EASTERN PHILOSOPHY: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE CLASSICAL THEORIES OF HINDUISM, BUDDHISM, CONFUCIANISM, AND TAOISM 2/20/01 CONTENTS PREFACE Suggestions

for Further Reading PART 1: HIINDU PHILOSOPHY Background Indus Valley Civilization Vedic Hinduism Creation Hymn Ethical Hymn Brahmanic Hinduism The Atman-Brahman Release from Reincarnation Brahmanism in the Upanishads You are That Katha Upanishad Brahmanism in the Bhagavad Gita Knowledge Method Yoga of Action Yoga of Meditation Yoga of Devotion Social Duty (Dharma) Four Stages of Life Caste System The Formal Systems (Darsanas) Samkhya Schools of Yoga Patanjalis Yoga Sutra

Vedanta: Sankaras Monism (Advaita) Vedanta: Ramanujas Qualified Monism (Visista-Advaita) Devotional Movements (Bhakti) The Trimurti Cosmology and the Cycles of the Universe Supreme Devotion to Devi Summary Suggestions for Further Reading PART 2: BUDDHIST PHILOSOPHY Background Life of Buddha Development of Buddhism Theravada Philosophy from the Pali Canon Four Noble Truths Buddhahood and the Arhat Questions that do not Lead to Enlightenment No-self Doctrine of Dependent Origin Noncanonical Theravada Philosophy Questions of Milinda: The Self in Perpetual Flux Buddhaghosas view of the Self as only Name and Form. Questions of Milinda: Rebirth is not Transmigration Buddhaghosas Discussion of Nirvana Early Mahayana Philosophy from India Means-to-Ends and the Tale of the Burning House Emptiness and Perfection of Wisdom Middle Path School of Nagarjuna Yogacara School Suchness and the Awakening of Faith Later Mahayana Philosophy Outside India Early Chinese Buddhist Philosophy

Tien-Tai Chan and Zen Buddhism. Pure Land Buddhism Suggestions for Further Reading PART 3: CONFUCIAN PHILOSOPHY Background Confucius and the Period of 100 Philosophers The Five Classics (Ching) and the Four Books (Shu) Philosophy in the Five Classics Divination and the I Ching Yin and Yang The Five Relationships The Analects Humanity (Jen) Social Custom (Li) Superior Person (Chun-tzu) Filial Piety (Hsiao) Rectification of Names (Cheng Ming) Good Government Two Books The Great Learning The Doctrine of the Mean Human Nature Mo Tzu Mencius Hsun Tzu Neo-Confucianism Chou Tun-i Chu Hsis School of Structural Form (Li) Wang Yang Mings School of Mind Suggestions for Further Reading

PART 4: TAOIST PHILOSOPHY Background Lao Tzu Tao Te Ching The Tao Return Non-Action Non-Mind Chuang Tzu Tale of the Butcher: Non-Action and Non-Mind Tale of the Dying Man: Transformation (Hua) Tale of the Horses: Freedom from Societys Constraints Tale of the Monkeys: Opposites are Identical Later Philosophical Taoism Neo-Taoism Lieh-Tzu Religious Taoism Techniques for Immortality Longevity and the Treatise on Actions Suggestions for Further Reading SOURCES OF TRANSLATIONS PREFACE Many elements of Eastern philosophy appear in popular culture, such as use of the terms karma, yoga, Om, mantra, yin and yang, nirvana, and koan. We also frequently hear isolated bits of Eastern wisdom, such as what is the sound of one hand clapping?, Confucius said that ..., or the name that can be spoken is not the true name. Often these appear as gag lines in comedy routines or are used to characterize someone who has an esoteric view of life. Understanding our own Western philosophical heritage is challenging enough. But it seems to be an almost insurmountable task to gain a knowledge of Eastern philosophy that rises above the level of clich. Hundreds of new terms and personal names are used, mostly in unfamiliar Eastern languages. The traditions are very old and, like all living philosophical and religious traditions, theories change throughout history. So, even if we understand a central theory from one moment in a traditions history, we may struggle to grasp concepts in the traditions later phases. Perhaps most difficult of all are the Eastern ideas themselves which seem as foreign as the distant lands from which they geographically emerged. Edward Conze, in his Buddhist Thought in India, sees an unfortunate conceptual barrier between Eastern philosophy and contemporary Western philosophy. Eastern philosophy, he argues, is grounded in a metaphysical position that the universe has various layers of reality. The outer layer involves our ordinary perceptions of things, and the inner layer is a unified reality that permeates everything, including humans. Meditation is the principal means of awareness of this inner layer of reality. By contrast, Conze notes that contemporary Western philosophy has shed itself of metaphysical

speculations about various layers of reality. After several centuries of applying Ockhams razor and eliminating unneeded metaphysical entities, philosophers are suspicious about any discussion of the concept of being. In place of metaphysics, Western philosophy now emphasizes epistemology, that is, our knowledge of things as distinct from the reality of things. This, by and large, is an empirical issue involving sensory experience. Consequently, there seems to be no place in Western thinking for either speculations about layers of reality or non-empirical methods of meditation which purportedly reveal these various layers. Conzes depiction of the differences between Eastern philosophy and contemporary Western philosophy is partly correct, especially as pertains to the Anglo-American tradition of analytic philosophy. This tradition is firmly rooted in the skeptical empiricism of Hume, Mill, Russell, and the Vienna Circle, which reject metaphysical discussions as meaningless. Fortunately, there is a bright side to this issue. First, outside the academic arena, Eastern thinking has a strong popular appeal in our culture. This is evident when we look at the philosophy sections in shopping mall bookstores, which are filled with texts on Eastern philosophy. Second, contemporary academic attitudes about philosophy are more diverse than the extreme empiricism to which Conze refers. There are more academically trained philosophers now than at any other point in Western history. This increase in numbers is accompanied by a diversity of interests, including an appreciation of more metaphysically-oriented philosophers. The global climate we live in also forces academicians to notice other philosophical traditions, especially Eastern ones which have a long history. Third, until the 19th century, virtually no English translations of classic Eastern philosophical texts were available. Since then, the most important classics have been translated several times over, and today more obscure works are continually being made available. In the spirit of this ever-widening reception of Eastern philosophy, the present book offers readers a brief and hopefully understandable introduction to the central ideas and writings of its four key traditions, namely, Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism. The primary focus of book text is on classical Eastern writings, and a generous amount of quotations are included here. The reason for this is that philosophy intimately depends on the precise wording of its classical texts and, ultimately, to be acquainted with a philosophical tradition means to be acquainted with the literature of that tradition. Unfortunately, the concept of an introductory collection of Eastern philosophy by itself is almost a contradiction in terms. There are almost no classical texts in Eastern philosophy that are introductory in nature. They are often highly technical treatises that were written by specialists for specialists. Other times they are fragmentary collections of aphorisms of some great master, which require commentary for clarification. When classical scholars provided the much-needed commentary, again, their glosses were usually technical. The present book is a compromise. It offers a survey of the four leading traditions of Eastern philosophy, yet includes enough key passages to give the reader a sense of connection to their literature. For a single-volume of selections in Eastern philosophy, readers are directed to John and Patricia Kollers definitive Sourcebook of Asian Philosophy. Other recommendations for further reading are given below and at the close of each chapter. To even the casual reader of this book it is clear that the history and central themes of Eastern philosophy overlap with those of Eastern religion. There are two reasons for this. First, Eastern religious traditions have a strong philosophical orientation, and, second, classical Eastern philosophers wrote from within their respective religious traditions, and not from purely secular perspectives. Distinguishing Eastern philosophy from religion, then, is an issue of emphasis: philosophy deals less with worship rituals and depictions of the gods, and more with larger questions of our relation to the cosmos. It should also be noted that this text is not a comparative exposition of Eastern and Western philosophy, but instead it seeks to present Eastern philosophies within their own unique contexts. There are undoubtedly many aspects of Western philosophy that parallel key Eastern ideas, particularly those which identify the universe with an absolute being. We find this theme in Parmenides, Plotinus, Spinoza, and 19th-century German idealists who all tried to explain the connection between our apparent individual human existences an Absolute existence. To draw out these parallels, though, would involve detailed acquaintance with the above Western philosophers. Doing this here would create more harm than good by cluttering the discussion with peripheral vocabulary. It would also present the misleading impression that there is a basic conceptual uniformity between the various compared philosophies. If such conceptual uniformity exists, establishing this claim would require more argument than could fit into an introductory volume. By the same reasoning, this text resists drawing parallels between the four Eastern philosophical traditions themselves, except when an aspect of one tradition had a clear historical influence on another. For, even within the Eastern tradition, we cannot simply assume that similar sounding concepts in fact reflect a consistent theme. To the extent that each of the four traditions are presented mainly within their own contexts, each of the four chapters here are selfcontained and can be read in any order. Many of the sections and subsections of the chapters are also conceptually self-

contained discussions. So, a reader who skips some sections will not necessarily be at a loss to understand the remaining ones. SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Primary Sources. Great Asian Religions: An Anthology, ed. Wing-Tsit Chan (New York: MacMillan, 1969). Sacred Books of the East, ed. Max Muller, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1879-1910), 50 Vol. Scriptures of the East, ed. James Fieser, John Powers (New York: McGraw Hill, 1998). Sourcebook of Asian Philosophy, ed. John M. Koller, Patricia Koller (New York: MacMillan, 1991). Secondary Sources. Companion To World Philosophies, edited by Eliot Deutsch and Ron Bontekoe (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 1997). Oriental Philosophies, John M. Koller (New York: MacMillan, 1985). Oriental Philosophy: A Westerners Guide To Eastern Thought, Stuart C. Hackett (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1979). Thirty-five Oriental Philosophers, Diane Collinson and Robert Wilkinson (London; New York : Routledge, 1994).

