its fundamental nature as nonbeing. The same also holds true for Zhuangzi. For example, in one section he compares Dao to a master smith—someone who forges metal into various implements. Like a master smith, Dao is the creative power that makes and shapes all things in the world as he wants. Dao is thus called the wondrous creator (zaohuazhe 造化者) and the key task for humanity is to surrender to it. Just accept all things given to us comfortably and without complaint, rather than trying to be made into something outstanding like the famous sword Moye 莫耶. For Zhuangzi, this state of full acceptance is one of internal freedom and ease; he calls it free and easy wandering or perfect joyfulness. It comes directly from having complete trust in Dao, the creator, and by relaxing into its workings in a state of nonaction.

The Reign of God The main issue or problem in comparing God with Dao is that the Christian understanding of God is basically personal. Although the idea of personality can be understood in many ways, we commonly think of God as a subject who relates to us and confronts us and also as an object being to whom we pray. Both imply that we see God as a personal Being. In addition, God is usually conceived beyond the world, transcendent,

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while Dao in ancient Daoism is basically immanent. Dao is not objectified outside the universe, but resides deeply within human beings and all things. However, upon closer examination, I found that Dao is quite similar to the reign of God and subsequently turned my attention to the construction of the image that Jesus proclaimed in the Gospels. The reign of God is something we must realize in this world and not in the other. It is already within us, but we have to grow it and fulfill it within—as shown in the parable of the mustard seed and the story of the leavening yeast. This immanent character allows us to see the reign of God and Dao together. The Gospels of Jesus proclaim the good news that the reign of God has already begun in us. The term occurs nearly a hundred times in the Synoptic Gospels. “The time is fulfilled, and the reign of God is at hand: repent and believe in the gospel” (Matthew 1:15). These words summarize the early teachings of Jesus: he says to repent and to accept the reign of God, because it has come near. The Greek word for “repentance” is metanoia, which literally means “transformation of mind.” The Hebrew word is teshuva, which connotes a transformation of one’s entire personality: one who turned away from God earlier now returns to Him. “Repent, for the reign of Heaven is at hand” (Matthew 4:17). Matthew always calls the reign of God the reign of Heaven and connects it to repentance. According to Luke, when Jesus walked through several villages in the area of Capernaum in Galilee to proclaim the gospel, people witnessed how he healed the sick with his inner power and wanted to keep him there. At that time, Jesus said: “I must proclaim the good news of the reign of God to the other cities also, for I was sent for this purpose” (Luke 4:43). All three Synoptic Gospels introduce the themes of repentance and the reign of God as the core of Jesus’ teaching, but the Gospel of John mentions the reign of God only once, because John uses “Eternal Life” as an alternative term for the reign of God (Schneiders 2013, 47). However, one occurrence is significant enough to say that the reign of God is the unifying image of the new vision of all the Gospels. It occurs in a scene where Nicodemus, a Pharisee, that is, a member of the educated elite, one night approached Jesus to talk to him. He said, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these miracles you do, unless God is with him.” Jesus answered, “I tell you

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truth: unless one is born anew, he cannot see the reign of God” (John 3:15). Here being “born anew” means that one transforms completely, as one would through repentance as described in the Synoptic Gospels. One can see the reign of God only when one has undergone profound transformation in mind and view. Jesus also told Nicodemus, “Unless one is born of water and the spirit, one cannot enter the reign of God.” Comparing this with Dao in the Daode jing, the immediate similarity is the central importance of deep transformation in mind and perspective. To attain Dao as much as the reign of God, we must change our viewpoint away from a sense of discrimination and distinction. As the Daode jing notes, the way of humanity is restrictive and limited, taking from the poor and continuously enriching the wealthy. In contrast, the way of Heaven is giving and generous; it takes from those who have too much and gives to those who have not enough (ch. 77). Looking at these two makes it obvious that the way of humanity aggravates social inequality while that of Heaven promotes cosmic impartiality. To reach Dao, it is therefore essential that we develop a position where we see things and act according to the Dao of Heaven. The primary person who has achieved this is the sage, expert in benefiting other people. The primary quality that makes this possible is the nature of Dao as the mother of the myriad beings: it treats all things like a mother feeding her children, giving each equally and never letting any one go hungry. The reign of God is a great deal like this. Christians tend to think of repentance as focused particularly on their own sins. But the repentance that is needed for attaining the reign of God as proclaimed by Jesus is much more radical, more comprehensive, more profound. It demands a deep, fundamental transformation of perspective and attitude, a completely new way of thinking, a radical reversal of our sense of values. That is to say, we must give up our ego-focused perspective, the way we have seen things so far, and come to see the world through the eyes of God. Jesus says that that it is his core mission to preach the Gospel to the poor, to make the blind see, and to free all those bound and captive (Luke 4:8). By the same token, the list of beatitudes and woes involves a paradoxical reversal of values. Who hungers now will be satisfied; who weeps now shall laugh. Who is well fed now will go hungry; who laughs now will mourn and wail (Luke 6:20-28).

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Similarly, the central character in the parable of the Prodigal Son is not in fact the son but the father, who comes to see his son with the heart of God. Unlike him, the older son criticizes his brother—showing the perspective of humanity, but the father accepts and receives his repentant child. The parable shows how we should change our perspective and see things through the eyes of God—forever tolerant, generous, and affectionate. It documents a new relationship between God and humanity, showing that the reign of God has come to rise within us. God is the first to extend his hand of reconciliation—it ultimately does not come from us, but from God. All those many people who met Jesus directly never just repented their sins but went far beyond toward a whole new way of life. For example, after meeting Jesus, Zacchaeus gave half his possessions to the poor. He transformed himself, but he also transformed the world around him, enhancing social equality. This is important. Jesus was pleased that the reign of God had come to the house of Zacchaeus. In the same way, Jesus shows God’s mercy when he forgives the woman caught in adultery. He is completely different from ordinary people, the scribes and the Pharisees, who convict and condemn the woman. Jesus asks them to see a sinner through the eye of God: “Who is without sin among you, let him throw the first stone” (John 8:7-8). With these words, he asks us to actualize the merciful God in our hearts and minds. Through God’s mercy, even the adulterous woman comes to see herself in a new light. We know nothing about her life after the incident, but she may well have become a new person. In this way, as we transform our mind and viewpoint, we radically alter our relation to others and become new and different people. The same also holds true for the Lord’s Prayer, which clearly reveals the mercy of God. Based on the prayer Jesus taught to his disciples, it appears in all the different denominations of Christianity with little variation. In content, moreover, it applies to far more than just Christians: it is relevant to all of humankind. As we offer the Lord’s Prayer, we do so not just for Christians but for every person on the planet. In contents, it has four major requests to God: “Give us our daily bread,” “lead us not into temptation,” “let us forgive each other,” and “deliver us from evil.” These are themes and longings common to all human beings. It can, therefore, be understood as the expression of fundamental wishes for a good human life, a set of deeply sincere petitions

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for a more peaceful and harmonious world. It is thus God’s very own prayer, a sign that he cares for us with profound mercy in spite of, nay, because of human sin. The reign of God Jesus asks us to pray for is not a particular place in space but a situation or state where the power of God and divine right are present within us and we live fully in its spirit. This is the reason why “reign” is the better translation of basileia than “kingdom” which connotes a limited land and a particular people. Living with the eyes of the reign of God—what kind of person will we be? In a certain respect, we may come to be foolish or unsophisticated. Saint Paul confesses: “The foolishness of God is wiser than that of men and the weakness of God is stronger than that of men” (1. Corinthians 1:25). We thus can only follow God when we can bear to look and behave and be foolish.

Simplicity in Dao This matches the messages of the Daode jing: Abandon learning and there will no longer be worries. Between “yes” and “of course,” how much difference is there? Between good and evil, how great is the distance? What others fear one must also fear. But yet, how confused, and the end is not yet. The multitude is joyous, as if partaking in the sacrificial feasts, Or going up to a terrace in spring. I alone am placid and reveal no sign [of desire], Like an infant that has not yet learned to smile, Listless and unattached as if with no home to go back to. The multitude all have more than enough. I alone seem to be in want. My mind is that of a fool—how blank and dull! Ordinary people are clever and lustrous. I alone am drowsy. Common folk are alert. I alone am muddled and obfuscated. Drifting like the sea, like a high wind never ceasing The multitude all has a purpose. I alone appear stubborn and uncouth. I alone am different from others. And value being fed by the mother. (ch. 20)

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In this chapter, Laozi advises us to renounce all secular learning with its pedantic, ostentatious concerns and become free from all worries of the world. He asks what the difference really is between various responses and commonly accepted values, like right and wrong. All these are manmade, depending on the artificial construction of reality, on socially determined discriminations. To him, the reality is that there is in fact, no great distance between right and wrong and all the other distinctions people make. Laozi speaks of the loneliness experienced by one who is different from others in seeing and thinking things. He continues to compare the multitude of ordinary people to himself. All people have fun, they are outgoing, alert, and active. He, in contrast, seems inactive and still, listless and unattached, stubborn and uncouth. Unlike all others, he seems not to have a home to return to nor vast amounts of material things to call his own. Laozi describes himself as foolish, meaning that he is not selfish and not calculating: he has no intention of obtaining or owning anything. Ordinary people appear bright, clever, and lustrous, while he alone seems dumb and dull. They look alert and discriminating, while he alone remains obfuscated and muddled. He is floating about like the sea, moves about like a high wind that never stops, present in himself yet there for all—unlike common folk who all pursue their own interests and take pleasure in their senses and possessions. He ends this chapter by referring to “being fed by the mother,” indicating Dao as the power that nurtures all things. He is different from others in that he has become a fool of Dao; he is lonely and alienated from the masses because he values the mother of all, the power behind the myriad beings. Christians who live to realize the reign of God feel the very same loneliness that Laozi expresses here. Both, a life in Dao and the pursuit of the reign of God require consistent courage to endure loneliness and difficulties. It is easy to live in the world by making compromises and just be a Christian in name but it is hard to live by fully realizing the perspective of the reign of God. The price to pay is that we have to abandon all things for the one invaluable pearl. Zhuangzi, the second major thinker of philosophical Daoism after Laozi, similarly says that the sage “illuminates all in the light of Heaven” (ch. 2). By this he means that we must not see all things from the secular

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perspective of ordinary people but illuminate them in the light of Heaven and act in accordance of with it. The first characteristic of those who have experienced God’s radiance and are now following the reign of God (or Dao) is their profound transformation of perspective. The second is the fact that their testimonies are shrouded in mystery, that they tend to express themselves by means of allegories, metaphors, and paradoxes. They can be understood only by those of a similar mind-set who have the particular capability needed to relate to this state. Thus Jesus usually taught in parables, in fact, he never taught anything without using a parable (Mark 4:34). When his disciples asked him about this, he said, “To you has been given the mystery of the reign of God, but those are outside get everything in parables, so that while seeing, they may see and not perceive, and while hearing, they may hear and not understand, otherwise they might return and be forgiven” (Mark 4:11-12). I think Jesus always spoke in parables has to do with the fact that the reign of God is a mystery in itself. Parables are the venue of its expression, accessible only to those who have opened their minds, that is to say, to people who have repented and are ready to accept it. Among all the Gospels, Matthew 13 contains the most parables. For example, there is the parable of mustard seed, a tiny seed, the smallest among seeds, but one that grows into a huge tree, in whose branches birds may nest and under whose canopy people enjoy a rest. The parable shows that, although the reign of God starts out small and inconspicuous like a mustard seed, it grows large and brings amazing results. Biblical scholars have noted that Jesus chose the materials of his parables evenly from various sources, matching them to both genders in his audience, so that some were well understood by women and others more easily accessible to men. Jesus was open-minded with regard to women, unlike that of most leaders in his day, and never projected a negative or discriminating image. One parable he uses in relation to women is that of yeast or leaven. The amount of yeast needed to make dough rise is very small and much like it, the gospel on the reign of God is hardly noticed to begin with, but once it is received, it changes one remarkably, just as the yeast can make a big lump of dough rise. The reign of God does great things from small beginnings. Leaven must be added to the whole lump of dough evenly to make it rise. Both transform their environment completely. Becoming part of the reign of God, we

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come to recognize the sovereign power of God and endeavor to transform society according to His will. Other parables include those of the hidden treasure in the field and of the pearl of great value. If we finally find an invaluable pearl that we have pursued for some time, we may sell all that we have to purchase it. To sell all we have stands for giving up all kinds of things for the reign of God—it demands our total commitment. Once we have seen its true value, we most certainly live in full commitment to it. Jesus in his words conveys a clear awareness that a new era has come. He reveals his conviction of the sovereignty of God and His sheer generosity, plus his vision that this is the start of a new person and a new community. To receive the reign of God and to live in it, we must leap across what we are now and fully cultivate our spiritual power. Thus the various parables about the reign of God convey the mystery of complete transformation and personal, spiritual growth. When a small flame of faith burns in the human mind, it becomes possible to realize the reign of God. In many ways, this matches the Dao of Laozi. He describes Dao as ineffable and mysterious, as that which is most profound, the mystery of all mysteries or mystery upon mysteries, the gateway of all subtlety (ch. 1). He affirms that any Dao that can be defined is not the eternal Dao. However, without language, he cannot transmit it, and so he resorts to various metaphors. He compares Dao to water, which always flows downward, to the benevolent, all-giving mother, as well as to the valley, the empty vessel, and the uncarved block. All these metaphors go back to both the natural and human worlds. As Laozi expresses his thoughts indirectly and metaphorically, people respond to his teaching in a variety of ways. As he says himself, the highest type of people hear about Dao and immediately resolve to practice it assiduously. More mediocre types are more ambivalent: they have some inkling of what it is about, but often remain untouched. Sometimes they follow and practice it, but often they do not. Especially, when their practice means giving up something dear to them, they quit very quickly. These mediocre types are not certain in their attitude because they do not feel comfortable either way—whether following it or not. The lowest kind of people, finally, when they hear about Dao, laugh out loud and scorn it, decrying it as rubbish and silly talk. Laozi finds it natural that avaricious and unworthy people react so negatively to Dao: if they did not laugh, it would not be Dao (ch. 41).

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These diverse responses to Dao to a certain degree match people’s reactions to Jesus’ proclamation of the reign of God. As the Gospel says in a well-known parable, some seeds fell on rocky ground: as soon as they hit, they wither away. Other seeds fell among thorns: as the thorns grow all over them, they get choked and die. Yet other seeds fell on fertile soil: they bear lots of fruit (Matthew 13). Just as it takes many different types and people to make the reign of God grow strong, so the attitudes and affects of people who learn of Dao vary greatly. There are always some people who fully surrender to Dao and follow it with great sincerity; but there are also some who attends to it to a certain degree, then loses it again as well as those who reject it outright and only laughs at it. The best way to follow Dao, moreover, Laozi suggests, is through the via negativa, another common point with Christianity. “Pursuing learning, people increase their knowledge day by day; pursuing Dao, we do less everyday” (ch. 48). Doing less, reducing, diminishing: this means to abandon desire, selfishness, and attachment in our minds. Cultivating the self means to empty oneself gradually until we reach nonaction, the free accordance in flow with Dao. Nonaction or nondoing is the opposite of all kinds of artificial actions and conscious inFig. 17. A Daoist Pointing at the Moon tentions. It is a way of being in the world that involves letting go of attachment, purpose, and willful intention, a way of interacting with others that is free from wanting them to fit our particular expectations and needs. To practice nonaction, we must let others be as they are and do as

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they do. We must treat everyone with due consideration of his or her particular condition and situation and let them do whatever fits their specific disposition and temperament. Nonaction means adopting a perspective that looks at each individual person and being and thing from the viewpoint of Heaven. Considering the world only from our own standpoint, we easily become selfcentered and treat everything as means to an end, subjecting them to our wishes. However, if we look at all things from the perspective of Heaven, we will be just as much an individual object as everyone else, and so we will come to respect each being with due consideration. In nonaction, we see all things from the heavenly viewpoint and let them be what they are. To do so properly, we must learn how to empty ourselves completely of all ego and willful intention. Still, in its central usage of the image the reign of God and the world of Dao are significantly different. While the former means growing in the mystery of transformation and continuously enlarging oneself into the divine milieu, the latter requires gradual and ceaseless emptying. Still, the mystery of continual self-emptying also means that we let all things flourish and do what is natural to them. By the same token kenotic theology describes Jesus as bringing reconciliation to the world and opening the reign of God by continuously emptying and humbling himself to the point where he died on the cross (Philippians 2). From the human standpoint, this is indeed a persistent emptying of the self; but from the standpoint of the reign of God, it is an unceasing, ever more powerful growth. The difference between the reign of God and the world of Dao, then, is mainly a difference in emphasis. The reign of God is described with images of emptiness and gradual reduction. This difference is manifest peculiarly in the monastic communities of each tradition. While Christian religious communities attach much significance to the cross, they are yet accomplishment oriented. Daoist communities, on the other hand, pursue the life of nonaction and naturalness, emphasizing hidden virtues and less outward involvement. Here we can sense an attractive and delicate characteristic of two fruits of life abiding in the reign of God and the world of Dao. Having opened ourselves to the reign of God and/or the world of Dao, we first experience conversion as a major change of perspective and a thorough acquisition of new values. Next, we find ourselves confront-

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ed with emptiness and loneliness, brought about by the mysteries of these religious worlds. In a third stage, we come to appreciate the pure and eternal life for ourselves and our community. More specifically, the reign of God is the life that grows within us. Once the Pharisees came to Jesus and asked him when the reign of God would come. Jesus replied, “The reign of God is already within you” (Luke 17:20-21). It is neither a particular era that will come in the future, nor a certain place one enters after death. Rather, it has come already and is deeply present in this world. Once, a rich young man came to Jesus and asked, “What good things must I do to get eternal life?” Jesus replied that he had to obey the commandments in order to enter eternal life. When asked what else should be done, Jesus offered him the way of renunciation, saying, “If you want to be perfect, go and sell that you have and give it to the poor, then follow me” (Matthew 19). These words of Jesus imply that we cannot attain to the perfection of the reign of God until we give up all that we have and follow him without reserve. The Gospel further compares the reign of God to a royal wedding. Although all the king’s subjects are invited to the banquet, not all are admitted: they have to wear the proper ceremonial garb (Matthew 22). Commentators interpret this as needing the “righteousness practicing mercy,” an inherent virtue of attitude and behavior, activated in the practice of righteousness and mercy on others through following the model of God’s limitless compassion. It also means that we can join the wedding festivities and enjoy our life together only when we learn to practice the new values of the reign of God. In a very similar vein Laozi says that people who practice Dao have eternal life. Dao is “the way of long life and enduring vision” (ch. 59); having Dao means that “even if one’s body dies, one will never perish” (chs. 16, 52). That is to say, even though Heaven and Earth may disappear, who is at one with Dao will be everlasting. In both cases, trust or faith is essential—we must fully accept the reign of God or the enduring permanence of Dao, surrender to them fully. Once the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the reign of Heaven?” Jesus replied, “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the reign of Heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like a child is greatest in the reign of Heaven” (Matthew 18:1-5). The most important feature of being like a little child is having full trust: complete trust in Jesus, absolute trust in God. When

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Jesus says to Nicodemus that no one can enter the reign of God “without being born of water and Spirit” (John 3:5), he implies that we must commit ourselves completely to God in full trust, allowing new perspective and values to grow within. Lastly, the reign of God is characterized by being part of the present and also of the eschatology of the future. It is right here and right now; it has already begun and is growing ever stronger. Jesus entered the reign of God and we as his disciples do the same. This good work will continue until the time of the harvest has come at the ultimate end of the world. In the parable of wheat and weeds, Jesus says that the sower, i.e., he himself, waits until harvest time, when the reign of God is established everywhere. This implies an eschatological hope for an ultimate time of perfect peace and harmony in the world, when the weak will be protected, society will be impartial, and the universe will be reconciled, so that even a viper cannot harm anyone. Laozi, too, sings the praise of the ultimate harmonious and holistic state of Dao, describing it beautifully. “Know the male and keep to the female; know strength and keep to softness” (ch. 28). If you manage to do so, you become the ravine of the world, and constant virtue will not desert you. You will return to be like an infant, ever harmonious, ever strong. You will recover your original innocence, your primordial simplicity, and your child-like trust. Laozi frequently says, “Know the white and keep to the dark,” i.e., harmonize revealing and concealing, progress and withdrawal. Doing so, you become the model for the world. As the model for the world, you will be as if in the reign of God, the world of Dao. Laozi suggests that this can be accomplished in the here and now, but at the same time, he also implies an eschatological property: by being in Dao we reach eternal life, a state of freedom from decay, from ending even “after the body is lost.” Faith is thus the essential core in both the world of Dao and the reign of God. Both are worlds of invisible eternity, the ultimate goal of a sacred, spiritual pilgrimage. As faith deepens, moreover, the reign of God or the world of Dao takes shape in our mind. We build it up further from there and reach a state described as holy or sagely, becoming saintly figures that transcend individual goals and needs.

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Further Readings Areopagite, Pseudo-Dionysius. 1977. The Divine Names and the Mystical Theology. London: SPCK. Chan, Alan K. L. 1991. Two Visions of the Way: A Study of the Wang Pi and the Hoshang Kung Commentaries on the Lao-Tzu. Albany: State University of New York. Erkes, Eduard. 1951. Ho-Shang-Kung’s Commentary on Lao-Tse. Ascona: Artibus Asiae. Kaltenmark, Max. 1969. Lao Tzu and Taoism. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1932. The Poetical Parts of Lao Tsi. Goeteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri. Kim, Sung-hae. 1996. “The Kingdom of God as the Christian Image of Harmony.” Inter-Religio Bulletin 29: 3-22. _____. 1991. “Silent Heaven Giving Birth to the Multitude of People.” In Confucian-Christian Encounter, edited by Peter Lee. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press. Lau, D.C. 1982. Chinese Classics: Tao Te Ching. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Lin, Paul J. 1977. A Translation of Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching and Wang Pi’s Commentary. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Maspero, Henri. 1981. Taoism and Chinese Religion. Translated by Frank Kierman. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Rump, Ariane. 1979. Commentary on the Lao Tzu by Wang Pi. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Schnackenburg, Rudolf. 1968. God’s Rule and Kingdom. New York: Herder. Schneiders, Sandra M. 2013. Buying the Field. New York: Paulist.

Chapter Three Jesus and the Sage The ideal human being in the two traditions brings the concepts of Dao and the reign of God into a more concrete dimension. Thus the sage in the Daode jing is the embodiment of Dao; he can be compared it with the figure of Jesus as the one actualizing the reign of God in his life. This comparison makes it possible to understand the various facets of Jesus from a new angle, opening a path for a deeper dialogue between the religions. The sage in the Daode jing is first of all a model and a teacher. However, he does not mince words. “Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful,” the text says (ch. 81), and continues: Good words not rhetorical; Rhetorical words not good. One who knows has no wide learning; One who has wide learning does not know.

This distinguishes between knowledge (zhi 知) and realization or enlightenment (ming 明). Knowledge means is having concrete data about external objects in the world while realization means possessing the clarity of Dao, accessible only to one who knows himself or herself (chs. 16, 33, 55). The text further explains the relationship between the fully realized sage and ordinary people. The sage does not hoard anything for himself but gives all he has to others, be they material or spiritual items. In spite of this constant giving, the more he gives, the more he keeps for himself; the more he benefits others, the richer he is. The chapter ends with a description of the way of the sage as parallel to that of Heaven: “The way [Dao] of Heaven is to benefit others without hurting them; the way of the sage is to act without competing.” 63

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What kind of person, then is the sage who realizes the way of Heaven? What are his features? The Chinese word for “sage” (sheng 聖) occurs 32 times in the Daode jing, only once used critically, referring to a social meddler along the lines of Confucianism: “Get rid of the sage, discard the wise, and the people will benefit a hundredfold” (ch. 19). The text here also advocates the elimination of official Confucian virtues such as benevolence and righteousness, making people return to their natural, inherent goodness and truly felt piety and compassion. Formal moral values, it says, are likely to make people lose their innate ethical potential, submitting to artificial, hierarchical social structures under duress, thus creating contrariness instead of harmony. The passage is curious. It may also be read in terms of qualities rather than people: “Get rid of wisdom (zhi 智), discard rhetoric (bian 辯),” leading to “exterminate artificiality (pian 僞), discard deceit (zha 詐)” instead of benevolence and righteousness, as found in Manuscript A of the “Bamboo Laozi,” discovered in 1993 at Guodian and dated to about 300 BCE. This means that in the early stages of Daoism, Confucian values in themselves such as the sage and the wise, benevolence and righteousness are not criticized directly, but there is an insistence that one must exterminate such things as knowledge, deceit, Fig. 18. Unearthed Bamboo Slips eloquence, glibness, and artificiality. This also means that sheng as sage in the Daode jing refers positively to the ideal human being who has fully realized himself or herself. The sage here is a mature person, representing not only the superior human being but also the perfect king. Laozi takes people’s communal wellbeing very seriously, suggesting that a perfect ruler is one who allows people to live in comfort and stand up for themselves. The politics that make this possible are predicated on an overall attitude of nonaction— live and let live. This reflects the urgent and sincere realization that peo-

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ple cannot live alone but will always band together with others and form a society. Beyond that, however, the Daoist sage finds his identity mainly through his relationship with Dao. He follows Dao, places highest value on Dao, and always keeps Dao in his heart. In other words, Dao is the light that irradiates the core and life of the sage. He is the central pivot, patterning himself on Earth and thereby Heaven and Dao (ch. 25). “Earth” here implies the overall living environment of humanity, that is, nature with all its features: mountains, rivers, forests, fields, and more. Human beings live in their natural environment and learn from it through observation and by interacting with it. Earth, moreover models itself on Heaven, the larger universe, including the movements of the planets, the succession of the four seasons, the natural progress from birth to maturity, old age, and death. Heaven, in turn, patterns itself on Dao, the ultimate way of being inherent in all that exists, which in turn follows its own inherent spontaneity—what comes about naturally. Ultimately, this is what everyone follows: from humanity to Dao. Although on different levels and in different ways, all four are ultimately one and all follow the naturalness of who and what they are. Dao is immanent in everyone, so anyone can be a sage by simply fully following Dao. Because the sage models himself or herself on Dao in all aspects of life, he or she also knows the limitations and relative importance of other human values, those considered important in secular society such as righteousness and practical knowledge. For this reason, he or she does not regard anything in the world as absolute or ultimate, but insists on pervasive relativity.

Beyond Relativity The Daode jing says: “All under Heaven recognize the beautiful as the beautiful, there arises the recognition of ugliness” (ch. 2). “All under Heaven” here means the whole world. The statement as a whole expresses the relativity and interdependence of opposites: since the people of the world recognize the beautiful as beautiful, the concept of ugliness comes to exist. Similarly, the idea of bad only comes about after the whole world recognizes the good as good (ch. 2). Laozi thus indicates

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that concepts evaluating physical or moral attributes contain many elements of artificiality. To him, being and nonbeing bring forth each other, that difficult and easy complement each other. Similarly, long and short off-set each other, high and low slant each other. Sound and voice harmonize with each other, forward and back, before and after follow each other. All these concepts are relative, defined only in relation to one another. Similarly, ideas of rich and poor, talented and dumb, long and short are relative, created by active discrimination and secular valuation. The sage, on the other hand, practices non-willful action: he acts naturally, participating naturally in all of society. He does not force things to accomplish in haste, nor compel others to do anything against their will. Rather, he just practices nonaction and teaches how best to live by example, without words. Any teaching with words implies artificiality and directions what to do or not to do. Instead of distinguishing right from wrong or discriminating good and evil, he allows people to cultivate their own unique qualities and imFig. 19. A Daoist Sage prove their inherent tendencies. Therefore, the sage Lets the myriad beings live without dominating them He gives life without attempting to possess, Benefits all without exacting gratitude. (ch. 2)

The sage, therefore, achieves things without pushing or harboring anything. Instead, he does whatever is necessary step by step—quite easily and naturally, just as water flows naturally downhill. Also, he does not linger after his work is done, takes no merit for any results his actions may have, and is not ostentatious. Not looking toward being rec-

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ognized in any way, he acts without desires or strife for reward. He neither brags nor boasts but always knows when to take his leave. However, this leads to a certain paradox—as do many themes in Laozi. It is precisely because the sage does not linger after his work is done that others recognize his merit. For example, the more a mother asks her children, “Do you know how much I sacrifice myself for you?” the less the children will want to hear it. The more she puts herself forward, utters words of self-praise, and emphasizes her good deeds, the less the children will actually feel thankful or appreciate her. This is because they know that their mother will make a display of her deeds for them. Similarly, a friend who makes a display of himself is not loved. If your friend does something for you and then says, “You know how much I have done for you?” you will be unpleasant. On the other hand, a man at one with Dao just does what he has to do without displaying anything: he lets things flow like water. It is our nature to feel thankful when somebody does something for us and is not boastful about his merit. His quiet and humble attitude makes him look that much more respectable. This is because he does not make a display of his merits. At the same time, this also means that he is not attached to his deeds or accomplishments. Anything we are attached to we must reveal on the outside. But when we do not do so, our merits shine forth all the more. This may appear paradoxical, but it is the way of nature proved by experience. The Daode jing further says, “Not to honor men of worth will keep the people from contention” (ch. 3). The sage does not honor anyone of excellence or pay compliments to prominent persons. Doing so, he makes it so people do not contend with others for praise. If an excellent person is praised, people will be envious of him and rush to compete for supremacy. Therefore, even if the sage finds someone with superior ability, he may employ him but he will not praise him loudly in public. As a result, even people without special talents do not feel inferior to others or miserable about themselves. “To honor men of worth” was a doctrine advocated by the majority of philosophical schools in the Warring States period of China. Confucians and Mohists, not to speak of Legalists, all insisted on it. Laozi’s teaching goes far beyond them, revealing a much broader outlook: it includes not only the subject of human being but also that of Heaven and Earth, providing a transcendental and natural dimension to his thought.

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Inheriting this, people of East Asia have acquired a certain profundity, a deep inspiration that allows them to go beyond the limitations of fixed cognition. Laozi advises us not to think of anything as absolute, because all things in the world have relative value. He warns us that no matter how excellent or good anything is, if you place it into a position of the absolute, it will be idolized and in due course come to depersonalize people. Laozi thus shows the way to destroy anything idolized, how best to be free from it. He thus criticizes the standard social virtues: filial piety may be a good thing, a virtuous attitude, but too much emphasis on it will formalize and idolize it and, in due course, make people feel oppressed. Laozi warns us that trying too hard to be virtuous has the opposite effect and leads to a loss of true virtue. He therefore invites us to see all things in the light of Dao in order to be free from the conventional limitation. Among all the philosophers he was the only one who insisted on not honoring men of worth, seeing a way to non-competition by not exalting the worthy, since thereby people’s hearts would not be disturbed. He continues, “Not to value goods which are hard to come by will keep people from thieving” (ch. 3). Burglars tend to break into houses that seem to contain expensive jewels or rare diamonds. Someone without precious items in his house has no worries about theft. “Not to display desirable things keeps people from being of unsettled mind.” Here he suggests that people can live a self-sufficient life by keeping their minds pure and calm. The government of the sage would be characterized by “not honoring men of worth.” It would prevent people from contending and competing against each other and from being blinded by avarice for so-called rare treasures. By avoiding the display of desirable objects, it allows people to live in peace and harmony without struggling for more. The core to this government is the sage’s teaching of emptying the mind; this applies to every aspect, including politics, economics, and spirituality. In the Daode jing, the term “mind” (xin 心), which literally means the physical and emotional organ of the heart, often carries a negative connotation. It is related to activities such as thinking, reasoning, devising, and conspiring. Emptying the mind, or becoming empty of mind, then, means that one must give up one’s own ambitious plans and just flow along in unity with Dao.

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To sum up, the Daode jing proposes a way of not competing by not exalting the worthy, valuing rare treasures, or displaying objects of desire with the goal that people’s hearts and minds should remain pure and undisturbed. The sage strives to keep people’s hearts pure, their bellies full, their ambitions weak, and their bones strong (ch. 3). He acts without interfering with the natural flow so that all may live in peace. “The sage empties their mind and fills their bellies.” The latter means that the government ensures a sufficient supply of food for the people. At the same time by emptying their desires and ambitions, the sage will teach people to refrain from pushing others around and fight with them, things that involve competition, struggle, or conflict. The text also insists that the sage strengthens people’s bones: he rules in such a way that the people may live in good health. Plus, he keeps them innocent of competitive knowledge and free from desires, so that they do not become shrewd or avaricious. This leads to a state where, if the ruler makes people—and especially the intelligent and clever—free from intentional action, nothing remains ungoverned. In this respect, the sage can be said to be a person of free from desire (wuyu 無欲), free from self-cherishing or self-serving (wusi 無私), and free from all attachment or clinging (wuzhi 無執). “Free from desire” here means not having excessive desires, any objectives not essentially necessary to sustain life. It does not mean having no desires of basic needs required for survival. Laozi has no objection to natural desires such as those for food or well-being, but he is strongly against artificially created, culturally determined, or consumer-oriented desires. The reason is that the dominance of such cultural or sophisticated desires disturbs the mind and causes mental sickness. Similarly, attachment here means holding on tightly to ambitious goals or private views, clinging to certain ego-centered objectives such as fame, success, wealth, or influence. Being free from attachment means to possess the freedom of heart. A sage is thus one who gets rid of all attachments and recovers the mistakes of many people “in order to assist the myriad beings to be natural and refrain from daring to act” (ch. 64). The verb “assist” (fu 輔) is noteworthy, for it never occurs in descriptions of the primary actor, only the assistants. Moreover, we must pay attention to the reason why humans should refrain from daring or aggressive action, which is to fulfill their proper subsidiary role in the natural flourishing of the land community as well as the human community.

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Worries of the Sage The attraction of the sage in the Daode jing lies in the fact that he is not entirely free from all human worries. It is impossible to be free from troubles as long as we have a body. “The reason I have great troubles is that I have a body. If I no longer had a body, what troubles would I have?” (ch. 13). Every human being has a body, and as long as we are embodied, we have needs and therefore troubles: hunger, pain, sickness, aging, and more. In a way, the human body is regarded as the vehicle carrying Dao, and in the body the belly is especially designated as the pocket of life-energy (ch. 3). At the same time, Laozi accepts the reality that we cannot be free from troubles because we are embodied, we are not transcendental beings free from shape and material substance. Everyone has troubles, so how can we be whole and healthy in the world? As regards health and sickness, the text says, To know yet think that one doesn’t know is best; Not to know yet think that one does know is sickness. Only when one recognizes this disease as a disease Can one be free from disease. (ch. 71)

In other words, it is the highest wisdom and the best state of integrity and health to realize that we don’t really know everything. Problems arise when people think that they do know things, realize who they really are. Who knows that he does not know can be said to be healthy. No one can know everything and be free from all troubles, because we all have bodies. And since we are individual beings with bodies, we have material needs and get involved in relationships with others who also have bodies, creating networks like a spider’s web. As a result, we can never be quite free from worries but realizing that we don’t really know anything for sure is the way to living at one with Dao. On the other hand, if we think we know but we don’t really, that’s a form of disease. I think we all have had an experience of this. When we are about to scold someone for a fault or problem, and he admits his fault, we cannot really be angry at him and scold him. On the contrary, we begin to feel sympathy since he realizes his fault but has difficulty correcting it. However, if he claims to be free of error, he will say, “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, but someone else. You are wrong to scold me

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like this!” This creates a serious issue, and we do not quite know how to treat such a person. He has the serious sickness of not knowing yet thinking that he knows. The sage, on the other hand, goes beyond this. The sage is free from sickness and not sick of mind. This is because he has realized his own sickness and seen his limitations. Therefore he is not sick at all. (ch. 71)

This means that even the sage participates in the all-pervasive sickness of the world, but he frees himself from it by knowing his limitations. He feels a keen anguish due to his sickness and limitations, realizing them to a degree unlike the common people. He anguishes over his weaknesses and limitations; he is aware of his own character flaws and realizes just how much trouble he may have caused others. Being aware in this manner, he can prevent being sick like everybody else. The fundamental recuperative power of the individual lies in personal soundness as modeled by the sage. Unlike an intellectual who is erudite and well informed, the sage is a person of intuition. The Daode jing expresses this with the term ming, rendered as brightness, illumination, clarity, or enlightenment. One who knows others is intelligent [learned]. One who knows himself is enlightened [illuminated]. One who overcomes others has strength. One who overcomes himself is powerful. One who knows contentment is wealthy. (ch. 33)

The first line here speaks of people who accumulate knowledge and garner much information about others and worldly objects. They are of artificial intelligence or erudition. One who knows himself and deeply understands who he really is, on the other hand, is aware of his strengths and weakness. He patterns himself on Dao and reaches enlightenment. One who can conquer or defeat others has external strength, Laozi maintains, but only the one who overcomes himself really possesses authentic power. Aware of one’s own greed, selfish motives, and weaknesses, deeply searching for the true self—only this person is really strong.

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Fig. 20. An Immortal Leaning on a Tiger

Contentment, knowing when to stop, when one has enough, moreover, is the key to true wealth. Who knows contentment in himself, who knows the meaning of true inner contentment and really feels satisfied with what he has: this one is truly rich. Wealth here indicates a wealth of mind. In material terms, no matter how wealthy one may be, as long as one always wants more things and has desires without limit, one is a poor person. Who can be satisfied with what he has is really and truly rich—both in material, experiential, emotional, and spiritual terms. The best for this is to become empty and still. I do my utmost to attain emptiness. I hold firmly to stillness. The myriad beings all rise together, I watch their return.

JESUS AND THE SAGE / 73 All things that flourish Will return to their root. Return to the root is called stillness. Stillness is recovering destiny. Recovering destiny is called the constant. Knowing the constant is called enlightenment. Acting arbitrarily without knowing the constant leads to disaster. Knowing the constant means all-embracing tolerance. Tolerance leads to impartiality. Impartiality leads to kingliness. Kingliness leads to Heaven. Heaven leads to Dao Dao is eternal. Though the body dies, I shall not perish. (ch. 16)

Perfect emptiness is one of the characteristics of Dao. Effecting emptiness to the extreme implies emptying the self perfectly. Doing so, as long as we keep the mind still and uncluttered, we can find that all things in the world rise together: being in concert with one another, they each return to their root, to Dao. This passage is where the use of the word “return” for death comes from. Death here is not a final ending, a tragic disaster, but a return, a homecoming to Dao. This return, moreover, means stillness, the original way of nature. When do we reach stillness? We go still when we return to our root, when we are deeply settled. For Christians this means to return to God as our root, to put our mind at rest. Here we find absolute tranquility. For Laozi, the return to Dao is the return to our original root; this is called stillness. Stillness in turn is the recovery of destiny (ming 命), what we are endowed with by nature, including where we come from and where we return. Recovering, fulfilling our ultimate destiny is returning to Dao as our root, origin, or source. This is “constant” (chang 常), a manifestation of eternal truth. Knowing the constant of life, realizing the eternal truth of Dao—this is clarity, illumination, or enlightenment, the same as truly knowing oneself. Putting this together, we can see that knowing oneself essentially means knowing Dao in ourselves. Knowing Dao as immanent in ourselves, realizing the eternal Dao in everything we are and say and do, then, is the true meaning of illumination or enlightenment.

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Not knowing the constant of Dao, on the other hand, will inevitably lead to a situation where we cannot act but blindly, causing harm to other, to people and the world. Many evil things are caused by acting without knowing Dao. Knowing the constant can make us very generous, allowing us to embrace all things. We can be truly tolerant of all through knowing Dao, because if we know Dao, we know and appreciate ourselves. From this basis, we can tolerate and even appreciate others. Anyone aware of his own weakness, defect, or limitation can well afford to tolerate others. The biggest problem is that we do not recognize our own weaknesses, but if we acknowledge them we can be generous to others and forgive their faults: we know that we have defects, too. This tolerance and generosity, moreover, leads to impartiality, which in turn gives rise to kingliness. And when we act from this position, we easily become broad-minded and magnanimous, just like Heaven. The more magnanimous we become, then, the more we realize Dao and reach eternal life, never more subject to the danger of decay, how ever much the body may grow old and die. This passage alludes to permanence and even personal immortality. One who unites with Dao enjoys eternal life—he is at one with Dao and flows along forever and ever. Illumination or enlightenment is crucial to this process; it signifies the intuitive knowledge of self and Dao. The more we realize this enlightenment, the more we come to penetrate ourselves, others, and all worldly affairs. Seen from this angle, the sage is one who has penetrating eyes to see through all things in the world because he is and acts in full accordance with Dao. He does not harbor erudition or expert knowledge, but is full of intuition, able to penetrate into himself and others. As a result, he comes to be broad-minded and tolerant, generous and merciful, open to all, to men and women of all shades, even to the ecological wellbeing of natural life in the universe.

