February 11, 2011
Preface — All Theology Is Contextual and Autobiographical
In recent years much ink has been spilled to delineate what has been called Contextual Theology. Implicit in this characterization are many strains of theological contexts that are bracketed off with adjectival labels such as Asian, Black, Latin American, African, Liberation, Feminist, and many more. Certainly the openness of such theologians to claim their cultural, ethnic, and social heritage as a theological starting point has marked a step forward from modernist pretense of neutrality and pure objectivity. The problem is that such bracketing has had a tendency to reduce the scope and voice of theologians labeled “contextual” and has thus become the basis for continuing to marginalize their viewpoints. This is because the project of contextualization has not fully reached and absorbed the mainstream of dominant group theology: Caucasian Western European and North American Male Theology. It must finally be admitted that this too is a subjective theological context that limits neutrality and objectivity and conditions viewpoints. In this spirit, I can only begin my own religious and inter-religious investigation here with a brief word of autobiography—of claiming and owning my own theological context.
My own encounter with the Daodejing (DDJ)
has been inextricably bound up with my religious journey. Though I was raised within the tightly knit cultural religious and ethnic fabric of the Dutch Reformed tradition, my academic explorations as an undergraduate student of music and history led to a radical schism from my religious past. The religious symbols and theological ideas I had grown up with seemed cold and dead; what had furnished meaning for my childhood understanding of life and the universe seemed no longer to make any sense. Even worse, all of the other philosophies, cultures, and religions, which as a child I was forbidden from even exploring, suddenly began to reveal new vantage points and perspectives that seemed far more valid than I was ever told. During this crisis of meaning and faith in my life, I had to take a self-guided course in the major world religions through which I encountered for the very first time the DDJ. While devouring its 84 chapters, I experienced the only moment in my life that I could honestly describe as a religious conversion. What this experience did, far from exporting me even further from my Christian roots, was reignite the seemingly tired and dead voice of the divine in the Holy Bible. Suddenly it began to make sense to me as this ancient Chinese text began to breathe new life into Christian theology. Every paradox-laden verse sent flashes through my mind of similar verses in the Bible that spoke to the same theme of reversals—so much so that it felt, for me, as though Christ himself was speaking to me through these ancient Chinese verses and beckoning me back to faith in his Way. From the very first verse of the DDJ came the affirming acknowledgement that words are inadequate to fully contain the fullness of the Dao and that when it is put into words it is reduced and ceases to be the true Dao—this had echoed my reservations with the anthropomorphic imagery of God in the Christian tradition and its utter inadequacy to fully attest to the fullness of divine reality.
Throughout my subsequent studies in Christian theology, my understanding of the DDJ has constantly shaped and challenged my perspective and reconstituted my hermeneutical approach to my own faith. It has shifted my theological context to the margins, in between two scripture and faith traditions.
Though I can only claim to identify with the Daoist tradition as one reading Daoist texts from a Christian perspective, I am nevertheless rooted in both traditions. Because of my inter-religious experience, something has been added that cannot be taken away; I can only read the Bible with the DDJ in the back of my mind, and I can only likewise read the Daoist texts with the Bible in mind. Inter-religious dialogue is not merely a rigid external discipline of encounter between two absolute and insoluble others; it is a transformative process of interpenetration that is equally, or perhaps even primarily, internal. What follows is an attempt to give voice to this inter-religious dialogue from within and to bring other voices and perspectives—in particular, the German theologian Jürgen Moltmann, and Asian-American theologian Jung Young Lee—into the conversation. I have chosen Moltmann because the cultural and theological background from which he encounters the DDJ are similar to my own, and Lee because of his different background in East Asian philosophy and religion and his unique and bold attempts to ground his own Christian theology in Daoist concepts. Both theologians, furthermore, express reservations about the inadequacy of grounding Christian doctrine and biblical interpretation on the presuppositions of Greek philosophy, and both go to considerable length in their writings to question the degree to which reading the Bible through a Hellenistic hermeneutical lens has distorted true Christian doctrine and contributed to the inability of Christian theology to solve some of its most persistent problems. What follows is an attempt to lay the groundwork of an encounter between Christian theology and the Chinese philosophy of Daoism which will furnish a new vantage point from which these areas of Christian thought can be reassessed and illuminated.
One final precautionary note is necessary regarding theoretical uniformity. It cannot be assumed that any given culture can be summed up as a theoretical unit such as “Chinese philosophy” or even “Daoism.” The closer one looks at the borders between one culture and the next, the blurrier the lines become. Nevertheless, to avoid slipping into the paralysis of sheer relativism, suffice it to say that when terms such as “Chinese philosophy” or “Daoism” are used in this investigation, they should be understood in the most inclusive sense possible as dynamic traditions with their own internal diversity, and which cannot be reduced to any one particular articulation or manifestation. Far from making dialogue impossible or fruitless, it is precisely this internal diversity and difference within a single tradition that makes possible the interaction with the differences and diversity within another tradition.