CHAPTER 1: HINDU PHILOSOPHY BACKGROUND. It makes sense to begin studying Eastern Philosophy by looking at Hinduism. Hindu texts are among the oldest in the East and their concepts directly or indirectly influenced the philosophy of other Eastern philosophical traditions. As a religion, Hinduism covers a diversity of views of the people of India, dating as far back as 3,500 BCE. The term Hindu derives from the Persian word Hind, which was the name given to the Indus River region of northern India. Most generally, then, Hinduism means the religion of the Indus River region. Today, confined principally to India, Hindus total about 1/10th of the worlds population. Given Hinduisms diverse religious history, the philosophical views developed within Hinduism are equally diverse. Some philosophical notions were influential at specific points in history, but then died out. Other notions, though, appear consistently throughout its history. Indus Valley Civilization. The story of Hinduism begins during a cultural period known as the Indus Valley civilization (3,500-1,500 BCE). Some of what we know of this civilization comes from archaeological digs in the 1920s at Harappa and Mohenjo-daro. These digs show an advanced civilization as early as 2500 BCE, with cities laid out in rectangular blocks with drainage systems. Houses were made of fired brick and contained bathrooms with running water. The civilization also had a written language, which has yet to be translated. Archeologists discovered religious statues and amulets of fertility gods and goddesses; some figures sit in a lotus position. The only written accounts of these people are from Hindu texts of a later time (the Vedas). These imaginative accounts describe them as having snubbed noses, curly black hair, and crude behavior. A common theory associates this civilization with dark skinned inhabitants who spoke Dravidian languages a language group now found in the southern region of India. According to this theory, at around 1500 BCE a group of white skinned people migrated to the Indus Valley from Persia and drove the Dravidians south. The invaders called themselves Aryans, meaning noblemen or landlord, and scholars often connect them with the Hyksos people who invaded and ruled Egypt around 1700 BCE, and to the Celtic people of the British Isles. Those who didnt migrate to India stayed in Persia and established the Zoroastrian religion. The Aryans spoke an Indo-European language called Sanskrit, which is the language of the ancient Hindu texts. The Ayrans may have been less culturally advanced than their Dravidian counterparts and in time they absorbed many of the Dravidian cultural practices including some of their religious beliefs. For the next thousand

years the Ayrans extended their influence over India. Although this theory remains to be proved, historians and sociologists commonly use it to explain the origins of the northern Ayran language group and the southern Dravidian language group. VEDIC HINDUISM. As we examine the world around us, we see a variety of forces at work. Outside, the winds, rain, and temperature all behave as though they have minds of their own. Even inside our homes we are susceptible to a variety of forces that affect our health, finances, and relations with our loved ones. Often these forces conflict with each other. The rain may fall adequately enough to water my plants, but the wind may blow my house over. I may be financially secure, but I may also have cancer. It is natural for us to see these distinct forces as the domains of different powerful beings that regulate phenomena as they see fit. Perhaps this was a motivation for early Hindus as they described features of various gods, developed rituals to appease them, and chanted hymns to them. We find such descriptions in the sacred text of the Aryan religion, the Vedas, which literally means bodies of knowledge. Written between 1,500-800 BCE, the Vedas are divided in four parts: Rig-Veda: around 1,000 hymns of prayer and praise to the deities

Sama-Veda: rhythmic chants borrowed from the Rig-Veda

Yajur-Veda: prose passages dealing with sacrificial ritual Atharva-Veda: charms, spells, incantations, and kingly duties

One of the principal Vedic deities was Indra, the god of war and thunder; nearly one quarter of the Vedic hymns are dedicated to him. Other key deities were Varuna, the sky god who maintains cosmic order and protects moral action; Mitra, the sun god who stimulates life and brings prosperity; Rudra, the god of violence, destruction, disease, and death; and Soma, the god of intoxicating juices consumed in ritual. Vedic Hinduism was highly ritualistic, emphasizing the ceremony of sacrificial fire (brahman). Fire is important in sacrifices because it consumes the sacrificial object, and drifts smoke upward so the gods may receive it. The god of fire, Agni, became associated with the sacrificial fire itself and as such Agni was the mediator between humanity and the universe. Hymns depict him as living everywhere, even in water, which is reflected in the fact that rain is accompanied by lightning. Early on in the Vedic period, sacrifices were simple and often performed in the home. Believers hoped to tap the power of the natural order by addressing the appropriate deity during rites of passage and special domestic events, such as birth, death, illness, farming and house building. In time, though, sacrifices became more elaborate. Priests were responsible for performing the sacrifices and a religious text called the Brahmanas was compiled to explain the function of sacrifices. Creation Hymn. Virtually all religious traditions contain accounts of the creation of the world. In a sense, we human beings are foreigners who mysteriously appeared in a strange land and want to know what is going on around us. How did all this stuff get here? What is my connection to this great cosmos? Religious creation stories are early attempts to answer these questions. Even today, philosophers latch onto creation accounts within their respective traditions, and see them as windows into the very nature of reality. Through these accounts we think about the creative forces at work, the types of realities that emerge, and, ultimately, how we connect to the world at large. Philosophically, we look for two things within creation stories. First, we want to understand the literal description of the creation process, since the terminology and sequence of events are often foundational to later and more detailed accounts of cosmology. For example, a creation account might explain that initially there was nothing, then there was a great chaotic cataclysm, and then order emerged. Second, we want to look more metaphorically at how the authors description of creation reflects his personal struggle to find meaning in the universe. For example, by saying that order follows chaos, a cosmologist hints that life is ultimately harmonious, and confusion is only temporary. The Vedas contain several creation hymns, some of which describe the universe as a great egg from which everything comes (Rig Veda 10:121). Other hymns describe it as the product of a grand architect (Rig Veda 10:82). In the

creation hymn below, on a literal level, the author depicts the original state of the universe as a formless void of neither existence nor non-existence. Through heat, the one primordial existence arose. From this, desire emerged which, in turn, generated mind. The author concludes, though, that we can never know the exact process of creation since no one was around to witness it, including the gods. Even the highest divine creative force may or may not know how it all started. Then there was neither the non-existent nor existent. There was no realm of air, no sky beyond it. What was concealed, and where? And what gave shelter? Was there any water of unfathomed depth? There was no death then, nor was there any immortality. There was no torch of day and night. There was that One, which breathed mindlessly by its own nature. But apart from it there was nothing whatsoever. First there was only darkness concealed in darkness. All was undiscriminated water. That One, existing in a formless void, was born by the great power of heat. After that, Desire arose in the beginning desire, the primal seed and germ of Mind. Sages who searched with their heart discovered the existents kingship in the non-existent. Across this they extend their dividing line: what was above it then, and what below it? There were originators, and there were mighty forces. Free action was here and energy was up there. Who truly knows and who can here declare from where it was born and from where this creation comes? The gods came later than the production of this world. Who knows then from where it first came into being? He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all or did not form it; whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he truly knows it, or perhaps he does not know. [10:129] On a metaphorical level, each line in the above probes the depths of our human predicament. Interpretations are as rich and varied as there are people willing to read between these lines. Here are just a few interpretations. First, we see in the above the reoccurring conviction that existence and nonexistence are not as different as one might think. Imagine what an existing thing would be like if it had no distinguishable parts, no clearly defined edges and was just a hazy mass, like a cloud going in all directions as far as one could see. Imagine similarly a completely empty area with no defining shape or boundary. We can reasonably describe both of these images as no-thing, or nothing. For the author of the above hymn, this nondescript state of neither existence nor non-existence is the cradle of all that is. It is kind of a compromise position between an emotional solution and a conceptual solution. On the one hand, the authors solution is not as emotionally anxiety filling as saying that the primal state was complete non-existence. On the other, it is more conceptually satisfying than saying that the cosmos came about simply through the reshuffling of previously existing individual things. Second, we see that the first created thing is the One, which is the unifying factor of all existence. Later Hindu philosophers dispute about whether this single ultimate existence congealed into sub-units, and sub-sub-units. Nevertheless, an important aspect of Hindu philosophy is that the universe, or the One, is a unity. Third, we see that the author describes the origin of Mind early on in the creation process. Whether we consider our own human minds, the mind of a great divine being, or possibly the mind of the universe itself, we see mind as a different kind of existence than that of a mere stone or tree. Interestingly, according to the above hymn, desire is the spark that ignites the emergence of mind. At the level of our human minds, this implies that I first have desires, such as bodily cravings, and then I have mentality. Later Hindu writers stress that we can achieve enlightenment by subduing our minds, and we subdue our minds by subduing our desires. Fourth, in the end, we are left with a healthy skepticism. We try our best to offer reasonable and coherent explanations of the world, but we must recognize that the truth of the matter is inaccessible. Not only is truth inaccessible to humans, but it is also inaccessible to any divine being. Ethical Hymn. Just as we wrestle with our place in the cosmic scheme of things, we also wrestle with the nature of ethical behavior. In a world in which anything goes, we might deceive, rob, maim, rape, or kill each other with little thought about those we harm. Fortunately, we dont live in a world like that and, from the earliest writings of human civilization, we see guidelines for proper behavior. Ancient ethical guidelines were typically collections of isolated aphorisms that were revised and amended from generation to generation, until finally locked into a fixed written form. Sociologically, these collected aphorisms are priceless for understanding the social structures, relationships, and values of the affected people. Philosophically, within these aphorisms we find rationales for why people should behave in specific ways. The gods mandate good behavior; ethical conduct is the wise thing to do; we personally benefit by being good. Surprisingly,