Social Effect The sage being a person of true knowledge, he or she can be a true leader in society and govern the community in perfect harmony. The sage as ruler helps people cultivate themselves in nonaction and thereby solidifies community. Wherever he or she resides, a community forms where

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people are warm and friendly. He or she continuously performs meritorious deeds for this community, but never takes credit himself or herself. Instead, he or she gives credit to each member of the community, letting each do their best for the sake of all, but of their own accord. How beautiful is that! The sage says: As long as I do nothing, the people transform naturally. I rest in stillness, and the people go straight naturally. I act in nonaction, and the people grow rich naturally. I stay have no desires, and the people return to simplicity, Becoming like an uncarved block. (ch. 57)

The first person speaking in this passage is the sage, while “the people” he or she refers to indicate the community he rules and lives with. The sage as ruler does nothing, but is free from intentional action. The more he or she does that, the more the people are in harmony with each other. This also holds true for the relationship of parents and children. Just by modeling good behavior, they create a good atmosphere in their home and bring about harmony. Respectable parents who treat each other with kindness and generosity will naturally have children who will also be friendly and caring toward each other. There is no need for them to exhort their children to love each other, to be good to their brothers or sisters. They can leave their children to be as they are, and they will be kind to each other of their own accord. Heavy-handed exhortation and intensely voiced admonition, on the other hand, may well lead to children becoming aggressive and doing wrong. In the same way, the sage ruler takes no action but keeps Dao in mind, and the people come to be in harmony with each other of themselves. The sage ruler also loves quietude and rests in stillness, doing nothing, and yet the people go naturally straight. That is to say, although the sage remains calms without exhorting the people to behave properly, they naturally turn out to be righteous and behave properly. In the same vein, the ideal ruler does not meddle in anyone’s personal lives or deal in special businesses, and yet the people naturally grow rich. In other words, the people prosper by engaging in farming and trade, doing good

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business because their leader trusts in their morality, potential, and ability. In addition, the sage remains completely free from personal desires, which allows the people to return to simplicity and be like the uncarved block (pu). This symbolizes the simple and natural state, a way of being that is free from artifice, simple and beautiful. Simplicity is a major value in the Daode jing as well as a growing theme in contemporary culture. People today have begun to recognize the beauty in simplicity or naturalness—the clarity of the untreated grain of wood, or an unsplit, uncarved, unpainted log. Culture tends to go to extremes, so that people whose ancestors lived in ornate Victorian mansions now get tired of all this culture and prefer more natural habitations like log houses filled with simple furniture. There is thus, even today, a sense of return to the ancient Daoist values of nonaction and naturalness. Nobody in a community run by a sage is compelled to do anything. The sage lets the people manage their community and do social work of their own accord. As a result, they live in peace. He governs not with admonition and punishment but doing nothing: the so-called politics of nonaction or laissez-faire. As he flows along, acting without purposeful intention, the people help themselves and the community runs perfectly and without any effort. This is reminiscent of Val Plumwood’s criticism regarding the problem of an absolute center. “The importance of such a center seems still to be obtained by robbing particular things of their own measure of significance or agency, again concentrating the source of value at the center” (1993, 128). Just as Dao is essentially nonbeing and always empty, the sage acts with nonaction, so that he or she does not claim to be the center with authority. Rather, the sage naturally provides for the autonomous fruition of particular beings. The sage, moreover, is impartial. Rather than taking the side of the superior or the rich yet without diminishing them and their value for society, he champions the poor, the alienated, and the inferior. He treats all like a kind mother treating her children, an attitude that leads all community members to live peacefully and without discrimination. This community can be anything: a home, a village, a monastery, a region, even a whole nation. The sage connects to the minds of each and every one who lives with him. “The sage has no constant mind; he takes the mind of the people as his mind” (ch. 49). That is to say, he has no fixed

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plan to govern the people set in advance, no rigid and set ideas, no opinionated feelings. He makes no judgments, but accepts the opinions and feelings of the people fully, making them his own at all times, without guided intention or advance judgment. This means that he truly listens to what the people have to say and works hard to fulfill their wishes. This makes him truly impartial: I am good to people who are good; I am also good to who are not good— For virtue is goodness. (ch. 49)

Fig. 21. Laozi as Daoist Sage

Regardless of personal qualities or behavior, the sage treats everyone with goodness—a universal goodness that does not allow for grades of closeness. His virtue as such, his natural endowment is pure goodness and he cannot possibly be discriminating in his love. Virtue comes directly from Dao: the word de 德 is homophone and closely related to the character de 得, which means “to obtain” or “attain” and appears in its stead in several manuscript versions of the text. This means the last phrase of the above verse can also be read, “In this way I attain goodness.” The sage is thus good to all the people to attain or fully realize

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goodness, to fulfill his inherent virtue as part of Dao to the utmost. The bottom line is that the sage treats everyone with decency, whether good or bad—morally or in terms of skill or in any other sense—to create goodness everywhere, in himself, in the people, and in the world. I have faith in people who are faithful; I also have faith in people who are not faithful— For virtue is faith.

The sage is indeed a remarkable and broad-minded person. Anyone can have faith or trust in others who are themselves faithful and trustworthy. But it is very difficult to trust those who are not. The sage here has faith even in those who deceive him repeatedly. Why is that so? One reason is that virtue itself is faith or trust. In another dimension, this behavior will foster faith in these people, making them more trustworthy. The sage continues to have faith even in people who have none and nurtures their faith, so that they come to feel sorry for him and cannot help but keeping faith in the end. If your children lie to you repeatedly, what can you do? I think it is wiser to offer them trust at any rate than press them hard to account for the reason why they lie. If you patiently wait for them to change and be kind and cheerful with them, they will eventually come to transform their minds and become reliable, so they can meet your expectations. Doing so, they become virtuous, faithful, and trustworthy of their own accord. But you need to have a very tolerant mind and a lot of patience. Give trust, and trust is given in return. The sage lives in unity with the world His mind forms a harmonious whole with that of his people. Therefore, the people look up to him and listen to him: The sage regards them as his own dear children. (ch. 49)

The word used for “unity” here is xixi 歙歙 which is originally a mimetic indicating the motion of inhaling. Its essential meaning is harmony and unity. Living in harmony with the world, the sage takes care of all things in the world and lets them unite with his mind. In addition, the sage regards all people as his or her children, taking them under his or her wing without discriminating between inferior and superior, reliable and unreliable, good and bad—just like a mother does

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with her off-spring. Not being on better terms with some than with others, he treats all impartially. Therefore, people under sagely rule do not feel oppressed: they actively want him or her to be their ruler.

Accepting Others’ Faults A most admirable point in the social conscience of the Daoist sage is that he accepts even the humiliation and pain of the people as his own. As Laozi emphasizes, only who takes the difficulties and hardships of his community as his own is really qualified to be a leader. Anyone indifferent to people’s pain has no right to leadership (see ch. 27). Therefore, the sage says: “One who accepts the dirt of the state Becomes its master. One who accepts its calamities Becomes king of the world.” Straight words seem crooked; Truth seems contradictory. (ch. 78)

That is, if one accepts the dirt, the hardships and humiliation of the people, one is fit to rule; if one bears the calamities, the misfortunes, the evils, and inauspicious occurrences of the country, one deserves to be king of the world. Laozi ends the chapter with two rather abstruse yet profound statements, indicating that truth often sounds paradoxical—as, in fact, do most of the principles of Dao he expounds in the text. Accepting dirt and calamities also means that we should not only refrain from insisting on our personal innocence, but even take responsibility for the faults and errors of people around us—that’s what really is a sign of competent leadership. This is quite different from the world today, where nobody wants to accept any responsibility. Recently a former Korean president persisted in denying his guilt and insisted on his innocence, even though it was quite clear that both he and his son had taken bribes. Even religious figures usually do not want to be misunderstood and refuse to accept infamy or dishonor, always striving to prove their innocence.

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Unlike them, someone willing to take on the responsibility for any fault, shame, or calamity experienced by his community or its neighbors strains to overcome all social difficulties and works hard for reform. According to the Daode jing, anyone afraid of being thought of as dishonest cannot become a true leader—i.e., anyone obsessed with his own personal honor and good name, one who is overly fastidious in terms of ethics and reputation cannot become a true leader. The only one really capable of being a true leader is one who takes on the sins and problems of his society, who is willing to accept blame or insult even if innocent. He really must endeavor with all his means to realize harmony in his community in true following of Dao (see also ch. 27). Another passage that indicates the same idea is the admonition to “requite hatred with virtue” (ch. 63). The sage responds to anger with virtue, revealing his sagely character. This is clearly reminiscent of Jesus admonition in the Gospel, “Love thy enemy.” Laozi’s teaching is similar to that of Gospel, but quite different to that of Confucius. Confucius insists that we should requite hatred with straightness (zei 直) or righteousness. He emphasizes righteous governing, that is, leading the people with strict correctness. In other words, if the leader faces popular enmity and complaints, he has to deal with all issues according to ethical rules, regulations, and principles of justice. Unlike Confucius, Laozi suggests a much more generous teaching, suggesting that we requite hatred with virtue. How can we do that? By becoming one with Dao. The sage here has a mind generous enough to tolerate all of the myriad beings like a mother would do to her children. He is simple-hearted and unselfish, he even takes in evildoers and his sworn enemies. As a result, he or she is always loved and respected by the people. Heaven and Earth last forever. The reason that Heaven and Earth are able to last forever Is because they do not exist for themselves. Therefore, they are able to long-lived. (ch. 7)

Just as Heaven and Earth last forever, the sage enjoys eternal life. This is because “he or she puts his personal body (shen 身) last but, despite all that, it always comes first; and he or she treats the body as extraneous to himself but, despite all that, it is preserved.” In other words,

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“Is it not because the sage is without thought of himself (si 私) that he or she is able to perfect his or her self” (ch. 7). In this last statement, the same word is used for “him/herself” and “self” (si 私), but it means different things. In the first instance, it indicates self in the sense of ego and thus refers to a selfish attitude; in the second case, it refers more to the personality, the organic selfhood of the person. According to the text, our ultimate concern should be the perfection of our true self, our inherent personality; doing so, we can enjoy eternal life. Not all ancient Daoist texts agree on the ideal vision of the sage. The Daode jing describes him or her as one who pursues the ultimate return to Dao. As the ruler of the world, he endeavors to let the people recover simplicity, releases the strings and restrictions of culture, and accepts the disgrace of all community members as his own. In addition, he perfects his inherent selfhood or personality, always sides with the weak, and cares that all should realize themselves within an impartial society. In contrast to this, the sage of in the second major Daoist text, the Zhuangzi, called the perfected (zhenren 眞人), is someone who enjoys absolute freedom in the marvelous world of Dao. In a state of “free and easy wandering,” he frees himself from all restraints, intentions, and outward aims, including even worthwhile pursuits such as the perfection of one’s selfhood or the completion of the community. In the Zhuangzi, everything is just as it is, and our job is to allow it Fig. 22. Perfected with Peach and let go. The text emphasizes freedom and seclusion, getting rid of all attachments and leaving the world rather than remaining in it. In sum, the sage in the Daode jing, while remaining in the world, benefits all living beings without making a display

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of his own merits, the perfected in the Zhuangzi searches for ultimate freedom in the grandeur of nature, retiring from the world. Since Zhuangzi tends to prefer a certain distance from society and himself refused to serve in office, I focus more on the sage of the Daode jing who neither retires from the world nor withdraws from political activities. Laozi’s sage advocates the politics of nonaction and expresses a sense of purpose, a strong urge to realize Dao while living in society and in close community with people. Although he prefers a simple and natural community, he advises us to purify the world by living in it and not escaping from it. This ideal is close to the Christian ideal, comparable to the figure and acts of Jesus.

The Life and Works of Jesus One of the reasons why I compare Jesus with the sage in Laozi is that I myself am very attracted to the latter, the sage being an ideal I wish to work toward within my limited capabilities. At the same time, I also find that the Daoist sage really sheds a new and different light on the figure of Jesus in the Gospels while Christians in East Asia tend to see Jesus in the light and under the influence of the Daoist vision. Jesus declared the reign of God that is ineffable and invisible. Like Dao, it has no external, visible form, yet can be realized in experience. Jesus embodied the reign of God concretely in and through his life. Showing what the reign of God is like and how its people should live, he is called the sacrament of invisible God. Using modern philosophical hermeneutics, Jesus can thus be said to be the symbol of God, which can be interpreted newly in every age by the fusion of two horizons. The church, successor to the earthly activity of Jesus, performs seven sacraments to allow their members to become like Jesus. These sacraments are not just there for their own sake: they serve to build a community for people to realize the reign of God and live their life accordingly. Therefore, once the reign of God is complete, they will not be needed any longer. The figure of Jesus has come to us through the four canonical Gospels, memories of the historical Jesus that were transmitted orally in the community of the early church for several decades, then written down to

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a certain extent independently of each other and thus representing different theological views. Christians take it for granted that the Gospels come in four, but Muslims think this strange because the Q’uran is only one. Muslims believe that Q’uran consists of the very words of Allah and existed in him from the timeless beginnings of time and were transmitted straight from Heaven to them through the Prophet Muhammad. In Islam, the holy word can only be one, but in Christianity, the Gospel is a record of deeds and words of Jesus, and thus there can be four versions. The four Gospels in the New Testament thus provide four different portraits of Jesus, each presenting its unique perspective and contributing to the whole. The Gospel of Mark is the earliest. The story takes about two hours with the arrival of the reign of God – the heavens opening, the defeat of Satan in the desert, and the announcement by Jesus—and culminating with the death of Jesus as one who empties himself perfectly on the cross. The second, Matthew, provides a portrait of Jesus as one who completes the law on the basis of historical sources in the Jewish Christian community. Luke’s Gospel is a record compiled in Greek cultural milieu; it reflects the Christian community in the Hellenistic world. Here Jesus is gentle and open to gentiles, always praying for people. John, the latest Gospel, has a unique character. It shows Jesus in the light of transcendence: the Son of God is the divine light and eternal word, bestowing eternal life on humanity. Looking at the Gospels from the perspective of East Asian culture, a few interesting new dimensions emerge that shed new light on the figure of Jesus. First, like Laozi speaking of Dao in the world, Jesus proclaims the reign of God, showing the happiness that comes from changing one’s attitude and inverting one’s values. Jesus himself received the baptism of repentance from John the Baptist, then fasted and prayed in the wilderness for forty days and nights. After he came back from there, he preached his first sermon, the “Sermon on the Mount,” including the beatitudes—to show humanity what the reign of God is like, to open our eyes to new values quite different from and even contrary to those conventionally followed. According to Luke (13:33) and Mark (6:4), it is clear that Jesus in the “Sermon” says that the poor in spirit shall receive the reign of Heaven, the mourners shall be comforted, the peacemakers shall be called the children of God, and the meek shall inherit the earth. This shows that Jesus consid-

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ered himself as prophet. Matthew also notes, “Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of the righteous will receive the reward of the righteous” (10:41). In other words, someone who receives Jesus and his disciples may well be like a prophet or a righteous person: willing to abandon all he has to follow the inspired leader. Jesus was thus a man who tried to restore social equality in existing conditions of inequality through a drastic revolution of values. Like Laozi, he teaches that all worldly values are relative, that only the reign of God (Dao) has absolute value and is quite sufficient as the true criterion of judging human behavior. Jesus stands before us as an example of the upside-down values of the reign of God. Second, Jesus was a phenomenal teacher. He taught everywhere: people assembled in the synagogue as much as anyone willing to listen to his words anywhere. He also offered deeper explanations to his disciples, followers willing to forsake all their possessions to follow him. Sometimes he gave new interpretations of the Bible; sometimes he was open to discussing it. He taught by means of parables and metaphorical expressions, similar to those used in wisdom literature; he provided new insights and offered fresh interpretations, restoring the true meaning and intention of the divine law and the Ten Commandments. You have heard it said to those of old: ‘Thou shalt not kill!’ . . . But I say unto you: being angry with your brother without a cause is no different from killing him. . . . You have also heard: “Thou shalt not commit adultery!’ But I say unto you: whoever looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” (Matthew 5: 21-30)

Especially with regard to divorce, Jesus attempted to recover the original significance of marriage as found in the Genesis account of God’s creation. Jesus proclaimed the new law of love engraved upon the individual’s heart as the key by which people could return to God. The era of Moses had ended, and the new era of Jesus had begun. Unlike the Old Testament, which focuses on deeds, he taught that the mind, the individual’s motivation, will, or intent, was more important than his or her external behavior. Thus he taught that we should love not only our

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neighbors but even our enemies. However impossible this may seem, Laozi too insists that the sage requites hatred with virtue—for him, this is the best way of following benevolent Dao. It may be difficult but it is certainly not impossible to do so—for someone who follows Dao it comes even as natural. The early church had its own understanding of Jesus, especially Saint Paul: “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us,” he says (Galatians 3:13). This is fairly radical, the law being turned into a curse. Only someone willing to take on the humiliation, the inauspicious qualities, and blame of his country really can save the country and deserves to be its leader. Jesus was accused for the sake of humanity; he took the sins of the world upon him and died on the cross. He redeemed us from the curse of the law by taking it fully upon himself. We have seen how Laozi emphasized that the sage who takes the blames of the people can be a true leader. Jesus’ teaching always focuses on the infinite compassion of God. His is neither a jealous nor vindictive or judging God, like that in the Old Testament. Instead, he shows us God’s infinite mercy and teaches us that we are to act toward others as God acts toward us. In the same way, Laozi emphasizes the qualities of the sage representing Dao in the world as a nurturing mother. Third, Jesus was a healer. His healing and exorcistic activities bear a direct connection to his teaching. On his way to house of Jairus to heal the daughter, Jesus met a woman who had a problem with her blood. She came up behind Jesus and touched the hem of his garment—just by doing so, she was healed. Jesus said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be cured of your disease” (Mark 5:34). His words are revealing: it is not that he healed her with his particular power, but that her faith had healed her. This indicates his position that we should all stand on our own two feet, that we hold the key to the reign of Heaven within. Jesus had no desire to make people depend on him. He made her and many others stand up for themselves, pointing out that there was no need to depend on him to be cured but that they could and would been saved by their faith. In this case, the woman may have believed that her touching of his clothes was what made her well, but Jesus turned the center back on her, creating confidence in herself and encouraging her to trust in the power of her faith. He also said something along these lines to a Canaanite

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woman (Matthew 15:28), telling her that her daughter would be healed as she wished because her faith was great, thus making her trust in the power of God as it resides within the person. The healing ministry of Jesus thus never made people depend on his power and hold them under his control—unlike some founders of new religions today. Instead, he always insisted that they stand on their own two feet. His healing activities free people, giving them true life. The healing acts of Jesus are interpreted as works that reconcile and harmonize not only humanity but all living beings. The early church as represented by Saint Paul thus saw Jesus as the cosmic reconciler: God reconciled the world to Himself through Jesus the Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17-19). God had the fullness of life dwell, i.e., the fullness of divinity had taken up residence in Christ, thus reconciling to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven (Colossians 1:15-20). Not only Christians but all humankind, and even all beings in the world were healed and reconciled with God through the blood of Christ. Thus God revived all beings to eternal life. The cosmic dimension of this vision is quite reminiscent of us the ability of the sage in Laozi to participate in the enduring permanence of the Heaven and Earth. Jesus shared his company with socially disenfranchised; he broke bread even with tax collectors, such as Zacchaeus, commonly regarded as traitors and outcasts by the elite Pharisees (Luke 15). Doing so, he restored those socially oppressed to a position of full equality. He did not think himself above others but always remained equal; he uniformly treated the socially oppressed with respect and compassion, going far beyond normal social customs. Such acts of Jesus make it possible for the disenfranchised to catch a taste of the feast offered in the reign of God. Especially lepers at the time lived in great misery, forced to live apart in social isolation and forbidden to have any contact with others. They were supposed to shout, “Unclean, unclean,” when anyone came close to them, so people would be warned to keep their distance. Jesus went up to them, to these representatives of the most alienated of people, showing no fear or trepidation, and healed them. In this way, he symbolically showed the way to recover peace and find reconciliation in society. Similarly, Laozi shows no hesitation to treat the faithless and evil with faith and goodness. Also, Jesus willingly gave himself up to die for all humankind and like the Daoist sage always insisted on putting himself last. For example,

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once when a dispute arose among his disciples about who was the greatest, Jesus told them, “I am among you as one who serves” (Luke 22:2427). At another occasion, after washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus told them, “You also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13). Then again, he said, “The Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister to others, to give his life as the ransom for the many” (Mark 10:45). The title “Son of Man” indicates a heavenly being; Jesus himself may well have used it. Or it may have been bestowed upon him later by the church on the basis of apocalyptic literature. In either case, the commentators see it as connoting the mission, destiny, and final victory of Jesus. In other words, Jesus’ death led him clearly to his glory. “Jesus, after he had offered one sacrifice for all sins forever, sat down at the right hand of God” (Hebrew 10:12). This, then is the resurrected Jesus enjoying eternal life and glory as reflected in the narrative of the vacant tomb, his reappearance, and his promise to be with his disciples until the end of the world. This is the Jesus who represents eternal life, as he says to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Differences and Commonalities While Jesus has much in common with the Daoist sage as presented in the Daode jing, there are also significant differences between the two. The primary image of the sage, for example, is as the benevolent mother, the caretaker of the myriad beings, representative of Dao as immanent in the world who nourishes all human and other living beings. This is a rather abstract, ideal vision. In comparison, the key image of Jesus is that of the cross, a vision of a historical figure who reconciled humanity with God by letting himself be crucified and shed his blood and tears. The sage in the Daode jing is not a historical character with an actual life and a concrete origin. He goes far beyond the limited time of the compilation of the book and stands as a model for all of history. Linguistically free from proper nouns and place names with clear historical connotations, the text is intentionally transhistorical. Jesus, in contrast, was a real person who lived in a particular time and place in history, under the rule of King Herod of Judea and the Roman Emperor Augustus. He died in the time of Pontius Pilate, the procurator general of Judea, as a figure

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endeavoring to reach concrete and practical salvation through the reign of God. While the figure of the Daoist sage thus stands for the transcendence of Dao beyond all historical time and place and points to the relativity of all values in secular society, Jesus represents the concrete reality of life in society, expressed in his sermons, miracles, healing acts, and other ways of interacting with ordinary people. Another major difference between the two is that the Daoist sage tends to act in nonaction and does good in the world by leaving all beings as they are and naturally meant to be. Jesus, on the other hand, is radical in action. He teaches universal love as the highest commandment. Thus, for example, he advised a rich young man to abandon all he had and follow him and so he could inherit eternal life, despite the fact that the rich young man insisted he was following all of the Ten Commandments. Thus, while Laozi emphasizes nonaction and naturalness, Jesus actively works for and practices goodness, changing the world for something new and not just reversing it toward an original state of purity. Then again, Laozi describes the character of the sage by using the image of naturalness: he is an old man smiling gently and innocently, just like a child. He is pure and simple, innocent like a child, yet he is also like the sea, broad-minded and able to admit and care for all beings. The sea is at the lowest level and receives any kind of water from all sorts of places, some clean, some dirty. Yet it also has its own unique vitality and power of purification. The Daoist sage is much like the sea. Jesus, on the other hand, represents the image of the suffering servant of God, like some prophets in the Book of Isaiah in the Old Testament. He is distinctly human rather than that part of nature. On the cross, he laments: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46; Mark 15:34), reflecting a poem of lamentation found in the Psalms (Psalm 22). He is nothing like a smiling old man or an innocent child; he is completely immersed in the suffering of the world. This is both a cultural difference and one of language and image. Despite all these differences, however, there is an amazing degree of fundamental commonality between the two. One common point is that both encourage a major transformation or even conversion in life. They both insist centrally that people need to transform their minds, attitudes, and viewpoints. To realize the ideal of the Daoist sage, we must abandon secular values, i.e., all valued in the

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secular world, empty our minds, and follow Dao. The way to follow Jesus is essentially the same. We must give up all we possess and devote ourselves completely to the reign of God. In other words, to obtain the most precious pearl of all, we must sell all we have and follow Dao or Jesus in spite of whatever suffering and solitude we might encounter. Another common point is that their thoughts include a strong social dimension. The sage in the Daode jing as well as Jesus in the Gospels strongly intend to realize a society of equality, a simple and harmonious community where all people, even the poor, can live happily. They intend to bring reconciliation and peace to the world by helping those disenfranchised, alienated, and weak, cheering them up and becoming their advocates. Thus the Daode jing describes its ideal of a simple and peaceful community, where people live by following Dao (ch. 80). Small and rural, it forms part of the countryside. People here enjoy a simple lifestyle and relish the beauty of simplicity; they are happy with the way it is, not needing outside things or wanting any change. A highly similar ideal of community is also present in the early church, where members fulfilled each other’s needs and no private property existed. The ideal community as suggested by both the followers of Jesus and of early Daoism is still alive and well in people’s minds today. It plays an important role as an inspiring model to work for and strive to realize whenever we constitute a new community. We may not always succeed to live in this way, but we still keep on longing for it and want to return to it. The greatness of Jesus and the Daoist sage, therefore, lies not in that they achieved their work successfully, but in that they continuously tried to empty their self in order to endure suffering on behalf of others. Greatness appears in the minds of those who are generous enough to accept the sins and dishonors of others and never stop pursuing their ideal. In addition, both Jesus and the Daoist sage attained similar ultimate states. They both realized oneness with Dao or God and enjoyed eternal life, a victory over ordinary decay through spiritual wholeness as well as resurrection by a higher power. Thus, both religious traditions they represent emphasize the life eternal as salvation.

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Ideal Personality What kind of person, then, is the ideal in both religions? Several passages in the Daode jing and the Gospels give a good indication. For example, Laozi says that princes and kings refer to themselves as “lowly,” “humble,” or “insignificant,” never desiring to shine forth in a fanciful way like jade, but always striving to be coarse-looking and useful like stone (ch. 39). We need stones to walk on it and even to pave the road. What he means here is that it is important to be helpful by serving others humbly and constantly, living ordinary lives in a hidden way. This in many ways echoes the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. Satan tempted Jesus to use his powers and turn stones into bread. If he had done so, he might have become famous for his miraculous powers and distinguished action. Satan also dared Jesus to cast himself off the pinnacle of the temple, another way of achieving notoriety in the society. In spite of being tempted to live the lustrous life of a hero, Jesus stuck to himself, rejected the temptations, and continued in humility. In fact, he lived as an ordinary man of Nazareth for over thirty years, in the common existence as a carpenter or laborer. Like the ideal leader in the Daode jing, he did not shine forth as jade but was more like the common stone used to paving streets. By doing so, he was one of us and with us. The Daode jing further advises us to follow Dao rather than assume airs, indulge in luxury, or try to conquer the world. The world is a mysterious vessel, tender and fragile, and the more we try to grasp and control it, the more we lose it and the more we try to distinguish ourselves, the more we fail. Thus, the sage does away with all excess, extravagance, and indulgence (ch. 29). At one with dust of Earth, he or she is part of Dao, which is none other. Dao cannot be found in any particular place outside the world, but forms the very base of all reality, of all common and trivial things. In comparison, the Gospel of John shows how Jesus is tempted by his brothers and family at the time of Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles. The traditional pilgrimage festival commemorates their 40-year wanderings through the Sinai desert after the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. At this time they lived in make-shift shelters called tabernacles or booths. To celebrate this feat, Jews in the old days undertook a pilgrim-

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age to Jerusalem to offer sacrifices at various tabernacles for seven days, culminating in a big offering at the temple. As the festival was coming up, Jesus’ brothers advised him: “Leave here and go into Judea, so that your disciples also may see the work you are doing. For no one who wants to be widely known acts in secret. If you do these things, show yourself to the world” (John 7:3-4). His brothers tempted him to show himself in full splendor and make himself a hero, so that he can do what he wants to do. But Jesus rejected them. “My time is not yet come,” and did not go to Jerusalem in splendor. His various family members went first; he followed later, incognito (John 7:10). Thus, Jesus acted without attracting public attention or recognition, never making himself conspicuous. In the same manner, he faced his death by crucifixion without any glorious display. In this respect he is quite similar to the Daoist sage: he stays within common society and does not show himself off to others; like the latter, he conceals his splendid light in the dust of the world. They both serve as models for pure and spiritual people, encouraging them to act with the same attitude in life. According to the Daode jing, superior rulers simply do their job and get their work done, while the people all say, “it happened to us naturally” (ch. 17). Jesus similarly left after performing miracles. Once a crowd tried to set him up as king, but he escaped, went to a quiet place, and prayed alone. This serves as a good example for all of us. When we achieve something or gain success, we must not adhere to it and make a show of it, but rather let go and withdraw. Both Jesus and the Daoist sage show this as the ideal way of being in the world. Withdrawing at the proper time means to follow Dao, to obey the will of God. After healing the daughter of a synagogue leader, Jesus gave strict orders not to let anyone know (Mark 5:43). He says, “When you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing” (Matthew 6:3). This closely matches the Daoist sage’s attitude to life. It is both simple and beautiful, creating harmony throughout. The Daode jing insists that it is the key job of the sage to “let the people transform themselves” (ch. 57). While the sage guides them, they never realize this but think that they achieved success through their own doing. Guiding without interfering, opening people to the transformation that is best and most natural for them—this is the way of the sage and the sign of a

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true leader. It reflects the conviction that everything in the world is equal before Dao, that all human beings are equally precious. The Gospel echoes this. Jesus insists that anything we do for little children or for ordinary people—the simple, unimportant, miserable—has the same if not higher value than what we do for God. Jesus never takes credit. When he heals the sick, he always tells them that it is their own faith that makes them well. For example, at one time a man brought his son who suffered from spirit possession. Jesus told the father, who was full of doubts, “All things can be done for the one who believes.” He helped him cry out to God, “I believe: help my unbelief!” With these words, he let the man have faith in God’s power; he convinced him that his faith in God would heal the child (Mark 9:24). That is to say, even though Jesus healed the sick by the power of God, he never let them be only the objects of healing but caused them to stand on their own feet, be free and mature, full of faith and life to move forward. Therefore, if we realize the reign of God in everyday lives, Fig. 23. Immortals Playing Music we can implant faith and trust in God in everyone we meet just by living simple and free lives.From our model, they too can understand the life of Jesus. The Daoist sage as he shows us the best way to live simply, peacefully, sincerely, and freely in many ways is thus none other than Jesus. As his image is engraved on our lives, we come to truly realize how much we really are like him.

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Further Readings Beetham, Christopher A. 2008. Echoes of Scripture in the Letter of Paul to the Colossians. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Bible. 1991. The New Oxford Annotated Bible: An Ecumentical Study Bible. New York: Oxford University Press. Dryzek, John. 1995. “Green Reason: Communicative Ethcs for the Biophere.” In Postmodern Environmental Ethics, edited by Max Oelschlaeger. Albany: State University of New York Press. Dubos, Rene. 1972. A God Within. New York: Scribner & Sons. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1976. Philosophical Hermenuetics. Berkeley: University of California Press. Girardot, Norman J, James Miller, and Liu Xiaogan. eds. 2001. Daoism and Ecology: Ways within a Cosmic Landscape. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Kim, Sung-hae. 1981. “The Righteous and the Sage: A Comparative Study on the Ideal Images of Man in Biblical Israel and Classical China.” Th. D. Diss., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. _____. 2008. “The Immortal World: The Telos of Daoist Environmental Ethics.” Environmental Ethcs 30:135-57. Murray, Robert. 1992. The Cosmic Covenant: Biblical Themes of Justice, Peace and Integrity of Creation. London: Sheed and Ward. Nash, Roderick. 1989. The Rights of Nature: A History of Environmental Ethics. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Plumwood, Val. 1993. Feminism and the Mastery of Nature. London: Routledge. Rhoads, David, Joanna Dewey, and Donald Michie, eds.. 2012. Mark as Story. New York: Fortress Press. Slingerland, Edward. 2003. Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China. New York: Oxford University Press.

Chapter Four Freedom in Zhuangzi and the New Testament The Zhuangzi, the second major text of ancient Daoism, discusses how things made and regulated by human beings tend to be evaluated according to whether they are useful or useless, valuable or worthless, good or bad. All these discriminating judgments are highly restrictive and prevent people from grasping reality as it is. A classical category of evaluation and discrimination in antiquity was that of social class. Today it still lingers as the distinction between cultures and ethnic groups, encouraging the delusion that we have nothing in common with other people and cultures in the world. It also applies to the evaluation of the animal and vegetable kingdoms as separate and inferior—another highly artificial line drawn by humanity. The reason people create such classifications and distinctions, attributing certain values on particular people and things, has to do with the fact that things have a limited and relative importance to specific people. This contrasts with true awareness that arises with the easing, lifting, or even elimination of such limitations and restrictions—which are, after all, not real but produced by the mind. Zhuangzi provides a particularly superb expression of the relativity of all values and classifications in literary form, making use of exaggeration, fables, and humor, giving poignancy to his key points. The first seven of the altogether thirty-three chapters of the Zhuangzi are known as the Inner Chapters, long believed to be by Zhuang Zhou himself and expressing his real meaning most closely. The book begins with a chapter entitled “Free and Easy Wandering” or “Relaxed and Easy Play” (Xiaoyaoyou 逍遙遊). Its core message is that anyone, not confined to a limited space or perspective, can be at ease in life and maintain a deep feeling of joy and relaxation while looking at all things in the universe. 94

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The very first story is about a giant fish who transforms into a bird, crossing over the limitations and boundaries commonly seen by human beings. Thus, he can fly up high into the sky and wanders around the universe seeing everything widely and openly. The text describes the fish as being called Kun and living in the Northern Darkness. “I do not know how many thousand miles he measures.” This, of course, is quite mythical. There is no way a fish could measure thousands of miles, showing how Zhuangzi uses exaggeration to break down common sense.

Fig. 24. The Giant Peng

Next, the fish transforms into the giant bird Peng which, too, is gigantic and measured in miles. “When he rises up and flies off, his wings are like clouds all over the sky. As the sea begins to move, hesets off for the Southern Darkness and its Lake of Heaven.” This shows that it is the universal harmony, which transforms the fish into a bird, making him new as much as it continuously changes and transforms all things in the world. A sage called Universal Harmony adds, “When the Peng travels to the Southern Darkness, the waters of the sea are roiled for three thousand miles. He mounts the whirlwind and rises up 90,000 miles, leaving like a sixth-month gale.” This introduces a sage, come to shatter fixed ideas and eliminate the limits of human knowledge. He sees the transformation and observes how the Peng rises on the wind and wanders radiantly around the world.

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Next, the text describes what the bird sees. “Wavering heat, bits of dust, living things blowing each other about by the wind—such is the azure of the sky. But is that its true color? Or does it just look like that because it is so far away and has no end?” By the same token, the Peng looking down at the earth will see it as blue, too. This makes clear how the story is about perception and limitation. We commonly say that the sky is blue, but it may not actually be so. Rather, it is blue because we see it in a particular way. In other words, what we think of as sky and as blue is merely a fixed idea, a conception lodged in our mind that should be broken. Also, all depends on degree. “When water accumulates, if it is not deep, it does not have the strength to support a big boat. If you pour a cup of water into a depression on the floor, then bits of grass are like boats in it. But place the cup in it and it will stick. This is because the water is shallow and the boat is big. When wind accumulates, if it is not deep, then it will not have the strength to support big wings. Hence, when the Peng flies up to 90,000 miles, the wind is underneath it and it beats the wind. Its back shoulders the blue sky, nothing hinders it—thus he sets off for the south.” In other words, the huge bird symbolizes a being of great wisdom, who sees all things from a greater perspective and soars freely about the sky. In contrast, lesser beings, such as the cicada and the dove, live in the more limited circumstances, in the lower part of the world. They comment, “When we rise up to fly, we quickly bump into the elm or sandalwood tree and come to a stop. Sometimes we do not even make it and simply fall to the ground. Why all this fuss about reaching 90,000 miles into the sky?” The text duly comments, “What do these little creatures know? Little understanding cannot reach great understanding; the shortlived cannot measure up to the long-lived.” That is to say, creatures of little wisdom or discriminating knowledge engage in discerning and classifying things, then establish their particular vision as absolute truth. They have no way to gain or even appreciate great understanding, seeing things from the perspective of Dao. If we insist on our particular narrow point of view, determining that this is right and that is wrong, that I am right and you are wrong, we overlook the fact that all viewpoints you or I may have are inevitably limited. We have to get over both of them and reach a vision from a wid-

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er, greater, higher perspective. Thus little understanding cannot reach great understanding, the short-lived cannot measure up to the long-lived. Zhuangzi further expands this point with the example of the shortlived “morning mushroom which knows nothing of twilight and dawn, and the summer cicada that knows nothing of spring and autumn.” In contrast to this, there are some excessively long-lived creatures. For example, “In Chu there is a caterpillar for whom 500 years are a spring and another 500 years are a fall.” Similarly, the gigantic sandalwood tree lives so long that it takes him 8,000 human years for one spring and another 8,000 for one fall. Although the morning mushroom grows in the morning, it does not know about noon, afternoon, or night since by then it has already gone again. The cicada only lives in the summer and has no clue of the existence of spring and fall. Their perspective is radically limited by their life span. Unlike them, the rather mythical caterpillar and sandalwood tree are excessively long-lived. For them, what humans consider a year would be a tiny portion of their long existence. Zhuangzi emphasizes that we cannot know longevity unless we experience it fully, to the degree of the truly long-lived, such as the mythical Pengzu 彭祖 who lived for 800 years. “Multitudes of men tried to match him. Is this not pitiful, indeed?” Pengzu is a spirit immortal, yet even he cannot compete with nature’s age-old wisdom. Zhuangzi thus has no intention of insisting that human beings are supreme in all creation. Rather, they should learn from nature, because other creatures such as trees and fish have a closer connection to Dao than they do humanity. Modern ecology bears this Fig. 25. The Immortal Pengzu perspective out to a certain degree, bringing Zhuangzi’s views into the realm of contemporary science. It should be obvious by now that his take on Dao is quite different from that of Laozi. The latter emphasizes Dao as the mother of the universe, with its key characteristics of feminine, tender, and weak. He

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stresses that these three features, as much as water being stronger than rock, reveal the force of Dao most clearly. With this imagery Laozi balances the common human scale which places the masculine, the strong, and the leading at the top, reversing it to a certain degree so it can be leveled. Zhuangzi, in contrast, breaks down the imbalance at the very foundation of all scales and evaluations. He shows just how much our thoughts and all value judgments are nothing but little understanding, a mere reflection of prejudice and artificial social norms. All these inherent standards of discrimination should be opened up and broken down—a fact he illuminates with literary allegory, satire, and logic. Zhuangzi’s superior logic that transcends discrimination appears most clearly in the chapter on “Making All Things Equal” (Qiwulun 齊物 論). Here he states that “everything has its ‘that,’ and everything has its ‘this.’” As long as one remains on the position of either this or that, one cannot see anything in its entirety, but through multi-level understanding one can come to understand it. He further argues that all they are interdependent and relative to each other. “‘That’ always comes out of ‘this,’ and ‘this’ depends entirely on ‘that’.” The two continue to give birth to each other. For this reason, “where there is birth, there must be death,” and vice versa. Acceptability depends on something being unacceptable; every time we say ‘right,’ we imply that there is something somewhere that is ‘wrong,’ and so on. Overcoming this mutual interdependence of all worldly judgments and classifications, “the sage does not proceed in such a way, but illuminates all in the light of Heaven.” This means that the sage does not judge anything from what or where or how it is in relation to other things, but sees anything and everything in its own unique right, as illuminated through Heaven. Heaven here indicates nature, the natural so-being of things. Heaven in Zhuangzi has a variety of meanings. On the one hand, he connects it to the creator and the supervisor of all things, similar to the concept of God; on the other hand, he relates Heaven to Dao, which in turn represents the absolute, perfect reality, cosmic value without particular personality. Dao or Heaven also stands for the concept of physical nature as naturalness, the ongoing creative change of the universe. In other words, there are three distinct aspects in Zhuangzi’s concept of Heaven. When he says, therefore, that the sage sees things as illuminated in the light of Heaven, in Christian terms he means to see the world from God’s point of view.

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This being so, how can we possibly live without making any distinctions between things? It is quite impossible to function in the world by giving up distinction-making altogether. Still, it is important to recognize that all arguments about evaluations and ways of doing things are based on relative truth and can never lead to universal agreement or cosmic understanding. By realizing that everything is relative and abstaining from giving absolute value to anything, by using things as appropriate at the right time and place, we may just be able to remain flexible and open enough to come close to Heaven, to what Zhuangzi calls “great understanding.” If we fail to succeed in a project or make a mistake, we will accordingly not suffer from extended blame or get entangled in remorse or regret. This is because we always come back to the fundamental knowledge of Heaven underlying all. This in turn creates a very basic freedom, closely related to our appreciation of everything as we see the world and all things from God’s point of view, from the cosmic perspective of Heaven or Dao.