Part I: Understanding The Daodejing
Introduction
The aim of this paper is to initiate a theological (if such a Christian term may be permitted) dialogue between Christianity and Daoism. If this dialogue is to be of any real significance, then it must consider the dimension of praxis—the ethical implications of the texts and teachings. The mutual ground on which Daoist-Christian dialogue must be founded lies in the commonalities and cross-fertilization of Daoist-Christian ethics. Dialogue is only fruitful if both parties are enriched by the encounter with the other; it will call for a move from a Daoist ethic and a Christian ethic toward a Daoist-Christian ethic. I will begin by considering the most primary and central texts for each tradition: the teachings of Laozi in the Daodejing (DDJ) and the teachings of Jesus in the New Testament. After a thematic analysis of the predominant ethical concepts and symbols in these texts will follow a reflection on the theological and ethical implications of the dialogue. Finally, I will pose some concluding considerations for further comparison that is beyond the scope of this introductory dialogue.
Ancient China In Context
Before examining the content of the text it is critical to establish a basic understanding of its context. Understanding the full context from which the DDJ was written requires awareness of the religious and philosophical history of ancient China over as vast an expanse as that of the Judeo-Christian and Hellenistic historical backdrop for the New Testament. In a rudimentary way, however, the relationship between Daoism and the dominant religion of ancient China—namely Confucianism—can be summarized as analogous to that of early Christianity and Judaism. Each pair had a shared history of religious and philosophical concepts, symbols, and language, and both Christianity and Daoism grew out of a reinterpretation of their respective traditional contexts. Daoism crystallized during a period dominated by two opposing schools of thought: Confucianism and Mohism. Both were structured ways or courses (dao) of action and behavior that were designed to cultivate certain skills and virtues (de).
The way that Confucian and Mohist texts used dao might best be translated as “guiding discourse.” Once these practices were mastered and internalized, one would be said to have “attained” the course, and this attainment was called de (virtuosity or virtue).
Thus there were many daos, many ways or courses. There was the Confucian dao which affirmed the goodness of human nature and venerated the family unit, and there was the Mohist dao which sought to cultivate all-inclusive love through calculating a utilitarian formula to ensure maximum benefit for all.
The movement which would later be called Daoism emerged in this context, articulating a new position associated with a benevolent sage called Laozi to whom the text of the Daodejing is attributed. The significance of this text, according to Brook Ziporyn, is that it “marks a major break, indeed a deliberate 180-degree turnaround, from the understanding of dao found in the Confucian and Mohist schools, developing a new and profoundly different ironic meaning of the term dao.”
The Daoists perceived that the Confucian dao and the Mohist dao, though diametrically opposed to one another, were both equally flawed; both schools erroneously thought that their dao could be systematized and formulated in such a way, through rules and a legalistic mindset, that they could be made to cultivate the proper de. For the Daoists, no amount of human striving through practices and adherence to rules could possibly cultivate true virtue, so they began using dao to mean the exact opposite of the traditional sense: the true Dao is what is free of purpose and specified guidelines.
Rather than prescribe yet another alternative dao to follow, the Daoists began to speak of the one eternal, ineffable, and unnameable Dao that is the way of nature and the whole cosmos. Like the other daos, the Dao influences us by shaping our perceptions, desires, and behavior, but unlike any other dao, this Dao cannot be contained, understood, or followed by any human effort. It is only through abandoning focus on human activity and conscious moral knowledge and reorienting oneself to the spontaneous and free guidance of nature that one might attain (de) this Dao. Thus, the DDJ begins to speak quite paradoxically about this Dao from the very first chapter: “A way that can be walked is not the Way. A name that can be named is not the Name” (ch. 1).
In Chinese, dao can be translated as both the noun ‘way‘ and the verb ‘walk’ so the ironic sense of the Daoist wordplay immediately jumps into the foreground of these opening words: “A dao that can be daoed is not the Dao.” This is a stark acknowledgement of the limited ability of language to express the full reality of what is being called Dao, which seems to suggest that this Dao transcends all thought and therefore cannot be spoken of; and yet the following eighty chapters go on to do just that. This paradox-laden wordplay is the result of the extensive critique of legalism that is central to Daoism, and which certainly has its counterpart in Christian tradition.