thousands of years later, these are the same reasons for ethical behavior that philosophers still offer, although with more detail. It is, thus, humbling to consider that our ethical theories today are sparked by intuitions that also occurred to sages of the far distant past. The ethical hymn below emphasizes a particular justification for moral behavior: If you care for others then others will care for you, and, conversely, when you fail to care for others, then others will neglect you. Philosophers today describe this type of ethical justification as consequentialist in that sense that actions are deemed good because of the good consequences that they produce. The gods have not ordained hunger to be our death: death comes in varied shape even to the well-fed person. The riches of the generous person never waste away, while he who will not give finds no one to comfort him. The person with food in store finds no one to comfort him when he hardens his heart against the needy who come in misery begging for bread to eat (even when in the past the needy person served him). A person is abundant if he gives to the frail beggar who comes to him needing. Success attends him in the shout of battle. He makes a friend of him in future troubles. A person is no friend if he offers nothing to his companion who comes imploring food. The companion should just leave since this is no home in which to rest. Instead he should find a stranger to support him. The rich person should satisfy the poor implorer, and bend his eye on a longer pathway. Riches come first to one, then to another, and like the wheels of carts are ever rolling. The hands are both alike, their labor differs. The yield of the milk cow is unequal. Even twins differ in their strength and vigor, two differ in their bounty, even kinsmen. [10:117] As Hinduism matured, philosophers offered additional justifications for ethical behavior. For example, they argued that through moral conduct we become more pure, and this is a starting point in our quest for enlightenment. Even this, though, is consistent with the consequentialist reasoning in the above hymn. While the above hymn tells us that ethical behavior leads to material gain, later writers tell us that ethical behavior leads to spiritual gain. The point in common is that ethical behavior does something good for us. And this is perhaps the most realistic personal motivation we can have to act morally. BRAHMAMANIC HINDUISM. Philosophical points hinted at in the Vedas emerge more strongly during what is called the Brahmanic or classical period of Hinduism, from around 800 BCE to 200 CE. Brahmanic writings flesh out the notion of the ultimate reality that permeates the cosmos, which the creation hymn above called the One. Philosophers and theologians of all traditions try to understand how God or an ultimate divine reality relates to the world. On the one hand, I can look at a mountain or a forest and see these as external objects that God creates, which are not literally part of God himself. God himself transcends or rises above the things in the world, and is beyond even the cosmos itself. To communicate with God, I must look beyond this finite created world and seek God in his secluded realm. The Western religious traditions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam typically depict God in this way. On the other hand, I can look at the same mountain and forest and see these as literally parts of God. God is not external to the cosmos, but dwells within it or is immanent to it. On this view, God dwells within me too since I am part of the cosmos. To communicate with God I look within myself, and not to a secluded divine realm beyond the cosmos. Communication with God, then, involves a mystical experience by which I become aware of my union with God. Eastern religious traditions in general, and Brahmanic Hinduism in particular, gravitate towards this notion of an indwelling or immanent God. The Atman-Brahman. Writers of the Brahmanic period describe the indwelling God of the cosmos as the AtmanBrahman, which literally means the Self-God. Hindu philosophers at the time developed the concept of the AtmanBrahman as a means of reform earlier Vedic doctrines that were falling out of step with the times. New grassroots mystical movements (sramanas) within India emphasized self-reflective meditation and downplayed worship of the Vedic gods and the tedious sacrificial rituals performed by priests. In response, Hindu reformers latched onto the Vedic notion of brahman, which traditionally was a special sacrificial power used by Vedic priests in ritual and sacrifice. They then expanded the traditional notion of sacrificial power to mean the power of existence itself. Also, inspired by the mystical movements, they

made the sacrifice of religious life a matter of self-reflective meditation. Thus, by expanding the traditional notion of brahman sacrificial power and combining it with self-reflective meditation, the reformers devised the notion of the AtmanBrahman. The dramatic implication of the notion of the Atman-Brahman is that I am the God of the cosmos! This requires some explanation, and Brahmanic writers were prepared to provide it. The Atman is our true self that lies at the inner core of our human identities, and it is only this inner core that is identical with God. Hindus often use an analogy of an onion to describe the various layers of our identities. Like an onion with many layers of skin, our human identities also have different layers. The outer layers of our identities involve common sense views of ourselves that we experience empirically, such as our individual physical bodies, sensations, thoughts and feelings. The Atman-Brahman is like the inner core of the onion, hidden beneath many distracting layers, and consequently we fail to immediately comprehend the very existence of that inner core and our divine status. Instead, we see ourselves as distinct beings each of us with our own bodies and minds and we see the world itself as consisting of a multiplicity of isolated parts. By pealing away the outer layers of our identities, though, we will find the Atman-Brahman within each of us and see the underlying unity of the world. Release from Reincarnation. Hindus have a long tradition of belief in reincarnation, which, most simply, is the view that ones present life is followed by a series of new lives in new physical bodies. Early Hindu writings in the Vedas hint at the notion of rebirth, which assured believers of a kind of immortality. During the Brahmanic period, though, the doctrine of reincarnation takes a more definitive shape and is associated with the term samsara, or rebirth. There are two components to samsara. First, there is the basic process of rebirth itself: when I die, my true self will be reborn into another body, and when that body dies, I will be reborn into another, and so on. Some Hindu writings are explicit about the mechanics of the rebirth process. When I die, and my body is cremated, my soul rises with the smoke and travels through the heavens for several months. My soul then falls back to earth, mixes with natural elements, and is consumed by humans. From there my soul works its way into a mans semen, and, through intercourse, enters a womans womb (Chandogya Upanishad, 5:10). The second component of samsara is that the moral consequences of my behavior in this life are carried over to my next lives. Known as the doctrine of karma, or action, the quality of my existence in my new life is largely a function of my good or bad actions in my present and previous lives. To illustrate, imagine that my true self carries around a karma sack from one life to another. Each time I perform a good deed, a good-karma token is tossed into the sack, and when I perform a bad deed, a bad-karma token is tossed in. When I die, I carry the karma sack and all of its tokens on to the next life. If I have an abundance of good-karma tokens, then in my next life I may be healthier, wealthier, and more spiritually mature than I am now. On the other hand, if I die with an abundance of bad-karma tokens, then I may be reborn sickly, poor, and ignorant. To make my next lives better, I should do what I can to accumulate as many good-karma tokens as I can. Unlike the Vedas, which viewed reincarnation favorably, writers of the Brahmanic period saw the prospect of being trapped in the endless cycle of reincarnation as a matter of dread. On this new view, I need to do what I can to become released (moksha) from the rebirth cycle. Hindu writings stress several approaches to release, two of which are especially dominant in Brahmanic literature. According to some writings, release is a matter of accumulating a great abundance of good karma over our various lives. When I get as good as I can possibly be, then the rebirth process is over and my true self remains with Brahman. The appeal of this approach is that it underscores the fact that life is a moral journey, with perfection as our ultimate goal. In other writings, however, the approach to release involves discovering the AtmanBrahman within myself through disciplined reflection and meditation. The appeal of this approach is that I can go more directly towards my final goal and experience the pure Atman-Brahman right here and now. Although these two approaches to release seem vastly different, there are some points of compatibility. First, Hindus often argue that we need to be morally mature before we can reflectively experience the Atman-Brahman within us. If I rob a bank this morning, I stand little chance of discovering the Atman-Brahman within me this afternoon. Second, both approaches emphasize the need to move beyond our common experiences and move to a higher plain of reality. Some of us cannot focus our energies on moral activity, and others of us cannot consume ourselves in meditation. There are, then, two different approaches that draw on our different human capacities. BRAHMANISM IN THE UPANISHADS. The Upanishads are the principal Brahmanic philosophical writings that expressed the notion of the Atman-Brahman. There are more than 200 Upanishad texts, although Hindu tradition gives special emphasis to only about 18 early ones composed