Zhuangzi on Freedom Zhuangzi provides a good description of people who have reached a heightened state of awareness, the state of mental freedom that comes from the realization of Dao. He also gives a detailed outline of how exactly to acquire such freedom. The people he talks about are unique in that they are not of high rank, learned, or special but ordinary folk. In this respect, too, he is true to his principle of the equality of all things and beings—providing yet another close parallel to Christianity. Many Christian saints are from poor families and of common background, although some also were doctors, kings, and noblemen. They, too, as in Zhuangzi, are considered special not because of their social role, status, or achievement but because they have reached a free state of mind in the love of God. Similarly Zhuangzi’s sages or perfected have acquired a heightened state of awareness and self-liberation based on extended selfcultivation and the application of Dao in everyday life. The chapter entitled “Mastery of Nourishing Life” (Yangshengzhu 養 生主) tells the story of Cook Ding, who was in charge of preparing the ox for sacrifice by cutting its carcass up into suitable pieces. A craftsmen, a

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butcher, Cook Ding was a kitchen worker in the service of a feudal lord: he was not a man of high standing. But he did his work with exceptional skill. As Zhuangzi says, At every touch of his hand, every heave of his shoulder, every move of his feet, every thrust of his knee—things went smoothly. Zip! Zoop! He slithered the knife along with a zing, and all was in perfect rhythm, as though he were performing the dance of the Mulberry Grove or keeping time to Jingshou music. Fig. 26. Cook Ding Cutting Up the Ox

In other words, his actions are so smooth that it is as if he was performing a dance, moving easily to an inner tune of heavenly music, working on a level of indescribable virtuosity. When asked about his fantastic skill, however, he denigrates the technical part: “What I care about is Dao.” In other words, he places all his emphasis on cultivation of Dao rather than practical skills or expertise in the human world, realizing Dao fully while working in ordinary life, in a menial task, giving testimony to the fact that Dao is present in all things. He then explains further: “When I first began cutting up oxen, all I could see was the ox itself. After three years I no longer saw the whole ox. Now I do not see it with my eyes, but encounter with my spirit. Not looking with my eyes, my personal perception and understanding have come to a stop, and now spirit just moves where it wants. I go along with the patterns of nature, strike in the big hollows, guide the knife through the big openings, and follow things as they are. So I never touch the smallest ligament or tendons, or much less a main joint.” The patterns of nature are inherently in the flow of all things, present in everything, in the very nature of things, so that trees, people, and the ox are just the way they are. Since he moves with spirit, not only does Cook Ding perform with virtuosity, he also never needs to sharpen his

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knife. He cuts so smoothly that his blade never dulls, even after many years. When he tries to cut through a ligament or tendon, he always endeavors to follow the patterns of nature, working with care and concentration and keeping his vision subtle. Human life, he says, is just like this. There are times when things get complicated, when relationship are so entangled they are hard to unravel. At this time, great effort is needed to find the patterns of nature and follow it. But under most circumstances, in ordinary situations, it is quite easy, the obvious path to follow. In other words, we should strive to live and work not by force, pushing things around as we please, but always follow the patterns of nature. Once we know how to do this, all things gradually start to loosen up, to release their knots. It is like finding a way to unravel a knot without pushing or pulling or cutting. Eventually, Cook Ding says, “the whole thing comes apart like a clod of earth crumbing to the ground. I stand there holding the knife and look all around me, completely satisfied and reluctant to move on, and then I wipe off the knife and put it away.” Thus he, an ordinary butcher, has realized Dao. He takes pleasure in the completion of a difficult task, accomplishes his work by following the pattern of nature. His interlocutor, Lord Wenhui, is very pleased: “Excellent! I have heard the words of Cook Ding and learned how to nourish life!” What is interesting about this tale is that the teacher is Cook Ding while the student is the Lord, his employer. It shows that learning Dao is not necessarily dependent upon one’s status in society. It is possible for everyone to realize Dao as one learns how to follow the pattern of nature in his work. Chapter five, “The Sign of Virtue Complete” (Dechongfu 德充符) presents another good story, this time featuring Confucius—a fictional, stylized version of the historical figure, called by his personal name, Zhongni 仲尼. A teacher of philosophy in his native state of Lu 魯 (modern Shandong), he is visited by man called Shushan No Toes 叔山無趾 who had his foot cut off as a punishment for some offence. This kind of corporal mutilation was common in ancient times, marking people permanently as criminals, so they could be shunned by established society. Shushan sees Confucius in the hope to become a better person, but he is in for a rude scolding: “You were not careful and thus have brought this misfortune upon yourself. You may want to learn from me now, but it’s already too late for you.”

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That is, Confucius refuses to accept him as a student. He condemns him for his earlier crime, sees him as nothing but a released prisoner and gives up on him completely. In other words, Confucius categorically classifies Shushan as a bad person who has committed evil. Would we not do the same? How easily do we establish barriers between ourselves and others by saying that we do not want to be concerned with them? Shushan, however, defends himself. “It’s only because I did not know my duty and was heedless of my body that I lost my foot. I have come to see you now because I am still possessed of something far more precious than my feet, something I hope to preserve and expand.” Shushan thus turns out to be not a simple, ordinary villain. He acknowledges that he did wrong and does not deny that he was fully responsible for the punishment he incurred. That is over and done with. Now he is concerned with something more precious, for whose development he needs instruction. And he hopes to get that from the most famous thinker and teacher in the state. But he has come to the wrong man. “There is nothing Heaven does not cover; there is nothing Earth does not support. I thought of you as Heaven and Earth, sir. How could I have expected that you would treat me like this?” We cannot say whether the real Confucius would have been so callous—obviously in this allegorical tale he is a fictional character created by Zhuangzi. For him, Confucius and his teachings of basic moral virtues—doing good or benevolence (ren 仁), social responsibility or righteousness (yi 義), behaving with etiquette or ritual propriety (li 禮), and clear understanding or wisdom (zhi 知)—are near-sighted and limited. Just as they are, they are less than perfect. Though it is, to some extent, necessary to apply relative value to the world to make it right, yet it must not be thought that this is all. Even anyone who never practices the basic moral virtues can always be reformed and made a new person. Thus, instead of classifying them as criminals or wicked people, one should develop a generous and open heart to embrace all people: this is the challenge Zhuangzi poses to Confucius and his followers. A mind full of Dao should embrace all beings. Jesus tells a similar story. “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:1-3). He also asks people to do what God would do to them by

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loving their enemies, do good, and lend things to others expecting nothing in return. “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36). The word “mercy” comes from the womb of the mother, just as Dao was regarded as the mother of all creatures. When we combine the “Sermon of the Mount” in Matthew (5-7) with the “Sermon on the Plain” in Luke (ch. 6), it is clear that being merciful is the way of perfection. As God makes the sun shine and the rains fall on good and bad people equally, he invites us to be generous to others by learning from God. Zhuangzi similarly makes Confucius concede that he has limits. After having listened to Shushan No Toes, he admits that his reaction was uncouth and offers to give him instruction. However, Shushan leaves. Confucius, in turn, uses the incident as a teaching tool: “Be diligent, my disciples! Shushan has been mutilated, yet he conscientiously studies to make up for the error of his previous conduct. How much more should someone whose virtue is whole!” Thus, Zhuangzi presents Confucius as a sage who is not fully liberated and has not yet arrived at the full level of realizing Dao; he still has to learn more.

Freedom in Community In the chapter, “The Great Ancestor and Master” (Dazongshi 大宗師), Zhuangzi introduces a friendly community of people cultivating Dao consisting of primarily four people, Master Sacrifice (Zi Si 子祀), Master Carriage (Zi Yu 子輿), Master Plow (Zi Li 子犁), and Master Come (Zi Lai 子來). The story makes no mention of their social position, educational background, place, or clan of origin—because none of these outside facts are important. What is important for the people in this community of Dao is to identify with their fellow men, with those who have the same aspirations to realize Dao. They leave all man-made social distinctions of rank and status behind and only speak of friendship, an egalitarian community in the name of Dao. This egalitarianism is also a basic characteristic of recluses in other cultures, of monks and nuns. Once a member of the community, you do not get better food even if you come from a well-to do family; you wear the same clothes as all others. This fundamental equality is the attitude

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of mind of people cultivating Dao. The community Zhuangzi describes is essentially like this. The four masters open their hearts to each other from its very bottom. “Who can look upon non being as his head, on life as his back, and on death as his rump?” That is to say, for them life and death are part of the same whole, the front and back of the encompassing harmony of Dao. There is no concept of life being good and death being bad. There is a time for life and also a time for death.

Fig. 27. Three Masters Exploring a Scroll

“Who knows that life and death, existence and annihilation, are all a single body? I will be his friend!” Saying this, the four masters smile at each other, sharing a deep agreement in their hearts. They are so in synch that they can communicate from mind to mind, with no need for words but by exchanging a smile. Then, however, life catches up with them and Master Carriage gets sick. When asked about his condition, he says, “Amazing! The creator is making me all crookedly like this!” This introduces the idea of a creative force that sculpts human life and health. The Chinese word for “creator,” which appears for the first time in the Zhuangzi in all of East Asian literature, is zaowuzhe 造物者, literally “the one who makes all things.” It indicates the notion that something made all that exists and continues to take an active role in changing things.

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“My back sticks up like a hunchback and my vital organs are on top of me. My chin is hidden in my navel, my shoulders are up above my head, and my pigtail points at the sky. It must be some dislocation of the yin and yang!” Yet, despite these rather drastic deformations, Master Carriage seems calm at heart and unconcerned. It is hard to imagine what he actually looked like. His whole body is crooked and, of course, greatly exaggerated. However his heart and mind are deeply calm. That is the heightened state of freedom. Although his body is twisted beyond imagination, he never utters even a trace of condemnation or roars up in an angry outburst. His mind is serene and at peace, he has a strong vibrant inner freedom that allows him to accept his disease calmly. Next, he drags himself haltingly to the well and looks at his reflection. “Oh, my! So the creator is making me all crookedly like this!” He is amazed and astonished, he laments his situation, yet he concedes that he cannot do anything about it. It is the working of the creator and nothing human beings have control over. This is made very clear when his friend, Master Sacrifice, asks whether he resents these developments and he answers. “Why no, what would I resent? If the process continues, perhaps in time he’ll transform my left arm into a rooster. In that case I’ll keep watch on the night.” In other words, his existence is not limited to the human form, but can cross over into all different species, part of the great harmony of all and unlimited by a particular kind. He concedes that it is not necessary for a human body to keep its form and thus allows for the possibility to turn into a rooster. The human and animal realms are interchangeable, and even open to transformation into other things. Thus, he suggests that possibly the creator will “turn my right arm into a cross bow pellet, and I’ll shoot down an owl for roasting. Or perhaps in time he’ll transform my buttocks into cartwheels. Then, with my spirit for a horse, I’ll climb up and go for a ride.” No matter what, he resolves to be content with whatever happens at any given moment and dwell fully in the present order of things. In this state, neither sorrow nor joy can touch him, which in ancient times this was called the “release from all bonds” (xuanjie 懸解). This implies that when people are attached to something, they become anxious and tense, and bustle about. But freed from all yokes, they can do whatever they have to do according to the natural order. They are no longer

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tied down, but released from all bonds. While some people will be forever tied down and cannot free themselves, their struggles are useless: “Nothing can ever win against Heaven; that’s the way it’s always been. What would I have to resent?” The story continues with Master Come getting sick. “Gasping and wheezing, he lay at the point of death. His wife and children gathered round in a circle and began to cry.” Master Plow shoos them out, lest they disturb the process of change. “Great is the transforming creator! What next will he make of you? Where will he send you? Will he turn you into a rat’s liver? Will he make you into a bug’s leg?” Again, this transcends the limitations of species and is somewhat exaggerated, but the point comes across clearly. The power of the universal harmony is magnificent, Dao and the creator keep working their wonders. Dao, creator, harmony—from the standpoint of Christian cosmology, they all refer to God. Even though Daoists claim to be free, this does not mean that they can do as they please. The inner renunciation that accepts suffering, disease, and death as they come is not arbitrary or willful. Rather, it is a deep-rooted freedom that comes from abandoning oneself completely to the harmony of Dao. This abandonment of will, moreover, is compared to childhood. “A child, obeying his father and mother, goes wherever he is told, east or west, south or north. And the relationship of [the cosmic forces of change] yin and yang to a human being is no less important than that of parents to child.” This being the case, there is no point refusing to obey the changes the creator brings about just because one is at death’s door. “The Great Clod burdens me with form, labors me with life, eases me in old age, and rests me in death. Thus, that which makes my life good is also that which makes my life good.” The Great Clod is an expression for the power of Earth, which in turn stands for the ongoing workings of Dao and the creator. He fashions people like a skilled smith casts metal and expects the latter to do his bidding. “If the metal should suddenly leap up and say, ‘I insist upon being made into a [famous sword like the] Moye,’ he would surely regard it as very inauspicious.” For this reason, having taken human form once, there is no reason to expect that one will remain on that level or demand from the creator that he fashion us into something to our liking. Any demands would just make the creator regard one as a most inauspicious sort of person. “Thus, I think of Heaven and Earth as a great fur-

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nace, and the creator as a skilled smith.” Knowing that Dao will take care of him to the best gives him peace of mind and he drifts off to sleep. This passage is reminiscent of the biblical passage where God tells Jeremiah to go to the potter’s house and observe him at work. The potter turns his wheel and makes pots in whatever shape he wants: some big, some small, some round, some oval, some deep, some shallow. Whenever a piece of pottery turns out to be imperfect, he takes the clay and makes it into something else. Watching this process, Jeremiah realizes the meaning of God’s words: “Can I not do with you, oh house of Israel, just as this potter has done? says the Lord. Just like the clay in the potter’s hands, so are you in my hand, oh house of Israel. At one moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it” (Jeremiah 18:6-7). Jeremiah duly warns the people of Israel, indicating that they will realize their sins only after having experienced ruin and exile. They are arrogant and believe that, being the chosen people, they will not be destroyed. No one liked Jeremiah as a prophet, the constant augur of ruin and destruction of the temples and the people of Israel. Though they suffered greatly, the Israelites eventually came back to their home country. They managed to keep from being scattered and preserved their faith, undergoing purification in exile. Jeremiah’s image of God as the potter and Zhuangzi’s understanding of Dao or the creator as a skilled smith are very similar. In either vision, it would be rather unpromising if we were to cling to the idea of becoming famous, great, or in any other way special. Whatever we do with our life, as long as we allow ourselves to be led by the pattern of nature, we can remain fully in a state of letting-go, which is a heightened state of freedom. There is equality in the harmony of Dao. There is equality among people and among things. What is valuable is that each one gets the utmost out of what he or she has received from Heaven. We do not have the power or vision to judge what is important and what insignificant. Life and death are equal and all things can be equally useful, even those commonly deemed useless.

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The Usefulness of the Useless In the chapter “In the Human World” (Renjianshi 人間世), Zhuangzi presents the parable of the serrate oak. According to this, Carpenter Shi was moving about the countryside when he passed a serrate oak standing by the village shrine. “It was broad enough to shelter several thousand oxen and measured a hundred spans around, towering above the hills. The lowest branches were eighty feet from the ground, and a dozen or so of them could have been made into boats. There were so many sightseers admiring the tree that the place looked like a fair, but the carpenter did not even glance at it and went on his way without stopping.” Unlike all the other people in the place who were full of admiration for the great tree, the carpenter—who should be looking at any form of wood with interest—takes no notice of it. He is, however, accompanied by an apprentice who does appreciate the oak and stares at it for quite a while. He sees it as a fabulous kind of timber and wonders why his master pays no attention to it. When he asks, Carpenter Shi replies, “It’s a worthless tree! Make it into boats, and they sink quickly; make it into coffins, and they rot in no time; make it into vessels, and they break at once. Use it for doors, and they sweat sap like pine; use it for posts, and they are eaten by worms. It’s not a timber tree.” In fact, the bottom line is: the tree is completely useless, there is nothing of use it can be made into. The parable thus presents the difference of perspective between the young apprentice, fascinated by the tree’s greatness, and the experienced carpenter who judges trees according to their usefulness. However, it goes beyond this by having the serrate oak take an active role itself. In the very night after the encounter, the tree appears to the carpenter in a dream, insisting that useful trees—like cinnamon whose bark is a spice in cooking and lacquer whose sap makes strong dishes—are cut and torn and die an early death. “Their usefulness makes life miserable for them, and they never get to live out the years Heaven gave them. . . . As for me, being useless is of the greatest use to me. If I had been of some use, would I ever have grown this large?” In other words, the quality of being of no use to human society makes it possible for the serrate oak to live so long and grow so big. This, of course, allows it to have a yet different kind of use: giving shade to

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large numbers of people and animals and representing the earth god at the village shrine. It may be useless in ordinary, practical terms but it has a greater use, one that allows it to realize its full potential and also serve large number of people for a very long time. Beyond that, it does not bear being insulted. “You, carpenter, are merely a worthless man getting closer to death. How dare you accuse me of being a worthless tree?” The carpenter in due course has a change of heart and finds deep appreciation for the tree. When, therefore, his apprentice questions the tree’s role as marker of the village shrine, he comes to its defense. “Shhh! Say no more! It’s only resting there. If we carp and criticize, it will merely conclude that we do not understand it. Even if it were not at the shrine, do you suppose it would be cut down? It protects itself in a different way from ordinary people. If you try to judge it by conventional standards, you’ll be way off.” Fig. 28. A Gigantic Tree

What he means is that we should just accept things as they are, leave the tree as it is, without issuing praise or abuse. In many ways, the serrate oak symbolizes the female and possesses an inherent femininity. Most mothers do not make a name for themselves because they have to play the role of the mother nearly all the time. Superficially, it seems they are wasting their time instead of making a living and not developing any special skills or becoming highly qualified professionals. That means it looks as if bringing up children were a waste of time, but in fact it is an essential social task and highly fulfilling task. What mothers do is to nourish and raise life.

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Now, there is also a different angle. It does not matter whether you are male or female, just think of a time when you have nothing to do. Even someone set on making a lot of money will not pray that all his efforts should result in making money. For example, engaging in devotions does not make money; resting does not create profit. Yet to him spending time with the children may look like a waste of time. However, unless we play with our children and share good times with our families, we cannot grow in love for each other. Engaging in devotions, enjoying a meal, resting together are all activities that enhance well-being and love. By the same token, for the tree giving shelter and the opportunity to relax is to give life. Religious recluses and community members share the same life issues. No matter what religion they belong to, their life is all about distance from the world, being useless in practical terms. In the end, they can all be like the serrate oak and provide broad shade to people. They become divine trees that live near to God. Their job is to embrace all those hardened by bitterness and suffering from inequality in the world. They must open space for them, without distinctions of rich or poor, allowing all people to come to them when tired and in need. They must give shelter to the sick, be they important figures in society or good-fornothing fellows, thereby to recover God’s life in their own. This is the usefulness of the useless.

Beyond Fortune and Misfortune The chapter “Fit for Emperors and Kings” (Yingdiwang 應帝王) shows how we can achieve the presence of absolute Dao in our lives, rise above all concepts of prayer and blessings, all ideas of auspicious or inauspicious. The text tells the story of a spirit shaman (Jixian) who could tell people’s fortune as if possessed by a spirit. He is contrasted with the Gourd Master (Huzi) who has realized Dao, his knowledge rising far above into the transcendent realm. The story begins by describing the shaman as someone who “knew all about people’s life and death, preservation and loss, misfortune and good fortune, longevity and mortality.” Using the fortune-telling method of face analysis or physiognomy, he could even predict the exact time of

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people’s death, scaring the common folk who would run away from him. There is, after all, such a thing as too much knowledge. We would be forever afraid if we knew when we are to die. Thus, people came to avoid him. However, there was a Daoist disciple by the name of Liezi, who went to see him and thought him highly fascinating. He sings the shaman’s praises to his teacher, the Gourd Master, even suggesting that he is superior in mastery. The Gourd Master realizes that Liezi is merely intoxicated by the shaman’s magic and needs teaching a lesson. He invites him to bring the shaman along to see him, which he does repeatedly over several days. The first time the shaman diagnoses the Gourd Master as close to death. When Liezi breaks into tears, he reassures him. “Just now I showed myself to him in the pattern of Earth: unconscious and motionless. He probably saw me with the wellspring of my integrity blocked.” The second time the shaman asserts that the Gourd Master “has recovered and is fully alive, his blockage having been only temporary.” In explanation, he notes, “I showed myself to him in the pattern of Heaven: unaffected by name or substance, the wellspring of my vitality issuing from my heels. He probably saw me with the wellspring in fine fettle.” The third time the shaman is confused. “Your master is unstable. There is nothing I can do to read his features. Let’s wait until he stabilizes.” This, too, leaves the Gourd Master unfazed. “Just now I showed myself to him in the neutrality of Great Nonvictory. He probably saw me with the wellspring of my vitality in balance.” To summarize, he points out that cosmic energy manifest in human vitality is a deep abyss that appears in nine forms, of which he presented three. The fourth time the shaman draws a complete blank since the Gourd Master shows his authentic mind of Dao, which is not apparent in any shape in the face. The fifth and final time the shaman breaks down completely, is frightened out of his wits, and runs away. The Gourd Master has the last laugh. “Just now I showed myself to him before emerging from the cosmic ancestor. Completely empty, I was intertwined with the source of all life, so he could not discern which was which. I bent with the wind and flowed with the waves. Thus, he fled.” Five different times the shaman comes to see the Gourd Master and gives five different diagnoses. He really cannot take the master’s measure since the latter has complete control over his own appearance and

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manipulates his internal energy and the power in his heart according to his will. The Gourd Master’s essence is Dao itself; it rests deeply in him. His essence is the core of Dao, and this core is completely empty. It pervades him fully, so that there is no individual desire and ambition left in him. Because there are no personal features in his unified state of mind, he could control his expression and frightened the shaman into running away. The Gourd Master’s lesson drives home. Liezi’s life will never be same. In the wake of this experience, he realized that he had barely begun to understand Dao. “He returned home and did not go out for three years. He cooked for his wife and fed his pigs as though he were cooking for his friends. He took no part in human affairs.” Liezi through this affair becomes a different person, embracing a state of mind that is completely unperturbed. Here no distinctions apply anymore: as long as you say that you prefer this state to the ordinary mind, or any one thing to another, you are still possessed by certain features you think you have. Having fully realized Dao you no longer hold any favoritism toward things or people. You no longer make distinctions, such as, “I like this man but I do not like that man; this man is my man and that man is your man; I want to do this and not that.” If we want to know whether we are getting closer to Dao, we should examine ourselves with regard to distinctions. Do we like one thing and dislike another? Do we prefer this to that? Or do find ourselves accepting a certain person even though we have loathed him for years? We can measure ourselves and gradually reach a point where we no longer make distinctions. No longer harboring a sense of self in our mind, we have reached a state of being one with Dao. In the end that’s what Liezi reaches. “He got rid of the carving and polishing and returned to plainness, letting his body stand alone like a clod. In the midst of entanglement, he remained sealed, and in this oneness he ended his life.” In other words, he was able to stand alone with an unperturbed mind, unmoved by worldly chatter, in the full realization of freedom. Freedom means the complete transcendence of all ideas of good and bad fortune. It means to remain utterly without attachment to either, all sense of being blessed or not blessed viewed in the relative sense of the flow and power of all life. It also means the complete tran-

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scendence of all popular beliefs in prayer for blessings—which is, after all, yet another expression of like versus dislike. Beyond all levels and classifications of knowledge, rank, or wealth in one’s full realization of Dao, as one reaches such a heightened state of mind, one relishes an exceptional state of mental freedom. Everyone can reach this, but it is not easy. As Zhuangzi says in the chapter “Free and Easy Wandering” (Xiaoyaoyou 逍遙遊), “the sage has no name, the perfect man has no self, the spirit man has no accomplishment.” Daoists are free from self too, resting in the oneness of the perfect state of mind in Dao.

Freedom in Christianity The New Testament occupies a similar position in Christianity as the works of Laozi and Zhuangzi in Daoism. Here, too, the idea of freedom is not a social or political concept but indicates the mature state of mind of a true believer based on the experience of salvation or oneness. As Saint Paul says, For I have learnt to be satisfied with what I have. I know what it is to be in need and what it is to have more than enough. I have learnt this secret, so that anywhere, at any time, I am content, whether I have too much or too little. I have the strength to face all conditions by the power that Christ gives me. (Philippians 4:11-13)

What he speaks of here is a state of spiritual freedom. It means the development of an inner capacity that lets you live satisfied and contented under all and any circumstances. It does not mean that you feel exalted only when affluent and frustrated when experiencing need. Freedom is a highly developed state of mind, expressed more clearly by Paul than by all others in the New Testament. Thus, he speaks of Christians as having freed themselves from all the various manmade regulations derived from the behavioral rules and technical guidelines of the Old Testament, including the Ten Commandments. “Freedom is what we have! Christ has set us free! Stand, then, as free people, and do not allow yourselves to become slaves again” (Galatians 5-1). “As for you, my brothers, you were called to be free. But do not let this freedom become an excuse for letting your de-

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sires control you. Instead allow love to make you serve one another” (513). Christian freedom, therefore, is not moral arbitrariness but the freedom to give your willingness to serve the law of God. Unlike the New Testament, there is very little development of the concept of freedom in the Old Testament. The word “freedom” occurs only briefly and simply means release from slavery. In the days of ancient Israel, people were forced into slavery because of debt, and it was accordingly possible to become a freeman when one paid off the debt. Therefore, the concept of freedom as a political and social concept in the Old Testament was rather simple, denoting only the rather literal freedom of not being a slave. It was only under the influence of Greek thought that the concept of freedom in the Bible developed into the higher state of mind apparent in the New Testament. In ancient Greece, political freedom, especially of free-born individuals in major city states, was of considerable importance. This gradually began changed into the idea of spiritual freedom, with the notion that only the wise could be truly free. That is, only the wise, the sage who realized the truth, could be free. Freedom of the individual in this sense was first introduced into the Old Testament only after the Hebrew scriptures were translated into Greek by the seventy translators. An example appears in the book of Ben Sira, compiled in 180 BC: “Free citizens will serve wise servants” (Ecclesiasticus 10:25). In the Hellenistic period, then, free citizens venerated wise slaves as masters. Wisdom was more precious than social status, inner realization was more valuable than outer, social freedom. Philo the Jew (ca. 20 BC-50 AD), a scholar representative of the Hellenistic world, saw freedom as the state of being saved from sin. He said that true freedom happens when a wise man follows the rules of behavior from his heart. The Israelites in due course accepted the Greek concept of freedom through the Septuaginta. It appears frequently in Paul’s letters. The New Testament mentions “freedom” eleven times; “freed man” or “free,” twenty-three times; and “made free,” seven times. Paul’s letters alone contain similar terms twenty-three times. However, in the Synoptic Gospel, the word “freedom” occurs only once, in the context of the son of king not having to pay taxes (Matthew 17:24-27). That is to say, the term only appears to indicate the economic concept of being free

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from tax payments. This shows that the concept of freedom in the synoptic Gospels is still quite close to that of the Old Testament. Freedom as an inner quality develops especially in the literature surrounding John and Paul. Both accepted the Greek concept and made it native to Christianity. In this sense, it has three aspects. First, freedom here is freedom from sin. In baptism, a person is freed from sin with Christ and is reborn newly as a child of God. The early Christian communities placed great importance on the gaining of new identity as a child of God. In fact, this was the true essence of being Christian at the time, all other things being extraneous and not valued very highly. There is a well-known remark in Paul’s letters that “there is no longer Jew nor Greek, there is no longer slave nor free, there is no longer male nor female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). What startles us most about this is that although Paul insists that there is no difference between slaves and freemen as Christians, he as much as the early church did not exert any effort to abolish slavery. Thus, Paul only pleads for a change of view: Christians should take their servants in as returning as brothers in Christ as a full and equal member of the church community (Philemon 1:16). There is no appeal to release slaves or let them go free. While accepting the unequal social system as it was without a call for systematic reformation, the early Christians call upon their followers to live in embodiment of the value of absolute equality though acknowledging the relativity of all. The implication is, in other words, that there is a force pushing for social equality, yet it could not bring about a social revolution directly. The problem of gender equality is very much the same. Although male and female are created equal in God, there is no push for the reformation of their institutionalized inequality in society. Thus, Paul says that females should keep silent or wear a veil in church. Early Christians accepted the principles of political hierarchy and the fundamental nature of social limitations as given, yet placed great importance on living in inner freedom through being aware of universal relativity and making an effort at finding relief from it Second, freedom for Christians is the freedom of love as released from the bondage of the law. For example, Paul compares Hagar to Sarah. The son of a female slave, Ismael lives according to the law of the Old Testament, while Isaac, the son of a free woman, relishes the glory of

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the new creed and lives as a child of God in Christ (Galatians 4:21-31). Christians are free to eat whatever food they find at the market; they do not have to live by keeping the law of food or purity nor that of circumcisions. Free from all the traditional laws, they can completely throw themselves into the only true law, that of love. Third, freedom for Christians is liberation from death and corruption. Human beings match the greater universe. “But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life” (Romans 6:22). Liberated from the bondage of decay and brought to eternal life, Christians plunge into being slaves of love to God rather than becoming libertines. For them, freedom is to serve with perfect love, honoring God and all people. Thereby “creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Romans 8:21-22). All creatures experience the same suffering as we do, which means that the freedom that the children of God enjoy will be enjoyed in conjunction with the entire cosmos.

Comparing Daoist and Christian Freedom Comparing the concept of freedom in Zhuangzi and the New Testament, the first thing that stands out is a major difference in the process of how to achieve it. Zhuangzi sees the natural world as close to Dao, documented in his parable of the big Peng bird. Human beings here have to learn from nature. In the Christian tradition, on the other hand, the opposite holds true. Because human beings get free from decay and death through Christ, he plays the role of a wedge and a bridge. Jesus tells his Jewish followers, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free” (John 8:31-32). The word of Jesus makes people see the truth, and knowing truth makes them free. The whole cosmos takes part in the great lamentation through human beings and waits for the glory of God. Humans are the center of concern, since they have to work for the glory of God time and again; it is in their power to liberate all. Here the order is Christ—

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humanity—cosmos. In Daoism, it is reversed: Dao—nature—world— humanity the order. Human beings are to return to their source, the ultimate from which all things arise. Despite this difference, there are quite a few similarities in the way the two religions see freedom. For example, Zhuangzi speaks of seeing things from the perspective of Heaven. From there, all relativity is overcome, which is basically the same as in Christianity. Human beings reach truth in this manner, and freedom in both Christianity and Daoism is essentially an inner state, a spiritual and mental attitude. Thus, Zhuangzi reaches for perfect freedom through realizing Dao; for him, perfect freedom is playing in harmony with all while remaining free from all limitations, including as life, death, and disease. Similarly, the New Testament, and especially the Apostle Paul, stress that God invites us to be liberated for freedom. When baptized, we must feel free as Christians; if we feel confined by this, something must have gone wrong. That is to say, having died in Christ, being liberated from sin, and being resurrected in Christ, law and death cannot drag us down. The Apostle Paul said that one ought to be free from everything, except a willing obedience coming from the love of Christ and the yoke of service to others. The law and its rules are to make men freer for the love of God; they would be wrong if they became another source of bondage. Zhuangzi’s freedom of playing in the harmony of Dao can be very inspiring. The relaxed passion of naturalness, experienced in a state of nonaction and in material and mental simplicity, as well as the wisdom of being content in all and every circumstances can protect the purity and authenticity of freedom. This emphasis on spiritual freedom, however, means that both regard political and institutional equality as secondary. Their teachings cannot easily form the basis for institutional and social reform. Spiritual freedom is central, and all other things flow freely from it. Then again, both Christianity and Daoism see differentiating categories like the social laws and rules of etiquette as limited and demand liberation from them. If asked what these manmade categories are, Christians point to such things as gentiles versus Jews, men versus women, slaves versus free men. They pursue freedom in the sense of being released from social laws and regulations that are based on differentiation.

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Zhuangzi, too, emphasizes differentiation as a major issue. He speaks of beauty versus ugliness, uselessness versus usefulness, good versus bad, right versus wrong. He insists that we should overcome all differentiating consciousness that classifies the world into this and that. Any adherence to the belief in prayers for blessings, any constricting observance of moral virtues such as benevolence and righteousness, prevent Dao from being actualized completely in the life of a free person. We have to overcome them all. Zhuangzi uses expressions such as “little wisdom” versus “great wisdom” to express the difference of living under the yoke of oppressing regulations and being free. He suggests a way toward seeing from the perspective of Dao or Heaven, thereby to reach great wisdom and become free from all attachments. This closely echoes the Christian position of seeing all as one under the cross of Christ while singing of freedom and playing in the truth. Third, both see achieved freedom as the source of greater devotion. Today we talk a lot about freedom, and people often misunderstand it as license to do what one wants. However, real freedom is not moral arbitrariness or going along with all one’s wishes. It is the base of something much greater. The highest stage of freedom is an absolute state: for Christians, it is to be servants of God; for Zhuangzi, it is to follow Dao and destiny without question. Thus, people can relieve one another of their burdens and can behave boldly and with conviction. They have freedom and hope. Looking at the glory of God, at the omnipresent action of Dao, with the conviction that they too will change into this glorious image, they become the salt of the Earth and attain strength: that is true freedom. The perfected in Zhuangzi plays in the cosmic harmony of Dao. They rely completely on Dao, going along with whatever the creator does, accepting the actions of the great smith while roaming in the space of Dao. Whatever comes, whether life or death, good or bad fortune, health or disease—they are ready for it and cheerfully accept it. Living in this manner, they both purify society and remain outside of it, living as recluses in their own unique communities. Even later Daoist communities are often like this, although more institutionalized and bigger. Still, it is also possible to live fully in Dao without leaving society, as Cook Ding demonstrates. Mastering Dao in whatever he does, he rests in nonaction and flows fully along, devoting his life to Dao.

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Both religions, too, entered a state of institutionalization, creating authority patterns and power structures. These should serve to make people free, teach them to stand on their own two feet. Yet, in both religions problems have arisen when authority became dominant and made people feel discouraged and chained. The early inspirational classics, then, teach us to remain free at heart, in each generation renew the institutions from within, and maintain a strong belief in truth.

Questions from the Audience Question: I have learned a lot from your thoughtful lectures. I have been wondering, as a Christian, to what extent can we take Laozi and Zhuangzi into our lives? Last year there was a warning about Gnosticism and the New Age movement as being harmful to a sound religious life from the standpoint of Catholicism. Can the insights of the sages and perfected in Laozi and Zhuangzi really help us? Yes, it would be desirable to have an ecumenical dialogue among the different denominations in Christianity and other monotheistic religions. But to me it seems unlikely to engage in that same kind of exchange with other cultural heritages that are not monotheistic. What standards do you think can we use to judge which tradition might be helpful? Answer from Sister Kim: You pointed to a serious issue that deserves much thought. How can we make use of Gnosticism, the New Age movement, and Daoist concepts and practices to resolve this? Maybe they can help us to promote health; maybe we can think of them as trends of thought in each period; or maybe we can see them as a challenge to our established religion. As long as we pick and choose from their visions carefully, we should be fine. However, there is also the real danger of a major challenge to the monotheistic religions, if people get involved in them too deeply and develop a belief in them. Over the years, I have attended many conferences on Daoist studies and culture and learned variously about the worship of founders of new religious sects, notably in the qigong community or among practitioners of Daoist internal alchemy. When a founding figure is deified and comes to wield absolute power over his disciples, he is no longer a representa-

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tive of the established tradition but represents a new religious movement that requires unconditional acceptance. He is far away from the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi, leaving no room for the freedom they propose. Rather he replaces it with blind belief and cult worship, with strong power and radical domination. Those awakened to Dao or truth always make people free. It is thus best to evaluate other groups and trends on the basis of their realized freedom and relation to truth. Zhuangzi has been interpreted in many different ways by a large number of commentators over the last 2,000 years. Their main focus has been on his vision of Dao and how to read his parables. As we have seen earlier, he is highly literary, uses a great deal of imaginative exaggeration, makes ample use of metaphors, and is full of humor. Thus, he makes people free and allows us all to be at ease. The Second Vatican Council is today the main standard of the Roman Catholic Church and represents its official position. It issued sixteen documents, including the “Declaration on the Relation of the Church to Non-Christian Religions.” Here the Church acknowledges not only monotheistic religions, but also Hinduism, Buddhism, and other world religions. It rejects nothing that is true and holy in these religions. Moreover, on Pope John Paul II’s recommendation on “the work of fostering vocations” for the priesthood, nothing is more important than spiritual development (Article 55). In order to lead a life of spiritual dedication, all priests should take part in dialogue and confront the challenge of adapting indigenous cultures. “Those who are devoted, carried by prudence and the love of Christ, by understanding other cultures take their real value. With the help of blessings, they will work out the best way to make it complete.” As Asian Christians, we have to consider deeply in what way we respond to such an invitation from the Church. Question : What is truth? How can we reach it? Answer: Thank you. This is indeed a difficult question. Let us look how Jesus responds to Pontius Pilate’s initial accusation. He says, “I was born and came into the world for this one purpose, to speak about the truth. Whoever belongs to the truth listens to me.” But when Pilate asks, “What is truth,” he leaves before Jesus can reply (John 18:37). Whenever I read this episode, I feel regret. How magnificent would it have been if we had heard the answer!

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Yet, maybe in some respect it is better that Jesus did not actually define truth. Nor do the Gospels give us a clear articulation. This means that the ultimate wording of what the truth is cannot be determined; it remains always open. This is reminiscent of Laozi who insists that Dao cannot be described in words or given a clear-cut definition. Whatever we can describe in words is not Dao. Therefore, what we express in words as “truth” can never really be the truth. The Gospels, and especially the Gospel of John, state that the truth is in Christ and in the Word. The original Greek for “word” is logos (John 1.1), which was with God from the very beginning. For this reason, the Apostle John did not say that all the words of Jesus after his birth into the world represent truth. The “word” is open and implies a certain mystery. Truth can never be realized fully in words, even those spoken by Jesus. Yet it is through that words that we come to have belief, and through belief that we can move forward toward truth. Although we have only as much as we need for salvation, we cannot say that is all the truth we have. Therefore, keeping truth open is a continued source of delight and fascination. Now, why should we not accept the fact that there is spirit working in other religious traditions? Truth happens when and where spirit is working, and human beings have become free because of spirit. When we accept the fact that spirit blows continuously all over the cosmos, moving wherever it wants, we also acknowledge that it is present in other religious traditions. All traditions harbor truth. Truth is what we all try to find, it is always which is with us and open to us. For this reason, having a strategic, formal dialogue with other religious traditions is not conducting a real dialogue. Rather, we should fully know the image of God, as we understand him as Christians in Christ. From there, in order to know the full dimension of truth, we need to comprehend the workings of Spirit in other cultures and the truth as it is known in different symbolic languages. This will encourage us to engage in a serious dialogue with others. Zhuangzi says that true awareness arises after the perfected come into existence. The perfected represent the arising of true wisdom or great knowledge. Such true awareness cannot be conveyed in words. It is not in Zhuangzi’s book, nor in the actual, concrete words of the Four Gospels. Words are merely a means to an end. Through them and the

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declaration of the Four Gospels, we come to know Jesus. Only as we experience life and salvation as Christians, truth sets us free. Truth is alive. If we truly want to know the teachings of Christ, we have to be like him. As the Apostle said, when we go deeply into it to the extent of perfect salvation, we no longer live as merely ourselves, but Christ lives in us and through us. In this manner, we can realize the truth as Jesus taught it. Truth must be complete within us; it is open to all, the subject of continuous pursuit, the deepest mystery of God. This may well have been why Jesus did not explain the meaning of truth when Pontius Pilate asked the question. His was not merely a theory, but he lived the truth in and through his life. There is need for a system. I certainly believe that. If people want to live in community, they cannot do so without. Without structure and systematization, no teaching can survive. Yet if any system becomes absolute, it disturbs the workings of spirit. It would hinder the energy of Spirit in the life of both the individual and the community. So, we should always remember the inherent relativity of all human systems and the fact that the sacraments are merely sacraments. Sacraments exists for the sake of making God’s inherently invisible nature present in worldly actuality. Consequently, the church, baptism, all rituals, laws, and teachings are essentially sacraments. No sacrament lasts forever. We need them while living in this world, while we were in state of seeing truth dimly, as if through a mirror. People inside a particular system should be especially humble. They should handle any position and authority they receive with modesty and humility. I cannot demand willing obedience from others. But in a state of spiritual openness, I can be the partner of another in our joint seeking of God. God’s spirit is with both of us, whether in high positions or of low rank, whether holding office in a system or being part of the common people. All join God’s order and pursue truth together. As necessary as a system is, it should never be allowed to become absolute. What humans make is relative to other things. Knowing that whatever structures exist are necessary, they have relative value. Then, if something goes wrong, people can open themselves in humility. This holds true to the relation between individuals in the church as well as between the church and other traditions. It also pertains to our having ongoing conversations with the classics of other traditions, like Laozi and Zhuangzi. There is no reason to give up the quest in advance, nor

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should we jump to hasty conclusion in the belief that we are completely sure. Truth has to be sought by having direct conversations with each other. It serves find God as alive and vibrant. We have to make Spirit come to life in all of us. This also leads to an open acceptance of culture. Culture should not be used to provide absolute assurance or cause the surrender of everything. We have to communicate with the cultural classics in order to pursue truth, and we have to be free to do so, lest absolutist thinking comes to obstruct freedom. Religious absolutism is a fearful thing, indeed. Christ calls upon us to become freed men or women. This has come to me in a completely new way as I was reading Zhuangzi. I had been aware of this before but now, in communication with Zhuangzi, I have come to know that his core intention—as much as that of Jesus—is to make people live in freedom and die comfortably in the harmony of Dao or God. How do we attain such a freed state? Let me give an example. Although the overall goal in the modern world is to achieve pervasive equality of men and women, is it unlikely that this is accomplished in our lifetime. Humankind has lived under a system of patriarchy for millennia at this point. Men are less likely to feel oppression on grounds of gender than women for whom it is often a great burden. Schools and families instill a feeling in girls from an early age that they are less important than boys. In some countries, women terminate their pregnancies because they carry a female child. Some of us were born—lucky survivors. This kind of sexual discrimination that threatens a person’s right to live has deep roots in the culture. However, if I as a woman complained about inequality all the time while living in this world, my life would be very miserable. We have to make an effort to reform the system, but if I stick to my opinion stubbornly and keep on cry and yelling until there is a major change, I have a miserable life with nothing to laugh about. Zhuangzi teaches us that all values, classifications, and systems made by human beings are relative to other things. People have to purify themselves and constantly change their viewpoint toward the perspective of Dao or God. Men and women have to reform together, however slowly, always alert for sexual discrimination and the way it is imprinted on their minds. Without a fundamental openness toward ambivalence and a deep sense of humor, I might have to leave the church, saying that

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I cannot possibly live in a community like this. I would have to follow Mary Daly who left, saying that there has never once been equality between men and women in the church. Would we do the same thing? Probably not. Rather, we should develop a clear vision of the limitations of the system, and then work for its reformation. This is much better and more productive than living in discontent and full of grudges. Knowing that God’s freedom pervades the vastness of Dao, I want to be alive in this freedom and experience the full realization of Dao, invited to share Christ’s freedom. This freedom allows me to realize that it really does not matter what I am: male or female, successful or a failure. Each such classification is secondary to our true being. As a result, we gain much of room in the mind, find the openness necessary to support people and allow them to live in freedom. The freedom Christ offers consists of self-devotion or commitment with love. People who have realized Dao do not lead a wanton, willful life but act in nonaction and thereby take charge of bringing society back to life. This is a great power, a deep freedom that comes from being entirely committed to Dao. People like this cherish certain a profound nobility in themselves. No one can even infringe on this nobility. To live like this is truly beautiful: it may well be what God has in store for us. Question: Is there any Christian thinker who has taken in the ideas of Laozi and Zhuangzi? Answer: There is. Thomas Merton liked Zhuangzi very much. A modern mystic, he wrote a book entitled, The Way of Chuang Tzu, engaging in a deep dialogue with the Daoist tradition (1969). Merton also appreciated Laozi’s ideal of nonaction as a perfect form of action, natural and free, because it involves neither force nor violence: “Nonaction is far from being inactive. It is supreme activity, because it acts without effort. Its effortlessness is not a matter of inertia, but of harmony with the hidden power that drives the planets and the cosmos” (Merton 1968, 76). In Christianity there have been two major currents of theology: negative and positive, the apophatic and kataphatic way. Negative theology focuses on God’s transcendental quality as completely different from the things of this world. Positive theology focuses on all things in the world being creatures of God and as such reflecting His image.