Where other daos proscribed specific behaviors, Daoists laud the benefit of wu-wei (not-doing). It is as if they left the entire Chinese philosophical system intact and simply turned it upside-down. Perhaps the most subversive example of this is the way in which the DDJ lauds the female imagery of the Dao as mother and nurturer; the very characteristics for which women were marginalized in patriarchal Confucian society here become the prime examples of the Dao itself. Nevertheless, the Daoists shared essentially the same metaphysical and cosmological foundation as the Confucians and Mohists, rooted in a text so ancient it preceded all three movements.
Chinese Cosmology and Metaphysics
The earliest Chinese “classic” (Ching) revered as a religious and philosophical text is the I Ching, the “Book of Changes.” The I Ching is based on a series of symbols that date back to 3000 B.C. and is considered to have been completed in its present form at the time Confucius added his commentaries on the symbols during the 5th century B.C. It has belonged without question to the orthodox philosophical canon of China since the 2nd century B.C.
The I Ching is the source of the metaphysical and cosmological presupposition that the most basic reality which is the ground of both existence and nonexistence is the principle of change. The Chinese character for I (change) is comprised of the ancient symbols for ‘sun’ and ‘moon’—corresponding to the relation of yin and yang which characterizes the endless change all things undergo from days to moon cycles and on to the four seasons.
It is based on one of the world’s oldest natural theologies. Ancient Chinese sages observed the interrelationships between all beings in the cosmos and discovered the universal principle that all of existence is in a perpetual process of change. Thus, “Change is absolute and certain; only the principle of change never changes.”
Even though very different schools of thought eventually emerged from this starting point, they all share common ground in their ultimate goal: to achieve a harmonious balance and unity with the ever-changing natural world. Only this harmony of interrelationship, this unity-in-diversity, could produce longevity and benefit for the whole cosmos; disharmony of the whole inevitably means disharmony for each individual being. Though the Chinese disagreed about how best to achieve this harmony, they all held to this essentially holistic cosmology and inclusive logic.
The Starting point: Anthropology vs. Cosmology
The essential difference between Chinese and Western cosmology is their starting points. As Lee observes, “While the West is interested in an anthropocentric approach to cosmology, East Asia is more interested in a cosmocentric approach to anthropology.”
While it may first appear to be minute, the difference has led to vastly different understandings of human nature. In contrast to starting in anthropology, Chinese philosophy has negated the possibility of understanding the human being in isolation from the rest of the cosmos. This leads to a relational worldview characterized by relativity; the human being can only be understood as a being in relation to the cosmos and all other beings. Such a starting point renders the type of atomistic individualism endemic to American culture inconceivable. By taking a cosmocentric view, Chinese philosophy is oriented toward inclusive and holistic ways of thinking, as opposed to the mutually exclusive and atomistic ways of thinking that result from either-or logic. Thus, Korean-American theologian Jung Young Lee argues that “since everything changes, change itself is the most inclusive reality,” and a theology based on change “is a theology of fulfillment for all…it deals with the wholeness of cosmos and the totality of ecosystem in which human beings are a part.” In short, The essentially relational view of Chinese cosmology can lead us into a theology that is more holistic, ecumenical, and ecological, and thus better equip us to address the pressing issues of our time in a more relevant way.
East of Athens: Inclusive Both/And Logic
What sets Chinese thought in stark contrast to its Greek counterpart is its ultimate grounding in the metaphysics of change. Greek thought was preoccupied with a static ontology that saw ‘being-itself’ and not ‘change-itself’ as the ultimate ground of reality, whereas for Hebrew thought, becoming is the most basic category. Western philosophy has scarcely moved beyond the Aristotelean either/or logic of the excluded middle.
This logic has been used “to maintain strict categorical distinctions regarding all issues and as a separatist tool to marginalize those who are different.” The problem is that either/or thinking inevitably lapses into an irreconcilable dualism resulting in many philosophical and theological problems that have gone unsolved for centuries.
While this exclusive, dualist logic can be a means of privileging the dominant central group to the exclusion and marginalization of others, inclusive both/and logic does not. “In other words, exclusivist thinking excludes inclusivist thinking, but inclusivist thinking includes exclusivist thinking.”
As Robert Allinson demonstrates, the two great sages of Daoism—Laozi and Zhuangzi—like Wittgenstein did centuries later in the West, would deliberately use the “art of circumlocution” to expose the limits of language and the inherent flaw in either/or dualistic logic:
“We are using language to make distinctions where no distinctions are to be made. In this sense, as Wittgenstein, we leave everything as it is. We hide the world in the world, but not quite. We now understand that understanding takes place between the words. What we understand has no distinctions. Language makes distinctions where none are to be made. That which we understand has no dual nature, but when we put it into language, we have made subject and object of it. Its reality is not subject and object; but our mode of description is subject and object. We do not understand anything with subject–object language, but it is the only language that we know. What is reality is not divided up into subject and object, but we are forced to use the subject–object language to describe it.”
