Beginning with an exit
The wisdom of the parting shot
Lao Tzu was a librarian.
Kung Fu-Tse (known in the west as Confucius) was a sheriff. *
As it happens, the leading guide of Taoism and the man behind Confucianism actually met, the only known instance of founders of major world religions meeting eye to eye. But they didn’t see eye to eye.
Kung Fu-Tse and his posse were being too loud in the library, so Lao Tzu did what any librarian would do — he threw them out. Which probably says a lot about the origins of religious intolerance, or at least the cultural clashes between academics and law enforcement. But I digress.
* (As legends go, there is often more value in the story than there is in the absolute truth. The historians may quibble, that is their job.)
Lao Tzu was troubled, however. Not because he had a beef with the beef. This was a time of savage conflict, wars between neighboring states and territories. The China that we know today (the Middle Kingdom) was anything but consolidated yet. Existence was nasty and brutish, and lives were short. The librarian had had enough, and set off for the hills.
Before he could cross the border, he was stopped by a guard, who accused him of trying to leave with state treasures. Lao Tzu opened his bags and trunks, revealing nothing but personal belongings. The guard said “No… you are leaving with your accumulated wisdom.”
Legend has it that Lao Tzu then sat down under a tree next to the gate, and started etching characters into clay tablets. The final product would be known as “plates,” which is why to this day when you open a copy of the Tao te Ching, you won’t find chapters or pages or verses. You find Plates:
Plate 9
Better to stop short than fill to the brim.
Oversharpen the blade, and the edge will soon blunt.
Amass a store of gold and jade, and no one can protect it.
Claim wealth and titles, and disaster will follow.
Retire when the work is done.
This is the way of heaven.
When Lao Tzu completed 81 plates, he was finished. And legend has it that the gathered his things and walked off into the mountains, never to be seen nor heard again. And the guard went with him, leaving stacks of clay tablets under the tree, just inside the border gate.
The 81 plates can be easily read in a couple of hours, but take a lifetime to truly appreciate. Go back through one you’ve seen before, and there are new insights that you now have additional applications to discover. It’s deep, and rewarding. (And it doesn’t require you to subscribe to any religious practice or belief, so don’t let that get in the way.)
I’ve seen attempts at updating the Tao te Ching. I know at least one friend who has tried. A project of that scope is daunting. Who are we to assume we have accumulated knowledge or wisdom? But it occurs to me that we are all headed for the mountains eventually. My bout with cancer and associated pains (both the disease and the cure) made me consider what I will be leaving under the tree.
The Art of War
Sun Tzu was an outstanding general and tactician. To say “he wrote the book on warfare and conflict” is not an understatement. It is the statement. However, the layout of the book is different than what you will find in the Tao te Ching.
Lao Tzu gave us a body of work that uses dozens of themes like family, duty, group dynamics and harmony; infused with metaphors about water and life and light and “the ten-thousand things” (the infinite universe of petty distractions.) But the plates read in a neutral fashion. It’s just you and the words. He gives you things to think about, at your leisure.
The Art of War isn’t a monologue. Well, it started as one. Master Sun’s teachings are extremely straightforward and practical, and by themselves would barely fill a trifold pamphlet. If you go and grab a copy of the book, though, you’ll find a lot of additional commentary turning the lessons into a full-on symposium.
Master Sun’s simple maxims are interpreted and reframed by many subsequent generals and mayors and doctors and philosophers. It’s a conversation taking place across more than a millennium. Characters like Cao Cao can be quite brutally practical in how to apply the lessons on the battlefield, while other generals like Du Mu can be pensive, examining how the consequence of war can affect the homes of both the losers and the winners.
My Kung Fu school required the study of these two books, and of The Analects of Confucius. When we focused on The Art of War, we actually read the book aloud, like the cast of a movie. Each of us had “characters,” and would take our turns in the conversation as Cao Cao and Li Quan would gently bicker across the centuries. It gave us an appreciation of critical interpretation, done in real time. It also prepared us for the challenge of The Analects.