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God does not have form or individuality, because he is infinite being. Negative theology aims to know and experience God’s transcendence, which is not confined by time and space. Merton’s works show that Zhuangzi can serve as a good example of how to take a thinker from another tradition into Christianity. What attracted him to Zhuangzi was the strong emphasis on the inner freedom of the human being. Freedom is an essential point in Zhuangzi’s thought, and most of what he talks about is how to go about attaining it. Fig. 29. Thomas Merton

Further Readings Bras, Kick. 2011. “Thomas Merton – Word from Silence,” Studies in Spirituality 21: 261-72. Habel, Norman C., ed. 2000. Readings from the Perspective of Earth. Sheffield: Academic Press. _____, and Vicky Balabanski, eds. 2002. The Earth Story in the New Testament. Sheffield: Academic Press. Girardot, N.J. 1983. Myth and Meaning in Early Taoism. Los Angeles: University of California Press. Kohn, Livia. 2014. Zhuangzi: Text and Context. St. Petersburg, Fla.: Three Pines Press. _____. 1992. Early Chinese Mysticism: Philosophy and Soteriology in the Taoist Tradition. Princeton University Press. Merton, Thomas. 1968. Faith and Violence: Christian Teaching and Christian Practice. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. _____. 1969. The Way of Chuang Tzu. New York: New Directions. _____. 1973. The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton. New York: New Directions. Robinet, Isabelle. 1997. Taoism: Growth of A Religion. Stanford University Press.

126 / CHAPTER FOUR Ruffing, Janet K. 1995. “The World Transfigured: Kataphatic Religious Experience Explored through Qualitative Research Methodology.” Studies in Spirituality 5. Schipper, Kristofer. 1982. Taoist Body. Translated by Karen C. Duval. Berkeley: University of California Press. Serran-Pagan, Cristobal, ed. 2013. Merton and the Tao: Dialogues with John Wu and the Ancient Sages. New York: Fons Vitae. Van der Watt, Jan. 2012. “Aspects of Johannine Spirituality as It is Reflected in 1 John,” Studies in Spirituality 22:89-108.

Chapter Five Mind-Fasting and Unknowing While freedom in Zhuangzi is a state one reaches through oneness with Dao, Christians can enjoy freedom only in God’s truth. For this reason, the way to realize freedom in Daoism is to empty one’s desires first and then be filled with Dao, while in Christianity it is to contemplate God without the impact of human conceptions. The two major practices toward this state are ways of mental transformation outlined in the Zhuangzi and the mystical oneness described in The Cloud of Unknowing, a representative apophatic classic in the Christian tradition. The most important techniques in the Zhuangzi are sitting in oblivion (zuowang 坐忘) and mind-fasting (xinzhai 心齋). They are the earliest examples of meditation techniques found in East Asia as adopted by Confucianism, especially its method of quiet sitting (jingzuo 靜坐), and on Buddhism, notably on the practice of sitting in absorption (zuochan 坐 禪), better known in the West as zazen. The latter, characteristic of Chan or Zen Buddhism, is considerably different from the Indian Buddhist method of speculative meditation, standing under the direct influence of Zhuangzi’s telepathic and immediate practice. It leads to a sudden breakthrough of complete awareness of ultimate reality, unlike the Indian method of step-by-step and analytic meditation.

Chinese Buddhist and Confucian Forms Indian Buddhist meditation is known as vipasyāna and described fully in the Visuddhimagga by the Sri Lankan monk Buddhaghosa (dat. 2 nd c. AD). Translated into English in two volumes under the title The Path of Purification, it provides a detailed outline and instructions. The first specific meditation on this path of purity focuses on the human body. Meditators should sit quietly and examine each part of their body one by one, just as 127

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a butcher dissects the carcass of a cow. Just as a dead cow is none other than meat, the human body is to be viewed with complete detachment. Practitioners should look into its viscera, bones, flesh, and marrow in all particulars. They should ask themselves whether any organ in the body, for example, stomach or liver, is the self or not. Trying to find any form of self anywhere inside, meditators come to the realization that none of the bodily parts is the self; rather, they are all just organs, and there is really no self. Likewise, after examining all internal organs one by one and confirming that the self is not in them, meditators go on to apply the same method of detailed inspection to their hands and feet. Even without hands and feet, there is a sense of self but this is really an illusion, something created by the mind. Ultimately, one realizes that the self is not in the body, that there is in fact no self at all. The practice of meditation leads to the apperception of perfect selflessness. In a next step, this analytic method of meditation goes beyond the body. Practitioners apply it to feelings and emotions, finding that they are all transient and impermanent. Then they apply it to thoughts, ideas, and intentions, which similarly change continuously depending on the sensory inputs people receive from the external world. From here, they move on to examine consciousness as such. That is to say, Indian Buddhist meditation is gradual, highly systematic, and very analytical. This may well have to do with the ancient Indian language. Like early Buddhist meditation, Sanskrit is highly analytic. Its grammar is very systematic, with regular inflections typical for all Indo-European languages. However, when this analytic Indian system and practice came to China, it underwent massive change. Even the language was very different. Chinese has no inflections and each word can be equally used as noun, verb, adjective, or adverb, signify past, present, or future tense, be in active or passive mode. It all depends on its syntactic position in the overall structure of the text. For example, a word like “love” in Chinese can mean “to love,” “lovingly,” “full of love,” and more. Classical Chinese is thus a very flexible and symbolic language. Like its language, Chinese meditation itself is highly intuitive. In order to push through reason and logic, it encourages practitioners to get rid of all kinds of thoughts and ideas. This is the core of both Zhuangzi’s methods. Chan Buddhists accepted this intuitive method, proposing the concept of communication from mind to mind, which means that the awakened or enlightened state is transmitted telepathically from master

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to disciple. They call this huatou 話頭, which literally means “word’s head” or “thought’s beginning.” It refers to the point where consciousness first moves, a state where thought has not yet arisen, the realm that separates the illusory from the real mind. Huatou is also the last bit of not-knowing of the brain after all other kinds of knowing or awareness have been eliminated. Chan Buddhists insist that, in order to reach enlightenment, practitioners must get rid of all human senses, all inherent prejudices, and even the recognition of the Buddha. “See the Buddha, kill the Buddha,” Master Linji 臨 濟 (Jap. Rinzai; d. 866) admonishes his “followers of the Way” (iu 道流) in the Linji lu 臨濟錄 (Recorded Sayings of Master Linji). This may sounds rather radical, but what he means is that one should have no attachments whatsoever to any image or concept of the Buddha in order to become like the Buddha. This radical exFig. 30. The Chan Master Linji stirpation of thoughts, concepts, and attachments goes back to the intuitive meditation methods found originally in the Zhuangzi. The same also holds true for Confucianism, which in its revival under the Song dynasty (960-1260) developed a method called quiet sitting. Neo-Confucianism divides the human mind into two states. One is the state of “not yet aroused” (weifa 未發), where feelings or emotions are not manifest. It is a state of quietude and alertness, with all distractions eliminated and the mind deeply calm. Remaining in this state of mind for longer periods, the natural pattern or heavenly principle (tianli 天理) begins to shine forth. Each mind is fundamentally endowed with this principle, which is the root of enlightenment and the connection to Dao. Its root quietude is the foundation of all movements.

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When the human mind moves from this quiet state, it enters the second major state known as “already aroused” (yifa 已發). With feelings or emotions aroused, it requires continued self-reflection in order to maintain harmony with the heavenly principle. This self-reflection includes certain typical questions, such as, “Do my feelings match the standard of the mean (zhongyong 中庸)? Do my decisions go against the heavenly principle? In other words, quiet sitting is a way to follow the heavenly principle in all one’s activities through cultivating to the notyet-aroused state of mind while always critically examining it in its already-aroused state. Neo-Confucians traditionally practice quiet sitting for thirty minutes every morning and evening, using the time it took to burn a stick of incense as a measure. This helped them to keep control over their mind, opening it to the heavenly principle so that they would act on accordance with it rather than on the basis of their own feelings and personal desires. The ideal Neo-Confucian behavior is centered on quietude—an idea that, as much as the concept of the heavenly principle, goes back to Daoist elements, notably to the two major methods found in the Zhuangzi. Since these meditation methods have been so influential all over East Asia, including China, Korea, Japan, and Vietnam, it is fitting to use them when working toward the inculturation of Christian meditation in East Asia. Why would we do this at all? Is it really necessary or even worthwhile to accept these methods as potential ways of Christian meditation? As it turns out, this past summer, I had the opportunity to spend a month on retreat in California. I could not find an appropriate place for an entire month, so I moved in the middle and stayed in two different places. One of them was Mercy Center in Burlingame, a well-known retreat center about an hour north of San Francisco. An Irish Jesuit priest, who had lived in Japan for about thirty years, directed the retreat. He taught how to meditate, using a Christianized form of Zen meditation (zazen), in a room equipped with Japanese sitting cushions. The room was called “Zen Meditation Room.” Now, is it not interesting that a Christian prayer room would be named after a Buddhist practice? And that this particular Buddhist practice ultimately goes back to sitting in oblivion as described by Zhuangzi in the 4th century BC? Zhuangzi himself may very well might have prac-

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ticed it and taught his disciples how to do it. Over the course of history, it was first adopted into Buddhism as it entered China and transformed into a Chinese form of meditation. Then, in the middle ages, it transferred in to Japan, where it took developed further and took root as zazen. From here, a Jesuit priest from Ireland, who came to live in Japan in the 20th century, picked it updaolzha and brought it to America, teaching oblivion as zazen in a Christian retreat center.

Sitting in Oblivion The key passage on this sitting in oblivion is in the “The Great Ancestor and Master” chapter of the Zhuangzi. Its main protagonist is Yan Hui, Confucius’ favorite disciple and a highly benevolent person. He deeply understood and practiced the teachings of Confucius, living contented in genteel poverty. Zhuangzi borrowed his character from the Lunyu, possibly because he thought that Yan Hui was closest to Dao among the various disciples of the Confucian school and actually attained something close to enlightenment. Of course, Confucius and Yan Hui here are not historical characters but fictional figures Zhuangzi developed to his own purpose. The story begins with Yan Hui asserting that he is improving. When Confucius asks him, how so, he answers, “I have forgotten benevolence and righteousness!” The key word in this response is “forget.” What it means here is not that Yan Hui has no need of benevolence and righteousness or ignores them. Rather, the text says that he is in a state of having let them go, of not being deeply concerned with them. Discerning benevolence and righteousness is a process of discriminative consciousness, involving a classification of moral values and virtues and an evaluation of behavior. Righteousness means to discern between “right and wrong,” while benevolence means to make clear distinctions on what will benefit others and what will harm them. They are the two most important virtues in Confucianism. In this passage, Zhuangzi points out that even the highest virtues like benevolence and righteousness, if combined with attachment and discriminating consciousness, can be an obstacle to the attainment of Dao. People with meditative and spiritual ex-

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perience know well that this hold true for all methods and ideals at a certain level. Bound by moral judgment of good and evil or innocence and impurity, those of a meticulous and discerning mind cannot go beyond them at all. It is true that benevolence and righteousness are necessary. Without basic morality, how can we ever lead a truly human life? However, when it comes to a situation where one acts from simple mercy on others, we should be free even from the category of benevolence and righteousness—we should be able to forget the boundary hindering accepting people as they are. In order to put great mercy into practice, we have to accept both good and bad just like Dao embraces all. By stating that he has “forgotten benevolence and righteousness,” Yan Hui says that he has an empty mind without any sense of discrimination toward society in his daily life. Confucius, however, in his Daoist persona, finds this insufficient: “That’s good. But you still have not got it.” A few days later, Yan Hui comes to see him again, having improved once more, and proclaims, “I have forgotten propriety and music!” Propriety and music are the practical expression of Confucian virtues in social life. They represent the dominant culture of ancient China. Propriety determines the appropriate way of expressing oneself in various human relationships, while music sets the tone for social interactions and is essential to all sorts of occasions, especially sacrifices. Forgetting propriety and music means letting go of all kinds of cultural differences and discriminations. In other words, while benevolence and righteousness refer to internal, moral distinctions we make in the mind, propriety and music indicated external, cultural differentiations we live with in society. Distinctions between beautiful and ugly, culturally superior and inferior, polite and impolite, are very much like those created by benevolence and righteousness. Just like these moral values, propriety and music are necessary in society yet form part of manmade culture, which is essentially relative. Confucius again suggests that he still has a ways to go. In due course, Yan Hui comes back transformed. “I can sit and forget everything.” Startled, Confucius inquires what he means by that. His response is the classic definition of sitting in oblivion. I smash up my limbs and body, drive out hearing and eyesight perception and intellect, cast off form, do away with knowledge, and make myself

UNKNOWING / 133 identical with Great Pervasion. This is what I mean by “sit and forget everything.”

Confucius is deeply impressed and acknowledges Yan Hui as a worthy man. “If you are identical with it, there can be no more room for bias. If you have been transformed, there can be no more hindrance.” Acknowledging this as the ultimate state, he asks to become Yan Hui’s disciple. The core of the passage as spoken by Yan Hui expresses the potential of becoming one with Great Pervasion, i.e., Dao or the infinite, by freeing oneself from the impact of bodily senses, discarding all reasoning powers and intellect, and thereby come to forget everything. What, then, is the result of sitting in oblivion? It is letting the discriminative mind disappear or dissolve completely in Dao. Any judgments of like or dislike disappear; we are free from all attachments as we becoming one with the infinite. The Chinese text speaks of “transformation” (hua 化) toward freedom Fig. 31. A Daoist Sitting in Oblivion from all hindrances. This implies that we should accept all change as it occurs naturally and develop attachment to nothing at all. We no longer obstinately and vainly insist that “I” must do this, “I” want to live here and nowhere else, “I” am right and others are wrong. Instead, we become like Zhuangzi’s perfected, reflectively and reflexively adapting to all circumstances and adjusting to the world of transformation in complete naturalness and the overall harmony of Dao. By having Confucius acknowledge Yan Hui as a worthy man and asking to become his disciple, Zhuangzi clearly indicates that the Daoist way of oblivion is superior to the Confucian insistence on morality and social order. What, then, is it exactly that we discard when we sit and forget? First, as we free ourselves from the body and the identity created

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through our physical shape, we get rid of all knowledge, ideas, and conceptions that are determined by the senses and include categories such as beauty and ugliness, like and dislike, usefulness and uselessness, and more. From this basis, we next do away with conventional morality, however much moral distinctions of good and evil as defined in a particular tradition and culture are important to maintain social order, and move closer toward becoming one with the infinite. Next, we also need to discard cleverness and all standard intellectual activities. To do so, we first let go of all prejudice and judgments, of all apparent knowledge derived from the senses and social standards. Next, we let go of thinking in general, to the point where all sorts of plans and logical reasoning go away. From here, we can reach a state of communing with everything by becoming one with Great Pervasion (datong 大通). This is where sitting and forgetting really happens. The key word, as noted earlier, is “forget.” All senses and thinking should be forgotten—not because they are unnecessary but because they can become hindrances to oneness, clarity, and inner peace. This is deep meditation, without which we cannot become one with Dao. Accordingly, sitting in oblivion means to maintain the state of forgetting everything, of keeping all differentiating sensory and mental activities in abeyance so that we can be one with Dao. We practice sitting in oblivion in the meditation room, where we have a safe space to forget everything. Still, once we leave the room, we may still have need for memory and discrimination. However, having experienced the sense of oneness with Dao and its open pervasion, we can now look upon our daily life from the perspective of infinite truth. In other words, in concrete social reality, we live by discerning things in their relative value, but as we remain profoundly aware of this fact, we open ourselves to other dimensions and become generous enough to embrace both sides. Having the absolute view of Dao does not mean to get rid of relative values in society, but to be thoroughly aware of the relativity of all, seeing it from the absolute value of Dao and recognizing its limits.

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Mind-Fasting Mind-fasting is a meditation practice quite similar to sitting in oblivion. It appears in the chapter “In the Human World.” Again, Yan Hui is speaking with Confucius, telling him that he has reached a dead-end in his development. Confucius advises him to fast. Fasting in traditional Chinese culture was a way to prepare for sacrificial rites to gods or ancestors. It meant that, for a period of seven days, one should avoid meat, spicy foods, and elaborate dishes. One should also refrain from sexual activity and social interaction. Especially the last three days of the fast involve more stringent restrictions and careful observations: the fasting person moves to a special room, reduces his food intake and social contact to a minimum, takes baths, and performs absolutions. However, this is not what Confucius has in mind. Instead, he advises that, Fig. 32. Daoist Ritual Vessel “this is the fast in preparation of religiious observances but not mind-fasting.” When asked what he means by the latter, he explains, Concentrate your will. Do not listen with your ears but listen with your mind. No, do not listen with your mind but listen with your qi. Let your hearing stop with the ears, and let your mind stop with your images. Let your qi, however, be like a blank, passively responding to all. Only in such empty receptivity can Dao abide. Empty receptivity is the core of mindfasting.

Confucius thus recommends that Yan Hui should listen with his mind by concentrating his will as opposed to listening with his ears. Listening with the ears means to obtain knowledge by collecting information from sounds perceived on the outside, which are heard with the ears and then go to mind to give rise to discrimination and conscious thinking. He then insists that he should not even listen with his mind but

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with qi. The mind cannot remain in stillness because of its constant thinking activity. Mental activities such as imagination, reasoning, and comparison continue without stopping. In order to hold these activities, mind-fasting is necessary: it shifts the inner activity toward an intuitive receptivity to qi. What is qi? In one word, it is energy that is invisible but vital. It is very much like the air we breathe: without air we cannot live. Like air, qi consists of minute particles that give life. Like human flesh, it consists of parts that condense into a thick liquid or semi-substance. Thick qi has form and is visible; thin, light qi is formless like air and invisible. There is also celestial qi, which is numinous and everlasting, and which manifests in this world as the human spirit, pure and numinous. Fig. 33. Graph for Qi

The myriad beings all originate from Dao, and the way they do so is through life-giving qi. The purest form of this life-giving qi is known as primordial qi or Dao-qi. It spreads out from the core of the universe to form all living beings. Qi is the material, manifesting aspect of Dao. The origin of life, it gives form to all existence and makes all beings communicate with each other. This means that listening with qi is to work with living beings from the position of their ultimate origin. Qi is empty. Perfect Dao resides in emptiness, in pure receptivity. Emptying is thus the core movement of mind-fasting. First stopping all sensory activities, one moves on to empty the mind and cease all thinking. Thus, we can realize Dao in empty qi and become one with the infinite. Seen from this perspective, mind-fasting is a meditation method of negative theology, of apophatic mysticism: it focuses on emptying the mind and ceasing its activities. In later Daoism this form of practice developed into a more systematic meditation called Guarding the One (shouyi 守一). The term “One” here signifies Dao itself or primordial qi, the material core of Dao. Different Daoist schools worked with the method slightly differently, also involving visualizations, incantations, and more. Without going further into that, let us now compare sitting in oblivion and mind-fasting with Christian forms of meditation.

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Christian Contemplation In the New Testament, Jesus describes prayer as follows. “But wherever you pray, go into your room, and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will repay you. When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words” (Matthew 6:6-7). Since people believed that their needs should be reported to God, they used many words in prayer, so that they would make themselves heard. But Jesus told his disciples, “Your Father knows what you need, before you even ask Him” (Matthew 6:8). This means that God and human beings can communicate telepathically and without words. After advising to pray faithfully with deep trust in God, Jesus further taught how to pray the Lord’s Prayer but he never gave instructions on any specific way of silent meditation. Despite this fact, over the course of history various Christian contemplation methods developed, especially in the tradition of mysticism. Evelyn Underhill defines mysticism: “However pantheistic the mystic may be, on the one hand, however absolutist on the other, his communion with God is always personal in this sense: that it is communion with a living reality, an object of love, capable of response, which demands and receives from him a total self-donation” (Woods 1980, 28). Seen from this perspective, Christian contemplation focuses on the overwhelming experience of a consciousness of God, which absorbs and eclipses all other centers of interest. Christian mystical writings began with The Mystical Theology of Pseudo-Dionysius, a Syrian monk of the 6th century who wrote under the name of Dionysius the Areopagite (Acts 17:34). His short exposition starts with the prayer to the Trinity: “Guide us to the topmost height of mystical lore which exceedeth light and more than exceedeth knowledge, where the simple, absolute, and unchangeable mysteries of heavenly Truth lie hidden in the dazzling obscurity of the secret silence” (ch. 1). Following this, the teacher gives directions on how to enter into this secret silence. “Dear Timothy, I counsel that, in the earnest exercise of mystic contemplation, thou leave the senses and the activities of the intellect and all things that the senses or the intellect can perceive.” This teaching to leave the senses and discriminating intellect matches the understand-

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ing of Zhuangzi. Moreover, Pseudo-Dionysius recommends that it is only “by the unceasing and absolute renunciation of thyself and all things, thou shalt . . . be led upwards to the Ray of that divine Darkness which exceedeth all existence.” Paradoxical terms such as “dazzling obscurity” and “ray of darkness” later became a typical expression for understanding God as transcending duality. God is neither impersonal nor lifeless, neither nonexistence nor existence, neither irrational nor without understanding. God is neither a material body nor intelligible form, neither immovable nor in motion, neither darkness nor light. He is beyond all positive and negative distinctions (chs. 4-5). Therefore, we have to plunge into the darkness of unknowing and renounce all apperceptions and understanding. There we are enwrapped in the intangible and invisible and come to belong wholly to God. This early exposition of mystical theology was further developed in The Cloud of Unknowing, a book by a 14th-century English monk who remained anonymous—quite possibly because the book does not deal with the practice of a particular individual but comprises overall mystic contemplation as it developed from Pseudo-Dionysius through the Middle Ages. The Centering Prayer, popular today, comes from this tradition. In the 1970s, many people in Western societies became interested in the prayer experience. They began to pay attention to Asian traditions and joined groups that practiced Yoga or Zen. Since then, the Conference of Religious Superiors has explored the Christian contemplative tradition and developed various ways of teaching inner prayer from its deep Christian roots. The Cloud of Unknowing has played a major part in this and inspired the initiation of the Centering Prayer movement as developed by the Benedictine Order in cooperation with the Society of Jesus. According to Fathers Keating and Pennington, centering prayer was created through an updated, modern interpretation of The Cloud of Unknowing and with the addition of specific steps. The Cloud of Unknowing is a guidebook in which a teacher of mystical contemplation instructs a young disciple. He says that no one can thoroughly understand God through knowledge, since God is uncreated and has no form. In accordance with this, when a Christian first begins to pray, he must learn a way to see Christ’s teaching and the world from the perspective of the life of Jesus, especially the Passion of the Christ.

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After a few years of this practice, he may come to an impasse and have difficulty praying. This is a time of grace, when he has to focus on a deeper and simpler prayer. A tiny flame of love in the heart or at the bottom of the human mind remains through all doubt: this is the presence of God.As the tiny flame of love grows into a flare, one begins to live in the solitary center of one’s own being, thinking getting simpler and a greater focus being placed on love. The text cites Pseudo-Dionysius as the basis for its teaching. “That is why Saint Dionysius said, ‘The most godlike knowledge of God is that which is known by Fig. 34. The Cover of The Cloud unknowng,’ Indeed, anyone who reads Dionysius’ works will find that he clearly endorses all I have said, or will yet say, from beginning to end” (ch. 70). Indeed, The Cloud of Unknowing maintains the overall structure of apophatic mysticism of PseudoDionysius. Yet, by placing the love of God at the center of the exposition, the text also strengthens basic Christian characteristics. The tiny flame of love grows and purifies itself into a bright flame: “it asks neither release from pain nor increase of reward, nor anything but God himself” (ch. 24). The Cloud of Unknowing explains the process of simplifying prayer in terms of two kinds of clouds. And if you should ever reach this cloud, and dwell and work in it as I am telling you, then, just as this cloud of unknowing is above you between you and your God, so you will need to put a cloud of forgetting beneath you, between you and everything that was ever created. Perhaps it will seem to you that you are far distant from God because the cloud of unknowing is between you and him. But, in fact, rightly understood, you are much further from him when you have no cloud of forgetting between you and everything that was ever created. . . .

140 / CHAPTER FIVE I do not except anything created, whether bodily or spiritual beings, nor any act or attribute of any such being, whether good or evil; but in brief, they should all be hidden in this way under the cloud of forgetting. (ch. 5)

When it speaks of “a cloud of forgetting,” this is highly reminiscent of Zhuangzi’s oblivion. Like the latter, it means that we should forget everything that arises from the senses and our thoughts. We should place all of creation, except God, in this cloud of forgetting—all our ideas, attachments, grudges, relationships, work, and even holy inspiration. We should put all our self and self-awareness in this cloud, as in Zhuangzi doing away with body and mind. After putting even the thought of all creatures and all sense of ego in the cloud of forgetting, we have to place the cloud of unknowing between God and ourselves. The word “unknowing” means waiting for God in a cloud of darkness without trying to know anything. God can never be the object of thought and only become present through love. We should thus wait for God humbly and in total darkness without any concept, image, or idea of God. For Christians, waiting for God in darkness is to acknowledge God’s initiative. From here, prayer gradually becomes passive and ever more receptive. Up to this point, we have imagined, asked, and determined what to ask for, what to do, how to proceed. However, once we have opened ourselves to the cloud of unknowing, we become passive and abandon ourselves to God. As we get closer to God, we come to realize just how deeply selfish and inherently ugly we are. We feel sad that we are sinners in a broad, fundamental sense. Being sad, we are still in the realm of evaluation and cannot open ourselves to God completely. Thus, we just wait and practice commending everything into God’s hands. The Cloud of Unknowing further suggests that we choose a word to keep in mind while entering the state of forgetting and unknowing. Use the word that will help you to let go of all distractions. A good word may be “God,” “love,” or “sin.” In this sense, the practice is much like the Jesus Prayer, common in the Orthodox tradition: “Lord, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” According to Father Menninger, the director of Centering Prayer retreats based on The Cloud of Unknowing, people with low self-esteem or issues of self-confidence had better stay away from a word

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like “sin.” Those advanced in prayer to the point where they can see the deep root of selfishness, however, can make good use of such words. Whichever word is chosen, it becomes an anchor to tie up drifting consciousness and the multitudes of thoughts generated by our endlessly restless imagination. Constantly remembering and repeating the word, we can tie our thoughts and feelings to it and continue to stay in the cloud of forgetting. As Father Thomas Keating said in Open Mind, Open Heart, “the essential point of all the great spiritual disciplines the world religions have evolved is the letting go of thoughts” (ch. 8). This is true since our inner tendency of attaching and clinging to something easily becomes a hindrance to union with God. The Cloud of Unknowing is typically Christian in its constant insistence that “with a devout and delightful stirring of love, struggle to pierce that darkness above you with a sharp dart of longing love” (ch. 6). Moreover, during the last stage one has to go through a deep and powerful spiritual sorrow that cleanses not only of sin but also of all thoughts of oneself. So break down all knowledge and feeling of every kind of created being, but most forcibly of yourself. For knowledge and feeling of all other created beings depends on knowledge and feeling of yourself, since, in comparison with yourself, all other created beings are easily forgotten. If you are eager to set about testing this, you will find, when you have forgotten all other created beings and all that they do, yes, and also all that you yourself do, that there will still remain, between you and your God, a naked knowledge and feeling of your own existence. That knowledge and feeling always need to be destroyed, before it comes about that you can truly experience perfect contemplation. (ch. 43)

When this self-annihilation is complete, one experiences the resurrection by knowing that “God is your being and in him you are what you are.” In another work, The Book of Privy Counseling, the author of The Cloud of Unknowing recommends that we focus on feeling : “I beg you to seek feeling rather than knowledge; for knowledge often deceives with pride, but humble loving feeling cannot delude. In knowing is labor, in feeling is rest” (ch. 14). Feeling here is comparable to empty energy in Zhuangzi, which is devoid of discriminating senses and thoughts and

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opens us to cosmic transformation. In The Varieties of Religious Experiences, William James similarly points out that “I do believe that feeling is the deeper source of religion, and that philosophic and theological formulas are secondary products, like translations of a text into another tongue” (1958, 329). Feeling in this primary sense exists at the center of each human being’s interior life, while thought and action constitute his outer interpretative operations. The characteristic of religious experience, therefore, is the immediate experience of being energized by the divine. It brings about a feeling of well-being and happiness as well as solemn mystery.

Integrating the Two Ways Is it necessary to integrate Zhuangzi’s ways of practice into Christian contemplation? Not really. Never knowing about the Daoist methods, Christians may well be content with the Centering Prayer as it arose from the mystical tradition. However, there may be some benefits to looking further afield and inculturating East Asian practices into Christianity. I have personally found it very helpful. For one, to me sitting in oblivion is a form of prayer that helps particularly with overcoming the East Asian tendency of clinging to Confucian moral doctrines and social obligations. Most people in East Asia grow up under the massive influence of Confucianism, inculturated into the cultural unit over millennia of history, and I am no exception. I like the basic vision and moral concepts of Confucianism, but at the same time I also see its limit. Confucianism makes much of social manners. It matters whether a person is polite or not. As East Asians, we tend to get angry when a person who we live or work with is impolite. We feel immediate discomfort over a word or an inappropriate title because we are so much accustomed to Confucian culture. I must admit that proper relationships, courtesy, and moral judgments are necessary for the smooth functioning of daily life in society. Still, I think we should also get over them once in a while and be able to go beyond these. The best way to do this, is by learning to offer ourselves to God in prayer.

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For example, many people bring their anger to God and keep arguing with God that they are right and others are wrong. This to me is not prayer. When we really pray, we hand over everything to God, anger, rightness, and others as well as ourselves. We ask for God’s mercy and put everything in the cloud of forgetting, letting go of all arguments of right and wrong. That is to say, being able to tell right from wrong, having functioning social relationships, living with proper attachments, or offering a prayer for good fortune is not intrinsically bad. According to the circumstances, we should indeed pray for the well-being of our family and for community members in need. However, when we practice contemplation by deep immersion in the presence of God, we must forget everything. Letting go of all prayers for good fortune, of all personal imagination and discriminative reasoning, we must rest quietly in the presence of God. This is what sitting in oblivion and mind-fasting are all about. In oblivion, we forget everything and stop our thinking activities. Through mind-fasting, we stop listening with the ears and thinking with the mind. While in this state, we feel joy and strength arising from a deep well within. Still, we do not even try to find consolation but just accept what is coming. We do not care even if we lose the feeling of consolation. Second, the meditations of Zhuangzi are helpful to review whether our prayers are bearing proper fruit or not. Following Zhuangzi, we should ask ourselves whether we have managed to stop making distinctions between like and dislike. If you still like someone and dislike another, you have not practiced contemplation properly. The best way to judge a prayer is by its fruit. Zhuangzi says clearly that we should make sure that we no longer harbor discrimination about anyone or anything, a person, work, or event. For this reason, I really like Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi also says that we should be open to changes and never get attached to a fixed state of being. As we noticed earlier, he recommends that we accept the continuous process transformation in harmony with Dao. This constitutes a freedom of mind, which is similar to openness to providence in Christianity. In God, we are open to wherever He leads us. According to modern theologians, God’s providence is not yet determined. In a changing situation and with the deepest longing as given by God, we and God weave providence together. God is fulfilling His will with our help, and we should accordingly be open to this harmony

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as we pursue the will of God. Nothing is determined. We are just open to this moment like Zhuangzi’s perfected, who completely abandon themselves to the harmony of Dao. They show us how to meditate truly and how the effect of the meditation will set us free. Third, Zhuangzi’s recommendation of listening with qi instead of ears or mind is helpful for the practice of Christian contemplation. “Becoming one with Dao in qi” can be interpreted as “listening to God in our soul.” Qi is life. Therefore we should see God in the living. We have to be able to see God as much in a newly born infant as in a dying elder; we have recognized it in the life of the handicapped and the wounded. We have to make God’s life complete in all of nature and ultimately in the emptiness of our mind. As Zhuangzi says, only in the emptiness of mind can Dao abide. Similarly, God is present in the emptiness of mind, in the clouds of forgetting and unknowing. In this emptiness, the flame of love is purified and grows into a flare. In theory, too, Zhuangzi’s forms of meditation offer significant help to deepen Christian contemplation. The Christian mystical tradition says that all human beings should pass through three steps: purification, illumination, and union. Purification is comparable to perception with the senses in the Zhuangzi, such as listening with the ears. Illumination is the purification of mind or consciousness. The mind in Zhuangzi is often compared to a mirror, because a clean mirror clearly reflects everything as it is. Union, finally, corresponds to being one with Dao through in qi in the Zhuangzi. In this stage, self-emptiness or self-annihilation is reached, and one thoroughly abandons oneself to Dao, becoming free from everything. In this manner, Zhuangzi’s three steps of listening with the ears, the mind, and qi can be helpful to gain a deeper and somewhat different understanding of the Christian three stages of mystical progress. The human experience of God, which is directly related to the consciousness of God, helps deepen our view of divinity. Daoist thinkers say that all individual existence comes from metaphysical nonbeing. Through the notion of nonbeing, Laozi and Zhuangzi reduced the concept of an individual and personified divinity, represented by the Lord on High. Instead, they enhanced the concept of Dao as metaphysical nonbeing. Likewise, the overall Christians understanding of God as individual existence can be purified.

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We often regard God as another individual existence distinct from other beings. Since we consider God as an object, it is natural to think of him as an individual being. It is unavoidable to regard God as an object when we pray because this is a natural way of human expression. The same applies to expressing Dao. Daoist rituals worship various divinities, such as the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning, the Highest Lord Lao, and the Jade Emperor (Yuhuang 玉皇), whose images are placed in Daoist temples. But they are just a means to satisfy the human need for concreteness. Dao itself has no form or is ever object of conceptualization. In Christianity, too, God originally transcends individuality and, in mysticism, is expressed as nonbeing. God is absolute reality transcending individual existence and embracing all beings and life. What we can learn from Daoism is that it is free to accept and use both concepts of existence and nonbeing for its expression Fig. 35. The Jade Emperor and rituals. This is the great merit of Daoism. It personifies Dao as an object of prayer and at the same time goes beyond its personified concept of divinity into emptiness and nonbeing. In a verys similar way Christians, although they look to Heaven to invoke God’s blessing, realize that the personified divinity is just a means to express the relationship between God and human beings. God exists deep in the human mind as well as in all creation, embracing everything beyond individuality and objectivity. When we get used to this kind of prayer, we can see everything evenly and lead a life of freedom in an equal community of love. We come to understand the usefulness of uselessness in its full dimension. Meditation is a method to set human beings free. Since free people are not fettered by anything, they can make others mature and increase their comfort in the community. In short, free people or perfected in Christianity and Daoism are not self-indulgent but open to devote themselves to helping others with compassion and humility. Meditation is a way to realize love.

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Zhuangzi’s methods of sitting in oblivion and mind-fasting may give people of an East Asian mentality a specific ways to learn just how best to practice contemplation and confirm its fruits.

Further Readings Buddhaghosa, B. 1979. The Path of Purification (Visuddhi magga). Translated by Bhikkhu Nanamoli. Kandy: Buddhist Publication Society. Dionysius the Areopagite. 1940. The Divine Names and the Mystical Theology. Translated by C.E. Rolt. London: S.P.C.K. James, William. 1958. The Varieties of Religious Experience. New York: New American Library of World Literature. Katz, Steven, ed. 1992. Mysticism and Language. New York: Oxford University Press. Keating, Thomas. 1992. Invitation to Love: The Way of Christian Contemplation. New York: St. Benedict’s Monastery. _____, M. Basil Pennington, and Thomas Clarke. 1978. Finding Grace at the Center. Spencer: The Cistercian Abbey. _____. 1994. Intimacy with God. New York: Crossroads. Kohn, Livia. 1989. “Guarding the One: Concentrative Meditation in Taoism.” In Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, edited by Livia Kohn, 123-56. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, Center for Chinese Studies. _____. 2008. Meditation Works: In the Daoist, Buddhist, and Hindu Traditions. Magdalena, NM: Three Pines Press. _____. 2010. Sitting in Oblivion: The Heart of Daoist Meditation. Dunedin, Fla.: Three Pines Press. Pennington, M. Basil. 1999. Centered Living: The Way of Centering Prayer. Liguori, Missouri: Triumph. Santee, Robert. 2008. “Stress Management and the Zhuangzi.” Journal of Daoist Studies 1:93-123. Schloegl, Irmgard. 1976. The Zen Teaching of Rinzai. Boulder, Col: Shambhala. Sells, Michael A. 1994. Mystical Languages of Unsaying. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

UNKNOWING / 147 Serran-Pagan, Cristobal. 2014. “Merton and Zhuangzi on the Coincidence of Opposites: When the No-thing Says It All.” Paper Presented at the 9th International Conference on Daoist Studies, Boston. Spearing, A. C., Transl. 2001. The Cloud of Unknowing and Other Works. London: Penguin. Taylor, Rodney L. 1988. The Confucian Way of Contemplation: Okada Takehiko and the Tradition of Quiet-Sitting. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. Underhill, Evelyn. 1961. Mysticism. New York: E. P. Dutton. Woods, Richard. 1980. Understanding Mysticism. New York: Doubleday.

Chapter Six Immortality and Egalitarianism Another area to compare Daoism and Christianity is the realm of communities, their formation and development as well as soteriological meaning. Most importantly, the image of the immortal world (shenxian shijie 神仙世界) in Daoism can be related to the Christian vision of the communion of the saints (communio sanctorum). Over the centuries, the ancient philosophical texts of Laozi and Zhuangzi were not only received and interpreted philosophically by scholars, but also came to be interpreted in religious dimensions and became part of the formation of religious systems and the making of religious communities. To begin, among the best-known commentaries to the Daode jing that gave various interpretations to the text, that by Heshang gong, the legendary Master on the River, said to have lived in the 1st century BC, defines Laozi’s Dao as the way to the longevity and immortality. It emphasizes that by controlling desires and nourishing primordial energy (yuanqi 元氣) in the body; we can preserve and enhance life. Invoking a parallel of the treatment of the body to that of the state, the commentary also insists that by refraining from indulging in extravagance and by punishing offenders leniently, rulers can protect and enhance their populace. It strongly stresses the matching structure of body, state, and universe, maintaining that the human body and the universe communicate with, and closely match, each other. The more open this communication is, moreover, the more the five vital energies (wuqi 五氣), different aspects of yin and yang manifest in nature as well as in the inner organs of the body, can prosper. As a result, individuals or entire groups can enter the world of the immortals. Written a few centuries later, already as part of an organized Daoist group, the Xiang’er 想爾 commentary to the Daode jing insists that we can enjoy the life of the immortals by practicing the virtues, accumulating merits, and observing Daoist precepts or commandments (daojie 道誡). 148

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The latter were revealed by a supreme deity known as Lord Lao and followed carefully by the group. Around the same time, the philosopher Wang Bi, provided a much more philosophical interpretation. He defined Dao as nonbeing and claimed that all living things arose from it, continuously remaining connected to it. Nonbeing itself, in turn, follows its own so-being or naturalness, which Wang Bi took to be the highest virtue. Among these various interpretations, the former two had a direct influence on the formation of organized Daoist schools, generically called daojiao 道敎 as opposed to daojia 道家, the more philosophical readings.