One reason that Laozi and Zhuangzi were able to get around these limits of language is that the ancient Chinese language functioned much differently than modern English. It is a conceptual language formulated on pictorial representations without grammar. The original text of the DDJ seldom differentiates the subject and object and is not clearly divided into lines and sentences.
Due to the different, namely analytical character of modern English, much of this original openness of the Chinese text instantly vanishes in translation because English demands a subject-object distinction. Nevertheless, even in translation one still gets the sense of thought transcending the limits of linguistic expression by way of allusion. Laozi had no name for the Nameless, so he called it Dao; Jesus could not describe the Kingdom of God directly, so he compared it to a mustard seed. In both cases language is made to express more than it really can, and in both cases, paradox is used to express a greater unity that lies just beyond the seeming contradiction. In this way, the paradox becomes the emblem of the unifying character of both/and logic.
Because of the more flexible character of its original language, Chinese thought offers an extremely valuable alternative to exclusive either/or logic. In both/and thought, opposites are seen as complementary and coexistent; there is no room for the enmity between the one and the other as in the logic of either/or—such logic is based on the flawed assumption that the one can exist in isolation. In contrast, Laozi suggests,
Everyone recognizes beauty
only because of ugliness
Everyone recognizes virtue
only because of sin (ch. 2)
Logic of Relationality: Yin and Yang
Chinese both-and philosophy is based on the fundamental concept of change which produces yin and yang. Yin and yang are complementary opposites; yin represents the passive principle that is receptive, dark, and empty whereas yang represents the active principle that is energetic, light, and overflowing. The difference between the ying-yang philosophy of opposites and Aristotelean either-or logic, however, is that they are seen as mutually interdependent and value neutral because both arise together only because of change. They represent dark and light only in the more literal sense of the changes from day to night and vise versa; they never carry the same value-oriented sense that dark and light often do in Western thought in which dark represents the qualitatively evil and light represents the qualitatively good. It would make no sense to say that yang is better than yin because in yin-yang thinking, both represent one reality. Further, the symbol of the Great Ultimate, the metaphysical symbol of change (Figure 1), illustrates the mutual dependence of yin and yang as interpenetrating opposites-in-unionrather than as mutually exclusive and dualistic absolutes:
Figure 1. Symbol of the Great Ultimate
The dots in the symbol above represent the mutuality of the ying-yang relationship because there is yin (dark dot) in yang and yang (light dot) in yin; the two can never be fully separated and isolated because they exist together in the relationship of ultimate change (the whole circle).
The Way, Truth, and Life of Laozi
Though the true origin and authorship of the ancient text of the Daodejing is as fiercely debated and uncertain as that of many Christian texts, there are a few facts that are generally accepted as accurate: the present form of the text is not the singular work of the traditional author, Laozi, but is rather a collection and redaction of the wisdom and insights penned by generations of Chinese sages from the period between the 7th and the 2nd centuries B.C.
However, the legend of how the DDJ was written is perhaps just as revealing of the text’s nature and purpose:
During the time of Confucius (around 500 B.C.) Lao-tsu practiced Tao and Te (the Supreme Way and its Expression) and focused his teachings on humility and being nameless. He was keeper of the royal archives in the state of Chou. After he foresaw that the state would fall into decay, he packed his belongings and decided to leave through the Western gateway. The gatekeeper, Yin-hsi, seeing that this great sage was about to leave the world said, “Master, you are about to renounce this world, please compose a book for me.” Thereupon the “Old Master” came down from his oxcart, took out his pen and ink, and began to compose a book of two parts, discussing Tao and Te. Several hours later,
Lao-tsu handed the finished text of slightly more than five thousand characters to the gatekeeper and then departed toward the West.
The setting of the story and the identification of the text’s recipient as a “gatekeeper” symbolizes the fact that the text serves as a key to open up a new understanding. The fact that Laozi “came down” from his oxcart to write the entire text in reply to a simple request demonstrates his humility, kindness and generosity. Since he composed it entirely in one sitting, Laozi proves himself to be focused and one-pointed, and the fact that he was departing “toward the West” symbolizes the universality of his message and wisdom, which was intended to be shared with all people.
These traits attributed to the figure of Laozi represent those of the “Sage” spoken of throughout the text: humility, kindness, generousity, and openness to all people. From these values emerges the teaching of a Way to live in harmony with the Dao and the universe by humbling the self and embracing all others. It is based in the inclusive logic of both/and, which leads to a fundamentally holistic and relational view of the world. Laozi’s Way is to live by a radically inclusive love, which denies selfishness in order to accept others. It is to become marginal in order to embrace rather than dominate the marginalized and to embrace all so inclusively as to love even the enemy.