between 600 and 400 BCE. The Upanishads differ in length, style, and even doctrinal content. Although they are unsystematic, and often very cryptic, some representative themes emerge. They are, (a) both good works (karma) and the right kind of knowledge (vidya) are needed to attain release from reincarnation; (b) individual things are unified with the cosmos by means of the Atman-Brahman within us; and (c) the Atman-Brahman is eternal and cannot be identified with anything physical. On this latter point, one of the more famous passages from the Upanishads states that the Atman cannot be identified with either this or that particular physical thing: The Atman is not this, it is not that (neti neti). It is unseizable, for it cannot be seized. It is indestructible, for it cannot be destroyed. It is unattached, for it does not attach itself. It is unbound. It does not tremble. It is not injured. [Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, 4:2] This passage implies a distinction between the physical world of appearance, which we must reject, and the ultimate reality of Brahman, which we should accept. Just as a movie projector casts images onto a solid white screen, the realm of physical appearances is imposed onto Brahman, which makes it look like there are a multitude of individual things. So, we need to see our true selves as the eternal Brahman, and not as physical appearances. You are That. One of the more influential passages in the Upanishads comes from the Chandogya Upanishad. At around 100 pages in length, the Chandogya Upanishad is a compilation of several shorter works presented in eight chapters. Chapter Six is a dialog in which a father named Uddalaka gives religious instructions to his son named Svetaketu. The narrator of the dialog explains that the son is twenty-four-years-old and, having formally studied the Vedas for years, is a bit arrogant about his knowledge of religion. Drawing attention to the limitations of his sons knowledge, the father teaches him about the Atman-Brahman. Using several metaphors, the father explains how things that seem diverse in fact have an underlying reality. Plants, animals, humans, and everything else are united in the Atman-Brahman that exists beneath the physical structure of things. In a first example, the father draws on an analogy of bees collecting honey. Bees make honey by collecting the juices of distant trees and reducing the juices into one form. These juices have no discrimination and do not say I am the juice of this tree or that tree. In the same manner, when all these creatures merge with Being [either in deep sleep or in death], they do not know that they merged with Being. Whatever these creatures are here whether a lion, a wolf, a boar, a worm, a fly, a gnat, or a mosquito they become that again and again. Everything that exists has as its soul that which is the finest essence. It is Reality. It is the Atman, and you are that, my son. This passage makes a distinction between our physical manifestation and our underlying true identity. Our physical manifestations go through continual cycles of reincarnation; this is so of animal life as well as human life. Our underlying identities, though, merge with Brahman, which is undifferentiated reality. The father says to his son, You are that, meaning that his son is that Atman-Brahman which he describes. According to later Hindu tradition, this phrase You are that (tat tvam asi), as spoken by the father in the dialog, encapsulates the message of all the Upanishads. The author of these passages clearly recognized the value of metaphors in conveying concepts of ultimate truth. Perhaps he also felt that a single metaphor might mislead us, whereas a series of metaphors gives us a more rounded conception of the Atman-Brahman. So, the father in the story continues with two other analogies illustrating the AtmanBrahman. Some of the lines in these next two examples duplicate those in the above. This suggests that the passages here were either originally transmitted orally, or were written for the purposes of oral recitation, which in either case commonly involved repetition. If we look beyond the repetition, though, we see interesting differences. The fathers second metaphor compares the Atman-Brahman to a great river: The eastern rivers [like the Ganges] flow toward the east, and the western rivers [like the Sindhu] flow toward the west. They go from sea to sea. They become the sea. When those rivers are in the sea, they do not say I am this or that river. In the same manner, when all these creatures come forth from Being, they do not know that they have come forth from Being. Whatever these creatures are here whether a lion, a wolf, a boar, a worm, a fly, a gnat, or a mosquito they become that again and again. Everything that exists has as its soul that which is the finest essence. It is Reality. It is the Atman, and you are that, my son. The final metaphor compares the Atman-Brahman to the sap of a large tree: If someone struck the root of this large tree here, it would lose sap, but live. If he struck its trunk, it would lose sap, but live. If he struck its top, it would lose sap, but live. Pervaded by the living Atman, that tree stands firm, drinking in its nourishment and rejoicing. But if life leaves one of its branches, that branch withers. If it leaves a second, that branch

withers. If it leaves a third, that branch withers. If it leaves the whole tree, the whole tree withers. Understand this: this body withers and dies when the living Atman leaves it. The living Atman itself, though, does not die. Everything that exists has as its soul that which is the finest essence. It is Reality. It is the Atman, and you are that, my son. [Chandogya Upanishad, 6:9-11] Here are some of the differences between the three analogies. First, like honey collected by bees, our identities are collected into one form, which implies that we are all brought together into a collective ultimate reality. Second, like the ocean fed by several rivers, our identities flow to a common place, which implies that we seek a final resolution by progressing towards Brahman. Third, like the sap running throughout trees, our physical bodies are nourished by the living ultimate reality; this implies that the Atman-Brahman sustains our physical lives. The common theme of the three analogies is the use of liquids honey, water, and sap to describe the undifferentiated nature of the Atman-Brahman. If we look at a bucket of any liquid, such as water, we dont commonly think of the water as being composed of parts, such as tiny water droplets. Instead, we see the water as a unified whole, with no immediate way of distinguishing between parts. Compare this to a bucket of sand: although it contains one kind of stuff, we do see this as a collection of tiny grains. The authors choice of liquid metaphors was probably no accident and, so, there is good reason to see him as conveying a literal notion of undifferentiation. You are That, then, means that the true you is the undifferentiated Atman-Brahman. However, in spite of what appears to be a clear interpretation of the liquid metaphors, some Hindu philosophers in later centuries argued that the notion of the Atman-Brahman described in these metaphors still includes some differentiation. The differentiation/undifferentiation question is at the center of much Hindu philosophy, as well as much Eastern philosophy in other traditions, and it is a theme to which we will continually return. Katha Upanishad. The above quoted passages from the Upanishads emphasize the fact that we are connected with ultimate reality at the core of our inner selves. Even if we grant the connection between our true selves and Brahman, several questions remain. How do I learn about the Atman-Brahman? What is the status of my ordinary empirical self? How is my Atman connected to my empirical self? These questions are addressed in the Katha Upanishad, a brief work at about 20 pages in length. The text opens describing how a wealthy man performed a religious ritual that required him to give away all of his possessions. Instead of giving everything away, he sacrificed only his old and useless cattle. His son, Nachiketa, was concerned for his fathers spiritual welfare since his father did not properly perform the ritual. Natchiketa pestered his father saying, Dont I belong to you too? implying that his father should sacrifice him along with his other possessions. Finally, the aggravated father pronounced, I give you to the God of Death! referring to Yama, a minor god in the Vedas who presides over dead ancestors. Thus, Nachiketa went to the house of the Yama, and for three nights waited for him. Yama finally arrived and granted Nachiketa three wishes for each night he stayed at the house unattended. For his first wish Natchiketa requested that his father would not be angry. For his second wish he requested to learn the power of sacrifice. Finally, for his third, Nachiketa wished to know what happens after death. Yama hesitated, offering instead endless material wealth, but Nachiketa insisted in his request, and finally got his answer. According to Yama, the secret of immortality is found in purification of the heart, in meditation, and in realizing the identity between the Atman within us and the Brahman outside of us. Immortality, then, is union with ultimate reality. Yama begins by explaining the difficulty involved in comprehending the nature of the Atman. It is hidden within us, as in a kind of darkness. A good teacher is needed to attain this knowledge since it cannot be achieved through argumentation. Many are not even able to hear the Atman, and many, even when they hear of it, do not comprehend it. Wonderful is the person, who when found, is able to teach the Atman. Wonderful also is the person who comprehends it when taught by an able teacher. The Atman, when taught by an inferior person, is not easy to understand, even when one frequently thinks about it. Unless another teaches it, there is no way to it, for it is inconceivably smaller than what is small. That doctrine cannot be obtained by argument, but when someone else declares it, then it is easy to understand. You have obtained this knowledge now, and you are truly a person of genuine determination. May we always have an inquirer like you! ... Indeed, the wise person leaves joy and sorrow far behind when he meditates on his Atman and recognizes the primordial, who is difficult to see, who has entered into the dark, who is hidden in the cave, and who dwells in the abyss. A mortal rejoices when he hears this, embraces it, separates it from all qualities, and thus reaches the subtle Being, because he has obtained what is a cause for rejoicing. I believe that the house of Brahman is open, Nachiketa.