Early Communities Daoist communities, in turn, underwent several distinct stages and levels of development over Chinese history. They first arose in the 2nd century under the Later Han dynasty. Their system of government, first established by Emperor Wu (r. 140-86 BC) based on Confucian ideals, was in the process of collapsing. The world was shattered by a series of floods, droughts, and locust plagues, increasing local and provincial corruption and leaving the people in despair. In this situation of social chaos, many peasants rose in revolt, and among them were several religious and Daoist-inspired popular. The first established Daoist community was the Way of the Celestial Masters under the leadership of Zhang Daoling in Shu (Sichuan), the southwestern part of China. It began with a revelation from Lord Lao in 142. Around the same time, a figure called Yu Ji 于吉 or Gan Ji 干吉 received a very similar message from a deity known as the Yellow Lord Lao (Huang Laojun 黃老君) and founded the Way of Great Peace (Taiping dao 太平道) in Lu (modern Shandong) on the eastern shore. Both groups have similar teachings that greatly appealed to the poor peasantry, insisting that they could heal the sick with a form of ritual repentance or confession of sins and had power over demons and deities with the help of empowered writs, talismans (fu 符) and scriptures (jing 經). They greatly stabilized their local communities, maintaining security and providing order that allowed economic and social flourishing.

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They also both relied on the Daode jing, and the grandson of the founder of the Celestial Masters, Zhang Lu 張 魯 , is credited with compiling the Xiang’er commentary. Here Laozi is Lord Lao, and the word of the ancient classic has become a revealed scripture. Similarly, leaders of the Great Peace movement followed its ideal and proposed a simple, utopian society described as the world of Great Peace, where all people could live in equality and happiness. Fig. 36. A Daoist Talisman

The early Daoist communities, arising in a time of social chaos, thus had strong popular appeal and a serious dedication to social relief. They were dedicated to helping the poor and disenfranchised, and showed a strong social consciousness. In 184, followers of the Way of Great Peace, believing that their leader Zhang Jue 張角 was the chosen ruler of a new millenarian kingdom, rose up to fight the ruling Han dynasty. Since they wore yellow kerchiefs to signal their allegiance, this uprising became known as the Yellow Turban Rebellion. They fought the Han for several decades before they were vanquished. Any remaining members joined the Celestial Masters; their scripture, the Taiping jing, was lost and only reconstituted from fragments in the 7th century. The Celestial Masters, on the other hand, underwent various phases of renewal and reorganization, and are still the dominant lay school of Daoism today. The 65 thgeneration descendent of Zhang Ling lives in Taiwan; the official headquarters are on Mount Longhu 龍虎山, Jiangxi. Another root of Daoist communities is the quest for immortality. As first mentioned in the Zhuangzi, there was a belief that semi-divine beings resided on mythical mountains, surrounded by water and covered in lush growth. “They do not eat the five grains, but suck the wind and

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drink the dew. Light and free, they climb up on the clouds and mist, ride flying dragons, and wander beyond the four seas. By concentrating their spirit, they can protect creatures from sickness and plague, and make the harvest plentiful” (ch. 1). Pursued by individual seekers and recluses throughout the Han dynasty, immortality became a more technical, alchemical quest and community goal in the 4th century. This is described especially by the official and would-be alchemist Ge Hong in his Baopuzi. Baopu is his Daoist name: pu 朴, the uncarved block, indicates simplicity and therefore Dao, while bao 抱 means “to embrace,” which means that he characterizes himself as a devout follower and practitioner of Dao. His book provides extensive details on how immortality was conceived and practiced in his day—usually in small groups of mountain hermits. The core of his vision of immortality is the synthesizing of an elixir of immortality, which depends on both, moral and religious practices as well as alchemical concoctions. He also points out that wealth and elevated social status were hindrances to this practice, thus explaining why earlier rulers, such as the First Emperor of the Qin dynasty and Wudi of the Han were not successful in their quest. Despite long and dedicated efforts, which also involved sending out ships to look for the isles of the immortals, they were too greedy and immoral to be eligible for the superior state of immortality. This means that, as much as the organized communities, immortality seekers in Daoism were open to all and held high ideals of equality in both salvation and society. The Baopuzi states that seekers should throw off all predispositions and preconceived ideas, all prejudices and fixed notions, and open themselves to a wider universe where death is an option, not inevitability. All human beings are potential immortals and can reach that state if they undergo physical, moral, and spiritual training that leads to the purification of qi. Qi in its primordial form existed before the world came into being and is constantly present in all things, ensuring not only the unity of the cosmos but also eternity (Robinet 1997, 105-10). When we become one with Dao, our bodies turn cosmic and divine: Dao provides immortality. The most fundamental practice is to eliminate all greed and dedicate oneself to doing good deeds. Different levels of immortality require different degrees of practice. To reach the highest stage and become a heavenly immortal, who ascends directly into heaven, one must perform

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at least 1,200 good deeds without committing any evil that might cancel them out. To rise to the intermediate level of earthly immortal, 300 good deeds are required. For the lowest rank of immortal liberated from the corpse, one must do better than ordinary people, but there is no fixed number. On the basis of such moral purification and after attaining fundamental goodness, can one begin to concoct the golden elixir (jindan 金 丹).

Fig. 37. A Daoist Concocting an Elixir

Jindan literally means “gold and cinnabar,” indicating the basic ingredients of the elixir. Why these two? Among metals, gold has the last decay; it is unchangeable and permanent, standing for continuous existence and eternal life. Thus, people focused on gold. Cinnabar is a mineral, stone or dust found particularly on the banks of certain rivers in China. Its chemical components are sulfur and mercury. In nature, it has a yellowish red color but when heated, it transforms into mercury-oxide and has a silvery color. When it cools, it reintegrates and returns to its original hue. This transformation or reversal symbolizes the ongoing return of all beings in and to Dao.

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The concoction of the elixir could take many years and had to be executed in complete secrecy, preferably in a place with a running stream and various kinds of trees. Practitioners would eventually produce a grayish paste, which they rolled into pills and took over time— smaller doses resulting in visions and altered states of consciousness, while a large dose would transport them immediately to the heavenly realm. Over the centuries, this operative or external alchemy (waidan 外丹) came to be replaced by internal alchemy (neidan). One of the reasons for this change was that several emperors of the Tang dynasty died from elixir poisoning—their corpses neither vanished nor resisted decay, showing that they had in fact not reached immortality. Instead of pursuing the immortal pill externally, in sulfur, mercury, arsenic, and other chemicals, practitioners increasingly looked for it be transforming their primordial energy within, the root of Dao and all creation already present in the body. The dominant Daoist practice since the Song dynasty, internal alchemy is a subtle and sophisticated form of meditation and inner transformation. It is completely different from external alchemy in practice but maintains the use of its language, symbols, and cosmology.

Later Developments Combining the early peasant communities with the alchemical quest for immortality, several new schools arose during the Jin and Six Dynasties (317-589). Most important among them are Highest Clarity and Numinous Treasure (Lingbao 靈寶). Both evolved in the 4th century under the auspices of aristocratic families in southern China, providing new visions of the world and more sophisticated ritual structures. New methods of meditation and visualization, combined with extensive prayers and talismans, guided Highest Clarity followers to communicate with the celestial powers in the higher heavens and eventually join them. Standardizing ritual into the three major forms of ordinations (jie 戒), retreats or purgations (zhai 齋), and offerings (jiao 醮), Numinous Treasure Daoists developed the foundation of popular rites and festivals that have remained in place ever since.

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In contrast to the early movements, with their popular base and appeal to the peasantry, the Daoists of these medieval schools were aristocrats and literati. They lived in a time of great political instability and as southerners were, in fact, actively excluded from government—the central administration having removed itself to the south due to an invasion of Central Asians. Their goal was no longer to reform society but to escape from it: to create a smaller, saner, and healthier world for themselves and secure eternal salvation in the process. The celestial administration in the highest heavens they envisioned closely reflected earthly structures. They replaced the political influence and social involvement they had lost on this earth. Unlike the early Daoists, who led revolutionary movements with the fundamental concern of building an equal society, these aristocrats and intellectuals in the new Daoist schools focused on individual, personal salvation. Overall, the revolutionary and popular inclination of Daoism dwindled in this period while its doctrines and organization underwent increasing systematization. This holds true particularly for the south. In the north, at the same time, Kou Qianzhi led a major social reform, placing Daoists and their ideals in the middle of government. He founded a school called the New Celestial Masters and laid the foundation of the Daoist theocracy under the Northern Wei dynasty. Under the Tang dynasty, the major constituents of Daoism were synthesized and integrated into a three-level system known as the Three Caverns (sandong 三洞), complete with scriptures, priests, and rituals. The three included the precepts and community structures of the Celestial Masters, the rituals and festivals of Numinous Treasure, and the cosmology and self-cultivation techniques of Highest Clarity. A patriarch of the latter school, Wang Yuanzhi 王遠知, moreover, predicted that Li Yuan 李淵 would become the first emperor of the new dynasty and ingratiated himself with the ruler. Since Laozi’s surname was also Li, the imperial house recognized him as their ancestor, resulting in preferred status of all Daoists as quasi relatives. Daoist institutions became “palaces” (gong 宮). The rulers further honored Laozi, already elevated to Lord Lao, bestowing upon him the formal title Sovereign Emperor of Mystery Prime (Xuanyuan huangdi 玄元皇帝). They also elevated Daoism to the high-

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est rank among the three religions, above Confucianism and Buddhism and adopted the Daode jing as the subject of government examinations. In this atmosphere, external alchemy became a major pastime among the imperial family and leading aristocrats, eventually causing the death of several rulers. The end of the Tang dynasty in 907 saw the complete destruction and disintegration of the Three Caverns system. Daoism gradually recovered and reformed itself in the following centuries, under the Song, Jin, and Yuan dynasties. Several new schools emerged, including most importantly Complete Perfection. A retired military official called Wang Chongyang set Fig. 38. The Divinized Laozi up a retreat hut in the Zhongnan mountains(southwest of Xi’an), underwent several years of severe, even ascetic self-cultivation, and received a revelation from two prominent members of the Eight Immortals, Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin. He took his teachings to Shandong, where he converted various aristocrats, his later successors, known as the Seven Perfected (qizhen 七眞), and founded several centers. His main guide to cultivation is the Lijiao shiwu lun 立敎十五論 (Fifteen Articles on Establishing the Teaching). It documents his intention to reorganize Daoism completely. Practitioners are to live in like-minded, celibate communities, dedicating themselves to an unsophisticated and unworldly life. They should follow a strict moral code and practice meditation while doing good deeds for others. Complete Perfection signals the rise of modern Daoist monasticism and encourages the practice of the ascetic life. A key practice was quiet sitting or just sitting (dazuo 打 坐), during which adepts undertook procedures of internal alchemy. They also practiced the integrated cultivation of inner nature and physical life (xingming shuangxiu 性命雙修), which means the combined transformation of mind into spirit and physical energy into subtle qi.

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Established as the dominant school of all Chinese religions under the Mongols in the 13th century, Complete Perfection remained strong under the Ming and Qing dynasties and is still the dominant school of Daoism in mainland China today.

The World of Immortals The world of immortals is a Daoist utopia, presenting an image of a community of people who have already obtained salvation. It is the religious ideal of all Daoist cultivators, and particularly practitioners of the different forms of alchemy. The first to describe it in some detail was Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 (456-536), the first patriarch and main systematizer of Highest Clarity. His main work in this context is the Zhenling weiye tu 眞 靈位業圖 (Chart of the Ranks and Duties of the Numinous Perfected). In many ways, it outlines Daoist cosmology and the hierarchy of divine beings like a mandala, including the various ranks, positions, and duties of gods, sages, perfected, and immortals. The Daoist world consists of three major strata: Heaven, Humanity, and Earth. The heavenly realm further divides into four levels. The first and highest is ruled by the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning as central deity. He is the Daoist equivalent of Heaven and represents Dao as underlying creative forth. Although Dao is originally formless and unperceivable, it also manifests itself as qi, specifically the primordial qi of creative chaos, from which the myriad beings originate. The Heavenly Worthy is the concentrated form of primordial qi as the manifestation of Dao. Thus, he is the supreme deity and the highest god of Daoism. The ruler of the second level is the Highest Lord of the Dao who represented the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji 太極), the state of the cosmos where chaos has given way to the two forces yin and yang, Heaven and Earth. He symbolizes the first stage of creation and thus the aspect of Dao that is revealed in various forms, such as talismans and scriptures. According to the Zhenling weiye tu, several male and female figures surround the Lord of the Dao as the originator creator of Heaven and Earth. As these figures—perfected and immortals—belong to the world of yin and yang, they already manifest in the two genders.

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Thus, key assistants to the Lord of the Dao include some important female figures. For example, there is Xiwangmu 西王母, the Queen Mother of the West, the original representative of the power of yin and the western hemisphere, a perfected being created from pure Dao. There is also the well-known lady immortal Wei Huacun 魏 華 存 (251334), later canonized as the Lady of the Southern Peak. Fig. 39. Xiwangmu Riding on a Crane

The third level of Heaven is ruled by the Imperial Sovereign Lord Goldtower (Jinque dijun 金闕帝君). He represents the dimension of Dao that descends in time of disaster and aids the world in achieving Great Peace. For this reason, many divinized historical figures surround him in his heaven. Here we find Zhuangzi, Confucius, and his disciple Yan Hui, as well as Yellow Emperor and the sage kings Yao 堯 and Shun 舜. They all developed visions or took administrative measures to build an ideal society. Lord Lao, the divinized Laozi, rules the fourth and lowest level, which is closest to humanity. He serves as the master of methods and techniques who imparts the teaching of Dao to humanity. For this reason, major leaders of the Daoist community assemble on this level, including Zhang Ling, the founder of the Celestial Masters, and Ge Hong, the writer of the Baopuzi. Below this is the stratum of Humanity, which divides into two levels that house heavenly and earthly immortals. Both are human beings who have practiced Daoist cultivation over many years and reached the

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stage where they can ascend into the higher spheres. Those who practice for a longer time and perfect themselves on a higher level become heavenly immortals: they ascend into heaven by leaving their mortal body behind and simply vanishing. Those who practice less intensely and reach only a lower level of accomplishment become earthly immortals. They reside on holy mountains and can remain on earth for many centuries before transferring to their celestial abode.

Fig. 40. The Yellow Emperor

Heavenly immortals make their abode in the stars, notably the Northern Dipper, where they form a hierarchically organized society of their own. Earth immortals continue to live in mountain caverns that connect Earth to Heaven, notably the thirty-six grotto heavens (dongtian 洞天). This is where we find the Eight Immortals, Lü Dongbin in particular being a leading representative of earthly immortals. They can offer refuge and support to human beings in times of disaster. In some cases, as documented especially in folk tales and popular novels, immortals incur the displeasure of their superiors and are banished back to Earth. Then the immortal descends into human form and lives and apparently ordinary life for a period, then ascends back into

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heaven. In other words, we can never be sure whether the person we meet is an ordinary human, a perfected in the making, a banished immortal, or an accomplished celestial on a particular mission. The doors between the worlds remain open, and the relations between immortals and mortals are not fixed.

Fig. 41. The Star Gods of the Northern Dipper

The lowest realm of the otherworld is that of the dead or ghosts, commonly known as Fengdu 酆都. Its highest deity is the Great Emperor of Northern Darkness (Beiyin dadi 北陰大帝). His attendants and senior officials include many political figures, such as the First Emperor of Qin, the founder of the Han dynasty, Emperor Guangwu, and more. This realm, too, is hierarchically ranked; it includes deep earth prisons or hells (diyu 地獄) where sinners undergo torment for their evil deeds. The latter, in detailed depiction, appears in many temples still today, used as material for teaching morality to the populace.

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All these three strata consist essentially of one single cosmic energy or qi. Qi links all living beings in the universe, from the purest and most spiritual to the lowest, filthiest, and most common. In other words, the three strata of the otherworld are not discontinuous but linked together in open, pervasive fluidity. A person on any level can move to any other, and even one in the deepest earth prison is able to ascend to the higher realms depending on his own inner cultivation and the virtue and good deeds of his descendants. Special practices and rituals appear in another work by Tao Hongjing, the Dadong zhenjing 大洞眞經 (Perfect Scripture of Great Pervasion), also a key text of Highest Clarity. Reciting this text ten thousand times, one can open ascension into higher levels of heaven not only for oneself but also for one’s ancestors up to seven generations. In addition to the heavenly realm, immortals also take up residence within the human body, which forms a microcosm of the greater universe. Here the five inner organs (liver, lungs, heart, kidneys, and spleen) match the five sacred mountains on earth and the major planets and constellations in the sky. They connect according to the cosmological system of the five phases (wuxing 五 行 ), which defines the world in terms of five aspects of yin and yang, rising and falling in a regular rhythm. Directions, seasons, colors, Fig. 42. The Five Phases and many more are all classified accordingly, so that, for example, the god of the liver wears green and connects to wood, spring, and the east. Among the five inner organs with their various deities and cosmic connections, the spleen is most important. It represents the power of the center and season of Indian summer as well as the color yellow. It forms the residence of Lord Lao, the central deity of the fourth level of Heaven. To activate him and other body gods, Daoists practice visualization or actualization (cunsi 存思), seeing and feeling the divine powers within themselves. Another major area of the body inhabited by divine beings is the head. Its central area is the Niwan Palace (Niwan gong 泥丸宮), also known as the upper elixir field (shangdantian 上丹田), one of three major

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alchemical sites in the body. Here three important deities reside, assisted by further perfected housed in eight additional areas, known as the Nine Palaces (jiugong 九宮). Anthropomorphic representations of cosmic forces, they reside both in the body and in the celestial realm at the very same time. Concentrated essentials of heavenly qi, they are very precious, and Daoist adepts meditate constantly to keep these immortals from leaving their bodies. Christians, too, imagine the appearance of Jesus as described in the Gospels during their meditation. For example, when we contemplate the encounter of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well, we may visualize her being surprised on this hot summer day when the Jew Jesus addresses her to ask for a drink. Visualization in Daoism is very similar. It can be both static, in focusing on the robe and crown of the body gods, or dynamic, when Daoists actively envision gods moving about and begin to interact with them, even undergo ecstatic flights into the heavenly realms. In both cases, visualization is a way to activate qi, to develop and maintain a certain energy quality in one’s body and life. Another way of working with qi in visualization and imagination is by seeing the gods of the five inner organs dispersing into formlessness, allowing them to transform into pure qi of a certain color, like white or purple, and turning into clouds. This is returning qi to the stage of cosmic chaos. From here, adepts see the clouds envelop and illuminate their whole body, transform into a whirlwind and become pure primordial qi. This signifies the recovery of the stage before Dao divided into yin and yang, the return to nonbeing, Dao. From here, adepts become fully one with Dao, and the meditation that began with the imagination of concrete figures and details returns to the world of nonbeing, i.e., Dao. No matter how many layers and levels of the world there are, all is ultimately one, all is Dao.

The Communion of Saints The Apostles’ Creed, the core confession of all Christians, contains phrase, “I believe in the communion of Saints” (credo sanctorum communionem). The original Greek of ecommunio is koinonia. The latter is usually rendered “fellowship,” but it originally means “participation in

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salvation” or participation in the happiness of salvation. Therefore, koinonia means communion with God through Jesus the Christ, i.e., participation in the bliss of salvation. People participating in the utmost happiness of salvation are bound to share it with others, thus they come to enjoy fellowship. The realization of koinonia in the true sense of the term depends on how we are sanctified by the grace of God. The depth of our communion or fellowship completely depends on the degree of sanctification as the result of our participation in the grace of God. In other words, communion is impossible unless we undergo transformation by divine grace. By first participating in salvation, and then holding communion with others to the same deep level as he participates in transformation through grace, one can truly realize koinonia. The concept of koinonia plays a major role in the Letters of Saints Paul and John. Paul says, “For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!” (Romans 5:10). This shows that, because the Son of God participated in that human nature of ours, it became possible for us to achieve communion with God. Human history thereby came into the sphere of brotherly union with the Son of God. As Jesus became a human being, human beings became his brothers and sisters. As a result, we as human beings can have fellowship with God. The fellowship given by the flesh and blood of Jesus is further made fully complete by his resurrection. John says, “We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete” (1.1:3). John continues, “whoever loves a brother or sister lives in the light” (2:10); “the Spirit is the one that testifies, for the Spirit is the truth” (5:6). This means that fellowship is the Holy Spirit in the structure of the Holy Trinity. The love between the Father and the Son is the Holy Spirit itself; it is nothing but fellowship. The Holy Spirit as fellowship itself enables the concrete fellowship among members of Christ’s body who live in the grace of God. In other words, fellowship has two dimensions. Fellowship as part of the nature and attributes of God in essence is the Holy Spirit. When the Holy Spirit is given to the faithful, they share this fellowship with one another in Christ. The Holy Spirit leads Christians to the path of Christ, transforms them into the image of Christ and lets their church

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itself become a sacrament. The core of the sacrament is to reveal the unseen, i.e., God. Thus, Jesus Christ himself is the sacrament; the church as it reveals God is also the sacrament. In this manner, connected in the communion of saints, all Christians can be the sacraments of God, sharing the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit by prayers for each other and for the sick and the departed. In the Catholic tradition, the church consists of three parts. The first is the Church Triumphant, called Heaven or Paradise, where the communion of saints is perfect. The second is the Church Militant, i.e., the present church and its communion of the faithful; it is incomplete. The last is the Church in Purgatory. Here those who have departed this life but have not yet entered heaven undergo purification. This is communion in waiting. There is, thus, a three-layered structure in the way of communion among the members of the church. The saints of the Church Triumphant, who have attained their religious goals, become paragon. They are like the wind beneath the wings of the Struggling Church, constantly interceding with God on its behalf. The Church Militant is for people in this world, for pilgrims walking the way. The Church in Purgatory is an object for people of this world to pray for the dead. The three kinds of churches pray for each other and remain in constant communication, always sharing their merits with others through communion. The fact that they do so does not detract from the importance of Jesus Christ as central mediator. Rather, it heightens His glory. At the Last Supper, Jesus looked up to Heaven and prayed to the Father, “All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. . . Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one” (John 17:10-11). Just as the disciples’ prayers and activities glorified Jesus, the communion or fellowship, by which the three-layered church shares spiritual energy, enhances and expands the saving power of Jesus. The communion of saints, therefore, encompasses the mystery of resurrected Jesus.

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Immortals and Saints When comparing the world of immortals and the communion of saints, two concepts are central: vital energy (qi) and spirit (ruah, pneuma). In Daoism, the entire world is nothing but qi. The universe is full of qi as part of Dao. Formless Dao contains the germ of qi; it is pregnant with qi. This qi is called daoqi, literally the vital energy of pure Dao. It is also known as primordial qi. Daoqi is the mystery of Dao. It represents the core vitality of Dao despite the fact that it is formless and invisible. All comes from Dao as it is filled with vitality. This in many ways is similar to the Holy Spirit: the love, the powerful energy of life, and the communion of the Holy Trinity. Daoqi is the attribute and nature of unrevealed Dao, just as the Holy Spirit is the pure attribute of God. Primordial qi, symbolized by the One, contains and gives rise to the qi of yin and yang, i.e., yinqi 陰氣 and yangqi 陽氣. Generation begins when primordial qi divides into these two forces: “Dao generates the One. The One generates the Two” (Daode jing 42). In a next state, the two merge and blend into the Three, the state of union or harmony (heqi 和氣). This causes the myriad beings to come into existence—all consisting of yin and yang qi and containing the oneness of primordial qi. All beings are thus constantly part of Dao, its principle, vitality, and oneness. This is comparable to the concept of spirit in Christianity. Just as qi in Daoism, it has a long and complicated history. It originates from the life force of God as the Holy Spirit. “Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit [ruah] of God was hovering over the waters” (Genesis 1:2). Next, God gives this spirit form: “God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” (2:7). “He created male and female in His own image” (1:27). This implies that God gave His Holy Spirit directly to human beings and provides the basis for the idea of immortality and resurrection—the hope that each person’s life and personality will be complete—arising only toward the end of the Old Testament and blossoming fully in the New Testament. Experiencing the Holy Spirit in their very own being, early Christians realized just how the Power of God could bring about reconciliation and unity among people. They believed that Christ Jesus abolished the Judaic law in order to create one new humanity through the cross,

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putting to death that hostility between Jews and Gentiles: “For through him we both have access in one Spirit [pneuma] to the Father” (Ephesians 2:18). Here “one spirit” indicates the Holy Spirit. It enables people to overcome barriers and unite with each other. “We both” indicates Jews and Gentiles, the most important distinction among people at the time. The phrase, therefore, means that Jews and Gentiles can have access to God, the source of eternal life, through Jesus Christ: “His divine power has given us everything needed for life and godliness. . . . Thus, he has given us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may escape from the corruption that is in the world because of lust, and may become participants of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:3-4). The same structure applies to both Christianity and Daoism, which share the idea that human beings can take part in the divine: having been sanctified by the Holy Spirit or purified by the primary energy of Dao within oneself, all beings can connect to God or Dao, their first place of origin and ultimate home. However, the communion of saints in Christian tradition possesses a stronger boundary and is more of a clearly marked concentric circle than the world of immortals in Daoism. The world of immortals is universal and accessible immediately to any individual, provided he or she has “immortals’ bones,” i.e., the right destiny as given by Heaven, and has completed the right practices. It does not require any mediator like Jesus Christ or any special community like Christian church marked by baptism. The specific community formed through Christian faith centers on the concept of the communion of saints saved by Jesus Christ, even though it ideally advocates universal salvation and demands universalism. Saint Paul’s statement that the barriers between Jews and Gentiles have been demolished (Ephesians 2:18) suggests a vision of a future church as well as its actual state in the present. The Second Vatican Council announced the possibility that in the future the people of God could come to encompass all of humankind in the entire world. The problem is how to define the boundary of the people of God. Do we acknowledge only those baptized as Christians as people of God? Alternatively, do we include all righteous people—as proposed in Karl Rahner’s concept of “anonymous Christians”? Or do we open the community to all humankind, including even those who do not believe in God because the Holy Spirit prevails wherever it wills?

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At the same time, despite its apparent universality, Daoism also contains the concept of the “seed people” (zhongmin 種民), first developed in the early Celestial Masters. When Zhang Daoling received his revelation from Lord Lao, the god told him that the end of the world was at hand. He was to instruct his followers to repent their sins and prepare themselves for the momentous changes that would soon bring about a new age by becoming morally pure so they could become the “seed” of the world-to-come. In other words, “seed people” are those in whom a seed of true Dao is implanted during an age of deprivation, which will give rise to a heightened level of humanity in the new world. They would also be easily able to ascend to immortality upon completing their work on this plane. According to the understanding of Highest Clarity, Lord Goldtower would descend and save the seed people, making them the mainstay of the new age of Great Peace. This is quite similar to the idea of God’s Elect in the Christian tradition. The idea of the seed people, as much as the apocalyptic vision of the end of the world and the dawn of a new age, declined after the Six Dynasties and has not been part of mainstream Daoism since. Today, the world of immortals is definitely more inclusive and a great deal more popular than the limited concept of the people of God as Christians. Another important characteristic of the world of immortals in Daoism is its inherently open and fluid nature. The three levels of existence—Heaven, Humanity, and Earth—are not discontinuous spaces but realms linked by qi. Pure, clear, and light qi ascends to the higher realm to form Heaven; impure, dense, and heavy qi descends to lower levels to form Earth. Humanity resides in the middle between the two, drawn in either direction and capable of reaching both. All individuals, by their thoughts and deeds, create the particular state of their qi: pure or impure, light or heavy. If one does accumulates merits and lives in virtue, the qi will become pure and light. If one commits evil acts and lives in defilement, the qi will become impure and heavy. The accumulation of merit by merciful acts to other living beings accordingly is essential for personal cultivation and ascension to the higher levels of the immortal world. Daoists of Complete Perfection divide personal cultivation in two categories, that of spiritual practice through the cultivation of inner nature (xinggong 性功) and that of physical practice through the cultivation of bodily life (minggong 命功).

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The former leads to clarity of mind and wisdom, while the latter results in longevity. Both constitute modifications of the individual’s qi and take effect within the personal self. Thus, they are called internal merit (neigong 內功). Doing good deeds for others, on the other hand, make up external merit (waigong 外功). Both kinds benefit not only the practitioners themselves but also their family members, both those currently living and also any ancestors who may be lingering in the underworld realm of ghosts. All this shows just how interactive and fluid the three realms of the world really are.

Fig. 43. A Holy Daoist Mountain

In addition, the world of immortals is strictly hierarchical. Each denizen occupies a certain rank, based on the degree of energetic purity and the number of merits he or she has achieved. It is, therefore, largely a meritocracy and does not preclude the fundamental principle of equality on Daoism. However, it is undeniably hierarchical, and some immortals prefer to remain independent agents in the holy mountains on earth rather than ascend into the heavens where they would have to bow and scrape to those of higher rank.

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Quite differently, the communion of saints in Christianity comes with the concept of fixed space: there is no fluidity between Heaven, Earth, and Hell. Once the saints have ascended into Heaven, they never come back to Earth, creating a fixed and stable realm of the Church Triumphant. The people of the Church Militant, in their turn, must live their lives out on Earth and cannot easily ascend to Heaven or descend into Hell. However, Purgatory, the Church Suffering, is not permanent but a temporary abode of purification, offering those who are not ready to gain entrance into Heaven a temporary purging. Once completely purified, the individual will not remain here but ascend to become a member of the Church Triumphant. Despite this obvious fluidity in the concept of Purgatory, it is still part of an overall set structure and functions in a fixed way, thus enhancing the stable nature of the Christian world. Another fluid dimension of Christianity appears in the communion of saints, since its members share their merit with others and pray for them, expanding virtue and merit into the greater community of humankind. It may sound strange that Daoists describe the world of immortals in such rigid hierarchical terms and yet pursue a society of equal opportunity in this world. The contrast dissolves when we understand that the fundamental creed of Daoism is that anyone can ascend through his or her own cultivation efforts. In other words, there is equal opportunity for everyone. As all people have the qi of Dao within themselves, they are essentially equal and all have a good chance to realize themselves fully. As they each are fully and uniquely themselves, they obviously pursue different goals and activities and occupy different positions within the world. Hierarchy is part of nature in the Chinese world as much as Dao and equal opportunity to realize one’s personal potential and attain immortality through practice. The Korean Daoist scholar Kim Nak-pil once said that Daoist adepts practice to purify their qi until it is completely pure, and then they can see the highest immortal or god of the pantheon, the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning. Practitioners of low-level techniques experience Dao as low-level deities, while those pursuing high-level practices come to see Dao as high-ranking gods. The higher the level of practice, the more elevated the deities one can connect to. In all cases, ultimate reality is represented in a certain divine image that corresponds to a particular spiritual level. In a very similar way, each and every Christian has his own concept or image of God.

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Daoism pursues an open, equal society as its primary social ideal, and nonaction as its core moral principle. The morality of nonaction means to live in simple modesty and avoid all competitive urges. Someone practicing nonaction is always tolerant of others, allowing them to realize themselves fully. He or she puts himself or herself last and gives priority to the common good of the community. That is, Daoist morality of nonaction eschews all avarice and pursuit of personal gain. Christianity, too, offers a three-step process: conversion leads to communion, which leads to solidarity (Budde 2011, 130). Conversion is not only a change of mentality, but involves striving to assimilate the values of the Gospel, which contradict the dominant tendencies of the world. The church itself is born and reborn in the process of conversion, creating a new people distinct from all other peoples. This lifelong conversion leads the church to become the living communion of all believers, making them capable of acting in defense of the poor. Solidarity is the social dimension of conversion. Generally speaking, the concept of qi or vital energy in Daoism is more practical and material than Christian ideas of the Holy Spirit. Qi embraces and envelopes the world completely; it is not only a spiritual but also a material force that impacts everything. It animates all living things and is present in both body and mind. Daoists accordingly work with both in the integrated cultivation of inner spirit or nature and physical life. The Daoist ideals of the equal society of Great Peace, the fully natural way of being in the world, and the open community of the immortals can inspire Christians to examine how seriously we work to realize social equality and live a faith-filled life in trust of the Holy Spirit. Fortunately, the theological attitude that used to focus solely on Western thought and rational argument has changed since the Second Vatican Council. As attitudes became less defensive, people began to open their eyes to the abundant spirituality of the Orthodox Church and took a much greater interest in the Holy Spirit. From here, we are ready to consider non-Christian traditions and learn from them. Just as primordial qi divides into yin and yang, which constitute all things and thereby return to Dao, the light and life force of the Holy Spirit are immanent in the entire universe. We should recognize that they pervade the human body and mind and give rise to great spiritual development, constituting the driving force that enables all beings to return to God.

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Questions from the Audience Question: While listening to the lecture, I thought that the concept of Great Peace in Daoism was somehow similar to the idea of peace in the Bible. Can you explain how Great Peace is different from related Christian concepts? Answer : Yes, you have a point there. Even though Christianity does not have the full equivalent of Great Peace, peace (shalom) is a very important concept in the Bible. Several years ago, I spoke about the notion of harmony in Confucianism in relation to the reign of God at an academic meeting. At that time, I explained the concept of shalom in the Bible is quite similar to that of harmony in Confucianism. God gave peace to the world, and the reconciliation of humankind was achieved through grace acquired in Christ. However, the Christian tradition places a greater emphasis on the vertical link between God and humankind, and does not greatly stress the more horizontal peace between the universe and all beings. Daoism, on the other hand, pays a great deal more attention to Great Peace within society and the world. When it speaks of harmony, it means harmony within the individual, among different people, and also between the universe and humankind. Moreover, it means harmony that pervades all and is realized in totality. In other words, there are three— internal harmony, social harmony, and universal harmony—which are ultimately one as they are part of Dao and manifestations of qi. Applying this three-folded structure to the concept of peace in Christianity, we can see it in three aspects: peace in my mind, between God and me, and among all humankind. Here, too, all three are ultimately one, as Christians strongly emphasize that peace is from God. However, this peace has to be based on social harmony and also include the close connection between the universe and the individual person. Question: The immortals always remind me of the woodcutter in the well-known story. As I was listening to your description of the gods of the five inner organs ascending into the heavens in the form of a cloud, I thought that it was quite similar to Christianity. More specifically, it reminds me of an experience I had when practicing the spiritual exercise of

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Saint Ignatius. At that time, imagination was very useful to me, because the practice requires the activation of rather ancient images. Also, I don’t think it entirely true that the Holy Spirit is dominantly mental. I used to call upon the Holy Spirit when I exercised or prayed, and this was very helpful to me. I think we cannot live without the help of the Holy Spirit. It helps on all levels. For example, when I walked here, I prayed to the Holy Spirit to release a grudge I had against a certain sister. It helped, and this shows that the Holy Spirit is not only mental in my life. Answer: Yes, that’s a good point. The movement of the Holy Spirit must not be limited to the mental aspect only, but should be inherent to the whole of life. I wonder, however, whether the Holy Spirit is linked to the whole of life in Christian theology. Human beings consist of mind and body. The Holy Spirit is present in all: our mental life, physical activities, human relationships, community life, and spirituality. The Western tradition had tended to see the spirit as something separate from space, time, and physical movement. This is due not to the influence of the Bible, but more to the dualism of flesh and spirit in Greek philosophy (Sacramentum Mundi, 6, p.143). Modern theology has tried to overcome this separation and newly illuminates the human spirit in the light of the creation of God, locating it more in the evolution of the universe.

Further Readings Barrett, T.H. 1996. Taoism under the Tang: Religion and Empire during the Golden Age of Chinese History. Wellsweep Press. Budde, Michael L. 2011. The Borders of Baptism: Identities, Allegiances, and the Church. Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books. Bumbacher, Stephan-Peter. 2012. Empowered Writing: Exorcistic and Apotropaic Rituals in Medieval China. St. Petersburg, Fla.: Three Pines Press. Cahill, Suzanne. 1993. Transcendence and Divine Passion: The Queen Mother of the West in Medieval China. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hendrischke, Barbara. 2000. “Early Daoist Movements.” In Daoism Handbook, edited by Livia Kohn, 134-64. Leiden: Brill.

172 / CHAPTER SIX Kim, Nak-phil. 2003. “The Development of Inner Alchemy,” Daoism and Christianity, edited by Sung-Hae Kim, 313-348. Seoul: Korea, Pauline Publisher. Kleeman, Terry. 1998. Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millenarian Kingdom. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Kohn, Livia. 1998. God of the Dao: Lord Lao in History and Myth. University of Michigan, Center for Chinese Studies. _____. 2004. Cosmos and Community: The Ethical Dimension of Daoism. Cambridge, Mass.: Three Pines Press. _____. 2009. Introducing Daoism. London: Routledge. _____, and Robin R. Wang, eds. 2009. Internal Alchemy: Self, Society, and the Quest for Immortality. Magdalena, NM: Three Pines Press. Küng, Hans. 1967. The Church. London: Burns and Oates. Mollier, Christine. 1997. “La méthode de l’empereur du nord du mont Fengdu: une tradition exorciste du taoïsme médiévale.” T’oung Pao 83: 329-85. Ofuchi, Ninji. 1979. “The Formation of the Taoist Canon,” Facets of Taoism, edited by Holmes Welch and Anna Seidel, 253-268. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press. Rahner, Karl. 1978. Foundations of Christian Faith. Translated by William V. Dych. New York: Crossroad. Robinet, Isabelle. 1997. Taoism: Growth of a Religion. Translated by Phyllis Brooks. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press. Sacramentum Mundi. 1969. An Encyclopedia of Theology, edited by Karl Rahner. Herder and Herder. Slingerland, Edward. 2003. Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China. New York: Oxford University Press. Strickmann, Michel. 1979. “On the Alchemy of T’ao Hung-ching,” Facets of Taoism edited by Holmes welch and Anna Seidel, 123-192. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Tsuchiya, Masaaki. 2002. “Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing.” In Daoist Identity: History, Lineage, and Ritual, edited by Livia Kohn and Harold D. Roth, 39-57. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Vatican Council II: Constitutions, Decrees, Declarations. 1995. A Completely Revised Translation in Inclusive Language. Northport, NY: Costello Publishing.

Chapter Seven The Gourd of Small Penglai and the Cross of Christianity The gourd of small Penglai (xiao penghu 小蓬壺) is the name the Daoist patriarch Qiu Chuji 丘處機 (1148-1227) gave to the cave where he practiced internal alchemy from age 27 to 33 in the Panxi Valley of Shaanxi province. Since he initially named it after his Daoist pen name Changchun (長春, “eternal spring”), the gourd of small Penglai in fact signifies both the cave and himself. Beyond that, the name also contains a treasure trove of Daoist culture. Thought to lie off the northeast coast of China, Penglai 蓬萊 refers to a group of island paradises, carried on the backs of divine turtles, covered by wondrous vegetation and populated by immortal people and animals. First described in the Shiji in the 1st century BC, they appeared widely in popular literature and became the symbolic goal of Daoist immortality adepts. “Small” in the Daoist tradition has a special connotation, referring to the fact that Dao is not only in the greater universe, but also in the small humble things of earth. Fig. 44. The Isles of Penglai 173

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Therefore, instead of traveling to the far-off islands of Penglai, Changchun learned from his teacher how to achieve immortality through internal alchemy, transforming coarse and impure form of bodily matter to a spiritual and pure energy. At the completion of his cultivation Changchun pronounced that he himself turned into a miniature Penglai. Ge Hong’s Shenxian zhuan 神仙傳 (Biographies of Spirit Immortals) contains the story of the Gourd Elder (Hugong 壺公) who sleeps in a gourd (Campany 2002, 161). The local officer Fei Changfang 費長房 observes a stranger in the village market, who sells medicines and tells people if and when they will get healthy. Since his predictions always come true, he sells a lot of medicines. However, he only keeps a small portion of his income, giving away the rest to the poor. He lives in a small house nearby. Fei Changfang follows him home and looks through the shutters, noting with amazement that he jumps into an empty gourd hanging from the ceiling and seems to sleep there. He duly thinks of him as the Gourd Elder. Approaching him with great respect, Fei cultivates a friendship. One day, the Gourd Elder invites him to enter the gourd with him. Fei is surprised to see the immortal world inside, complete with a three-story palace with long halls and numerous attendants. Although the Gourd Elder trains Fei in his arts, in the end, he does not pass his test and does not become an immortal. However, he acquires supernatural powers and helps people by driving away evil spirits and easing droughts. Fig. 45. Life in a Gourd

The story of the Gourd Elder and his companion drinking in the gourd-home of the immortals has been very popular, depicted in miniature and other forms of art (Stein 1990, Figs. 27, 29). Of course, Changchun knew this story well and incorporated it quite fittingly into his description of both his cave and his body, through which he transformed

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his vital energy. In other words, both cave and body were the gourd of small Penglai. Moreover, from our contemporary perspective we may call the gourd an ecological symbol because it signifies the interconnectedness of plants, mountains, and the human body and shows that only through the harmony of all the parts of earthly life can be maintained. To more fully appreciate Changchun’s ecological symbol and the environmental ethics it represents, let me recall the words of Anthony Weston that “it is precisely the profound embeddedness of our ethical ideas within their cultural contexts that marks their seriousness” (1995, 230). Contemporary environmental ethics tries to move beyond anthropocentricism to discover the space where the possibility of reciprocity between humans and the rest of nature can be safeguarded. This space is quite visible in the Daoist tradition, the life and poetry of Changchun providing a concrete example. In an earlier presentation, I have pointed out that Daoist environmental ethics belongs neither to deep ecology nor to social ecology as the latter developed in contemporary Western philosophy (Kim 2008, 135-57). Rather, Daoist environmental ethics offers a different vision, a third alternative, while sharing with the other two a fundamental criticism of the human dominance over nature. Daoist environmental ethics thus breathes the same ethos as postmodern multi-centrism, which Anthony Weston proposes as a new communicative ethics that offers a repositioning from the familiar onespecies monologue to a multi-polar dialogue with the natural world (2004, 38; also Dryzek, 1990, 195-210). Weston asserts that we need to overcome the concentrism of contemporary environmental ethics; its moral circle expanding from the point of human self, it is profoundly human-centered despite its veneer of egalitarianism: “To ‘go beyond’ anthropocentricism in a multi-centric view, what we must really challenge is not the ‘anthropo’ part but the implicit (con)centrism”( 2004, 36). This multi-centric communicative ethics closely relates to the Daoist understanding of the role of human beings as communicators between the three worlds of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, thus making Changchun’s work and views highly relevant today. In order to portray the dynamic image of the immortal world (full of pure life-energy), which is the telos, the goal, of Daoist environmental ethics (Kim 2008, 156), I focus on several ecological poems from the Changchun’s Panxiji 磻溪集 (Panxi [Valley] Collection; DZ 1159; num-

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bers following Schipper and Verellen 2004). Here the immortal world is both a particular spiritual stage human beings can reach (as in the story of the gourd) yet at the same time, as purity of Dao, it is also the ultimate teleological obligation of all beings, their final point of return.