Part II: Conceptual Analysis and Comparison
Though the historical, cultural, and religious worlds of Laozi and Jesus were quite different from one another, what is truly striking and instructive is that there should be any similarity at all between the “way” that each taught and adhered to. We have seen a minute degree of contextual similarity between the crystallization of Daoism and Christianity as both product of and reaction to their respective religious milieus, but what is truly astounding is the degree of similarity in the thematic content and ethical values of the two traditions. Thus, the ideal place to initiate dialogue is the investigation of these themes and values.
The Sage and Paradoxical Reversals
The paradoxical reversal is by far the most commonly recurring theme in the DDJ. This theme also resonates throughout the words of Jesus in the New Testament, for example, “So the last will be first, and the first last” (Mt. 20:8).
Similarly, Laozi uses these reversals to turn conventional morality and values upside-down:
The low is greater than the high
The still is greater than the restless
The low country wins over its neighbor
The still female wins over the male…
The Sage bows to the people
The people bow to the Sage (ch. 61)
When Laozi speaks of the “Sage” he is describing the qualities of the good leader in contrast to the values normally associated with leadership. For Laozi, true power is in humility, not aggressive self-assertion. This leads him to the paradoxical association of true leadership with servanthood. In that same sense, Jesus said, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you…whoever wishes to become first among you must be slave of all” (Mk. 10:42-44). Laozi echoes this thought:
He who wishes to rule over the people
must speak as if below them
He who wishes to lead the people
must walk as if behind them…
The Sage stays low
so the world never tires of exalting him
He remains a servant
so the world never tires of making him its king (ch. 66)
In the DDJ, the personal embodiment of the paradoxical reversal is the Sage. The Sage (sheng jen) refers literally to a “holy person” and the symbolic meaning of the two characters “suggests a direct hearing, without interference, between the holy man and the Absolute. The holy man hears the pure voice of Tao; the holy man acts in perfect harmony with the universe.”
The ultimate question for Daoist-Christian dialogue thus emerges: what is the relation between the Sage of the DDJ and Jesus Christ?
St. Paul speaks of the κενωσις (emptying) of Jesus in his epistle to the Philippians: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave…Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him a name above every name” (2:5-9). Laozi, when contemplating the truth of the ancient saying, “Surrender brings perfection,” says this about the Sage:
So the Sage embraces the One
and becomes a model for the world
Without showing himself, he shines forth
Without promoting himself, he is distinguished
Without claiming reward, he gains endless merit
Without seeking glory, his glory endures (ch. 22)
According to Laozi, the Sage rules with true power, which is peaceful and not coercive; this is what sets him/her apart from all others. Because of the Sage’s extreme humility and self-sacrifice, s/he possesses this power,
that guides without forcing
that serves without seeking
that brings forth and sustains life (ch. 10)
Laozi goes on to say that whoever has this power “brings Tao to this very Earth” and that although “he can triumph over a raging fire,” he nevertheless will come to rule the world “with the gentleness of a feather” (ch. 10). The metaphor Laozi uses for this gentle power is that of water, which despite being the most soft and yielding thing on earth, patiently erodes deep canyons and valleys to profoundly change the landscape (ch. 78).
In this ultimate example of reversal, what appears to be unshakably hard and unchanging (rock) is completely overcome by the power of what appears to be the most innocuously soft and yielding (water). Given these observations about the upside-down values associated with Jesus and the Sage, the next step is to consider their ethical implications for disciples.
Wu-Wei and Non-Resistance: Ethical Considerations
The central ethical model in the DDJ is the concept of wu-wei, which is translated as inaction, non-action, non-coercion, or acting naturally—none of which encapsulates the full sense of wu-wei as Laozi uses the phrase.
It first appears in ch. 2 of the DDJ along with the first appearance of sheng jen (Sage), who “acts without acting and teaches without talking.” The emphasis of this wordless teaching is that it is a teaching carried out in deed—it can only be enacted and imitated.
This calls to mind the old Christian adage, “Preach the gospel always, and if necessary, use words.” It underscores the inseparability of Tao-logos and Tao-praxis, word and deed. The primary danger in interpreting and enacting the ethic of wu-wei lies in the ease with which “act without acting” can be taken to mean “do nothing.” The true sense of what is meant by wu-wei can only be understood as the symbolic power of water mentioned above. Lee uses the example of ripples moving out from the center of a pond toward the margins, the shore, and then returning to create more powerful waves. “What made the margin powerful was not its reaction but its inaction…marginality uses reception rather than dominance to change the world.”