From the pieces come the whole
The word Analects isn’t a proxy for any acquired wisdom. There is nothing smart about the word at all. It simply means “fragments.” From the rather plain (but deep) Tao te Ching, to the narrative cacaphony of Art of War, we come to a book that has none of the direct teachings of Confucius. None. I mean, what do you expect? Sheriffs are there to get s#it done, cops never like doing their paperwork. So imagine that we had an Art of War with no Sun Tzu?
The Analects of Confucius is the assorted collection of margin notes left behind by the students of the Sheriff of Wu Province. No syllabus, no through-line for the plot. Just the observations and sometimes silly takes on the applications of his wisdom.
Our goal, as a circle of students, was to as best we could reconstruct the ethical system of the Confucian. Obviously, it would never be perfect. But it had to be compatible and complete, and beyond confusion. Faced with an ethical dilemma, it had to be clear enough that anyone reading it would know instantly where you stood.
It wasn’t easy. Not in the least. The reverse-engineering of an entire system of ethics and morals, based on the breadcrumbs of students who didn’t know they were cutting the crust for our future benefit. (Actually, that’s a pretty good metaphor. Confucius once admonished a student, telling him that if he gives you a corner, you ought to be able to find the square — and if her gives you three corners, there is no excuse not to find the square. We know this, because another student thought it was funny enough to drop in his notebook.)
Into the breach
I am by no means a perfect human. I have made mistakes, and I have hurt people. I’ve also tried investing in others, and I hope that those keeping my omniscient ledger will account for all of it. Those who know me will vouch for all of that — and that my brain works on a different skew than most.
I can’t really do it justice. But let’s just say that the way my synapses and neurons categorize new information, and synthesize new experiences — I often end up seeing some things that others don’t. That also comes with some fairly significant blind spots.
I can’t just pound out 81 chapters and walk away. Lord knows that I am not that wise, and I hope that I am not done learning and sharing. But we don’t all walk to the border; the border comes to us on its schedule, not ours. When you cross over the boundary into the great beyond, it’s too late to take your parting shout. And I am not going to assume that I have a few more decades to prepare my scream.
What I want to leave behind here are some analects of my own. Observations about the world we know and the world we would like to know. Some ideas about how to dissect those thorny issues where reasonable people agree, and the unreasonable masses prepare for the moral equivalent of war. Thoughts about taxonomies and categories, and how we can use story and narrative to understand — or maybe to even persuade.
If I do my job here, and am blessed with enough time to do it… it is just maybe possible that some of you will be able to reconstruct my method and my madness, and be able to derive What Would Ike Think? for situations I had never considered. Whether you believe it was design or evolution, we have a pair of eyes for a reason. There is great value in having more than one perspective, more than one way of seeing the world. The more “eyes” you can see through, the more informed your worldview becomes, and the greater appreciation you’ll have for depth and how things connect.
Or maybe I’m just full of crap. The pupils of Kung Fu Tze weren’t above a fart joke now and again.
You’ll see some Amazon affiliate links up there. If you choose to buy something, it is alleged that a few pennies will find their way to me. In the case of this essay, I am linking to the versions of the books we use in student training for Shen Lung Kung Fu, and to my friend Rick Julian.
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At some point, I will turn on Subscriptions for this. I may end up renaming it. My goal is not to make a lot of money. The vast majority of what is here will remain free. What I hope is that some of you will see enough value to spare a few dollars a month — just enough that I will feel really guilty if I don’t keep updating this. (Fear of disappointing you isn’t as strong as the guilt of shortchanging you.)
What this will probably mean is that some posts will go to paid subscribers first, and then go free at some point down the road. It probably isn’t going to matter that much, because as you can see I tend to not focus much on the Now. (One of the best compliments I ever got on my writing came from my Mom, who is required to love it all but not to say why: “I like your blog, because what you write is Timeless.”)
I can’t compete with the pundits who are jockeying for your attention with hot takes on the latest crisis of the hour. I’ve been through the Tao te Ching, and I didn’t see a lot of dated or topical material in there, either.
I’d also be honored if you wanted to share this with a friend.
If you know me personally, maybe you need to start with a warning.
I so appreciate your interest and your attention. The comments are yours. Unless you’re going to quibble with intricate details of Chinese history, in which case I shall get the Sheriff to throw you out of my library.
I totally agree with Thelma, and I am so happy you share with others. Thank you.