Changchun’s Life Qiu Chuji or Changchun was born in the Shandong peninsula, in the northeastern part of China under Jurchen rule. From the family of a commoner, he was orphaned as a young child. At the age of nineteen, in 1167, he became the disciple of Wang Chongyang, the founder of Complete Perfection, who had just arrived in Shandong from his native Shanxi in the previous year. The youngest of Wang’s core disciples, the so-called Seven Perfected, Changchun was initially illiterate. For this reason , he spent Fig. 46. Qiu Changchun the first three years of his religious training doing mostly menial work, such as cleaning and laundry. His disciple, Yin Zhiping 尹志平, left a record of his life, the Beiyou yulu 北遊 語錄 (Recorded Sayings during Northern Travels, DZ 1310; trl. Waley 1931). According to this, Changchun was dissatisfied with his lack of access to direct instructions from the teacher. “When Changchun was twenty-three years old, three years after he became Wang Chongyang’s disciple, he was about to enter the teacher’s chamber and could hear Wang and [his senior disciple] Ma Yu 馬鈺 conversing on the mysteries of internal alchemy, which Changchun was so eager to learn. He listened quietly to their conversation for a while, but when he actually stepped into the room, they stopped talking” (3.4a). Changchun was discouraged because he thought the teacher considered him unworthy to understand the meaning of the core notion that

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“the spirit of the valley does not die” (Daode jing 6; see Hachiya 1998, 142). Only in his later years did he understand that he needed many years of doing good deeds and purifying his heart before he could properly practice. Wang started to teach Changchun while they were on their way to Wang’s hometown in the company of three other disciples. Wang passed away during this trip, and the four disciples took his body to his original site of enlightenment for burial. They then stayed together to observe the traditional three-year mourning period. They discussed what they had learned from the teacher and meditated together, forming a closely knit unit. Since on his deathbed Wang Chongyang had entrusted Changchun’s education to Ma Yu, the latter continued to oversee his cultivation practice until he had perfected his inner elixir. When the three-year mourning period was over, Changchun spent thirteen years in solitary self-cultivation: first six years in the Panxi Valley, then seven years in the Longmen 龍門 Mountains (after which his lineage was later named). During this period, he wrote many poems describing his experiences and expressing his attitude to the natural world. The first poem was written after he opened his cave to meditate. Majestic mountain ranges touch the streets of clouds. Numerous ancient pine-nut trees rise. The auspicious plants are not visible to ordinary visitors, Only the Daoist master can summon the mysterious birds. As I opened the cave, many immortals came down. Cultivating internal alchemy drives away a hundred calamities. Where are the Blessed Land and the Holy Mountain? Changchun [Cave] is the gourd of small Penglai. (Panxiji 1.1b)

Internal Cultivation As Changchun purified himself through years of cultivation, he began to experience harmony with the surrounding mountains, trees, and plants, and was able to communicate nonverbally with birds and all of nature. He recognized the innate value and beauty of mountains, clouds, plants, and animals, learning from them about the mystery of life. Aware that he

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himself was part of nature, he opened his cave to connect with the Blessed Land of the immortals. He knew that nature nourished him, but once he achieved inner transformation, he assisted other living beings in his turn by eliminating hundreds of calamities in the world. This experience of mutual communication and interdependence between Changchun and nature in Panxi can be related to the “green reason” for the establishment of communicative ethics for the biosphere, as proposed by John S. Dryzek. Despite some key similarities, there is also a difference in the fundamental modern assumption that human reason can grasp the highest ethical wisdom. Dryzek observes that greater continuity across human and nonhuman species is evident in nonlinguistic forms of communication, such as body movements or pheromones. He suggests that we respect the perceptual media furnished by nature, paying attention to signals from our local environment (1990, 111-13). Still, he distinguishes “green reason” from mystical notions about spiritual communion with nature: “Immersion in the world can be a thoroughly rational affair, provided we expand our notion of rationality in the appropriate directions” (1990, 114). I do not know whether his insistence on rationality is desirable for the formation of communicative ecological ethics or not, but both Changchun and the Daode jing (chs. 21, 54) make it clear that intuitive insight, not discursive reason, is essential in furnishing the highest and most comprehensive wisdom extending to the natural and the human world. Opening up the cave symbolizes Changchun’s attainment of his cultivation goal. In a way, this cave was himself. When it finally opened, he could communicate with the immortal world. In other words, he became an immortal and his body was a small gourd, the immortal world thus residing in this world. The gourd with a narrow opening came to symbolize the pregnant emptiness associated with the origin of the cosmos as well as the empty space of grottos (Miller 2003, 147; Stein 1990, 58). The last line of Changchun’s poem, moreover, is reminiscent of the Gourd Elder story and its message that we each carry the immortal world wherever we go and breathe and rest in the primary life-energy of qi. As Kristofer Schipper states, the basic tenet of Daoist ecology is the transformation of the inner self, because for Daoists “the environment is within us” (2001, 80, 92).

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In another poem in the Panxiji, Changchun describes the harmony and mutual response of nature and humanity, i.e., village people, in the place where he was cultivating his internal alchemy: The scenery of this land excels in its beauty, People and things are responding to each other. Water bamboos are encompassing a few dozen houses, Each household knows the mandate of Heaven. I treasure this pure, empty scene of nature, Holding my stick, I explore the deep, shady road. Everyday I walk around the village once, Pacing my walk, I sing chants at my leisure. (6.1a)

Fig. 47. Immortal Landscape

Mutual response arises naturally when neither side is attacked, exploited, or hurt by the other. It is important to notice that in the poem not only do humans respond to each other, but humans and nature are also responding to each other. The fruits of the land nourish the people, and

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the presence of people benefits the land, enhancing its beauty and providing a small local temple for a Daoist master, who opens the communication between the immortals and this world. Knowing the mandate of Heaven is a crucial term for Changchun who incorporated the Confucian understanding of Heaven into his thought. As Zhang Guangbao points out, citing the Beiyou yulu, Changchun uses the terms Dao, Heaven, and the Way of Heaven interchangeably, emphasizing that our nature originally came from Heaven and that, if we follow the Way of Heaven, we will again attain Dao (1995, 115-16). Changchun writes that each household in the village knows the mandate of Heaven and thus understands how to live in harmony with the natural surroundings. The Daoist tradition, with its emphasis on non-aggression through following natural maturity, recognizes this harmony as the fruit of nonaction. Changchun’s exploration of the “deep, shady road” in the poem may symbolize his practice of internal alchemy and/or his walk around the village, begging his daily meal. This is also borne out in the following: I go north one day, south the next. I do the same, going east and west on alternating days. Even dreams are deep and silent, Coming and going, I spend the entire day walking. I am waiting for the year when my Dao heart will open. One hundred years is a short time, How many days must I wait? Quietly I reflect that this morning moves to tomorrow. Before I realize, I arrive at the sages— The day when the good news comes. The cave heaven opens, and this is my day of return. (6.13ab)

His daily walk to beg food is the outer symbol of his inner cultivation. He is waiting for the day when his inner eyes open and he hears the news from the immortal world that his day of return is close. This theme is common in the literature of immortals: Daoist masters trust that the immortal world is present not only in the body but fully in the universe. Two short poems describe Changchun’s attitude to animals and all sentient beings:

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Great Heaven gave birth to a myriad species, The myriad beings, therefore, all belong to Great Heaven. Why should we humiliate them and treat them harshly? Not allow them to complete their full life span? (Panxiji 4.8b) Yin and yang complete the transformation of all beings, Life and death alternately rise up and submerge. The bitterest suffering is with sentient beings, The most difficult to bear is not to have a beneficent heart. (4.9a)

Changchun does not go as far as contemporary animal liberationists who insist that all domesticated animals should be freed and that the human race should be vegetarian (Singer 2002, xv; Reagan 2003, 65-73). However, he recognizes the special suffering all sentient beings experience and appeals for mercy toward them. He also takes a stand that we should let all living beings flourish and live their life fully because all species receive their life-energy from Heaven or Dao. In the following poem, Changchun uses the Daoist concept of hidden virtue to guide human actions to animals. When a dog gets sick, there is no one To cook porridge for it. When a donkey falls to the ground because of the cold, Its four limbs become rigid [in death]. This is because people do not know How to cultivate hidden virtue. Changing shells, How can they avoid misfortunes? (2.6b; Eskildsen 2004, 160)

Here Changchun emphasizes hidden virtue (yinde 陰德) or hidden merit (yingong 陰功) as the basis for human fulfillment. A characteristic of Daoist ethics is that when a person does a good deed and brags about it, he loses the merit because it is contrary to Dao that gives life and nurtures all beings without possession or pride in the spirit of nonaction. The Daoist practice of hidden merit thus urges people to be merciful to the poor and to suffering sentient beings. Early Complete Perfection masters accordingly took care to feed the poor through projects such as

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“winter porridge,” as can be seen from the description of Ma Yu appealing to lay people (Eskildsen 2004, 161). Changchun’s poems show that he not only felt sympathy with other human beings but also with animals, such as a dog or a donkey suffering from cold and disease, and warned people not to humiliate them or treat them harshly. All should maintain a benevolent heart toward all living species on earth. This recalls Peter Singer’s demand that people should treat all animals with equal consideration: this does not mean that people should treat animals like humans; it means that they should provide them what they need according to their nature. In other words, children need to be educated, while pigs need enough food and space to play with other pigs (1974). Changchun would agree with Singer on this idea of equality of consideration. He even suggests that all living beings are made by the same yin and yang energy in the great transformation of rising and falling, life and death. For this reason, he warns people without a benevolent heart that in the cosmic cycle of changing shells, i.e., life and death, they will not escape misfortunes due to their harshness toward other living beings. The difference between Singer and Changchun is that the former argues purely from the humanitarian perspective, while the latter bases his appeal on religious values, such as the merits of hidden virtue, misfortunes accumulated from harshness, and the cosmic cycle of life.

External Practice After completing his internal cultivation, Changchun left the mountains to pursue external practice in public life. This phase divides into three periods, beginning at age 39, i.e., in 1187: five years at the Chongyang gong in Shaanxi, leading the Complete Perfection School at Wang’s memorial temple after Ma Yu’s death; thirty-four years in his home province of Shandong; and three years of travels to meet with Genghis Khan. Especially during the years of public service in his native province, Changchun was highly respected by the people and summoned to court by Emperor Shizong. His biography contains a summary of the teaching he gave to the emperor on May 18, 1188: “Preserving subtle energy and completing spiritual energy are the essence of cultivation. Respecting

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oneself and acting with nonaction is the foundation of ruling the world. If people become rich and are placed in a high position, they easily become arrogant and lose temperance. It is harmful to ourselves when we become competitive and anxious” (Hachiya 1998, 168). This shows that the essence of his teaching was the preservation of life energy for all beings, self and others.

Fig. 48. The Chongyang gong Temple

Changchun’s encounter with Genghis Khan, prior to the Mongol conquest of China, is particularly well documented. It reveals his keen sense of political change and his compassion for war-stricken people as well as for devastated nature. In 1219, already seventy-three years old, Changchun accepted an invitation from Genghis Khan and began his long westward journey together with eighteen of his disciples. They reached the Mongolian border on April 5, 1222. At their first meeting Genghis Khan asked him, “Having come from afar, honorable perfected master, what kinds of elixir for long life have you brought me?” Changchun’s answer was clear and concise, but also symbolic, foretelling the direction of his future lectures: “I do not have any elixir for long life, but I have the way to preserve life” (see Waley 1931). Changchun’s way of preserving life contains the three key teachings. First, since Dao gave birth to Heaven and Earth through yang and yin

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energy which nurtures plants and animals, all life belongs to Dao. Second, human beings are noble because they can return to Dao by practicing good deeds. Even though there is a difference in their social status, every human being is equipped with the same nature and the same life, so that each is free to become an immortal or a ghost. Third, while the prime Daoist way of cultivation is internal alchemy, i.e., the transformation of qi, a lay person’s practice of cultivation is the way of preserving life. The emperor’s cultivation is, therefore, to moderate his desires so as to safeguard his health and to rescue suffering people afflicted by wars. Changchun accordingly advised Genghis Khan to send honest officials to war-stricken areas and declare tax exemption for three years, so that people’s lives might be eased. Genghis Khan soon began to refer to Changchun as “immortal” and paid him great respect, bestowing the privilege of tax exemption on his order. This shows that he appreciated the honest and practical nature of the Daoist teaching. In terms of environmental ethics, Changchun wrote a poem, describing the misfortunes of people, animals, and soil, tormented by war and natural calamity, a few years before leaving for Mongolia: In the dingwei year of the Cheng’an reign era [1197], after the winter solstice when we were troubled by heavy snow, there was an uprising in the north [so I wrote this poem]: [From] the time before winter [until] the time after winter Snow falls heavily. When the warm breath of spring dissipates, The myriad beings wither. Horses departing from the fortresses are scared Of treacherous mountain paths. People defending the borders suffer in the coldness Of their iron armor. While I despair over the suffering of the souls At the northern border by the sea . . . If you daily spend 300,000 in state funds [on warfare], How can lives not wither and die? (Panxiji 1.9ab; Eskildsen 2004, 159)

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Changchun here compares the times of war to the cold winter when the myriad beings, horses as much as people, suffer and wither because of the lack of life-energy. He cries out almost in despair because so many resources are wasted on warfare. His concern, it appears, is that of a social ecologist, knowing full well that environmental destruction is caused by human covetousness and afflicts mainly the poor and the weak. Considering Changchun’s life and teaching through his poems and actions, it becomes obvious that his way to expand the immortal world is twofold: through internal cultivation (neigong 内功) symbolized by his gourd, and through external practice (waigong 外功), activated in his extension of compassion. While practicing internal cultivation in the mountain cave, Changchun was surrounded by trees, birds, and animals. He learned from them how to see all living things with the eyes of equity as explained in the Zhuangzi, “The sage harmonizes with right and wrong and rests in Heaven as the equalizer” (ch. 2). Walking around the village begging his daily meal, he further learned from the common people who understood the mandate of Heaven to lie in the simplicity of their lives. He experienced a responsive harmony between the natural and human world, realizing that the same life energy of Dao flows freely, vitalizing and purifying all. In other words, the “gourd of small Penglai” was his immortal world, which he continued to carry wherever he went, in order to rest and be reenergized in the compassionate heart of Dao. By the same token, his outer cultivation matches what we call in modern terms the social ecology of “preserving life,” which responds to political circumstances and local community needs. As evident in his perceptiveness of the need of the Complete Perfection school, he mourned together with the people who suffered from constant wars and conflicts between Jurchen, Mongols, and the Song dynasty. When the chance came, he acceded to a role in international politics with all the accompanying risks and dangers, and he tried his best to lessen Genghis Khan’s bloody killing. However, if comparing Changchun’s social ecology with that of its contemporary exponent Murray Bookchin, some interesting differences appear despite their similar goal to form an equal and free society. As an eco-anarchist, Bookchin wants to destroy every hierarchy in the cultural, traditional, and political systems (2005, 68). Changchun, on the other

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hand, accepts the authority of emperors with the full knowledge that this social hierarchy is relative and passing in the light of Heaven. Bookchin asserts that his social ecology is rational without no trace of religious mysticism; Changchun makes it clear that human rationality does not offer a strong enough motivation or ethical stamina to build an ecological society with economic equity and cultural respect and freedom. Therefore, any profound change of social systems has to be supported by the internal transformation of individual human hearts. For him, it is impossible to complete internal without external cultivation, yet without a sincere effort for internal cultivation, any kind of external practice will be contaminated, losing its purity and vitality. The interdependence of both forms of cultivation, coupled with an equal emphasis on social and natural ecology, may well be the chief characteristic of a Daoist environmental ethics as shown in Changchun’s poetry.

The Christian Cross The fifth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles introduces a dialogue between the high priest and Peter before the assembly of the elders of Israel. The high priest questions the first Christians, “We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, yet here you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching and you are determined to bring this man’s blood on us.” Peter and the apostles reply, “We must obey God rather than any human authority. The God of our ancestors raised up Jesus, whom you had killed by hanging him on a tree” (5, 29-30). The Bible in its New Oxford Annotated version adds a note to the effect that “the cross was a pole or tree to which a crossbeam was fixed” (1991, 168). The image of the cross as a tree is fully developed in the Hymn to the Holy Cross in the Good Friday liturgy of the Roman Missal (2011, 187-90). In the Catholic liturgical calendar, the forty days of Lent are important as the period of preparation in which we remember and celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, which forms the center of Christian piety. The week before the feast of the resurrection, moreover, is Holy Week and its last three days—Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday—are the holiest days of the liturgical year. Among them, Good Friday represents the darkest time, when Jesus was condemned to death

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and crucified—symbolizing the culmination of all human sins and suffering. On this day, the Christian liturgy calls for the singing of the Hymn to the Holy Cross, praising the amazing grace it brought forth. This hymn should be chanted in alternation between the people and the cantors. The people’s part remains the same, a repeated refrain that celebrates the fruits of the noble tree. Faithful Cross the Saints rely on, Noble tree beyond compare! Never was there such a scion, Never leaf or flower so rare. Sweet the timber, sweet the iron, Sweet the burden that they bear!

Here the cross, the harsh instrument of death penalty for criminals, is transformed into the sign of the greatest faith of the saints. From a symbol of suffering and self-emptying, the cross becomes the sign of the most secure path, through which ordinary human beings transform into the saints of God. It then is called a noble tree beyond compare, from which the most beautiful leaves, flowers, and fruit are produced. Therefore, even the timber and the iron that pierce it become sweet, because they bear the sweet burden of the body of Jesus Christ. The refrain as sung by all congregants on Good Friday thus celebrates the core of the Christian mystery as salvation by the cross. The part of the cantors progresses, as they sing nine stanzas representing the history of creation and salvation. The first stanza ends, “Make a solemn proclamation of triumph and its price: How the Savior of creation conquered by his sacrifice!” This makes it clear that Jesus sacrificed himself on the cross, not only for humanity but also for the sake of all creation. The New Testament conveys the same ecological effect of the cross: “For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:19-20). Just as God made a covenant of peace with Noah and all living beings on earth after the flood (Genesis 9:14-15), He wanted to make a new covenant of reconciliation with all creation through the cross. The second stanza sings of the restoration of nature by the second tree, the cross on which Jesus died.

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For, when Adam first offended, Eating that forbidden fruit, Not all hopes of glory ended With the serpent at the root: Broken nature would be mended By a second tree and shoot.

The image of the second tree and the second Adam also appears in the famous Exsultet (Easter Proclamation) as sung before the Easter Candle during the Easter Vigil: O truly necessary sin of Adam, destroyed completely by the death of Christ! O happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer! O truly blessed night, worthy alone to know the time and hour when Christ rose from the underworld! (Roman Missal 2011, 204-05) Fig. 49. The Score of the Exsultet Chant

Sandra Schneiders describes the cosmic effect of resurrection, “In the Resurrection the humanity of Jesus, including his body, was glorified, not dissolved. And that glorification reveals the potential, the destiny of the whole material universe, including our own very material humanity, which is groaning toward fulfillment” (2013, 57). The third to fifth stanzas sing of the merciful will of the Father, who sent His son to this earth to take flesh in Mary’s womb and be born in a manger. The sixth stanza describes the rejection and suffering Jesus experienced: “Only born to be rejected, choosing hunger, toil and pain, till the scaffold was erected and the Paschal Lamb was slain.” Then, however, in the seventh stanza, the Hymn again points to the ecological importance of the cross.

THE GOURD OF SMALL PENGLAI / 189 No disgrace was too abhorrent: Nailed and mocked and parched he died; Blood and water, double warrant, Issue from his wounded side, Washing in a mighty torrent Earth and stars and ocean tide.

Blood and water as issued from the side of Jesus purify the whole universe, so that it can recover its original state of creation. Saint Paul notes that the whole of creation groans in labor pains. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” (Romans 8:19-21)

This is amazingly close to Changchun’s insight that the cave and his body are both the gourd of small Penglai—a place where plants, mountains, animals, and human beings are interconnected. Only through the complete transformation of the gourd, can the harmony and life of all parts on earth be maintained. The last two stanzas praise the noble tree consecrated by the sacred lamb’s blood and ask the timber to smooth its roughness and flex its boughs for blossoming. The concluding stanza is sung by all. It praises the Holy Trinity “for redemption and salvation through the paschal mystery, now, in every generation, and for all eternity.” The Hymn to the Holy Cross thus begins with praise to the faithful cross of the saints and concludes with the praise to the Trinity for the salvation in all eternity through the paschal mystery. The work indicates that each one of us carries the cross, the suffering of life by which we are united with Jesus crucified and transformed from mortal to eternal life. The Christian image of the cross stands side by side with the Daoist image of the gourd that Changchun carried wherever he went, continuously resting in the primary life energy of Dao. The gourd and the cross, though distinct images developed in two different religious milieus and cultures, therefore, have a potent power to lead people to transformation of their inner self and its outward expression in acts of compassion to others.

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The Gourd and the Cross in Ecology These two images and symbols, moreover, may well contain an ecological meaning for humanity today. After almost forty years of academic study and ecological movements, it has become quite clear that neither lack of scientific knowledge nor of technology make environmental problems so difficult to solve. Rather, it is human arrogance and spiritual pride with regard to the place of the human species in the global ecosystem. Both the gourd and the cross in this context are signs of powerlessness and nonaction, of bridge building, harmonizing, and peace making. They both represent a vision for a society of equality and a strong paradigm of religious ecology. The gourd in particular stands for the power of powerlessness, the importance of wholeness and nonaction, which opens a new way of valuing the powerlessness of the cross. The trademark of Daoist teachings ever since Laozi has been its persistent insistence that the best way being in the world is by nonaction, without forced action that violates the natural flowering of life. Since Dao flows continuously but never imposes a particular will, it appears as if it does not act at all. Fig. 50. Gourds Near a Beijing Temple

Nonaction or non-interference is thus an effective approach to our relationship with the nonhuman dimensions of nature. To preserve and enhance the life of the natural world, we have to cultivate an attitude of attentiveness and sensitive listening to its silent changes. Nonaction is not only a tool that allows us to stand back and refrain from invasive

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actions, but also a directive to assist humanity in the moderation of covetousness until we learn how to relate with nature in “a natural, gradual, moderate style of conduct which opposes movements exercised intensely, coercively, dramatically, and on a large scale”(Liu 2001, 317). The immortal Changchun is a good example of how nonaction bears fruit as committed action based on purified intention and a balanced sensitivity toward the other. Yin Zhiping presents Changchun’s position on how action and nonaction become one in Dao: Our reverend teacher [Immortal Changchun] said that action and nonaction are one and the same in Dao. If one person cultivates himself by giving up all worldly affairs and concerns himself only with the transformation of his own heart, this is the path of nonaction. However, if one person accepts all the responsibilities flowing from his relationships and tries to do good deeds to contribute to society, this is the path of action. Cultivation of one’s heart is the highest task; next comes contributing to society by one’s good actions. Both come from the one Dao. People do not understand this clearly, and so they are not able to penetrate the Great One. (Beiyou yulu 1: 731)

In other words, purity of heart and respect for other beings bring forth ecologically right actions toward nature as well as toward fellow humans. Thus Laozi says, “There is no misfortune greater than being covetous. Being content, one will always have enough” (ch. 46). Daoist masters greatly value “knowing when it is enough” (zhizu 知足) because “he who knows contentment is rich” (ch. 33). Contemporary Western environmental thinkers have reached a similar conclusion. As Holmes Rolston notes, “A major problem in a consumer-oriented society is knowing when to say enough. Growth is a good thing only in regulated contexts; otherwise, growth can be cancerous” (1994, 29; see also Twist 2003). Similarly Murray Bookchin says, “When wholeness and completeness are viewed as the result of an immanent dialectic within phenomena, we do no more violence to the uniqueness of these phenomena than the principle of gravity does violence to the uniqueness of objects that fall within its ‘lawfulness’” (2005, 97). This closely relates to Anthony Weston’s appeal that we have to create “space”—conceptual, experiential, and physical—in order to “open up the possibility of reciprocity between humans and the rest of

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nature” (1995, 234). While, as Lawrence Kohlberg says, “most adults never succeed in rising above the conventional level in their moral reasoning” (Hoose 1987, 140), nonaction as an ethical principle challenges us to mature as human beings and human societies. It makes us realize that the best and happiest way to live is by allowing and even assisting everything to bloom in the way it should, i.e., according to Dao, its inner principle. The power of powerlessness in the Judeo-Christian tradition matches this. As one of the servant songs in Isaiah foretelling the gentle way of Messiah has it, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice” (42:3). Both Daoist and Christian traditions, moreover, see human beings as a bridge and require them to play actively in the world of creation. Daoist principles clearly define human beings as harmonizers or communicators between different sectors of the universe. Thus, Isabelle Robinet points out that the immortal serves as a mediator between Heaven and Earth, standing simultaneously above, below, and beyond the world. At the same time, he is also within this world, ensuring the union of all polarities by his simultaneous presence and absence (1985-86, 104-5). Humans beings are not simply “plain members and citizens of the land community” (Leopold 1949, 204), nor are they at the center or apex of the universe. Through his inner cultivation, Changchun learned to communicate with trees, birds, and immortals as well as with the poor and the rulers. Similarly, Saint Paul understood the cosmic role of Christ as the one who reconciled all creation and restored overall harmony. “I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church” (Colossians 1:24). This role is still valid for Christians today: mediators and harmonizers in the polarizing sectors of the universe by cultivating the sensitivity to listen and to communicate with all. Another common feature of the two traditions as represented by the gourd and the cross involves the vision of an equal society, both now and in eternity as the immortal world or the reign of God. Changchun learned to see all living things with the eyes of equity through the process of perfecting his own gourd of the immortal world, i.e., his own body. Inasmuch as the life energy of the gourd is purified, one can expand the energy of peace to the outer world.

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According to Daoist ecological insight, only when we as human beings deepen our inner cultivation and become one with Dao, can our outer cultivation be more natural and compassionate. Then we can assist both the human and natural world to be naturally ordered, enriched, and blossoming in continuous transformation. Jesus’ proclamation of the reign of God also presents a vision where everyone enjoys equal respect, for it turns around the measurement of happiness. The “Sermon on the Mount” is the keynote of the new age that Jesus came to introduce. Blessed are the poor in sprit, for there is the reign of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. . . . Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the reign of heaven. (Matthew 5:3-10)

Jesus was also very emphatic that the faith of the person he cured by him was the ultimate source of grace, which means that any cure did not depend on him. He asserted repeatedly that the grace of healing came from God through the power of faith in the patient’s heart. “Jesus turned, and seeing her (a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages) he said, ‘Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well’” (Matthew 9:22). When Jesus cured the centurion’s slave at Capernaum, he told his followers how great the Roman soldier’s faith was, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith” (Luke 7:9). Jesus warned us to treasure everyone because they have dignity bestowed from God by saying, “Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in Heaven” (Matthew 18:10). The Gourd Elder in the Daoist world hung an empty gourd on the ceiling of his house and jumped into it to take his rest. The gourd was dry, dead as a plant in this world. However, inside it held the life of the immortal world. In the same way, the cross is dry, a dead tree from which to hang criminals. However, the crucifixion of Jesus transformed it into the tree of faith, through which the whole of creation recovers eternal life. This hidden mystery continues in our age as well, but we have to have the eyes to see it and the ears to hear it. We have to realize that our nature is originally from Heaven! If we follow the way of Heaven, we attain Dao and reach the world of immortals and the reign of God.

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Further Readings Bible. 1991. New Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocrypha. Edited by Bruce M. Metzger and Roland E. Murphy. New York: Oxford University Press. Bookchin, Murray. 2005. The Ecology of Freedom: The Emergence and Dissolution of Hierarchy, Montreal: Black Rose Books. Campany, Robert Ford. 2001. “Ingesting the Marvelous: The Practitioner’s Relationship to Nature According to Ge Hong,” Daoism and Ecology: Ways within a Cosmic Landscape, edited by Norman J. Girardot, James Miller and Liu Xiaogan. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. _____. 2002. To Live As Long As Heaven and Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Divine Transcendents. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dryzek, John. 1990. “Green Reason: Communicative Ethics for the Biosphere.” Environmental Ethics 12:95-210. Eskildsen, Stephen. 2004. The Teachings and Practices of the Early Quanzhen Taoist. Albany: State University of New York Press. Grassian, Victor. 1992. Moral Reasoning: Ethical Theory and Some Contemporary Moral Problems. Lebanon, Ind.: Prentice Hall. Hachiya, Kunio 蜂屋邦夫. 1998. Kingen jidai no dōkyō: Shichishin kenkyū 金元時代 の道敎--七眞硏究. Tokyo: Tokyo University Institute of Asian Culture. Kim, Sung-hae. 2008. “The Immortal World: The Telos of Daoist Environmental Ethics.” Environmental Ethics 30.2:135-57. _____. 2012. “The Gourd of Small Penlai: Environmental Ethics in Quanzhen Poetry.” Journal of Daoist Studies 5:202-20. Kohlberg, Lawrence, and Bernard Hoose. 1987. Proportionalism: Its American Debate and Its European Roots, Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press. Lai, Chi-tim. 2001. “The Daoist Concept of Central Harmony in the Scripture of Great Peace: Human Responsibility for the Maladies of Nature.” In Daoism and Ecology: Ways Within a Cosmic Landscape, edited by N. Girardot et al., 95112. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, Leopold , Aldo. 1949. “The Land Ethics,” A Sand County Almanac. New York: Oxford University Press.

THE GOURD OF SMALL PENGLAI / 195 Liu, Xiaogan. 2001. “Nonaction and the Environment Today: A Conceptual and Applied Study of Laozi’s Phiolosophy. “ In Daoism and Ecology, edited by N. J. Girardot et al., 315-335. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Meyer, Jeffrey F. 2001. “Salvation in the Garden: Daoism and Ecology.” In Daoism and Ecology, edited by N. J. Girardot et al., 219-34. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Miller, James. 2003. Daoism: A Short Introduction. London: One World Publications. Mori Yuria 森由利亞. 2001. “Infukyō 陰符經.” In Dōkyō no kyōten o yumu 道敎の 經典を讀む, edited by Masuo Shin’ichirō 增尾伸一郞 and Maruyama Hiroshi 丸山宏, 187-200. Tokyo: Taishūkan shoten. Naess, Arne. 1973. “The Shallow and the Deep, Long-range Ecological Movement, a Summary.” Inquiry 16:95-100. _____. 1989. Ecology, Community, and Life Style: Outline of An Ecosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Plumwood ,Val. 1993. Feminism and Mastery of Nature. New York: Routledge. Reagan ,Tom. 1983. The Case for Animal Rights. Berkeley: University of California Press. _____. 2003. “Animal Rights.” In Environmental Ethics, edited by F. Light and H. Rolston, 65-73. London: Blackwell. Robinet, Isabelle. 1985. “The Taoist Immortal: Jesters of Light and Shadow, Heaven and Earth.” Journal of Chinese Religions 13/14:87-106. Rolston, Holmes. 1994. Conserving Natural Value. New York: Columbia University Press. Roman Missal. 2011. English Translation According to the Third Typical Edition. New Jersey: Catholic Book Publishing Corporation. Salzman , Todd A. 1995. Deontology and Teleology: An Investigation of the Normative Debate in Roman Catholic Moral Theology. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Schipper, Kristofer M. 2001. “Daoist Ecology: The Inner Transformation. A Study of the Precepts of the Early Daoist Ecclesia.” In Daoism and Ecology: Ways Within a Cosmic Landscape, edited by N. Girardot et al., 79-94. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. _____, and Franciscus Verellen, eds. 2004. The Taoist Canon: A Historical Companion to the Daozang. 3 vols. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

196 / CHAPTER SEVEN Schneiders, Sandra M. 2013. Buying the Field. New York: Paulist Press. Singer, Peter. 1974. “All Animals are Equal.” In Animal Rights and Human Obligations, edited by Tom Regan and Peter Singer, 73-86. Lebanon: Prentice Hall. _____. 2002. Animal Liberation. New York: Harper Collins. Stein, Rolf A. 1990. The World in Miniature: Container Gardens and Dwellings in Far Eastern Religious Thought. Translated by Phyllis Brooks. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Twist, Lynne. 2003. The Soul of Money: Transforming Your Relationship with Money and Life. New York: W. W. Norton. Watson, Burton. 1968. The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu. New York and London: Columbia University Press. Waley, Arthur. 1931. The Travels of an Alchemist. London: George Routledge & Sons. Weston, Anthony. 1995. “Before Environmental Ethics.” In Postmodern Environmental Ethics, edited by Max Oelschlaeger. Albany: State University of New York Press. _____. 2004. “Multicentrism: A Manifesto.” Environmental Ethics 26.1. Zhang, Jiyu, and Li Yuanguo. 2001. “Mutual Stealing among the Three Powers in the Scripture of Unconscious Unification.” In Daoism and Ecology: Ways Within a Cosmic Landscape, edited by N. Girardot et al., 113-22. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Zhang Guangbao 張廣保. 1995. Jin Yuan Quanzhen dao neidan xinxing xu 金元全眞 道內丹心性學. Beijing: Sanlian.

Chapter Eight Daoism and Christianity in Korean Folk Piety1 South Korean culture stands out due to the coexistence and interaction among several major world religions as well as the pervasive, continuous influence of indigenous East Asian religions such as Shamanism, Confucianism, and Daoism. Over half of the population admits religious affiliation (55.1%), about evenly divided among Buddhists (22.1%) and Christians (22.5% Protestants, 10.1% Catholics).2 The birthdays of both the Buddha and Jesus are national holidays; the spiritual influence of both religions is visible in the numerous temples and churches all over the country, even in remote mountain villages. Christianity, which has only been present in the country for about 200 years, is still able to compete with Buddhism, which first entered Korea 1600 years ago. This phenomenon has to do mainly with the Confucian persecution of Buddhism during the Chosŏn dynasty (1392-1910) and the Christian contribution to the country’s modernization. There are no active Daoist temples or masters in Korea today. However, its influence is tangible in every fabric of Korean life. Most visible are forms of as folk piety, such as Fengshui for burial sites, the exchange birth dates to determine the suitability of a marriage partner, the pervasive interest in long life, Daoist medicine, and healing exercises, as well as the ritual practice of talismans and invocations. Daoism first arrived on the Korean peninsula in 624, when the Tang emperor Gaozu sent a group of Daoist masters to the Korean court. They brought a statue of the Heavenly Worthy and a copy of the Daode jing and established a set of 1 The transliteration of Korean in this volume follows the McCuneReischauer system. I have also consulted Edward W. Wagner’s translation of Kibaek Yi’s A New History of Korea (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard Yenching Institute, 1984). 2 Newslink.media.daum.net—Religious population of South Korea, 2013. 197

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national Daoist rituals in the country. These continued until the early Chosŏn dynasty, and only stopped in 1518, when orthodox Confucians persuaded the king to refrain from them (see Jung 2000). Since Daoism had no separate institutional identity, it coexisted with other religions and merged with them to create folk piety. The evidence can be found in small halls dedicated to the Seven Stars of the Dipper (Ch’ilsŏngkak 七星閣) or the Mountain God (Sansinkak 山神閣) in many Buddhist temples. Popular belief in the Dipper is still widespread: when a person dies, seven holes are drilled into a pine board to represent this constellation. Sometimes the same mark is also executed on paper, with the deceased placed on top, since the Dipper controls all life and death and can secure good fortune in the otherworld. Also, each traditional village used to have a small shrine near its entrance dedicated to the City God (Sŏnghuangtang 城 隍 堂 ). Also, in the old days, women would place the picture of the Stove God (Chowangsin 竈王神) on the wall above the hearth and prayed to him by offering a dish of pure water. This practice has largely disappeared today, except in the kitchens of Buddhist temples in remote areas. Fig. 51. The God of Long Life.

Another area where Daoism spread in the population is its ethical writings. From the 18th through the early 20th century, the government variously printed and distributed relevant Daoist texts. These included the Taishang ganying pian 太上感應編 (Highest Treatise on Impulse and Response; see Webster 1971), the Wenchang jun yinzhi wen 文昌帝君陰隲 文(Text on the Secret Blessings of Lord Wenchang [God of Literature];

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see Kleeman 1994), and the Gongguo ge 功過格(Ledgers of Merit and Demerit; see Brokaw 1991). In addition, the belief in Kwanje 關帝, the popular Chinese god of wealth, first arrived through military personnel who came to assist Korea during the Japanese invasion in the late 16th century. It had a great appeal to the common people because of its combination of moral integrity and personal prosperity. In general, Daoist ethical ideas and practices teach retributive morality that connects good works with blessings. They contributed greatly to the formation of Korea folk piety. More spiritually inclined seekers, moreover, also turned to Daoist internal alchemy, notably during the mid-Chosŏn. Daoism also contributed to the development of indigenized Christianity, mainly because religious frame is so similar. Both share a fundamental belief in a supreme force or deity who presides over life and morality as well as in salvation as immortality or resurrection, i.e., eternal life after physical death. They also have in common social ideals of human equality, a focus on internal cultivation, and a firm conviction of the attainability of freedom. Over the last two hundred years, these characteristics have interacted and reinforced each other in the popular piety of Korea, shaping a unique form of Daoist-Christian culture in folk piety. The term folk piety usually indicates a certain set of customs people practice without clear philosophical formulation or theories. It contains deep-rooted traditional belief systems, expressed in a variety of ways, including myths and folktales, ritual paintings and clothes, folk medicine, and more. Pope Francis, in his exhortation, “The Joy of the Gospel,” defines it: “Popular piety enables us to see how the faith, once received, becomes embodied in a culture and is constantly passed on. Once looked down upon, popular piety came to be appreciated once more in the decades following the Council.” He also notes that folk piety “manifests a thirst for God, which only the poor and simple can know” and that “it makes people capable of generosity and sacrifice even to the point of heroism, when it is a question of bearing witness to belief” (#123). To me, this definition of folk piety is particularly poignant because it contains an appreciation and respect toward what the common people of each country have practiced in their simple, unarticulated search for God.