Non-action, in this sense, cannot mean “remain indifferent to injustice.” Its true meaning is that the only way to properly overcome the rock of injustice is through the gentle, patient, but persevering power of water eroding canyons and valleys. Resisting the impulse to react to injustice, wu-wei calls for embracing love as a response to it. Thus, “Tao-praxis exercises true strength, not violent power, to change evil at a deeply personal as well as societal level,” and does so by challenging “the sin, offenses, and wrongs committed by offenders through integrity, kindness, gentleness, and persistence.”
The greatest and truest power (de) comes from the attainment of the Dao through wu-wei—that is, this power is only available to the one who does not seek power and does not use force.
In a way, wu-wei is simply being natural by yielding to the natural way of things (ziran) that is the very root of the Dao. Yet there is a paradox: if it truly is natural and effortless, then why should we need to formulate the concept? Underlying this paradox is the insight that somehow for humans, being natural does not come naturally.
Here, wu-wei can shed light on the relationship between grace and works in Christianity. Wu-wei, like grace, is a way of giving up our striving for perfection by giving in to the Dao/God, which then acts through us and naturally yields the fruits of the Spirit.
There can be no striving for the fruits of the Spirit, and the works of the Spirit in and through us can never be forced; only by yielding to the Spirit, doing nothing on our own, and not expecting a reward do the fruits manifest. Thus, Paul says, “It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20). Laozi seems to be getting close to Paul’s tension between grace and legalism:
When the greatness of Tao is present
action arises from one’s own heart
When the greatness of Tao is absent
action comes from the rules
of “kindness” and “justice”
If you need rules to be kind and just,
if you act virtuous,
this is a sure sign that virtue is absent
Thus we see the great hypocrisy (ch. 18)
The Christian ethical doctrine of non-resistance is also similar to the concept of wu-wei both in terms of its value for guiding ethical behavior and in its potential to be misinterpreted and thereby lost. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also” (Mt. 5:39). The danger here lies in interpreting this as a command to tacitly endure abuse and violence, and even worse, to willfully seek it out. Instead, as the water metaphor above helped to elucidate, Jesus is advocating a way to “act without acting” or to “resist without resisting.” Rather than to resist evil in such a way as to transfer the same abuses and violence on the perpetrator, Jesus is pointing toward a way of resistance that does away with all violence and abuse. Thus, he goes on to say, “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mt. 5:44). Paradoxically, the only viable reply to the hatred and injustice of the world is to respond with unconditional love and generosity. Non-resistance and wu-wei can both be understood as ways of acting without expecting to be rewarded, because both are founded on the idea of selfless love. As Laozi summarizes, “Love vanquishes all attackers” (ch. 67). Although the truth expressed here by Jesus and Laozi seems to be paradoxical, Motlmann eloquently suggests that “it only sounds paradoxical in a perverse, untrue world of injustice and violence directed against human beings and against the earth.”
Love and Generosity
While love is quite explicitly central to the teachings of Jesus and the Christian understanding of the life of discipleship, the role love plays in the DDJ is more subtle—to the point that many readers and interpreters of the DDJ miss it entirely. To understand how love functions in the DDJ, it has to be seen in connection to the other values that predominate in the text. Laozi says,
I have three treasures that I cherish and hold dear
the first is love
the second is moderation
the third is humility
With love one is fearless
With moderation one is abundant
With humility one can fill the highest position
Now if one is fearless but has no love
abundant but has no moderation
rises up but has no humility
Surely he is doomed (ch. 67)
First, Laozi explicitly states that love is the most primary of his most cherished “treasures.” Then he illustrates how love is interwoven with the other two treasures of moderation and humility. All three of these treasures are embodied by the Sage, who “sees everything as his own self” and thus “loves everyone as his own child” (ch. 49). Since this love is unconditional and makes no distinctions, it reflects the character of the Dao. Likewise, the Sage “treats with goodness” both those who are good and those who are bad, “because the nature of his being is good” (ch. 49). True goodness, like true love, does not make any distinction and thus reflects the character of the Dao. Goodness manifests in humility, as seen above, as well as in generosity. Laozi says that, “A knower of the Truth…gives without keeping an account,” because s/he understands the underlying truth that “giving and receiving are one” (ch. 27). In this way, generosity also reflects the Dao which is both “the mother of the universe” which gives all things their existence, as well as “that to which all things return” (ch. 25).
Jesus makes a similar connection between the character of God and the ethical mandate to practice God’s love, humility, and generosity. Luke’s account summarizes this well, “But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Lk. 6:35). Like the nature of the Dao and the actions of the Sage, here we see that God’s love and generosity make no distinction. Seeing all as one, the striving for virtue fades and the fruits of the Spirit begin to appear:
To give without seeking reward
To help without thinking it is virtuous—
therein lies great virtue…
The highest virtue is to act without a sense of self
The highest kindness is to give without condition
The highest justice is to see without preference (ch. 38)
Such traits are evidence of the dao of the Dao; the way of the Way. They are the external signs of an internal reality that precedes them. Only because of the Spirit’s presence can the fruits begin to show. The internal reality is self-emptying and all-embracing.