In the above, Yama emphasizes that we cannot learn about the Atman-Brahman on our own, but we must seek guidance through the right teacher. The author here is partly reinforcing social expectations that seekers of truth as with apprentices in any field need instructions from a master. More importantly, though, the author says that the means of attaining this knowledge is so elusive that we cant do it on our own. For example, I cannot logically deduce the doctrine of the Atman-Brahman since logic is part of my outer conceptual processes. As the metaphor above suggests, it would be like attempting to logically deduce my way through a dark, underground cave. Yama continues noting that the syllable of Brahman is Om. That word is Om, which all the Vedas record, which all prayers proclaim, which people desire when they live as religious students. That imperishable syllable means Brahman, that syllable means the highest Brahman. If a person knows that syllable, then he obtains whatever he desires. This is the best support, this is the highest support; he who knows that support is magnified in the world of Brahman. Although the function of the Om syllable may seem a little foreign to people in Western civilization, it does draw on a common human experience. There are many objects and events in life that we hold sacred, such as religious relics, national flags, pilgrimages to shrines, visits to grave sites, and family reunions. These objects and events allow us to participate in something much larger than the particular object or action itself. For example, an old photograph of my great grandparents is more than just an historical curiosity; it symbolizes my cultural and biological origins and allows me to see myself as a link in an unbroken chain of nurturers. To the long list of sacred objects and sacred events in our lives, Hindus add sacred sounds. We might understand the Om as the sound of pure existence. By pronouncing it and experiencing its reverberation, we experience Brahman itself. Because of its intimate connection with the highest form of being, Om is the most sacred syllable in Hinduism. The concept of the Om syllable first appears in the Upanishads and is the main subject of the Mandukya Upanishad. The Mandukya notes four constituent elements of the Om: a, u, m, and silence. These four elements stand for four states of consciousness, namely, waking, dreaming, deep sleep, and absolute consciousness (turiya). The final state of absolute consciousness is consciousness of the Atman-Brahman itself. The meditative use of sacred syllables such as Om was more systematically developed in the later Hindu practice of Mantra Yoga. Yama describes the eternal character of the hidden Atman within us: The knowing Atman is not born, and it does not die; it sprang from nothing, and nothing sprang from it. The primordial is unborn, eternal, everlasting. If we grasp the fact that our Atman is undying, then we will be less affected by the world of change around us: If the killer thinks that he kills, if the killed think that he is killed, they do not understand. Even death should not give us reason to grieve, since the true Atman is bodiless. Many passages in the Upanishads, such as the following, suggest a love-hate relationship with the Vedic writings of early Hinduism. On the one hand, the Vedas contain authoritative statements about the nature of the gods and our place in the world. On the other hand, study of the Vedas can distract us from what is most important in our quest for ultimate reality. Yama suggests here that, just as argumentation is not sufficient for gaining knowledge of the Atman, so too is it unhelpful to rely on the Vedas for such knowledge. That Atman cannot be gained by the Veda [i.e., Hindu scripture], nor by understanding, nor by much learning. Whoever the Atman chooses can gain knowledge of the Atman. The Atman chooses him as his own. However, a person cannot obtain knowledge of the Atman if he has not first turned away from his wickedness. He must be tranquil, subdued, and have his mind at rest. ... Not only will the Vedas fail to help us gain knowledge of the Atman, but any kind of understanding or learning will hinder us. It is the experience of the Atman itself that teaches us, and this requires both moral conduct and contemplation. Perhaps the most important contribution of the Katha Upanishad is its attempt to explain the relation between my inner Atman and my outer conscious self. Does my Atman ever influence my thoughts and actions, or am I only ever driven by my outer perceptions and desires? Using an analogy of a chariot, Yama explains that there is indeed a relation between the Atman and the rest of our ordinary mental and physical faculties. Picture a two-person chariot that races down the road, pulled by horses. The passenger, the charioteer, the chariot, the reins, the horses, and the road each represent an aspect of our identities. We may understand that the Atman is sitting in the chariot, the body is the chariot, the intellect (buddhi) is the charioteer, and the mind is the reins. The senses are the horses, the objects of the senses are their roads. When he [i.e., the highest

Atman] is in union with the body, the senses, and the mind, then wise people call him the Enjoyer. If someone has no understanding and his mind [i.e., the reins] is never firmly held, then his senses, like vicious horses, are unmanageable. But if someone has understanding and his mind is always firmly held, then his senses are under control, like good horses of a charioteer. If someone has no understanding and is unmindful and always impure, then he never reaches that place, but enters into the cycle of births. But if someone has understanding and is mindful and always pure, then he indeed reaches that place, and from there he is not born again. And if someone has understanding for his charioteer, and who holds the reins of the mind, then he reaches the end of his journey, and that is the highest place of Vishnu. In this analogy, the Atman represents the passenger that rides next to the charioteer. The Atman is an important passenger, though, and like taxi cab drivers and limousine chauffeurs, the charioteer must obey the instructions of the passenger. This implies that, ideally, the Atman directs the thoughts and behavior of our outer selves. If we were unable to hear our inner Atman, it would be like a passenger riding around with a deaf charioteer. When we gain a proper understanding of the Atman, all these components of our identities work together and we do not enter the dreaded cycle of reincarnation. Yama continues explaining the various layers of human consciousness. Hidden deep within these layers is the Atman, which can only be discovered through a cultivated mind. The path to the Atman, he explains, is difficult to travel, and as narrow as a razors edge. Beyond the senses there are the objects, beyond the objects there is the mind, and beyond the mind there is the intellect. The Great self [i.e., the ego] is beyond the intellect. Beyond the Great there is the Undeveloped, beyond the Undeveloped there is the Person. Beyond the Person there is nothing. This is the goal, and is the highest road. That Atman is hidden in all beings and does not shine forth, although astute seers see it through their sharp and subtle intellects. A wise person should keep down speech and mind. He should keep them within the Atman, which is knowledge. He should keep knowledge within the Atman, which is the Great. And he should keep that [the Great] within the Atman, which is the Quiet. Wake up and rise, having obtained your wishes. Understand them! The wise say that, like the sharp edge of a razor, the path [to the Atman] is difficult to travel and obtain. We are freed from the jaws of death when we perceive that which is without sound, without touch, without form, without decay, without taste, eternal, without smell, without beginning, without end, beyond the Great, and unchangeable. Yama notes in the above passage that a wise person should keep down speech and mind. The reason for this is that the Atman is quiet and hidden, and uproar from our outer selves will make it impossible to hear the Atman. Using the above chariot analogy, if the charioteer talks too much, then he cant hear the instructions of the passenger. BRAHMANISM IN THE BHAGAVAD GITA. Most philosophy books from around the world are technical treatises with little literary flair. Perhaps this is because philosophers see themselves mainly as conveyors of truth, rather than as artists who move our souls. A grand exception to this rule is the Bhagavad Gita, or Song of God, which is a 100-page section of an epic poem called the Mahabharata. At about 5,000 pages and composed over an 800 year period, the Mahabharata is the worlds longest epic poem. The work chronicles a legendary feud between two branches of a royal family whose lineage traces back to a man named Bharata. The long-standing feud culminates in a bloody battle, the stage for which is set in the Bhagavad Gita. The story line behind the Bhagavad Gita focuses on prince Arjuna, the leader on one side of the feud, who is despairing about going into battle against his kinfolk. He expresses his grief to his charioteer, Krishna, who in reality is the god Vishnu in human form. Krishna comforts Arjuna with a philosophy lesson. Composed about 200 BCE during the Brahmanic period, the Bhagavad Gita reflects the philosophical doctrine of the Atman-Brahman. In many ways it is like a handbook of various Hindu theories, techniques, and sects that circulated at the time. More than just a handbook, though, it is an attempt to reconcile these various traditions, which, if left to their own devices, would in time disunify Hinduism. In the opening section of the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna expresses his anxiety about the upcoming confrontation. As a warrior who excels in archery, Arjuna is not so much concerned with the battle itself, but with the fact that he is battling against his family. Our families are the focus of our lives. Whatever we gain in life has merit only because of its impact on our families. The whole point of going to war is to obtain things for ones family. What, then, is the point of going into battle if we are battling with that very family?

Krishna, seeing my kinsmen lined up and eager to fight, my limbs fail, my mouth is parched, my body quivers, my hair stands on end, my bow slips from my hand, my skin burns all over, I am not able to stand, my mind is spinning, and I see omens of evil. I see no advantage in slaying kinsmen in battle. For I desire neither victory, nor kingdoms, nor pleasures. What are kingdoms to us, what is enjoyment, or even what is life? Those for whose sake we desire kingdoms, enjoyment and pleasures stand here in battle, abandoning life and riches. They are our teachers, fathers, and sons. They are also our grandfathers, mothers brothers, fathers-in-law, grandsons, brothers-in-law, and other relatives. Though I may be slain myself, I do not wish to kill these people, even for the sake of the kingship of the three worlds. How then can I wish this for earth? ... [Bhagavad Gita, Sect. 1] Arjunas grief in the above passage is important not only for creating drama in the story, but also for setting a contrast between two differing views of what we find important in life. On one view, we believe that it is good to cherish our families, and we expect people to despair about losing their them. On another view, though, a deeper truth awaits us that makes the importance of our families pale by comparison. Knowledge Method. Unfortunately, the family war is inevitable. To alleviate Arjunas worries, Krishna presents a series of philosophical arguments that justify him going into battle. Krishnas first line of argumentation is based on a rational and reflective approach to achieving release from reincarnation. Krishna refers to this as the teaching of Samkhya, which later on he distinguishes from the teaching of Yoga. The notion of Samkhya here should not be confused with the medieval school of Hindu philosophy by the same name, which originated around 400 CE. By Samkhya, Krishna means a reflective way by which we come to an understanding of our unchanging, inner self, perhaps referring to the approach taken in the Upanishads. You grieve, Arjuna, for those that should not be grieved for, yet you speak words of wisdom. The wise grieve neither for the living nor for the dead. There was never a time at which I truly did not exist, nor you, nor these princes. Nor truly will there ever be a future time in which we cease to exist. Just as the dweller in this body goes through childhood, youth, and age, so too does he pass on to another body at death. The wise do not grieve at this. The experiences of cold and heat, pleasure and pain [which result from contact with material things], they come and go, and are impermanent. You must bravely endure them. A person is fit for immortality who is not tormented by these things, is balanced in pain and pleasure, and is steadfast. The unreal has no existence, and the real never ceases to exist. Those who see the essence of things understand the truth about both existence and nonexistence. That which pervades everything is indestructible. No one can do anything to destroy that which is imperishable. Bodies are known to be finite. But that which possesses the body is eternal, indestructible and immeasurable. Therefore, Arjuna, you must fight. Those who distinguish between the slayer and the slain are ignorant of them both. No one slays, and no one is slain. No one is born, and no one dies. No one who once existed, ceases to exist. They are unborn, perpetual, eternal and ancient, and are not slain when their bodies are slaughtered. If we understand a person to be indestructible, perpetual, unborn, undiminishing, how can that person slay, or be slain? According to the knowledge approach described above, we are all eternal by virtue of the Atman-Brahman within us, and what happens to our bodies is insignificant. By implication, Arjuna should not worry about killing his relatives since even if their bodies die in battle, their inner selves are untouched. Taken literally, Krishnas advice is grossly immoral: dont worry about killing people since you can never kill their true inner selves. But the Bhagavad Gita is certainly not recommending indifference towards human life. The shock value of the literal message gets our attention, but we must move on to see the true philosophical message at the metaphorical level. As recommended by the knowledge method, one way of understanding our true place in the larger scheme of things is to come to an intellectual understanding of our inner selves. When we do so, the gulf between our eternal selves and our bodily selves will appear so vast that, by comparison, what happens to the bodily self will seem insignificant. Krishna offers an analogy to explain the relation between our bodies and our true inner selves: just as we replace old clothes with new ones, so, too, do we discard our old bodies in the repeated process of reincarnation while the inner self remains. As a person throws off worn-out garments and takes new ones, so too the dweller in the body throws off worn-out bodies and enters into others that are new. Weapons do not pierce him, fire does not burn him, water does not make him wet, and wind does not dry him away. He cannot be pierced, burned, made wet, or dried. He is perpetual, all pervasive, stable, immovable, and ancient. He is called unmanifest, unthinkable, and immutable. Therefore, knowing him as such, you should not grieve. Or if you think of him as being constantly born and constantly dying, even then, you should not grieve. For