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Faith in Heaven and Lower Deities The foundation of Korean folk piety is the faith in Heaven as the supreme deity, assisted by numerous lesser gods. Until Christianity arrived in Korea in the 18th century, there was no concept of monotheism. Both popular and court religion acknowledged ten thousand deities (mansin 萬神) with specialize shamans as mediators. Heaven presides over them as well as over all living beings in the universe; it is directly associated with morality and the exercise of justice in life. As recorded in the Samguk sagi 三國史記 (History of Three Kingdoms), Kim Yu-sin 金庾信 (595-673), the famous Silla general who united the Three Kingdoms, at age 15 fasted in a mountain cave and prayed to Heaven, using the following words: “Our country is in danger because the enemies invade us often. May Heaven on High have mercy on us and bestow the ability upon me to bring it peace” (41-43). Another early Silla document is a stone stele, excavated in its ancient capital in 1940 and known as the Imsin sŏkisŏk 壬 申 誓 記 石 (Record of the Vow of the Imsin Year). According to this, two young men took the following vow: Fig. 52. Mountain God Handing Down “We both vow before Heaven to Secret Methods be faithful to the way of loyalty for the next three years without any faults. If we violate our vows, may Heaven punish us.” The Samguk sagi also tells the story of the politician Wang Kŏ-in 王 居人, who was imprisoned by Queen Chinsŏng (887-897). He cried to Heaven to free him because he was innocent: “My misfortune is so great! Why does August Heaven not send down a sign for me?” Soon the pris-

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on building was struck by lightening, and he was released (ch. 2, Kŏt’achi). Heaven as the authority who bestows the right to rule on the king is also prominent in the founding myths of the Three Kingdoms: Kokyuryo (37 BC-AD 668), Paeckche (18 BC-AD 660), and Silla (57 BCAD 935). It continued in Koryŏ (918-1392), obvious in the twenty-eight points of the policy memorial, submitted by the minister Ch’oe Sŭng-no 崔承老 to King Sŏngjong (981-997). He advised the king to respect virtue and follow the will of Heaven, thereby to eliminate disasters and establish blessings—each blessing coming directly from Heaven (#21). The memorials used in Daoist rituals (ch’olye ch’ŏsa 醮禮青詞) of the Koryŏ and Chosŏn periods similarly show a relationship between the highest deity and the Dipper as the ruler of all fates. “The Clarities [samch’ŏng 三清] silently preside over the transformation of life, while the Dipper works as their throat and tongue.” Throat and tongue represent the image of the minister, who gives concrete orders of rewards and punishments. In other words, various lesser deities served as the assistants and ministers of the highest god, known variously as Heaven, Dao, Emperor on High, or the Three Clarities. They also play an important role in the folk practice of keeping a vigil on the night every 57th day of the 60-day cycle (kyŏngsin 庚申), when lesser deities residing in the human body ascend to heaven to report the individual’s wrongdoings. Since the higher gods would punish people with a reduction in life expectancy, many people stayed awake so that their life would not be shortened. Kim Si-sŭp 金時習 (1435-1493), who resisted the deposition of king Tanjong by his powerful uncle, was believed to have become an immortal by apparent death (sihaesŏn 尸解仙). He is also the author of an essay, entitled Uich’onmun 擬天問 (Questioning Heaven). He asks, “Why does Heaven not distribute good and bad fortune equitably? Why does Heaven not prolong harmony and prosperity for a long time before they fade away? Why does Heaven not equally proportion its benefits among all creatures?” (1-3). Questions like these represent universal riddles of life that no human being can ever answer. Kim Si-sŭp phrased them in a dialogue between Heaven and himself. The answers he receives from Heaven tend to be Neo-Confucian in nature. Just as the four seasons change and transform continuously, so does the way of Heaven keep constancy

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and justice beyond human perception. It is our destiny to wait until the constant way becomes visible and transparent. The first Christian community in Korea began in 1784 with the baptism of Yi Sŭng-hun 李承薰 in Beijing. When he returned to Seoul, he baptized a small group of young Confucian scholars who were studying Western Learning (Sŏhak 西學) with him. Chŏng Yak-chong 丁若鍾 (1760-1801), a Confucian convert, wrote the first Korean Catechism for the ordinary people, known as Chukyo yochi 主教要旨 (The Essentials of the Lord’s Teaching).

Fig. 53. Chŏng Yak-chong

Fig. 54. Cover of the Chukyo yochi

It contains a strong continuity between the traditional concept of Heaven and his particular understanding of the Christian God. “Every human being looking up to the sky knows that there is the Lord and Master above it, so that when he or she is sick or encounters hardship, he prays to Heaven, ‘Let me be free from this suffering.’ Similarly, when frightened by lightening and thunder, he recalls his sins and repents with shame. If there is no God in heaven, how can it be possible that everyone possesses such a heart?” With these words, Chŏng Yak-chong connects the Christian God with the traditional belief of the supreme deity in folk piety.

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However, he had to work hard to distinguish Heaven from the Jade Emperor, the senior official of the otherworldly administration, who appears as the highest deity in the popular literature of the Chosŏn dynasty. In official Daoism, he is a lower deity, who takes care of distribution of good fortune or punishment according to individual actions. However, since he is so close to the daily life of the people, folk piety tends to identify him with Heaven. Chŏng Yak-chong had thus to dissociate the Christian concept of Heaven from the Jade Emperor as well as from the Buddha and other deities. In other words, he tried to transform the traditional concept of Heaven into Christian monotheism with the mystery of triune God. He was amazingly successful in this endeavor and today, after Western culture has prevailed in South Korea for over two hundred years, people perceive Heaven largely as the monotheistic God—not only Christians but also the majority of the non-Christian population. An in-depth survey by the Korean Gallup Poll Center in 1984 on “Religion and Religious Consciousness of the Koreans” reports that 70 percent of the people agree to the question, “Do you think there is an absolute Being or God?” However, since Heaven primarily relates to ethical principles, while other (lower) deities relate to blessings, some people still pray with the aid of shamans to the Dipper for longevity, to Emperor Kwanje for prosperity, and to the Three Grandmas for pregnancy and fertility. This faith in obtaining blessings forms an important part of folk piety— belief in a monotheistic Heaven and practices dedicated to polytheistic gods fuse deeply in Korean life today. A good example of how Korean folk piety combines blessings with meritorious actions appears in the hundred-day prayer (paekil kito 百日祈 禱), typically undertaken before the university entrance examination. The parents of the prospective college students perform meritorious works and say regular prayers. Buddhists, Catholics, and Protestants all do this in their own way, and both temples and churches help the parents fulfill their duties. However, more than anything Daoism contributed to this notion of doing good deeds and counting them, using particular ledgers of merits and demerit, which allowed them to calculate the blessings or calamities to expect. Among all the many blessings in life, Koreans rank health first and value longevity the highest. They both relate closely to Daoist ideas of vitality and immortality as well as to the practice of Chinese medicine,

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which in many ways was a carrier of Daoist concepts into Korean culture. Hŭ Chun 許浚 (1539-1615), in his Tongŭi pokam 東醫寶鑑 (Precious Mirror of Oriental Medicine; dat. 1612), a well-known Korean medical compendium, shows how deeply Daoist his basic philosophy was. To him, the pursuit of Dao is the most important and highest goal in life; medical practice, in contrast, merely deals with outside phenomena. In that sense, healing ailments and enhancing health form the first step in the cultivation of life energy. The human body is the key vehicle of perfection in Dao, the foundation of self-realization on earth. It houses the spirit of the divine and opens the unfolding of a new and spiritual life, forming a true bridge between universe and humanity.

Myth, Thought, and Ritual The belief in immortality pervades Korean culture, but it is not clear whether this is indigenous to the country or goes back to the introduction of Daoism from China. Clearly linked to local holy mountains, it may well go back to original Korean inhabitants and later transformed under Daoist influence. Historical documents provide some insight into the process of development, and there is no doubt that the Daoist faith in the immortals refined Korean religious thought. As Daoism became more popular, it also provided a philosophical framework to Korean thought, notably through the introduction of its classics, such as the Daode jing and the Zhuangzi. The founding myth of the oldest Korean kingdom tells how King Tan’gun’s father descended from Heaven to a sacred mountain tree. He married a woman transformed from a bear, thereby establishing the Korean nation. After Tan’gun ruled the people for 1,500 years, he became an immortal and was honored as a mountain god. The Samguk sagi mentions five major mountains in Silla, each with its unique deity. These gods were called immortals (sŏn 仙), a word that literally means “mountain man.” Koreans believed that immortals enjoyed complete freedom and transcended all restrictions of space and time. They were also able to appear in different shapes, often choosing the manifestation as tigers to protect the people.

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The late Silla period writer Ch’oe Ch’i-wŏn 崔致遠 (b. 857), who studied in China, describes the life of the military leader Nanlang 鸞郎. In this context, he mentions that there was mysterious religiosity in Silla, which included three religions, Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism (Samguk sagi 4, King Jinhŏng 37, Spring). He called this mysterious religiosity the Way of the Wind and Streams (p’ung lyuto 風流道). It represents Fig. 55. Tan’gun.

the native Korean piety that formed the foundation for their integration of the three religions from China. In Silla, selected handsome youths not only underwent training in the military arts, but they also journeyed together to the beautiful mountains and prayed to Heaven for blessings on their nation. Communal enjoyment and prayer also characterize the oldest festivals in Korea: participants worshiped Heaven and celebrated life with music and dancing—a feature still essential in Korean Shamanism. Daoist philosophy as represented in the ancient thinkers became part of Korean culture in the Three Kingdoms period, and formed part of the curriculum of the national academy in Unified Silla. When the Paekche crown prince wanted to pursue the enemy, his military advisor Makkohae 幕古解 cited the Daode jing, “If you know when it is enough, you will suffer no disgrace” (ch. 44). The phrase, “knowing when it is enough” later became highly popular, forming part of popular piety in traditional Korea. It indicates that one should not have much attachment to success, which can harm people and cause problems, and that any accumulation of things just leads to their eventual loss. Similarly, failure may just be a necessary stepping stone for success and an initial loss may lead to happiness.

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In the early 12th century, King Yejong (1105-1122) of the Koryŏ dynasty (918-1392), founded the first royal Daoist temple in the capital. Ten Daoist masters worked there, performing regular rituals on behalf of the state. Many famous writers wrote prayers to the deities, called Blue Prayers (ch’ŏngsa 青 詞 ). Thirty-six of them are preserved in the Tongmunsŏn 東文選 (Literary Collections of Korea). After Daoist temples were discontinued in the early Chosŏn period, the only Daoist practitioners in Korea were private individuals who pursued internal alchemy. Although hidden, they maintained the Daoist way.

Internal Alchemy The most important Daoist book of traditional Korea is the Haetong ichŏk 海東異蹟 (Miraculous Records of Korea), by Hong Man-jong 洪萬宗. It is a collection of stories of thirty-five Korean immortals, beginning with Tan’gun, the first king of Old Chosŏn, and culminating with Kwak Chaeu 郭再祐, a red-garbed general during the Japanese invasion in 1592-98. Another major immortal in the book is Kim Ka-gi 金可紀 from Silla, who practiced self-cultivation in the Zhongnan mountains and ascended to heaven in 857, witnessed by numerous bystanders. Another important a figure is Kim Si-sŭp, the author of the Uich’onmun and a dedicated practitioner of internal alchemy. His last words were that he did not want to be cremated, even though he was a Buddhist monk. People believed that he became an immortal leaving his body behind. The story about Perfected Kwon 權真人 and his disciple Nam Kungtu 南宮頭, moreover, describes the process of becoming an immortal. Nam was a Confucian scholar, who passed the first national examination in 1555. When he discovered that his wife had an affair with another man, he was so upset that he killed the two and fled into the mountains. There he became a Buddhist monk, but was not satisfied and began to look for something else. Eventually he met a person who not only knew everything about him, but also introduced him to Perfected Kwon. Seeking him out, he asked to become his disciple and served him for seven years. The very first thing he had to do was learn to stay awake for a whole week. Nam managed to do so and passed his first test. Perfected

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Kwon acknowledged that he had “a lot of patience” and agreed to teach him. Next, he had to reduce his food intake radically, over several weeks shifting from three to two and then one meal a day, and finally taking only powdered bamboo roots and black beans, pine needles and sesame seeds. His third step consisted of the study of Daoist alchemical and meditation texts, such as the Zhouyi cantong qi 周 易 參 洞 契 (Triple Tally to the Zhou Book of Changes) and the Huangting neiwai jing 黃庭內外經 (Inner and Outer Classics of the Yellow Court). He had to recite themeach ten times a day for several years. This frequent repetition allowed him to absorb the essence of Daoism and thus prepared him for immortality. The final step of the training was the practice of internal alchemy. He first learned to count his breaths and move his qi around the body, guiding it along the major energy channels in the torso in the microcosmic Fig. 56. The Macrocosmic Orbit orbit (xiaozhou tian 小周天) as well as into the extremities in the macrocosmic orbit (dazhou tian 大周天). He also learned to calm his mind, eliminating all greed and covetousness while cultivating inner tranquility and spiritual inspiration. Working with both the physical and the mental represents the classic pattern of the dual cultivation of inner nature and physical life. The core of the practice lies in the purification of internal qi. First, adepts perceive their qi as liquid, collecting in the lower elixir field in the abdomen. Then they gradually transform it into a more subtle and lighter form, like air. Next, they refine this further into spiritual energy, as which it is then called the Golden Elixir. Nam Kung-tu was just about at this stage, when he started to rush the process. He saw a golden light

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radiating from below but instead of slowly and gently suffusing his body; it increased in heat and intensity, and turned into a fever. Reaching all the way up into his head, it burned his upper elixir field, known also as the Niwan Palace. Feeling as if he was burning up from the inside, he screamed and ran out of the room. Later Perfected Kwon explained to him that he was very close to reaching the goal but failed because he still lacked virtue and merit. The story shows how Daoist folk piety and internal alchemy work together. The teacher insists that the most important thing is to develop virtue and merit, which means never to lie to oneself or anyone else. The gods and spirits always know when someone is lying: they constantly surround him and specific agents report to the celestial administration, headed by the Jade Emperor. Anytime anyone does something good or bad, divine bureaucrats record this fact in the ledgers of life and death, managed by the seven stars of the Dipper. They ensure that the individual receives the appropriate reward or punishment without delay. A key feature in this Daoist ethical system is the notion of hidden virtue. This means that, when seeing someone in need, one should help them without letting anyone know, not even the beneficiary. Doing good but not claiming it, remaining hidden in one’s actions is the best thing one can do: after all, Heaven always knows. The Daoist emphasis on hidden virtue resonates with Jesus’ words in the Gospel, Whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly, I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you? (Matthew 6:2-4)

It is, therefore, no wonder that some Daoist practitioners in 19th-century Korea found themselves attracted to Christianity when they first encountered it.

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Daoism in Literature Daoism also exerted a major influence on Chosŏn classical literature, both in prose and poetry. For example, the mid-18th-century novel Sukhyangchŏn 淑香傳 (The Life of Suk-hyang) enjoyed great popularity. At birth, Suk-hyang’s entire life is decided by Heaven, represented by the Buddha who serves as an official in the administration of the Jade Emperor in the function of bestowing individual life expectancy. According to Buddhism, the Buddha ranks above the Jade Emperor, but folk piety has a different perspective and places the traditional supreme God in the highest position. The Jade Emperor also orders the seven star gods of the Dipper to determine how many children Suk-hyang will have, after which the South Star gives her blessings. She is in fact an exiled immortal, banished from the moon to the earth because she stole the cinnabar elixir of the moon (wŏllyŏngtan 月靈丹). To repay her fault, Suk-hyang had to go through five major misfortunes on this earth. First, she suffered separation from her parents at age five, being adopted by a rich family who did not treat her as nicely. Next, due to a conspiracy, she had to leave their house, becoming a lonely mendicant. Third, she fell into the river, only to be rescued with major effort. Fourth, her clothes burned while she was passing through a bamboo field. Both being submerged in water and burned by fire are symbolic forms of purification. Finally, she was thrown into prison in the capital, but after being released, she reunited with her parents and got married. When she and her husband were seventy years old, they had undergone sufficient penance and both received permission to return to heaven, their original home. Another popular novel full of Daoist themes is the Ch’un-hyang chŏn 春香傳 (Spring Fragrance Tale), where a daughter of a gisaeng 妓生 (female entertainer) and a son of a noble family fall in love and get married. It was unthinkable in the Chosŏn period that a woman from a lowclass family should marry a man of aristocratic background. The story is thus entirely fictional. It also takes place on a background beyond real time and place, in the world of the immortals. The novel begins with the young woman hero, Ch’un-hyang, living as a beautiful immortal in heaven. Like Suk-hyang, she is born on earth because she did something wrong in heaven. Her original status is noble, which is why the marriage

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could take place. The male hero, Yi Mong-ryong 李夢龍, lived in the Samchŏngdong 三清洞 District of Seoul—not only named after the highest Daoist gods, the Three Clarities, but also the location of the last royal Daoist temple. In other words, there are no social stratifications in Dao, and the celestial realm is openly present in the common world. The background set in the novel. Thus, shows the ideal close connection of Heaven and Earth and oneness of all in Dao, which alone makes it possible to overcome the gap of the couple’s social status and the story’s happy end. The immortal world also plays a strong role in Chosŏn classical poetry, reflecting on the social tendency to pursue a simpler and more equitable life. A dominant representative is Yu Mong-in 柳夢寅 (d. 1623), widely read in the Daoist classics, including not only the Daode jing and Zhuangzi, but also Ge Hong’s Shenxian zhuan and Baopuzi. After the Japanese invasion of 1592-98, despite the unstable situation caused by political conflicts, he passionately pursued the immortal realm. About 20 percent of the 150 poems collected in his Ouchip 於于集 (Being Present) are about immortals. While people may doubt their existence, to him they are quite real: invisible yet deeply enjoying their freedom. A huge rock on the edge of the cliff seems to hide part of the sky. A pair of boats lay side by side on the cold, dark blue lake. Old city walls have stood at the cliff for thousands of years. A tall pine tree oversees ten thousand eons.

Here different aspect of natures combine with manmade structures to show an all-pervasive longevity while also representing the immortal realm. The old pine tree in particular stands out as the image of immortals. The following poem has a humor and appears like a vivid painting. The old immortal reveals his back. The young immortal has long white nails. The fresh breeze arises from the ten fingers. There is cool shadow under the pine tree.

The poem describes a scene, where the young immortal scratches the older one’s back. In Daoist verse and literature, the old and young often play and frolic together in mutual ease—there is no difference

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among generations, no hierarchy of age. They dance and play together freely. Their figures also appear in paintings. The two terms, immortal landscape (sŏnkyŏng 仙境) and immortal realm (sŏnkye 仙界) both signify the otherworld: “landscape” indicates just how beautiful it is as a place, a real, concrete location, while the term “realm” implies the immortal ideal, invoking an imaginary place where perfected beings live in fulfillment of the Daoist endeavor. Both the Jade Emperor and the Queen Mother of the West live in the immortal realm, in luxurious palaces guarded by fierce tigers. Inside the walls, all is exquisite, nothing lacking. This is an ideal world, where beings sojourn surrounded by marvelous nature, colorful art, and beautiful music. Unlike the immortal realm, immortal landscape can also be found on this earth, in places of special power, of high life energy, of unrivaled beauty. According to traditional belief, the immortal realm exists both in the sky and in the sea. The immortals enjoy complete freedom over all and know no boundaries among the three levels of existence: Heaven, Earth, and underworld. This is different from the conception of the universe in the Christian worldview: once his or her fate is determined, one cannot transit from hell to heaven, or vice versa. In Daoism, on the other hand, all is in flux, the universe is open, and life shifts with overarching flexibility. Here paradise is wherever immortals live: paradise islands may appear anywhere, in the ocean, on mountaintops, in caves, or in the sky. As Yu Mong-in says in his poetry, When the sun rises at dawn from its Fusang Tree, The world turns as bright as the scarlet red. When the sunlight overthrows on the island of Penglai, It seems to float as blue as the sky. Where are the medicines for immortality? A young lady is rowing a small boat.

Immortals are supposed to wear blue clothes, for the color blue represents life in Daoism. When there is fullness of life, both grass and sky appear in a blue green hue. Fusang is a mythical tree in the far eastern end of heaven. It connects the different levels of the universe, stretching from the sky to the earth. Penglai is the main paradise of the immortals. Some people may well overlook their presence in the here and now, avidly searching for magical medicines that supposedly render them im-

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mortal—when, in fact, immortality is here and now, in ordinary life, a woman in a boat. Yu also says, An immortal comes from the sky, Giving me a piece of cloud. The shining light is so bright It makes me close my eyes.

“A piece of cloud” is an image for the immortal realm. The poem implies that its author receives an invitation to the magical world of perfection, being blinded by its immense, powerful radiance. Inspired by this, Yu determines to reach this realm and ascend to the immortals.

Fig. 57. Immortals Crossing the Sea

Similar motifs also appear in paintings of the late Chosŏn period. A well-known work is the Haesang kunsŏnto 海上群仙圖 (Immortals Crossing the Sea) by Kim Hong-to 金弘道 (1745-1806). Painted on eight sides of a silk screen, it portrays thirty-seven immortals freely walking on the

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sea. The painting also includes turtles, deer, clouds, immortal herbs, and a peach to symbolize long life. Its central part shows an old man, Laozi riding his ox and holding his classic, the Daode jing. Little children stand on the side, with incense burners and fans, similar to leaves. Yi Nung-wha 李能和, who wrote the first history of Korean Daoism, said that Koreans in the Chosŏn dynasty used to put paintings of chickens, tigers, and immortals on their walls to serve as protective talismans. On the 5th day of the 5th month, moreover, they would pray for blessings from heaven by putting red talismans on their doors. Both this practice and the use of invocations, as well as the active cultivation of life energy through internal alchemy, form important characteristics of Daoism in Korean folk piety. These characteristics, moreover, transferred into the Christian piety, adopted by new converts who yet remained steeped in their traditional ways.

The Christian Dimension Christianity reached Korea by two different routes. The first led through Japan, where Francis Xavier and his Jesuit companions arrived on August 15, 1549. The first Christian to walk on Korean soil was Father Gregorio de Céspedes, a Spanish Jesuit who accompanied Kōnishi Yukinaga 小西行長 from December 28, 1593 to April 15, 1595. He worked as an undercover army chaplain for Japanese Christian soldiers stationed in Korea. About 1,300 Korean captives taken to Japan underwent baptism in Nagasaki in 1596. However, there is no evidence for a historical continuity between these early captive Catholics and the later Korean community of 1784. The second route led through China. Slower and more dependent on cultural influence, it bore fruit by forming a tiny but strong community that withstood prolonged persecutions by the government, dedicated to upholding the Neo-Confucian orthodoxy. In the early 17th century, Yi Gwang-jeong 李光庭 and other official diplomats stationed in China brought back world maps, scientific instruments (telescopes, clocks), theological treatises by Matteo Ricci, and other Jesuit writings available in China. However, the government outlawed Christianity as a foreign religion in 1785, following the founding of first Christian community in

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1784. Missionaries arriving from China and France only increased the opposition. It culminated in four major Catholic Persecutions, in 1801, 1839, 1846, and 1866, which caused over 10,000 people to die. Only when Korea opened to the West in 1876 did religious tolerance become a value, and Christian missionaries began to make new inroads. The first Protestant missionaries arrived in the mid 1880s, including the Presbyterian Horace Newton Allen and the two Americans, H. G. Underwood and H. G. Appenzeller. Hungry for rapid modernization, Koreans deeply appreciated their indirect method of propagating the Gospel through modern education and hospitals. They also related to the missionaries’ emphasis on Bible studies—using first Korean translations done in China and Japan before the missionaries’ arrival—since they were used to literary expression of belief and held a deep reverence for Confucian classics and Buddhist sutras as vehicles for truth and cultivation. In addition, the new missionaries were flexible, adapting their Western ways of preaching to indigenous patterns. Their first converts, moreover, deeply rooted in popular piety and especially Daoism, transformed Christian teachings and pedagogy in the light of an experience of Dao and the pursuit of immortality. As described by Oak Sung-deuk (2006), in 1893 Samuel A. Moffett began his missionary activity in Pyongyang, making first converts among merchants. At this time, Daoist practitioners argued with him about the difference between his new religion and their traditional Daoism. They found an affinity between their search for longevity and immortality with the resurrection of Jesus and were attracted to the Christian teaching of forgiveness. A group of Daoists in Pyongyang converted to Christianity around the time of the Sino-Japanese War (1894-95). They soon became leaders, elders, and pastors in the Presbyterian church. They were well established by 1907, when the Great Revival Movement began, led by the Korean pastor Kil Sŏn-ju 吉善宙 (1869-1935). A Christian hymn from this time shows their incorporation of Daoist longevity: There is no tiredness in heaven, only longevity without aging 長生不老. The divine embryo 神胎 enhances longevity without aging. Human life is full of sufferings and difficulties. There is joy in heaven, full of longevity without aging. (Bulletin of Korean Christians, July 28, 1898; Oak 2006, 68)

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Beginning in 1897, Christian newspapers started to feature articles that distinguishes Christian eternal life from Daoist longevity without aging and criticized Daoist promises as futile. The hymn was eliminated from the Christian hymnal in 1898.

Fig. 58. Pastor Kil Sŏn-ju with His Associates

Pastor Kil Sŏn-ju underwent a most dramatic conversion experience, which was well recorded by both his American missionary friends and by his son. He practiced Daoist internal alchemy for nine years before converting to Christianity in 1897, at age 29. During this time, he sought refuge in mountain shrines and meditated by reciting Daoist incantations, including the opening lines of the Daode jing, “The way that can be spoken of is not the constant way.” This led to an experience of freshness in mind and body. At one point, he and his friend Kim Chong-sŏp 金鍾燮 spent one hundred days in the mountains, fasting and chanting and praying to Heaven, while fighting sleep. Sometimes they heard mysterious flute music or loud explosions. They practiced Daoist quiet sitting, healing exercises, and breathing methods, thereby communicating with the spirits in heaven. This period of quiet cultivation was disrupted by the Sino-Japanese War in 1894. When Kil Sŏn-ju returned in 1895, he was surprised to learn that his friend had become a Christian. “Why in the world did you abandon the Daoist way we practiced for so long?” Kim replied that he found what they sought in Christianity. Kil was not convinced, but agreed to pray to the Lord on High for guidance and revelation. At the

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same time, he observed how Kim acted, his way of walking and resting, and began to fear that Kim was right. One day in the fall of 1896, Kil Sŏnju prayed all night long. He later recounts, It was my seventh day of praying. I was tired and depressed, hanging on in half stupor. Suddenly I heard a loud voice calling my name in the darkness, “Kil Sŏn-ju!” I woke and saw my room filled with glorious light, brightening everything around me. Looking back, I can say, Oh, how happy I was! My prayers for the last few years have been answered. I finally found the God I was looking for with such anguish. My heart is peaceful in my father’s house, where all my sins are forgiven. (Gale 1907, 494)

Kil prayed to the Lord on High, the highest deity of popular piety, and met the God of Christianity. From then on, he called God his father. There is no break here. Instead, there is a seamless process, a natural transformation of experience. After his baptism, Kil underwent training and ordained as a pastor. However much he was a Christian, his spirituality as expressed in his numerous sermons was still full of Korean folk piety and showed strong tenets of Daoist religiosity. He introduced the “Dawn Prayer” to Bible study meetings in the church. American missionaries repeatedly report. “These people’s passion is amazing. They begin to pray at dawn even before the sun rises. Their singing of hymns and reciting of the Bible continue until late into the night” (Missions 1988, 168). The “Dawn Prayer,” still practiced in Korean Protestant churches today, has deep links with early morning prayers in Korean folk piety, and thus connects to Daoist, Buddhist, and Shamanistic rituals. The main element that distinguished is the fact that Christian hymns and prayers always center on Bible study. Kil Sŏn-ju and his fellow Daoist converts became the core of the Great Revival Movement, which began in Pyongyang in January 1907. It was like a Pentecostal experience. 1,500 men (women were outside the church and not counted) gathered in the church to pray from 7 o’clock in the evening until 2 o’clock in the morning, sharing enthusiastic sermons as well as repentances, public confessions, tears, and reconciliation between missionaries and natives. S. A. Moffett trusted and appreciated Kil’s deep spirituality and his ability to deliver moving sermons that touched the hearts of the people. Following this, Kil received invitations to Seoul and other cities to hold revival events and teach his indigenous Christian forms of prayer. The latter included the Dawn Prayer, forms of

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all-night prayer, and prayers of fasting in the mountains. These established the paradigm of Evangelicalism in the Korean Church, showing just how strong the continuity between Daoism and Christianity was in the spirituality of popular piety. Another person who embodies the fusion of the two horizons is Yi Yong-to 李龍道 (1901-1933). He was a Methodist minister, deeply disturbed by the mediocrity of the Christian churches, which he saw as passionless and selfish, their ministers thinking of their work as a job rather than a calling. His image of the Korean people carrying the cross as slaves reveals that he was also struggling with the political fate of Korea under Japanese reign. His intense experience of God during his Dawn Prayer on December 24, 1928, made him a fervent revivalist. He became famous as a preacher during the Revival Prayer Meeting of February 26March 9, 1930, in Pyongyang. His diary from 1927-1933, when he died of tuberculosis, is a beautiful record of his spiritual life.

Fig. 59. Yi Yong-to and His Congregation

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He longed for complete unity with the crucified Jesus and pursued this by emptying himself to the point where only Jesus lived in him. In this effort, he subtly fused and integrated the three traditional religions, Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism with Christian mysticism. For example, he compared God to a merciful mother just as Laozi called Dao the mother of the myriad things. He says, Where I was tired and sat down on the street, the mother embraced me in her arms and walked along. I peacefully rested my tired body sleeping in her bosom. . . . Oh, Lord! I am only a child. I cannot live without you even a moment. (Yi 1966, 133-34)

For him, feminine characteristics are closer to the compassionate nature of God. In his letters, he states that “good is feminine while evil is masculine” (1966, 153). He further explains that the good seems to be weak but is in fact strong, while evil seems to be strong but is in fact weak. Good wins by losing, while evil loses by winning. Therefore, Christians have to win by losing. Another characteristic of his spirituality that is close to the Daoist milieu is his love of nature. He sees the natural world as his intimate friend, in whom he can truly rest: Oh, Lord, I am a sinner. . . . My whole body is the lump of sins. What shall I do on the day when all my sins will be manifested before God on that final day? It will be harder for me to bear my embarrassment more than the fear. Oh, Mountains, trees, and the rocks, please hide me so that I can escape the angry eyes of the Lord and the shame I have to suffer before the human eyes.? (Yi 1966, 172)

Yi Yong-to, therefore, understood nature as a part of God’s creation, a partner in our walk to the Lord. The creator calls upon human beings and the natural world equally to knock on the door of human hearts, closed for too long. He does not specify exactly which element he drew from which religious tradition, but he integrated all into a single religious piety: natural, popular, and beautiful.

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The Fusion of Two Horizons The fusion of two horizons, Daoist and Christian, can be highly fruitful, as seen in the spirituality of Kil Sŏn-ju and Yi Yong-to. It is particularly promising in Korea because Daoism—unlike Buddhism—lacks institutional organization. This makes it easier for Daoism and Christianity to join on the level of folk piety, thereby exerting an influence on the people that goes beyond religious boundaries. In my earlier work, Understanding the Daode jing from a Christian Perspective (Kim 2010), I described this fusion in terms suggested by HansGeorg Gadamer in his Philosophical Hermeneutics (1976). He states that any new understanding must come about by a reinterpretation that fuses two horizons, the classical and the contemporary. Unlike Matteo Ricci, who selected Confucianism to serve as the bridge between traditional Chinese thought and the Christian understanding of God, I prefer Laozi, the living fountain of Daoist thought and source of all other Daoist visions. I am happily surprised that many people today find themselves attracted to Daoist spirituality, seeing a strong appeal in its free and spontaneous nature, social and ecological relevance, and tendency to reach to the deepest bottom of things. Laozi compares Dao to a log, a piece of unfinished wood. This is representative of simple beauty as inspired by Daoism. Making furniture with logs and building houses from mud are good examples. All throughout East Asia, concepts of birth and death developed under the impact of the Daoist tradition, and there are still numerous symbols and images, animals and plants standing for perpetual youth and longevity, that influence literature and art today. Daoism also tends strongly to cast a critical eye on social hierarchies, focusing more on the equality of all things. In the novel, Ch’un-hyang chŏn, the ideas that give rise to its fundamental anti-hierarchical message go back to Daoism. People shout for joy and feel a personal catharsis when the heroine, originally from a poor family of low social status, finally marries a rich man of high social background. They are happy because this fictional marriage symbolizes a level of social equality that was impossible in the time of writing, but pointed to a more promising and happier future. In other words, Daoism has provided popular inspiration and the impetus for social change.

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Also, novels like Hochil 虎叱 (Tiger’s Roar) and Hŏ-saeng chŏn 許生傳 (The Life of Mr. Hŏ), by Pak Chi-wŏn 朴趾源 (1737-1805) contain social criticisms along the lines commonly offered in Christianity. Hochil tells the story of a tiger who gives a lesson to an immoral Confucian, the scholar Bukkawk 北郭. He is hypocritical and sly, and commits numerous bad acts against innocent people. In the novel, the author outlines the tiger’s remonstrations against the Confucian’s wrongdoings and thereby challenges the entire social system. The tiger, of course, represents the mountain god and thus stands for the power of nature—clearly based on the Daoist tradition. Its message, on the other hand, resonates well with Christian doctrine. The other novel, Hŏ-saeng chŏn, is about the quest for an ideal land. The main character, Mr. Hŏ, throws a large amount of money into the sea to eliminate all greed from his mind and recover his inherent humanity. This act has roots in Daoism and reflects its effort to construct an equal community as well as its emphasis on reducing and weakening the ego in favor of larger cosmic dimensions. These are issues at the heart of folk piety, connecting to the core concerns of all the vario religious traditions flourishing in Korea. As Laozi says, I have three treasures that I hold and cherish. The first is known as compassion; The second is known as frugality; The third is known as not daring to take the lead in the world. . . . Through compassion, one will triumph in attack and be impregnable in defense. What Heaven succors, it protects with the gift of compassion. (ch. 67)

This compassion of Laozi encountered the forgiving love of Jesus and merged with it in Korean folk piety over the last two hundred years. Some fruits of this fusion are evident today, with many more to come.

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Further Readings Brokaw, Cynthia. 1991. The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit: Social Change and Moral Order in Late Imperial China. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Choi, Lae-ok. 2003. “Modes of Fusion of Korean Folk Culture and Christianity” (in Korean). Pikyo minsokhak (Studies on Comparative Folk Culture) 23:11550. Choi, Soo-been. 2010. “Rethinking Tonghak in the Perspective of Chinese Daoism in the Pre-modern Period” (in Korean). Tonghak hakpo (Studies on Tonghak) 20:333-72. De Medina, Juan Ruiz. 1988. “On the Origin of the Korean Catholic Church.” Tonga kyŏnku (Studies on East Asia) 13. Ienaga, Yuko. 2009. “Diversification of Ethical Religion and Popularity of Daoism in the Late Chosŏn Dynasty” (in Korean). Yŏksa minchokhak (Studies on Historical Folk Culture) 30:294-327. Jung, Jae-seo. 2000. “Daoism in Korea.” In Daoism Handbook, edited by Livia Kohn, 792-820. Leiden: Brill. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1976. Philosophical Hermeneutics. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gale, James. 1907. “Elder Kil.” Missionary Review of the World. July 1907. Kim, Kyong-jin. 2007. “A Study on the Great Revival Movement in Pyongyang, 1907 and Liturgical Background and Theology” (in Korean). Shinhak kwa shilch’ŏn (Theology and Practice) 12:165-96. Kim, Nak-pil. 2002. “Daoism and Korean Folk Culture” (in Korean). Pikyo minsokhak (Studies on Comparative Folk Culture) 24:85-113. _____. 1992. “Ethical Concepts of Folk Daoism in the Late Chosŏn Period” (in Korean). Tokyo munhwa yŏnku (Studies on Daoist Culture) 6:355-72. Kim, Sang-il. 2008. “Comparative Study of Spirituality between Christianity and native Religions in the case of Gil Synju and Yi Yongdo” (in Korean). Sinchongkyo yŏnku (Studies on New Religions) 18:12-36. Kim, Sung-hae. 1987. “Religious Study of Daoist Ritual Memorials” (in Korean). In Tokyo kwa hankuk sasang (Daoism and Korean Thought), edited by The Korean Association of Daoist Thought, 107-33. Seoul: Pŏmyangsa. _____. 1988. “Religious Reality and Coexistence in Present-day Korea.” Korea Journal 28.3:4-23.

222 / CHAPTER EIGHT _____. 1990. “The Relationship between Folk Piety and Daoism” (in Korean). In Hankuk Tokyo sasangŭi ihae (Understanding Korean Daoist Thought), edited by The Korean Association of Daoist Thought, 319-40. Seoul: Pŏmyangsa. _____. 1995. “The Korean Concept of Heaven and Christian Understanding of God” (in Korean). In Hankuk chŏnt’ong sasang kwa ch’onchukyo (Korean Traditional Thought and Catholicism), edited by Korean Catholic Culture Research Institute, 1:365-422. Seoul: T’amku Press. _____. 1999. Tongasia kyonkyo chŏnt’ong kwa kiristokyo (Encounter: East Asian Religious Traditions and Christianity). Seoul: Spiritual Life Press. _____. 2008. Noja ŭi kiristokyojŏk ihae (Understanding the Daodejing from a Christian Perspective). Seoul: Spiritual Life Press. _____, and James Heisig, eds. 2008. Encounters: The New Religions of Korea and Christianity. Seoul: The Royal Asiatic Society. Kim, Yong-hui. 2008. “The Development of Korean Seondo and the Establishment of Korean New Religions.” Toyang ch’ŏlhak yŏnku (Studies on Asian Philosophy) 55:138-65. Kleeman, Terry F. 1994. A God’s Own Tale: The Book of Transformations of Wenchang, the Divine Lord of Zitong. Albany: State University of New York Press. Lee, Ch’ŏng-bae. 2002. “Asian Spirituality and a Search for Korean Christianity” (in Korean). Hankuk munhwa yŏnku (Studies on Korean Culture) 2:33-87. Lee, Ki-baik. 1984. A New History of Korea. Translated by Edward W. Wagner and Edward J. Shultz. Seoul: Ilchokak Publishers. Missions. 1899. Annual Report of the Board of Foreign Missions. Seoul: PUCSA. Oak, Sung-deuk. 2006. “Spiritual Seismic Shifts among the Daoist-Christians in Pyongyang: Kil Sun-ju’s Daoist-Evangelical Spirituality during the Great Revival Movement” (in Korean). Hankuk kidokkyo kwa yŏksa (Korean Christianity and History) 25:57-95. Pope Francis. 2013. Evengelii Gaudium. Vatican: Apostolic Exhortation. Rhee, Hyun-woong. 2007. “Life and Preaching of Rev. Kil Sun-Ju as a Main Preacher of the Great Revival Movement of Pyongyang in 1907” (in Korean). Shinhak sasang (Theological Thought) 137:289-325. Rhinow, Malte. 2012. “A Study on the Early Dawn Prayers in Korean Protestant Churches” (in Korean). Shinhak kwa shilch’ŏn (Theology and Practice) 31:183224.

KOREAN FOLK PIETY / 223 Chŏng Yak-chong. 2003 [1795]. Chukyo yochi (The Essentials of the Lord’s Teaching), edited by Sŏ Chong-tae 徐種泰. Seoul: Korean Resource Institute. Webster, James. 1971 [1918]. The Kan Ying Pien. Taipei: Chengwen. Yang, Ch’ang-sam. 1994. “A Study on the Relationship between Taoist Rituals and Korean Christian Practices” (in Korean). Minchok kwa munhwa (Race and Culture) 2.1:2-18. Yi Yong-to. 1966. Diary of Minister Yi Yong-to (in Korean). Seoul: Sinsaengkwon.

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Fig. 60. Two Immortals of Good Fortune.