The One
We have seen that the nature of Dao and God is characterizes by love and generosity that make no distinctions. What emerges is a sense of oneness in which the narrow preoccupation with the self is transcended by the greater truth of the self in relation to others. Oneness is essentially what makes life possible. Consider the example of an ecosystem
—it is only because each individual species is able to fit together in mutual relation as one ecosystem that each can live at all. Thus, Laozi is correct in a very literal sense when he says that without the One, “all things would go lifelessly upon this earth” (ch. 39). It is a holistic way of viewing all of creation through interrelationship:
By realizing the One
kings and lords become instruments of peace
and all creatures live joyfully upon this earth (ch. 39)
Yet this is unity in diversity, not a mystical union in which all the particulars are dissolved into the undifferentiated whole. Rather, each part, though distinct, only finds meaning because of the whole:
The pieces of a chariot are useless
unless they work in accordance with the whole
A man’s life brings nothing
unless he lives in accordance with the whole universe
Playing one’s part
in accordance with the universe
is true humility…
If you accept your part with humility
the glory of the universe will be yours (ch. 39)
The Bible does give voice to a view comparable to this profound sense of the oneness and interdependence of all creation, and such passages have been foundational for eco-theology and other theologies that take seriously the relationship between humanity and nature. Unfortunately, however, this voice is easily drowned out by the loudness with which these words of God ring out throughout Christian history: “fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over…every living thing that moves upon the earth” (Gen. 1:28). The way in which the DDJ foregrounds the need for a harmonious coexistence between humans and nature makes it a valuable hermeneutical lens with which we can recover the marginalized voices of the biblical text, lifting them from their silence and obscurity.
Part III: Implications for Christian Theology
Christian ethics demands a life of following Jesus in both word and deed. While Christian theology certainly has adequate language for understanding the former, its understanding of the latter has been lacking. Thanks to the prologue in the gospel of John, christology has been able to identify the eternal Word (λογος) with Christ. What the encounter with Daoism offers is an equally viable way of understanding Christ as the Way (Dao) precisely in the ethical sense—the ability to understand Christ and discipleship in terms of both word and deed. This move does not require any kind of harmful syncretism or careless appropriation and assimilation of another religion’s concepts; the work has already been done. The Dao has already come into the midst of the Christian community because the Chinese New Testament uses the dao to translate the word λογος in the prologue of John.
It is because Chinese Christians have already benefited from the understanding of Christ that is facilitated by the usage of Dao that the concept can now be extended to the Christian community at large. The Dao cannot remain confined to Chinese contextual theology for Chinese Christians alone, because every contextual theology is at once also directed to the whole community.
Of course, the notion of the “Way” has been a part of Christian tradition since long before the Bible was translated into Chinese. McCasland’s careful reading of the book of Acts reveals “that Way as a name for Christianity is at least as old as Church.”
In fact, the concept of the way or path is a nearly universal human phenomenon found in nearly every world culture, philosophy and religion.
It is a metaphor that enables us to make sense of something abstract and difficult to understand (like God, and the meaning of life) by making reference to something concrete and readily comprehensible.
The benefit of such a metaphor is its ability to address us ethically because at the core, bodies are what are on paths.
Such an embodied concept helps us move beyond the body-spirit dualism that has long haunted Western thought and led to the denigration of the body. Instead, what is offered is the restoration of both body and mind into proper harmony as we move along the Way.
Personal vs. Impersonal
As Moltmann suggests, Western Christians will be tempted to ask whether the Dao is either personal or impersonal in order to see whether or not the Dao is comparable to a personal God.
The question misses the point because it fails to see that the Dao is beyond personhood and is therefore neither personal nor impersonal. Christian theology in the west has followed Greek philosophy in trying to understand God in terms of Being, and fails at this point to grasp the Dao that is both being and non-being. Since Christians have found that the essence of Being is impossible to grasp or contain with any human thought our concept, all our names for God derive from God’s actions as we experience them (not from God’s essence).
Thus, “All human utterances about God are no more than analogies.”
On the other hand, Moltmann argues,
The non-being being, the nameless name and the unutterable utterance of Tao is fundamentally speaking more consistent than the category of analogy, which mediates between similarity and dissimilarity, for Taoism binds together contradiction and correspondence—indeed actually brings correspondence about through contradiction.