death is certain for those who are born, and birth is certain for those who are dead. Therefore, you should not grieve over the inevitable. [Bhagavad Gita, Sect. 2] Through the knowledge method, not only do we learn about the finite status of our present bodily lives, but we also learn about the finite status of all of our reincarnated bodily lives. Yoga of Action. After finishing his arguments from the Samkhya method of knowledge, the topic of conversation shifts away from justifying the impending war. Instead, Arjuna wishes to understand the nature of the Atman-Brahman, and the ways of achieving release from reincarnation. Krishna continues by discussing the Yoga approach to release. The Hindu term Yoga means to yoke, to harness, or more generally discipline. The use of this term in the Bhagavad Gita is varied and at times confusing. In its broadest sense, each of the 18 sections of the Bhagavad Gita is titled as a type of Yoga. Even the opening chapter describing Arjunas despair is titled The Yoga of Despondency. In that context, the notion of Yoga probably means only that Arjunas soul is joined with despondency. By contrast, in its more narrow usage, the term Yoga refers to various disciplines or techniques for attaining release, such as meditation. There are several varieties of Yoga technique described in the Bhagavad Gita. However, given both the broad and narrower uses of the term yoga throughout the text, we cannot say precisely how many Yoga techniques are presented. The first clear Yoga technique described by Krishna is the Yoga of action (karma), which involves routinely acting with indifference to the fruits of our actions. By engaging in pure action, unconcerned with their results, we distance ourselves from the outer layers of our selves and our perceptions of the world. We thus become more sensitive to the reality of the Atman-Brahman. Suppose, for example, that it is lunchtime and I make a sandwich. Ordinarily, I do this to ward off hunger pangs, to satisfy my food craving, to keep me healthy, to keep me alive, and for many other reasons. All of these reasons, though, emphasize the outer layers of my identity: my bodily cravings, my desires, and the continuation of my finite life. This all takes me far from my true inner self. I should still eat the sandwich, but I should disassociate myself from the act of eating, and view it as though someone else is eating the sandwich. Since all of our actions focus on our outer selves, the Yoga of action prescribes disassociation from everything that we do. Krishna explains this here: This teaching I just gave you is in accord with the Samkhya [i.e., knowledge method]. Hear it now according to the Yoga [method] and in this light you may throw off the bonds of action (karma). According to this view, there is no loss of effort, nor is there wrong action. Even a little of this knowledge protects you from great fear. The intellect (buddhi) is single minded, whereas the thoughts of the irresolute are many-branched and endless. In the final sentence we see that we must tap a specific mental capacity in order to distance ourselves from our actions. The Sanskrit term for that capacity is buddhi, usually translated intellect, which is a pivotal concept in later Hindu philosophical writings. In this context, my intellect is not my Atman, but one of the purer layers of my outer self. It is my impersonal state of consciousness, which is capable of undistracted focus, and which is distinct from my more scattered mental efforts that give me a sense of identity or ownership. Not surprisingly, Krishna insists that we will not reach this degree of indifference by following traditional customs of the Vedas: The foolish utter flowery speech, and rejoice in the letter of the Vedas [i.e., Hindu scriptures]. For them there is nothing but a desire for the self with only the intent on reaching heaven. They prescribe many ceremonies to attain pleasure and power, but rebirth is the fruit of their actions. The Vedas deal with three attributes. You must be above these three attributes, Arjuna, and beyond the pair of opposites. You must be consistently pure, unconcerned with possessions, and full of the Atman. All the Vedas are about as useful to a Priest (brahmin) who understands as a pond is useful in a place covered all over with water. Like eating a sandwich, we perform religious rituals for a purpose; in this case, the purpose is to appease God or to get to heaven. However, religious actions are no less distracting than any other action. In fact, Krishna implies below that religious actions prescribed in the Vedas may be particularly entrapping. The cure for this, again, is relying on the intellect. Your business is with actions only, and never with the fruits of your actions. So do not let the fruit of your actions motivate you, and do not be attached to inaction. Perform action, Arjuna, dwelling in the union of the divine. Renounce attachments, and balance yourself evenly between success and failure. Equilibrium is called Yoga. Action is inferior to discrimination; so, take refuge in the intellect. People are pitiable who work only for its fruits. By disciplining ones intellect, one abandons both good and evil deeds. Therefore you should cling to [karma] Yoga, which is skill in action. The wise

disciplined their intellect, renounced the fruits of their actions, released (moksha) themselves from the bonds of birth, and attained a state of bliss. When your intellect escapes from the tangle of delusion, then you too will be indifferent about what you had heard and will hear [in the Vedas]. Two features of the above passage are noteworthy. First, just as the knowledge method of Samkhya raises moral questions about indifference to the bodily world, moral questions also arise with the Yoga of action. Krishna explicitly states that by disciplining our intellects we disassociate ourselves from both good and evil deeds. Perhaps the statement about evil deeds connects with the issue of Arjuna going to battle. Ultimately it is no big deal for Arjuna to slaughter his relatives, since he should act with indifference to the outcome. Again, though, we need to look beyond Krishnas literal recommendations in the story line. Even if I become indifferent to my actions, it is still important for me to behave morally, just as it is for me to eat a sandwich to stay alive. Later on Krishna says that Arjuna cannot maintain his physical life without some action, which implies that attention to appropriate physical actions is necessary. The second noteworthy feature of the above passage is Krishnas statement that our intellects help us escape from the world of delusion. It is one thing to maintain that the material world is less significant than the eternal realm of the Atman-Brahman. But it is another thing to say that the material world is an entanglement of delusion, which implies that it is less real than the Atman-Brahman. This is a theme that later Hindu philosophers explore. Krishna explains that there are clear psychological indicators when we disassociate ourselves from our actions by means of the intellect. In a word, we are freed from all emotions and attachments: When a person abandons all the desires of his heart and is satisfied in the Self and by the Self, then he is called stable in mind. A sage of stable mind is free from anxiety when surrounded by pains, is indifferent when surrounded by pleasures, and is freed from passion, fear and anger. He is without attachments on every side, whether desirable or undesirable, and neither likes nor dislikes. The person of understanding is well poised. Just as a tortoise pulls in all its limbs, the sage withdraws his senses from the objects, and his understanding is well poised. ... [Bhagavad Gita, Sect. 2] The analogy of the tortoise in the final sentence explains the benefit of freeing ourselves from emotions and attachments. Through detachment, we withdraw from the world of the senses, which in turn enables us to be more in tune with the Atman-Brahman. Yoga of Meditation. The Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita both have strong mystical themes. That is, they stress the importance of immediately experiencing our union with Brahman by means of contemplation and meditation. If there is one feature of Hinduism that has a more universal appeal, it is the practice of meditation. Later Hindu mystics describe step-by-step procedures for meditation, and, to a degree, Krishna offers a set of instructions here. Krishna explains that, when attempting meditation, we should find a private spot, assume a seated posture, gaze ahead, subdue our thoughts and senses, and lose self-consciousness. Through this method, we directly experience the unified Atman-Brahman within us. The Yogi should constantly engage himself in Yoga, staying in a secret place by himself, subduing his thoughts and self, and freeing himself from hope and greed. He should set up a fixed seat for himself in a pure place, which is neither too high, nor too low, made of a cloth, a black deerskin, and kusa grass, one over the other. Once there he should practice Yoga for the purification of the self; he should make his mind one-pointed, subduing his thoughts and the functions of his senses. He should hold his body, head and neck erect, immovably steady, looking at the point of his nose with an unseeing gaze. His heart should be serene, fearless and firm in the vow of renunciation. His mind should be controlled as he sits in harmony. In this manner he will think on me and aspire after me. In the final sentence Krishna says that through the various meditation techniques the meditator will think on and aspire after me. We saw that, for Hindus, Krishna is a human incarnation of the god Vishnu, and Krishnas statement here reflects a complex point of Hindu theology. In many Hindu texts the gods speak in dialog form, as here in the Bhagavad Gita. In their speeches, the gods often indicate their own status as the ultimate reality of Brahman. So when Krishna says that the meditator will think on and aspire after me, he implies that the meditator will think on and aspire after Brahman. Krishna notes that this meditation method is not for everyone, but only for those who avoid extremes in their conduct and desires. If we succeed in being moderate, then we will see the unity of the Atman in everything.