Index Abraham, 26 absolute: constant as, 35; center, 76; dangers of, 122-23, 137; Dao as, 15, 43, 84, 98-99, 110, 120, 134; freedom, 118; God as, 145, 203; nothing is, 65, 68; overcoming of, 68 Acts of the Apostles, 186 alchemy: in Daoism, 28; and immortality, 152-53; internal, 28, 120, 153, 156, 174, 176-77, 179-80, 184, 206-08; and politics, 183 Allah, 83 Allen, Horace Newton, 214 Alopen, 16 anthropocentrism, 175 apocalypse, 166 Apostles’ Creed, 161 Appenzeller, H. G., 214 art, immortals in, 9, 12, 40, 199, 210-13 artificiality, 44, 55, 64 Augustus, 87 Baopuzi, 19, 151, 157, 210 baptism, 83, 115, 117, 122, 165, 171, 202, 213, 216 Baxter, William, 11 beatitudes, 52, 83 beauty: and Dao, 65; of life, 91; of nature, 177, 179-80, 211; simplicity as, 76, 89, 219 beginning: cosmic, 178; and Dao, 42-43; and God, 57; and truth, 121; see also creation being, 13-14, 21, 36, 40-42, 46, 59, 66 Beiyou yulu, 176, 180, 191 Ben Sira, 114 Benedictines, 138 benevolence: Confucian, 15-16, 64, 13132; of Dao, 6, 49, 85; of God, 24; in Zhuangzi, 102, 118 Bible: chaos in, 38; in China, 214; on cross, 186; interpretations of, 84; in Korea, 214, 216; and Nestorianism, 18;

peace in, 170; Septuaginta, 114; on spirit, 171; translation of, 16, 114 bird, 19, 95-96, 116 birth: in Buddhism 4, 22, 65; and death, 98, 219; and female, 43, 116, 209; of Jesus, 212, 188, 197; of world, 181, 183 blessings, 3, 110, 113, 118, 120, 145, 19899, 201, 203, 205, 209, 213 body: cave as, 175; changes of, 105, 107; of Christ, 162-63, 192; Dao in, 112; and Dao, 148; death of, 60-61, 73; and God, 138; freedom from, 133-34; gods in, 170-71; as gourd, 178; healing of, 8586; and immortality, 28, 180; of Jesus, 187; of Laozi, 10; life and death as, 104; in meditation, 127-28; as microcosm, 160-61; and nature, 178; orbit in, 207; overcoming of, 140; and qi, 169; of sage, 80; and sins, 218; space of, 191; transformation of 105-06, 208; troubles of, 70; and water, 43, 67, 96, 98; vs. world, 9 Book of Privy Counseling, 141-42 Bookchin, Murray, 185, 191 Buddha, 4, 129, 197, 203, 209 Buddhaghosa, 127 Buddhism: and Christianity, 120, 130; and Daoism, 3-4; cultivation in, 12728; in Korea, 4, 31, 197-98, 203, 205, 216, 218, 219; and Nestorianism, 17; as nihilistic, 21; persecution of, 16; suffering in, 3-4, 22; sutras of, 214; in Tang, 155 Bukkawk , 220 Canaan, 85 Cao Cao, 30 Capernaum, 51, 193 Carpenter Shi, 108-09 Catechism, Korean, 202 Catholicism, 20, 29-30, 119-20, 163, 186, 195, 197, 203, 213-14

225

226 / INDEX cave: as body, 189; of Daoist, 178; practice in, 175, 185 Celestial Masters, 25, 30, 149-50, 154, 157, 166 center: humans as, 117, 175; of society, 76; return to, 85 Céspedes, Gregorio de, 213 Ch’oe Ch’i-wŏn, 205 Ch’oe Sŭng-no, 201 Ch’un-hyang chŏn, 209, 219 Changchun, see Qiu Chuji Changju, 8 chaos, 37-38, 149-50, 156, 161 children: acting for, 92, 183; in art, 214; Daoists as, 176-77; and father, 53; God for, 47; of God, 83, 115-16, 190, 218; be like, 60-61, 88, 106; and mother, 16, 43, 46, 52, 67, 75-76, 78, 80, 110; and sage, 78, 88; security of, 4 Chŏng Yak-chong, 21, 202-03 Chonju yoju, 21 Christ, see Jesus Christianity: in China, 16-21; death in, 73; in Korea, 197-203, 213-18; and Eastern meditation, 142-44; freedom in, 113-15; meditation in, 130; Orthodox, 140, 169; pain in, 22; persecution of, 214; power in, 192; and prayer, 203; revelation in, 27; sage in, 82-87; and society, 220; universe in, 211 Chuci, 38 Chukyo yochi, 202 Chung-bŭm, 21 church: Catholic, 20, 120; community of, 89; early, 82-83, 85-87, 89, 115, 193; kinds of, 163-65, 168; in Korea, 197, 217-18; Nestorian, 16-17; Orthodox, 169-70; Presbyterian, 215; as sacrament, 122-24, 169; understanding of, 85 cinnabar, see elixir classifications: freedom from, 132-34, 138, 143; and self, 112; social, 102-03; thinking in, 94, 96-99, 117-18, 160 Cloud of Unknowing, 127, 138-41 commandments: Daoist, 148; Ten, 84, 88, 114

community: Christian, 82; and church, 163; comparison of, 59-60, 148-73; of Complete Perfection, 155; of Dao, 10304 ; forms of, 76; freedom in, 7, 115; and humans, 192; ideal, 89; of immortals, 156; importance of, 23, 30; Jewish Christian, 83; of love, 145; priority of, 169; qigong, 120; and sage, 64, 75; and saints, 168; and system, 122-24; word for, 161-62 comparison, 21-23, 31, 87-89, 90-92, 11315, 116-19, 164-69, 191-93 compassion: Christian, 60; in Daoist practice, 185, 193; and disease, 70-71; of God, 47; of Laozi, 220; and qi, 166; of sage, 64 Complete Perfection, 26, 28, 32, 155-56, 166, 176, 181, 182, 185 Conference of Religious Superiors, 138 Confucianism: as bridge, 219; classics of, 214; cultivation in, 127, 129-30; culture of, 142-43; in East Asia, 3; and government, 149; harmony in, 170; in Korea, 31, 197, 198, 201, 205-06, 218; limitations of, 9; Neo, 20-21, 130, 213; ritual in, 15; and sage, 64; in Tang, 155; values of, 67 Confucians: baptized, 202; lessons to, 220 Confucius: as god, 157; and hatred, 80; and Laozi, 10; life of, 7-9; in Zhuangzi, 13, 100-01, 131-33, 135 contemplation, see meditation Cook Ding, 100-01, 119 cosmos, see universe creation: in Christianity, 164; and Dao, 5-6, 23-24, 36, 43, 156; freedom of, 189; and God, 45; and humanity, 97; in Nestorianism, 17-18; savior of, 187 creator, 50, 105, 107, 118 cross: Christian, 186-89; death on, 59, 193; in ecology, 190-93; in Korea, 217; and Jesus, 87-88; in Nestorianism, 1819; as symbol, 22 cultivation: of body, 160; comparative, 127-47; of Dao, 100; Daoist, 160-61, 191; forms of, 185; vs. grace, 28; in

INDEX / 227 Highest Clarity, 26; toward immortality, 158; of inner nature, 9, 156, 166; of insight, 127-28; internal, 199 in Korea, 215-16; levels of, 168; of self, 59; symbol of, 180 culture, see society Daly, Mary, 124 Dao: action in, 191; as ancestor, 112; and body, 70; at creation, 161; and darkness, 42; and destiny, 118; devotion, to 089; emptiness of, 76; essence of, 42; eternal, 57, 73; flow of, 190; fool of, 55; and God, 23, 57; harmony of, 61, 104, 117, 143; and Heaven, 7, 48-50, 180; in humanity, 63; immanent, 15-16, 100; and immortality, 151; in Korea, 218; and leadership, 80; life in, 118-19; manifestations of, 36; as natural revelation, 27; as nonbeing, 14, 37-40; oneness with, 60, 144; patterning of, 27, 65; personified, 145; perspective of, 96; principle of, 192; provisions of, 107; pursuit of, 12, 204; and qi, 23, 136, 151, 156, 164, 189; reactions to, 57-58; realization of, 13, 99-100; and reign of God, 51-52; return to, 73, 183; and sage, 65; speaking of, 35; term of, 34; as transcendent power, 15; transmission of, 157; and truth, 121, 123; as ultimate, 5-6; and universe, 211; vastness, of 124; viewpoint of, 134; vision of, 68; as water, 43; world of, 59; in Zhuangzi, 97-98; see also mother Daode jing: as classic, 5, 10; commentaries to, 40, 148-50; Dao in, 34, 47, 49, 52; on father, 39; in Korea, 197, 204-05, 210; leadership in, 79-80; manuscripts of, 11; mind in, 68-69; naturalness in, 40; on nonbeing, 14; in painting, 213; as revelation, 26-27; sage in, 35, 64, 70, 81-82, 87, 89; simplicity in, 76; and state examinations, 155; text of, 11-13 Daode jing chapters; ch. 1—36, 57, 137, 215; ch. 2—55, 65-66; ch. 3—67-69, 70; ch. 4—47; ch. 6—106, 177; ch. 7—8081; ch. 13—70; ch. 14—37; ch. 16—60, 73; ch. 17—91; ch. 19—64; ch. 20—54;

ch. 21—41, 54, 178; ch. 23—50; ch. 25—26, 39, 65; ch. 27—79; ch. 28—61; ch. 29—90; ch. 32—44; ch. 33—71, 191; ch. 39—44, 90; ch. 41—57; ch. 42—23; ch. 44—205; ch. 46—191; ch. 48—58; ch. 49—76-78; ch. 52—43, 60; ch. 57— 75, 91; ch. 59—60; ch. 63—80; ch. 64— 69; ch. 67—6, 220; ch. 71—70-71; ch. 73—48-50; ch. 78—79; ch. 80—89; ch. 81—63 Daoism: as bridge, 219; conversion from, 215-16; definition of, 1-4; delimitation of, 214; key concepts of, 14-16; in Korea, 31, 197-99, 213; and medicine, 174, 197; meditation in, 136 and modern life, 119-20; and optimism, 22; parallels with Christianity, 23; and poetry, 177-81; schools of, 149-56; today, 32 Daqin jingjiao Zhongguo liuxing pei, 16 death: of animals, 181; and birth, 98; in Buddhism, 4, 206; and community, 30; freedom from, 116-17; of Jesus, 18-19, 21, 26, 28, 59, 83, 87, 116, 117, 186-88; Korean ritual of, 198; ledgers of, 208; and life, 104, 182, 219,181; overcoming of, 28; realm of, 159; as return, 45, 73; of Wang Chongyang, 177 deities: administrative, 154; of ancient China, 46; in body, 160-61; Buddhist, 4; Daoist, 5, 15, 18-21, 156-60, 157-61, 203; in Korea, 198-99; levels of, 168; personal, 24; popular, 109, 145; supreme, 199; thousands, 200; see also folk piety destiny: and freedom, 49, 118; and God, 143; and immortality, 165; of Jesus, 87; as life, 156, 166; and marriage, 209-10; obedience to, 106, 107; recovery of, 73; of universe, 188 dialogue: ancient, 13, 186, 201; interreligious, 21, 31, 63, 119-22, 124; with nature, 175 Dionysius, 137-39 disease: compassion of, 182; freedom from, 3, 70-71, 105, 117; healing of, 85, 92; of master in Zhuangzi, 104-06; as unavoidable, 28, 106, 118-19

228 / INDEX Dryzek, John S., 178 dynasties: Chosŏn, 197-99, 203, 206, 209, 213; 002, 11, 149-51, 159; Kokyuryo, 201; Koryŏ, 201, 206; Ming, 16, 20-21, 156; Qin, 159; Qing, 156; Silla, 200-01, 205-06; Six, 153, 166; Song, 129, 153, 155, 185; Tang, 2-3, 10, 17, 18-19, 21, 154-55; Three Kingdoms, 200-01, 205; Warring States, 67; Wei, 154; Yuan, 3, 184; Zhou, 10, 49 East Asia, 1, 3, 25, 30, 38, 40-41, 49, 68, 82-83, 105, 127, 130, 142, 146, 197, 219 ecology: in comparison, 116; and cross, 188-89; Daoist, 193; destruction of, 185; and gourd, 175; and growth, 191; and liturgy, 187; and religion, 190-93; social, 185; and Zhuangzi, 97 education: cultural, 15; Daoist, 177; and equality, 103; and modernization, 214; moral, 3; and sage, 75, 78 elixir: fields, 161, 208; golden, 28, 152-53, 183; theft of, 209 emotions, 70, 128, 130, 142 emptiness, attainment of, 72; in Christianity, 141; and Dao, 18, 43-44, 46-48; of mind, 14, 22, 68, 89, 144; and mindfasting, 135-36; pregnant, 178; and sage, 76; of self, 6, 59 enlightenment, 63, 71, 73-74, 98, 129 Enuma Elish, 38 equality: of all things, 98, 104, 219; and animals, 182; in church, 115; and community, 30; and Dao, 35, 169; and ecology, 190; gender, 123-24; and Great Peace, 150; through Heaven, 185; among immortals, 167; and Jesus, 28, 86; of life and death, 108; and nature, 103, 175, 192; among recluses, 104; in society, 84, 89, 186; in Zhuangzi, 99 ethics: and community, 169; Confucian, 3; Daoist, 181, 186, 208; environmental, 175, 192; in Korea, 198-99, 203; and leadership, 80; reasoning of, 192 evil: acceptance of, 79; in Christianity, 22; condemnation of, 102; and Dao, 74; deliverance from, 54; discrimination

of, 66; exorcism of, 174; vs. good, 54; judgment of, 132, 134; as masculine, 218; treatment of, 86 Exodus, 90 Exsultet, 188 faith: circumcision of, 29-30; and Dao, 61-62, 204; in exile, 107; flame of, 57; and grace, 193; and healing, 85-86, 92; and law, 29-30; and popular piety, 199; and reign of God, 61; of sage, 78; and trust, 61, 120-23, 127 father: and Dao 039; fellowship with, 162; God as, 103; in Heaven, 193; prayer to, 137; and spirit, 165; will of, 188 Fei Changfang, 174 Fengshui, 5, 197 five phases, 160 flow: and Dao, 35, 68, 74, 76, 117, 119, 185, 190; natural, 40, 43, 58, 69, 101, 112-13; of water, 43, 57, 66-67 folk piety: 005, 197-220; definition of, 199; and superstition, 5; tales of, 158; of wind and streams, 205 forgetting: as practice, 131-34; and prayer, 143; and unknowing, 140-41; see also meditation form: and Dao, 37; of God, 82, 125; of qi, 164 freedom: from classifications, 132-34; as commitment, 124; and Heaven, 99; of immortals, 204, 211; and Jesus, 86; meaning of, 115-16; and Merton, 125; and truth, 116-17; of sage, 76; spiritual, 117; of transformation, 184; in Zhuangzi, 50, 81-82, 99-103, 105-06, 123 Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 31-32, 219 Gan Ji, 149 Ge Hong, 19, 151, 157, 174, 210 gender: and creation, 157; discrimination, 123-24; equality, 115 generosity: and Dao, 74; of Jesus, 57; and leadership, 80 Genesis, 84 Genghis Khan, 182-84, 185 gengshen vigil, 201

INDEX / 229 Gnosticism, 119 God: children of, 189; in Christianity, 47; communication with, 137; connection to, 141, 165; as creator, 24, 106, 171; Dao as, 201; beyond duality, 138; experience of, 144; and faith, 61-62; as father, 24; fellowship with, 162; glory of, 117-18; grace of, 28, 162, 193; image of, 168; ineffable, 82; interaction with, 163; and Jesus, 82, 85; in Korea, 202-03; living, 122; and Lord on High, 216; mercy of, 54; as mother, 218; name of, 39; in Nestorianism, 18; obedience to, 186; and people, 170; personified, 145; prayer to, 142-43; providence of, 45; pursuit of, 55; radiance of, 56; realization of, 57; reign of, 5054, 56-57, 59-60, 63, 82, 86, 89, 193; return to, 73, 169; and revelation, 26; seeking of, 122-2; Son of, 83; sovereignty of, 57; thirst for, 199; tolerance of, 53; transformation toward, 187; trust in, 86, 92; and unknowing, 140 gods: body, 170-71; of city, 198; of Dipper, 158-59, 198, 201, 203, 208, 209; Elohim, 39; Emperor of Northern Darkness, 159; Guandi, 199; Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning, 17, 25, 145, 156, 168, 197; and immortals, 204; Jade Emperor, 20, 145, 203, 20809; Kwanje, 199, 203; of literature, 198; of longevity, 198, 203; Lord of the Dao, 157; Lord on High, 15, 21, 46-49, 144, 215; Lord Goldtower, 157, 166; Lord Lao, 25, 27, 149, 154, 157, 160, 166; of mountain, 198, 220; South Star, 209; Sovereign Emperor of Mystery Prime, 154; Stove, 198; Three Clarities, 17-18, 201, 210; Three Grandmas, 203; of wealth, 199; Yellow Emperor, 11, 157, 158 Goergen, Donald, 32 Gongguo ge, 199 Good Friday, 186-87 Gospels, 51-52, 56, 60, 80, 82-83, 89, 90, 92, 115, 121-22, 161, 169, 208, 214 Gourd Elder, 174, 178, 193

Gourd Master, 111-12 gourd: as body, 178; in comparison, 17375, 190-93; as home, 193; and immortals, 2, 193; world in, 177, grace: and healing, 193; and meditation, 139; theology of, 28; and unknowing, 140 Graham, A. C., 14 Great Pervasion, 133-34 Great Revival Movement, 216-17 grotto heavens, 29, 158 Guo Xiang, 13 Haesang kunsŏnto, 212-13 Haetong ichŏk, 206 Hagar, 116 harmony: and community, 80; in Confucianism, 170; of nature, 189; playing in, 117; in society, 64, 74-75; universal, 106; of yin-yang, 164 healing, 51, 53, 85-86, 88, 91-92, 193 health, 22, 69-70, 119, 203; see also longevity Heaven: and abundance, 34-35; administration of, 28; ascension to, 19, 28; as authority, 201; and being, 46; blessings of, 205; and Christianity, 28, 203; in Confucianism, 25, 180; and Dao, 73, 180-81; Dao of, 35, 49; and destiny, 209; and Earth, 27, 36-37, 39-40, 45, 60, 67, 80, 102, 107, 111, 156-57, 168, 183, 192, 210; endowment from, 107; as equalizer, 185; and ethics, 203; faith in, 200-01; generosity of, 52; as god, 7, 15; vs. God, 18; and humanity, 35, 193; judgment of, 48-49; Lake of, 95; levels of, 160; light of, 56, 98; mandate of, 179-80, 185; and myriad beings, 181; as nature, 98; as paradise, 163; perspective of, 59, 117-18; power of, 106; prayers to, 215-16; questions for, 201; reign of, 61, 85-86; and sage, 74; as savior, 6; support of, 29; term of, 48; as universe, 65 hell, 159, 163, 168 hermits: proto-Daoist, 7-10; Daoist, 28; equality among, 104; and Zhuangzi, 12-13

230 / INDEX Heshang gong, 40, 148 Highest Clarity, 26, 153, 160, 166 Hinduism, 120 historiography, 10-11, 88, 162 Hochil, 220 Holy Spirit, 162-65, 169, 171 Hong Man-jong, 206 horizons, fusion of, 31-32, 219-20 Hŏ-saeng chŏn , 220 Hŭ Chun, 204 Huang-Lao, 11 Huangting neiwai jing, 26, 207 humanity: and Dao, 40; fashioning of, 107; and Heaven, 27; and nature, 190, 192; son of, 87; in world, 94; see also society humility, 59, 61, 79-81, 85, 88, 90-91, 122, 169 Hymn to the Holy Cross, 186-88 Ignatius, 171 immortality: and alchemy, 207; and Dao, 43, 60, 74; and eternal life, 28; freedom of, 184; in Ge Hong, 151; and longevity, 203; pursuit of, 214; quest for, 159; in Zhuangzi, 150-51 immortals, in art, 212; banished, 158-59, 209-10; blessed land of, 177; community of, 30; description of, 150-51; eight, 1, 26, 155, 158; examples of, 1-3; hierarchy, 167-68; of Highest Clarity, 26; in Korea, 201, 204-05; Korean, 206; levels of, 19, 151, 158 ; liberated, 19; revelation from, 177; symbols of, 210; world of, 148, 156-61, 173 immortals: Lü Dongbin, 2, 26-27, 155, 158 immortals: Zhongli Quan, 2, 26-27, 155 impartiality, 34, 52, 74, 76 Imsin sŏkisŏk, 200 individual: and chaos, 38; and Dao, 59; in Daoism, 15; in Greece, 114; and qi, 166; respect for, 5; salvation of, 154 Isaac, 116 Isaiah, 26, 47, 88, 192 Islam, 83 Ismael, 116 Jairus, 85

James, William, 22, 141 Japan: Bible in, 214; Christians in, 213; Korean invasion of, 199, 206; reign of, 217; war with China, 214 Jeremiah, 26, 107 Jesuits, 16, 130, 138, 213 Jesus Prayer, 140-41 Jesus: admonitions of, 208; appearance of, 161; birthday of, 197; body of, 187; communion through, 162; and community, 89; death of, 18-19, 21, 214; deeds of, 92; and Easter, 186-88; freedom of, 124; on Heaven, 61; as immortal, 18; and Judaic law, 164; on judgment, 103; in Korea, 218; as liberated from corpse, 19-20; life of, 82-87, 138; mission of, 52; as mediator, 163; on new era, 57; on prayer, 137; parables of, 56, 61; and reign of God, 51, 58-60, 63; resurrection of, 26, 28, 87, 164, 186, 188, 214; and revelation, 26; role of, 192; sacrifice of, 91; as Son of God, 162; as Son of Man, 87; temptation of, 90; and truth, 120-23; unity with, 189 Jews, and Gentiles, 29-30 Jieni, 8 Jieyu, 7 Jingmen, 11 Jixian, 110 John the Baptist, 83 John, 51, 83, 90, 115, 121, 162 Joy of the Gospel, 199 Karlgren, Bernard, 11 Keating, Thomas, 141 Kil Sŏn-ju, 214-16, 219 Kim Chong-sŏp, 215-16 Kim Hong-to, 212-13 Kim Ka-gi, 206 Kim Nak-pil, 29, 168 Kim Si-sŭp, 201, 206 Kim Yu-sin, 200 kings: Chinsŏng (Queen), 200; Herod, 087; of Heaven, 47; Shun, 157; Sŏngjong, 201; Tan’gun, 204-06; Tanjong, 201; Yao, 157; Yejong, 206

INDEX / 231 knowledge: and awareness, 70; of constant, 73-74; of enough, 191, 205; and God, 138; and information 071; limitation of, 96-98; in meditation, 129; oblivion of, 134; overcoming of, 140; practical, 111; pure, 141; of sage, 71; transcendence of, 137; and tolerance, 74; true, 94, 98-99 Kohlberg, Lawrence, 192 Kōnishi Yukinaga, 213 Korea, Daoism in, 1; Daoist scholar of, 168; death in, 45; founding of, 204; immortals in, 3; integration of religions in, 31; meditation in, 130; president of, 79; spiritual culture, of 003 Kou Qianzhi, 25, 154 Kun (fish), 95 Kwak Cha-eu, 206 Lan Caihe, 2-3 language, and Dao, 35; Hebrew, 51; holy, 83; and meditation, 128-29; overcoming of, 57; parables, 56; paradoxes, 67; and prayer, 140-41; and revelation, 27; and sage, 79, 87; and theology, 141-42; and translation, 15-16; and truth, 63, 121-22; in Zhuangzi, 94-95, 98 language: parables, 61, 120 Laojun yinsong jiejing, 25 Laozi: on Dao, 121; and Jesus, 83, 85-87; as bridge, 219; generosity of, 80; on love, 85; riding ox, 213; on sage, 85; as sage, 77; and Tang, 17, 154; in Zhuangzi, 13; see also Daode jing Laozi and Zhuangzi, 119-20, 122-25, 144, 148 Laozi yi, 34 Last Supper, 163 Lau, D. C., 36 law: abolition of, 164; of God, 29, 114, 117; Judaic, 118, 164; and nature, 40; and society, 122, 124; traditional, 8385, 116, leader: Daoist, 149-50, 157; Jesus as, 91; Jewish, 91; in Korea, 205, 214; true, 74, 76, 79-80, 84-85, 90, 92; see also society leaning: abandoning of, 54-55, 58, 63; Confucian, 10; of Dao, 101, 177; ea-

gerness for, 176-77; and enlightenment, 71; from God, 103, 142; Western, 202; of Zhuangzi, 12 Legalism, 67 Lent, 186 Letter to the Romans, 29-30 Li Tieguai, 2 Li Yuan, 154 Liezi, 111-13 life: eternal, 23, 28-30, 51, 60, 73, 80, 88, 89, 116; and Holy Spirit, 171; mystery of, 177; nurturing of, 181, 184-85; see also health, longevity Liji, 37 Lijiao shiwu lun, 155 Linji, 129 longevity, 3, 5, 9, 107, 183, 197, 203, 214 Lord’s Prayer, 54, 137 love: in Chinese, 128; community of, 145; and Dao, 45; of God, 99, 139; of enemy, 80, 103; as freedom, 116; and Jesus, 84-85, 220; and sage, 77; and service, 114, 124; in society, 110; and unknowing, 140 Luke, 51, 83, 103 Lunyu, 7, 131 Luther, Martin, 29 Ma Yu, 176-77, 181-82 Makkohae, 205 Mark, Gospel of, 83 Martha, 87 Mary, 188 Maspero, Henri, 49 masters, four, 103 Matthew, 51, 56, 83-84, 103 medicine, Chinese, 5, 203-04, 211 meditation: Christian, 137-42, 161; Daoist, 153; integration of, 142; oblivion, 127, 131-34, 140, 142; and oneness, 44; practice of, 127; quiet sitting, 127, 129-30, 155; room for, 134; visualization, 160-61; see also mind, fasting of Mengzi, 9 Menninger, Father, 140 Mercy Center, 130 mercy, 6, 24, 53, 85, 103, 200

232 / INDEX merits: counting of, 203; and Dao, 191; hidden, 59, 125, 181-82; for immortality, 177 internal, 167; and internal alchemy, 208; ledgers of, 199; practice of, 184; and qi, 166; and reign of God, 60; of sage, 35, 67, 75; secret, 91 Merton, Thomas, 124-25 Mesopotamia, 38 Messiah, 192 metaphors: bow, 34; in Christianity, 5657; for Dao, 42-46; infant, 44, 54, 61; of Jesus, 84; mother, 36, 43; mustard seed, 56, 58; pearl, 57; phoenix, 8; potter, 107; for reign of God, 59; sea, 5455; smith, 15, 50, 106-07; tree, 4; valley, 42-43; vessel, 44; water, 43, 47, 57, 88, 98; wedding, 60; wheat, 61; wheel, 43; wood, 44; yeast, 56-57 Methodism, 217 mind: and alchemy, 153; as clouds, 139; communication of, 104; concentration of, 135; constant, 76; and Dao, 62, 102, 180; differentiating, 118; beyond emotions, 106; emptying of, 44, 68, 130, 144; fasting of, 127, 135-36; of fool, 54; and freedom, 99, 105, 117; and intuition, 71, 128-29, 178; no desires in, 18, 35, 69, 72, 76, 90, 127, 169, 191, 220; obscurity of, 138; and qi, 169; and reign of god, 51-52; of sage, 55, 71, 76, 78; serenity of, 18, 38, 109; sincerity of, 21; softness of, 45; transcendence of, 140; transformation of, 51-52, 88, 53, 91, 95-98, 109, 111-12, 127-47, 131-33, 144, 151, 162, 186, 191, 207; unknowing, 70 miracles, 51, 88, 91 missionaries, 16, 214 Moffett, Samuel A., 214, 216 Mohism, 67 Mongols, 156, 183, 185 morality, see ethics Moses, 24, 26, 84 mother: Dao as, 6, 15, 24, 36-37, 39-40, 43, 50, 52, 85, 87, 97-98, 103; nurturing of, 4, 24, 36, 41, 46, 49-50, 54-55, 67; sage as, 76, 80; service of, 109-10

mountains: Fengdu, 159; Heming, 25; holy, 204; immortals in, 19, 158; Longhu, 150; Longmen, 177; Mao, 26; refuge in, 206 Song, 25; Zhongnan, 26, 155, 206 Muhammad, 83 myriad beings, ancestor of, 46; connection with, 182; creation of, 23, 37-38, 45, 72; and Dao, 4, 6, 15, 23-24, 34, 36, 39-41; domination of, 66; and qi, 136; rulership over, 80; and sage, 69; salvation of, 86; suffering of, 184; transformation of, 18 mystery: of Dao, 18, 36-37, 40, 42; of God, 56; upon mysteries, 57; of selfemptying, 59 Mystical Theology, 137-38 mysticism: Christian, 47, 137-38, 142; in Korea, 218; and nature, 178, 185; steps of, 144 Nam Kung-tu, 206-08 Nanlang, 205 naturalness: cultivation of, 22; in Daoism, 1, 6, 15, 39-40, 59; patterning of, 27, 39; of people, 91-92; and sage, 66, 75, 88; and skills, 100-01; vs. supernatural, 27; today, 76; in Wang Bi, 149; in Zhuangzi, 98 nature: beauty of, 179-80; communication with, 178; connectedness of, 189; and cultivation, 177; and culture, 210; and Dao, 27, 41, 45; and Daoist practice, 179-80; healing of, 188; and Heaven, 40, 201; and humanity, 175, 179-80, 190-91; and immortality, 211; love of, 218; and metaphors, 57; original way of, 73; patterns of, 100-01, 107; physical, 65; purity of, 218; species in, 105-06; and sage, 65; in Zhuangzi, 116 Nestorianism, 16-20 New Age, 119 New Testament, 18, 83, 113-15, 117, 137, 164, 187 Nicodemus, 51-52 Nine Palaces, 161 Niwan Palace, 208 Noah, 187

INDEX / 233 nonaction: vs. action, 88; characteristic of Daoism, 1, 18, 32; cultivation of, 18, 22, 29, 58, 191; of Dao, 6, 49, 181; in commentaries, 40; in Merton, 124-25; morality of, 169; and Nestorianism, 18; of sage, 64, 66, 75, 82; symbols of, 190; today, 76; in Wang Bi, 40; in world, 15, 59, 182, 190-92 in Zhuangzi, 50 nonbeing: and being, 145; and Dao, 14, 24, 37-40, 42, 44, 49-50, 144; in Nestorianism, 18; return to, 161; in Wang Bi, 149 Nongjia, 9 Numinous Treasure, 153-54 Oak Sung-deuk, 214 Old Testament, 84-85, 88, 114-15, 116, 164 One, 23, 44, 46, 136, 164, 191 oneness: and creation, 23, 44; with Dao, 16, 144, 161, 164; with God, 127; of peace, 170 Open Mind, Open Heart, 141 organs, inner, 160-61, 170-71 Ouchip, 210 Pak Chi-wŏn , 220 Panxiji, 175, 179, 184 Paul, 29-30, 54, 85, 86, 113, 114-16, 117, 162, 165, 189, 192 peace: in death, 3; Great, 149-50, 157, 166, 169-71; life in, 44, 69, 76, 85, 92, 105, 107, 134, 216; in world, 8, 53, 61, 68, 86, 89, 170, 187, 190, 192, 200 Peng (bird), 95-96, 116 Penglai: gourd of, 185, 189; isles of 17374, 177, 211 Pengzu, 97 Pentecostalism, 216 people: and constant, 74; and Dao, 57-58; and divinity, 165; and Jesus, 85; and sage, 69, 75-78; in Christianity, 82; ordinary, 55, 99; seed, 166; service of, 92; suffering of, 79; see also society Perfected Kwon, 206-08 perfected, 81-82, 99, 118, 119, 143 Perfected, Seven, 155, 176 Peter, 186 Pharisees, 53, 60, 86

Philo the Jew, 114 Philosophical Hermeneutics, 219 places: Beijing, 202, 213; Chang’an, 16; Changsha, 11; Chu, 7, 10, 97; Emmaus, 28; Galilee, 51; Greece, 83, 114, 171; Guodian, 11, 64; India, 127-28; Israel, 90, 107, 114, 193; Jerusalem, 91, 186; Judea, 87; Lu, 101; Mawangdui, 11, 36; Meng, 12; Nagasaki, 213; Nazareth, 90; Panxi Valley, 73, 177; Pyongyang, 214, 216, 217; San Francisco, 130; Seoul, 202, 210, 217; Shaanxi, 182; Shandong, 155, 176, 182; Shanxi, 176; Sichuan, 149; Sinai, 90; Syria, 16-17, 137; Xi’an, 155 Plumwood, Val, 76 poetry, 2, 5, 11-12, 29, 46, 88, 177-82, 21012 politics, see society Pontius Pilate, 87, 120-22 poor: care for, 52, 181; champion of, 76; concern for, 30; and desires, 72; giving to, 53; happiness of, 89; and reign of God, 60; vs. rich, 35; as saints, 99; in spirit, 83, 193; support for, 150 Pope Francis, 199 Pope John Paul II, 120 post-modernism, 5 prayer: for blessings, 3, 199; blue, 206; centering, 138, 140, 142; and community, 163; and Dao, 110-11; Daoist, 153; dawn, 216-17; to God, 143; to Heaven, 205; and Holy Spirit, 171; hundredday, 203; and immortals, 213; in Korea, 202; as meditation, 137-39; and saints, 168; vision through, 145 Presbyterianism, 214 priests, 4, 120, 154, 186 principle, heavenly, 129-30 Prodigal Son, 53 prophet, 26, 48, 83-84, 88, 107, 192 Protestantism, 214, 216 Psalms, 88 Pseudo-Dionysius, 137-39 purity, 9, 44, 86, 166 Q’uran, 83

234 / INDEX qi: and alchemy, 153; and body, 19; concept of, 169; cultivation of, 207-08; definition of, 23, 135-36; five kinds of, 148; and immortality, 160-61; as life power, 5; as link of worlds, 166; manifestations of, 111; nurturing of, 183; and peace, 170; practice of, 168; primordial, 17; purification of, 151; refinement of, 28; rest in, 178; and senses, 144; and spirit, 164; and world, 38, 156; transformation of, 174, 184 Qiu Chuji, 29, 173-86, 189-92 Rahner, Karl, 165 reality, ultimate, 23-25, 35, 49, 55 relativity, 55, 65-67, 84, 88, 94, 98-99, 102, 118, 122, 132-34 religion, popular, see folk piety return: death as, 28, 45, 72-73, 117, 176, 180; to duty, 35, 112; to ultimate, 21-22, 45, 51, 56, 73, 81, 84, 89, 115, 161, 169, 183, 209 revelation, 18, 23, 25-27, 30, 149, 155, 166, 177, 216 Ricci, Matteo, 20-21, 213, 219 righteousness: Christian, 60, 84, 193; Confucian, 15, 21, 64, 80, 131-32; lodges of, 30; of sage, 75; in Zhuangzi, 102, 118 rituals: Catholic, 186-88; and community, 30; Daoist, 32, 153-54, 201; of death, 4, 45 at Easter, 188; fasting for, 135, 200, 215, 217; in Korea, 197, 204, 206; Laozi on, 10; propriety as, 132; and society, 15, 122; of Tabernacles, 90; vow in, 200 Robinet, Isabelle, 192 Rolston, Holmes, 191 Roman Missal, 186 sacrament, 26, 82, 122, 163, 171-72 sage: and community, 89; and Dao, 10, 52; definition of, 63-69; expectations of, 35; flexibility of, 76; and Heaven, 48; and history, 87; humility of, 91; and Jesus, 87-89; as leader, 85; life of, 92; as saint, 62; visions of, 81; worries of, 70-74; in Zhuangzi, 95, 98 saints, 28, 99, 148, 161-63, 165, 187

salvation, 21-30, 88-89, 113, 121-22, 151, 154, 162, 165, 187, 189, 199 Samaritan, 161 Samguk sagi, 200, 204 Sarah, 116 Satan, 83, 90 Schipper, Kristofer, 178 Schneiders, Sandra, 188 Second Vatican Council, 120, 165, 169 self: annihilation of, 141; disregard of, 67, 69, 80-81; emptying of, 89; examination of, 128; ideal, 90-92; interest, 6; realization of, 64, 71, 76, 80-81, 114-15; and responsibility, 79-80; and unknowing, 140; transformation of, 178, 189; Zhuangzi on, 111-13 Sermon on the Mount, 83, 103, 193 Seton Research Center, 21 shaman, 110-12, 200 Shamanism, Korean, 205, 216 Shenxian zhuan, 174, 210 Shiji, 10-11, 173 Shijing, 49 Shushan No Toes, 101-03 silence, 18, 37-38, 137 Sima Qian, 10, 173 Sima Tan, 11 simplicity, 15, 37, 44, 46, 76, 88-89, 92, 151 Singer, Peter, 182 sins and body, 218; confession of, 30; forgiveness of, 53; freedom from, 115; and Jesus, 8-87; and sage, 79-82; and unknowing, 140 society: actions in, 191; adaptation to, 120, 123; ancient, 114-15; attitudes in, 48; authority in, 185; and body, 148; and change, 190; classes in, 3, 94, 10203, 117-18; competition in, 68; and Confucianism, 142; and corruption, 79, 165; craftsmen in, 100; and Dao, 88; and Daoism, 4-7, 149-52, 154, 182-86; duty in, 15,35, 102; education in, 3; equality in, 89, 103-04, 190, 219; evil in, 22; family in, 84; fasting in, 135; freedom in, 6, 69, 175, 185; and Great Peace, 170; ideal, 157, 169; and im-

INDEX / 235 mortals, 151, 158; and Jesus, 88; Jews and Gentiles in, 164-65; kingliness in, 73-74; Korean, 197, 203; laws of, 116; life in, 100; and names, 36; and oblivion, 133-34; and politics, 7-8; sage in, 64, 66-67, 74-82; power in, 119; punishments in, 101-02; recognition in, 91; reform of, 123-24; ruler in, 7, 75, 81, 91, 148, 182-83, 186; sacraments in, 122; service to, 90, 116, 118, 124; and slavery, 114-15; status in, 99, 151, 184; transformation in, 92, 209-10; utopian, 150; values of, 13; war in, 184; wealth in, 35; withdrawal from, 8-9, 110, 112 spirit: and body, 204; in Christianity, 164; freedom of, 113-15; and immortality, 19, 43; power of, 57; transformation into, 28; and truth, 121-23 spontaneity, see naturalness suffering: of all, 189; of beings, 181-82; embrace of, 110; freedom from, 202; and Jesus, 88-89, 188; of people, 184; and redemption, 209; and sage, 79 Suk-hyang chŏn, 209 Supreme Ultimate, 156 Taiping jing, 150 Taishang ganying pian, 198 talismans, 30, 149-50, 153, 197 Tang Yijie, 25 Tao Hongjing, 156, 160 teaching: of Jesus, 85; of ordinary people, 100; of no words, 66 temples: Chongyang gong, 182-83; Daoist, 4, 21, 154, 180, 206, 210; Jewish, 91; in Korea, 197-98, 219; Taiqin si, 16 theology, negative, 24, 47, 58, 124-25, 138 Three Caverns, 154-55 Three Constant Principles, 18 Three Teachings, 3-4 Three Treasures, 6 Tianzhu shiyi, 20-21 tigers, 72, 204, 211, 220 time, right, 29, 180 Tongmunsŏn, 206 Tongŭi pokam, 204 transcendence: comparison of, 23; of Dao, 45, 65; and freedom, 113; of God,

145; vs. immanence, 24-25, 34, 36, 51, 73, 87-88; and Nestorianism, 18 transformation: of all beings, 181; of body, 105-06, 204; as conversion, 169; cosmic, 105; and gourd, 189; of life, 182, 193; of mind, 144; of people, 91; personal, 57; into saint, 187; of self, 143; in Zhuangzi, 95-96 tree: as cross, 186-87, 193; Fusang, 211; long-lived, 97; parable of, 108-09; pine, 210 Trinity, 18, 47, 137-28, 164, 89 turtle, in Zhuangzi, 12 Uich’onmun, 201, 206 Underhill, Evelyn, 137 Underwood, H. G., 214 Universal Harmony, 95 universe: all things in, 49, 94, 170, 192, 200; and Dao, 27, 36-37, 40 , 49, 51, 98, 171, 211; Heaven as, 65, 98, 151; humans in, 39, 116-17, 148, 169, 204; life in, 74, 95, 173, 188-89; and qi, 136, 160, 164, 180 values: Christian, 60, 115; Confucian, 64, 142; conventional, 13; divine, 83; of God, 84; of world, 102-03; relativity of, 66-69; reversal of, 52; and sage, 67; transformation of, 83, 88; true, 57, 72 Varieties of Religious Experience, 22, 14142 virtues: Christian, 60; Confucian, 3, 132; and hatred, 80; hidden, 91, 181, 208; and immortality, 151-52; person of, 41; and sage, 64, 74, 77; term of, 77-78 Visuddhimagga, 127-28 wandering, free and easy, 19, 22, 94, 113 Wang Bi, 40, 149 Wang Chongyang, 26, 155, 176, 182 Wang Kŏ-in, 200 Wang Yuanzhi, 154 Watson, Burton, 11 Way of Zhuangzi, 124 weakness, 45-46, 54, 71, 74 wealth, 3, 10, 35, 52, 60, 69, 71-72, 113, 151, 199 Wei Huacun, 26, 157 Wenchang jun yinzhi wen, 198

236 / INDEX Weston, Anthony, 175, 191 wisdom: of Confucius, 102; of contentment, 117; elimination of, 64; great, 118; in Greece, 114-15; highest, 70; true, 121-22 women, 3, 56, 74, 118, 123-24, 198, 216 wood, uncarved, 75-76, uncarved, 151 world: changing of, 88; and church, 165; and consciousness, 128; and Dao, 6, 170; as dust, 47; and God, 25; end of, 166; flow of, 100; health in, 70; of immortals, 175-76, 178, 185, 193, 210-11; levels of, 160, 166, 211; mind in, 99; model for, 61; and nature, 178; reconciliation with, 86; and reign of God, 51 ; sage in, 78; suffering of, 88; as vessel, 90; withdrawal from, 91 Xavier, Francis, 213 Xiang’er, 148-49, 150 Xiwang mu, 211, 157 Yahweh, 17, 39 Yan Hui, 13, 131-33, 135, 157 Yang Xi, 26 Yang Zhu, 9-10, 14 yangsheng, 10 Yellow Turban Rebellion, 150 Yi Gwang-jeong, 213 Yi Mong-ryong, 210 Yi Nung-wha, 213 Yi Sŭng-hun, 202 Yi Yong-to, 217-19 Yin Xi, 11, 41

Yin Zhiping, 176, 191 yin-yang, 23, 38, 44, 66, 148, 156, 157, 161, 164, 169, 181, 183 Yoga, 138 Yu Ji, 149 Yu Mong-in, 210-12 Zacchaeus, 53, 86 zazen, 127, 130 Zen Buddhism, 127, 129, 138 Zhang Daoling, 25, 149, 157, 166 Zhang Guangbao, 180 Zhang Guolao, 2 Zhang Jue, 150 Zhang Lu, 30, 150 Zhenling weiye tu, 156-60 Zhouyi cantong qi, 207 Zhuangzi: as author, 14; as god, 157; life of, 12; practices of, 130-31; as thinker, 15, 56; thought of, 95-98 Zhuangzi: big tree in, 108; ch. 17, 12; ch. 2, 185; and Christianity, 142-44; and Cloud of Unknowing, 140-41; as classic, 5, 10; on community, 104; in comparison, 116-19, 138; on Dao, 50; immortality in, 150-51; in Korea, 204, 210; meditation in, 127, 129-30; Merton on, 124-25; oblivion in, 131; parable in, 100-01; on perfected, 81-82; text of, 1214, 94-95; on truth, 121 Zigong, 13 Zilu, 8-9

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