What confronts us at first sight is the fundamental difference between the concept of a more-than-personal Dao as elucidated by Laozi, and the conventional Christian concept of the personal God. In spite of the obvious foundations for conceiving of Jesus’ “Abba” God as a deeply personal deity, however, the Christian tradition has still affirmed that God is also beyond just a personal being. Yet the dominating metaphor for God in Christianity is still that of the personal Father figure which drastically overshadows any imagery (or non-imagery) of the sense in which God is more than personal. It is at this juncture that the dialogue with the Dao concept is particularly fruitful, for with it Laozi supplies us with a way of conceiving of Dao/God; as both personal and non-personal or supra-personal.
Male vs. Female
Another way in which the dialogue with Daoism confronts and challenges Christian theology is the question of gender. In Christianity, it is the male image of God the Father that has dominated to such an extent that God has come to be viewed by many, if not most Christians, as exclusively male. Here again the Daoist understanding supplements the imagery of a male God who “created” with that of the mother who “gives birth” to all things.
As Moltmann correctly points out, the feminine imagery of the DDJ is an integral aspect of the Daoist understanding that “the life-giving power sustains the living, but does not dominate it.”
Thus, through dialogue we gain a vital resource that challenges us to question the gender associations in our theological language. We also gain a new hermeneutic that questions imagery of domination as opposed to imagery of nurture and sustenance.
Creation vs. Evolution
The significance of this Daoist imagery reaches beyond gender issues alone. While the image of the mother is certainly a beneficial complement to that of the father, the motherly concept of life-sustaining is also an important complement to the conventional Christian understanding of creation “in the beginning.” It helps us to reinterpret “in the beginning” outside of a static view of the world so that we can learn afresh that God is not the proverbial “watchmaker” but that God is at work here and now. As the dialogue with Daoism begins to push Christianity toward a more dynamic view of the world, the doctrine of creation is dusted off from the shelf of “in the beginning” and is reinterpreted in terms of God’s ongoing creative activity as intimately bound up with God’s work of reconciliation. Perhaps then Christians will begin to find the vocabulary to address the evolutionary worldview of modern science so that both can engage in a mutually enriching dialogue. When Christians and scientists engage in this way, they can move from the stale dichotomy of either creation or evolution to a greater understanding and greater unity.
Conclusion
End vs. Beginning
Finally, the Daoist perspective allows us to speak not only of salvation of humanity, as we have traditionally tended to do, but also of the salvation of all creation. The schism between the Christian doctrines of creation and soteriology are reunited and reconciled to one another in the inclusive concept of ongoing creation. Here the dynamic unfolding of God’s creative work is also seen as the source of our hope in the transformation of this fallen order and the harmonious one that is to come. The primary rooting of theology in cosmology rather than anthropology helps us to locate the Kingdom of God in cosmic harmony, which is inclusive of, but not reducible to anthropological harmony; the pouring of the spirit on all creation (which in Joel is explicitly connected to the non-human creatures such as animals and even the very soil) and not just on all humans is in view. Thus, even though it has often been neglected and forgotten, this inclusive cosmology of the DDJ is in many respects quite close to biblical cosmology. Far from being harmfully syncretistic, the dialogue with the texts of Daoism proves to be a helpful spotlight for illuminating aspects of Biblical theology which have often passed into the shadowy background of Christian theology. It will force us to look at our own text from a new vantage point which can only enable us to discern the truth of the Word of God in greater depth.
The End Is the Beginning
Since all dialogue involves taking part in an essentially open-ended conversation, there is no ending. Instead, there is a time to pause for reflection and contemplation of where the conversation has taken us and where it might take us in the future. The preceding study has barely begun to etch a mark into the vast blank slate of Daoist-Christian dialogue. What has begun to emerge, however, is the sense that Jesus and Laozi are not bringing us a new religion to follow, but a new Way of living together in community, of respecting our interconnectedness with the universe, and of abiding in infinite, undifferentiated love.
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Appendix
Partial Concordance of Daodejing References by Theme and Chapter
Femininity: 1, 6, 10, 20, 25, 30, 52, 59, 61
Paradoxical Reversals: 2, 5, 7, 13, 27, 31, 34, 38, 44, 48, 49, 51, 57, 73, 77, 79, 81
Being Natural: 3, 8, 17, 19, 29, 31-32, 38, 46, 68, 72
Nature: 8, 15, 23, 29, 30-31, 65, 76
Contentment: 3, 29, 33, 44, 46, 79, 80
Selflessness: 3, 9, 24, 27, 38, 41, 66, 72
Harmony: 3, 31, 32, 37, 39, 49, 54-55, 60, 69
Love: 13, 16, 28, 38, 49, 61-62, 67, 72
Sage: 10, 22, 23, 27, 30, 34, 49, 58, 61, 66, 72
Water: 8, 15, 32, 34-35, 45, 61, 78
Heretical Rhetoric 