Yoga is not for the person who eats too much or too little, or who sleeps too much or too little. Yoga kills all pain for the person who is moderate in eating, amusement, performing actions, sleeping, and waking. When his subdued thought is fixed on the Atman and free from desiring things, then we can say that he is harmonized. Just as a lamp in a windless place does not flicker, so too will the subdued thought of the Yogi be absorbed in the Yoga of the self. ... The Yogi who harmonizes the self and puts away evil, will enjoy the infinite bliss of unity with the eternal Brahman. The self, harmonized by Yoga, sees the Atman abiding in all beings, and all beings in the Atman. Everywhere he sees the same thing. Mystical experiences, as reported in various religious traditions around the world, commonly involve two components. First, during the state of meditation, which lasts about 20 minutes, the mystic has an experience of union with ultimate reality. Second, even after the meditative experience is over, mystics report that they see that everything in the world is interconnected. This second component may lay behind Krishnas comment that through Yoga, we see the Atman abiding in all beings, and all beings in the Atman. Arjuna continues by presenting several objections to the account of the Yoga of Meditation method as described by Krishna. First, our minds are so restless that it is impossible to bring it under control as Krishna advises. In response, Krishna insists that through practice and the subduing of our passions we can bring our thoughts under control. Undoubtedly, Arjuna, the mind is restless and hard to control. But it may be controlled with constant practice and dispassion. I think Yoga is hard to attain by an uncontrolled self. But for a controlled Atman, it is attainable by properly directing energy. Krishnas response underscores the challenge in bringing our self under control, which is why we may appropriately refer to Yoga as a discipline. Arjuna next asks what will happen to the person who attempts the Yoga of Meditation, but fails. According to Krishna, even if someone fails at the Yoga of Meditation, he still has his accumulated good deeds, which ensure his release. No, he [i.e., the unsuccessful meditator] will not be lost in this life or the next. No one who does what is right will walk the path of destruction. Even if he fell from Yoga, by virtue of his good actions, he will be reborn in a pure and house, and may even be born into a family of wise Yogis. But this kind of birth is difficult to obtain in this world. In this reborn state, he retains the characteristics belonging to his previous body, and with these he again works for perfection. ... [Bhagavad Gita, Sect. 6] In our earlier discussion of release from reincarnation we noted that Hindu writings present two main approaches to release (moksha): (1) immediately experiencing the Atman-Brahman within, and (2) accumulating good karma over various lives. In this passage, Krishna reconciles the two approaches. If in our present lives we fail to meditatively experience the Atman-Brahman, through good deeds we may be reincarnated as a Yogi who finally succeeds at meditation. Yoga of Devotion. A final type of Yoga described by Krishna is the Yoga of devotion (bhakti). According to this approach, we express devotion to Krishna or some other divine being as a means of attaining release. Krishna notes that there are four kinds of people who are drawn to worship him, but it is the seeker of wisdom that is the dearest to him and will receive the knowledge of discrimination: There are four kinds of righteous people who worship me. They are those who suffer, those who seek knowledge, those who seek wealth, and those seek wisdom. Of these the wise are the best who worship me are in constant union with the One. I am supremely dear to the wise and the wise are dear to me. All of these [kinds of people] are noble, but I hold the wise as truly my own. They are harmonized and fixed on me, the highest path. At the close of many births the wise come to me knowing that I am all there is. It is very difficult to find such a great soul. [Bhagavad Gita, Sect.7] Earlier we saw that Krishna rejected religious actions as prescribed by the Vedas since such action is driven by the desire for heaven. So, it is no surprise that, in the above passage, Krishna emphasizes the worshippers motives and is implicitly critical of people motivated by the desire to relieve suffering or to seek knowledge or wealth. There are two ways of seeing the role of devotion in ones quest for release. First, as mentioned above, the gods are themselves connected with Brahman in various ways, and devotion to a specific deity is a stepping stone to awareness of Brahman as reflected in the specific deity. Second, through devotion, we gain the favor of that deity, who will then illuminate us to the reality of Brahman. Krishna goes this second route and explains that he gives the true worshipper a special knowledge of discrimination:

I am the creator of everything. Everything comes from me. Understanding this, the wise adore me in a state of rapture. They are mindful of me, and their life is hidden in me. They illuminate each other, continually talking about me, and they are content and joyful. I give the Yoga of discrimination (buddhi Yoga) to these people who are harmonious and worship in love. By means of this they come to me. Out of pure compassion for them, dwelling within their hearts, I shine the lamp of wisdom and destroy the darkness born of ignorance. [Bhagavad Gita, Sect.10] In the final sentence Krishna notes that ignorance is the ultimate reason that we are in the dark about the reality of Brahman. The discrimination that Krishna gives his worshippers is the cure for this ignorance. In view of the various Yogic paths that Krishna offers, Arjuna questions which of these is the best. Arjuna sees the approaches as of two types: those that show devotion to Krishna, and those that focus on a more impersonal concept of ultimate reality. Krishna shows his preference for the method of devotion to himself, principally because the more impersonal approach is difficult to pursue for people with material bodies: In my opinion, the best in Yoga are those who have their minds fixed on me, who are harmonized and worship me, and are endowed with supreme faith. The others also come to me, that is, those who worship the indestructible, ineffable, unmanifest, unchanging, immutable, and eternal. They restrain and subdue the senses, regard everything equally and rejoice in the welfare of all. However, there is greater difficulty for those whose minds are set on the unmanifested, since the path of the unmanifested is hard for creatures in bodies to reach. [Bhagavad Gita, Sect.12] The discussion here strikes at the heart of understanding the Hindu notion of ultimate reality. Is it personal or impersonal? Krishna suggests that both are equally valid understandings. However, these two approaches seem to be mutually exclusive: if God is impersonal, then the path of devotion is misleading. If God is personal, then the worshipper loses something of divine reality by ignoring this fact. Like other issues discussed in the Bhagavad Gita, this problem also reemerges in later Hindu discussions. We opened our discussion of the Bhagavad Gita noting that it is a work of diplomacy, attempting to reconcile various Hindu traditions. As a reconciling project, the work was a success. In spite of their dramatic differences, the emerging Hindu traditions saw themselves as part of a larger unified family. They also saw the Bhagavad Gita as their point of commonality. However, its philosophical success in reconciling various Hindu themes is more limited, and philosophers after the Bhagavad Gita continued to emphasize these differences. SOCIAL DUTY (DHARMA). Hinduism excels in weaving together issues of ultimate reality and moral obligation. For example, in the Bhagavad Gita we saw that ethical conduct will compensate for our failures in meditation. The notion of dharma in Hinduism refers to a variety of Hindu social obligations that are linked with larger issues of existence. The word dharma literally means holding or supporting, designating that dharma is a foundational principle of human existence. Written expression of Hindu social dharma became solidified in legal codes called Dharmasastras, or law books, that offered guidance on almost every feature of life. Of the more than 2,000 surviving Dharmasastras, the most influential is the Law of Manu (Manava Dharmasastra), written between 200 BCE and 200 CE. According to Hindu mythology, Manu refers to a series of about 14 fathers of humankind, each of which ruled over a designated period of time (manvantaras). In a sense, they are like a series of Adams in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Perhaps as a means of giving it special authority, the Law of Manu was attributed to a lawgiver named Manu, who purportedly is the first of the 14 mythological Manus. The law contains a variety of marriage codes, dietary regulations, duties of castes, civil and criminal codes, daily rites and sacrifices, and ethical discussions. One of the more foundational sets of social duties expressed in the Dharmasastras is the four goals of life (purusharthas), that is, four legitimate aims of human existence. Keeping with Hinduisms emphasis on versatility, authors of the Dharmasastras recognized that not everyone fits the same mold, and our different situations call for different life goals. The first goal is pleasure (kama), particularly sexual pleasure, which is a good thing to pursue in the right context. This theme is developed in an infamous 4th century CE handbook called the Kama Sutra, written by Vatsyayana. The text describes 64 female techniques, 24 types of men who are successful with women, 28 ways for a woman to get rid of a lover, 16 types of kisses, and a variety of sexual positions. It discusses the value of love quarrels, of biting and scratching, and characteristics of women from different regions of India. It also offers advice about getting and keeping a wife, seduction, middlemen, and the use of aphrodisiacs. A second goal after pleasure is material success (artha). The scope of material success ranges from acquiring basic

necessities of life, which a common person would do, to acquiring vast amounts of wealth, which is especially good for a prince to do. Both pleasure and material success focus on ones individual happiness. These two goals, though, are followed by two more that require a larger vision of oneself and happiness. The first of these is right conduct (dharma), which not only involves a consideration of other people, but also requires us to keep our human lives in line with the universal order of things. Again, this obligation ranges in scope from ordinary proper conduct required of ordinary people to more intricate behavior required of priests. In earlier days of Hinduism, people believed that we could sufficiently achieve the good life through the above three goals of pleasure, material success, and right conduct. In Brahmaninc times, though, writers emphasized that to be truly fulfilled we need to discover the Atman-Brahman within us. Consequently, a fourth goal was added to the list, namely, release (moksha). Four Stages of Life. The four goals represent a maturing process that we should go through, which moves us from a narrow view of self-fulfillment to a broader and more mystical view of happiness. This developmental process is reflected in another set of Hindu social duties, which involve four stages of life (asrama). The stages constitute various life cycle phases through which we should pass, thereby slowly eliminating selfishness and moving towards release. The first stage is that of the youth-student (brahmacarin), which begins between ages 8 and 12 when a student becomes a member of his caste, lives with his teacher (guru), studies the Vedas, and acquires virtuous habits. At around age 20 he enters the second stage, that of adulthood-householder (grihashta). He gets married, has a job, and during this period he follows the first three paths of life, namely, pleasure, success, and right conduct. When he has his first grandchild and his hair turns gray, he enters the third stage, namely, middle age-retirement (vanaprastha, literally meaning forest dweller). At this point his family obligations are over. He sells everything and moves to a forest in which he can prepare to follow the path of release the fourth aim of life by performing sacrifices. If he chooses, his wife may accompany him in his retreat. Finally, he enters the post-retirement stage of the ascetic (sannysin, literally meaning one who neither loves nor hates). The ascetic now diligently pursues the path of release and renounces everything left in his life, including his wife if she accompanied him, and even his personal name. He becomes a wandering holy man (sadhu), goes back to the cities and lives on the street, begging for food. In view of how comparatively few people make it to the fourth stage of life, the four stages are best seen as ideals to which Hindus should strive, rather than matters of necessity. According to the Law of Manu, before someone becomes an ascetic, he must first fulfill the obligations of the first three phases of life. Without fulfilling the earlier obligations, he is doomed to fail. Having thus passed the third part of a mans natural term of life in the forest, he may live as an ascetic during the fourth part of his existence, after abandoning all attachment to worldly objects. After passing from order to order, after offering sacrifices and after subduing his senses, the ascetic who grows tired with almsgiving and offerings of food gains bliss after death. When he has paid the three debts of the early stages of life, let him apply his mind to the attainment of final release. He who seeks it without having paid his debts sinks downward. Having studied the Vedas in accordance with the rule of the student, having fathered sons according to the sacred law of the householder, and having offered sacrifices according to his ability as a forest dweller, he may direct his mind to the attainment of final release. A twice-born (dvija) man [among the upper social castes] sinks downwards if he seeks final release without having studied the Vedas, without having fathered sons, and without having offered sacrifices. ... Departing from his house fully provided with the means of purification, let him wander about absolutely silent, and caring nothing for enjoyments that may be offered to him. The author of the above stresses the obligatory nature of the noblest aspects of the earlier stages of life: studying the Vedas, fathering children, and performing sacrifices. Interestingly, the more self-oriented components of the earlier stages, such as sensual pleasure and material wealth are not listed. The passage continues describing the daily routine of the ascetic. He has no possessions, relies on the charity of others for food, lives in solitude, controls his emotions, and practices Yoga. Let him always wander alone, without any companion, in order to attain final release, fully understanding that the solitary man who neither abandons nor is abandoned gains this end. He will possess neither a fire nor a dwelling. He may go to a village for his food, indifferent to everything, firm of purpose, and meditating and concentrating his mind on Brahman. The marks of one who has attained release are a potsherd [instead of an alms-bowl], the roots of trees for a dwelling, coarse worn-out garments, and life in solitude and indifference towards everything. He should neither desire to live nor desire to die. He should wait for his appointed time, just as a servant waits for the payment of his wages. He should put down his feet, purified by his sight. He should drink water purified by straining with a cloth; he should utter speech purified by truth, and he should keep his heart pure. He should patiently take harsh words, avoid insulting anyone, and avoid becoming anyones enemy for the sake of this perishable body. He should not show anger in return against an angry man. He should

bless people when he is cursed, and not utter speech which is devoid of truth, scattered at the seven gates. He should delight in what refers to the soul, sitting in Yoga postures, independent, and entirely abstaining from sensual enjoyments. With himself as his only companion, he should live in this world, desiring the bliss of final release. [Manu 6:33-38; 40-49] The descriptions of the ascetic given above constitute the marks of one who has attained release. This implies that we can attain release while we are still alive in bodily form, and not simply at the conclusion of our lives or in a spiritual afterlife. The passage also tells us that our lives are dramatically affected by the release experience, and that, in essence, we become perfect people both in our attitudes towards ourselves and in our treatment of others. We neither cling to life nor carry a death wish. We show kindness in the face of anger, as sages in virtually every world culture recommend. We reject physical enjoyments and take joy in the more spiritual realm of things. Many religious traditions hold up specific ideal figures as models to emulate, such as Buddha and Confucius. For Hinduism, the moral and spiritual ideal is not a specific famous person, but the many ascetics who have achieved release and live among people. Caste System. The most controversial component of Hindu social duty is the caste system, which is a hereditary and hierarchical structuring of societal groups. Four specific castes (or jatis) are described in the Dharmasastras and are based on four groups of social occupations: Priests (brahmins), Warriors/Rulers (ksatriyas), Artisans (vaisyas), and Servants (sudras). Beneath the servant caste level is the class of outcastes or untouchables (chandalas) who are often excluded from communal ritual, and forbidden to access certain areas. Civilizations around the world divide their societies into various occupational classes and, in that respect, nothing is unique about the Hindu caste system. What is exceptional, though, is that marriage between Hindu castes was forbidden and thus, once in a caste, there was no possibility for an individual or his offspring to break out of that caste. The history of the caste system is unclear, and Aryan invaders may have introduced it to control conquered territory. The word caste is a translation of the Sanskrit word varna, which means class. The term varna also means color, and some scholars speculate that the caste system was originally based on the light complexion of the Aryan invaders as compared to the darker skinned indigenous inhabitants. The four traditional caste divisions were probably only theoretical in nature since even early records note many castes. Over time, the castes proliferated into 3,000 subcastes. Each caste contains its own duties, and each caste provides protection within that caste through their distinct governing bodies. The law of karma often justifies ones birth into a caste: the less karma we accumulate, the lower our caste will be. The Law of Manu goes so far as to say that God ordains castes. At the highest caste level are the Priests (brahmins), who are societys spiritual leaders. Today they may be compared to societys intellectual elite, which might include teachers, preachers, writers and artists. The Priests were to renounce all secular authority and live according to their own strict set of regulations. The Law of Manu prescribes six actions for Priests: Priests who are intent on the means of gaining union with Brahman and firm in carrying out their duties shall live by performing the following six acts in their proper order. These prescribed acts of the Priest are teaching, studying, sacrificing for himself, sacrificing for others, making gifts, and receiving gifts. Among the six acts ordained for him, three are his means of subsistence: sacrificing for others, teaching, and accepting gifts from pure men. Of all castes, Priests had the most moral responsibility, and were punished the most severely. In many traditional social hierarchies, especially ancient ones, the highest class level consisted of rulers. So, it is noteworthy that the highest class level in the Hindu caste system is that of the priests, and rulers are moved to the second class level. However, scholars debate about whether Hindu rulers in ancient times had special priestly authority, and thereby retained the highest class status. The second level of castes is that of the Warriors and Rulers (ksatriyas), who constitute a class of governmental authorities. More generally, this might include state officials, executives, civil servants, and those in the military. Taking the notion of warrior in a very narrow sense, as a military person, the Law of Manu describes how Warriors are to make a living. Passing from the Priests to the Warriors, the three acts required of the former are forbidden for the later, namely, teaching, sacrificing for others and acceptance of gifts. ... To carry arms for striking and for throwing is prescribed for Warriors as a means of subsistence. To trade, to rear cattle, and work in agriculture is prescribed for the Artisans. But their duties are generosity, the study of the Veda, and the performance of sacrifices. Among the several occupations the most commendable are teaching the Veda for the Priests, protecting the people for a Warrior, and trade for an Artisan.

In addition to the occupational limitations placed on Warriors, the above passage also notes specific moral and religious duties, such as the duty of generosity. Although not quite at the top of the hierarchy, Warriors are sufficiently well off, which places them in a position of obligation towards those less well off. The third level of castes is that of the Artisans (vaisyas), which for us today would include businesspersons, craftspersons, technicians and farmers. The Law of Manu describes how a Priest may assume the occupations of the Warrior or Artisan caste as a means of survival: If a Priest is unable to subsist by his peculiar occupations just mentioned, he may live according to the law applicable to the Warriors; for the latter is next to him in rank. If one asks, What should happen if he cannot maintain himself by either of these occupations? The answer is that he may adopt an Artisans mode of life, employing himself in agriculture and rearing cattle. But a Priest or a Warrior living by an artisans mode of subsistence shall carefully avoid the pursuit of agriculture, which causes injury to many beings and depends on others. Some declare that agriculture is something excellent. But that means of subsistence is blamed by the virtuous. For, the wooden implements with iron points injure the earth and the creatures living in the earth. The above discussion raises a dilemma about the Artisans role as a farmer: farming is a noble occupation, yet farmers may be morally blameworthy for injuring the earth and the creatures living in the earth. Traditionally, Hindus place a high value on animal life and are sensitive about causing injury to animals. One reason for this is related to the doctrine of reincarnation. In my various cycles of rebirth, not only may I come back in another human body, but I may also come back in an animal body. So, if I injure an animal, I may be injuring someones reincarnated grandpa. From a more philosophical perspective, concern for animal life is a natural extension of the doctrine of the Atman-Brahman. All reality is unified through the Atman-Brahman, including my inner self, your inner self, and the inner self of all animals. It is wrong for me to injure you because of the respect that you deserve as a being with an inner Atman. The same respect also applies to animals with inner Atmans. The Jain religion of India, which formed about 600 BCE, takes this respect for animal life to an extreme. For Jains, animals have conscious and immaterial souls just as we humans do, and, for this reason, Jains are cautious about even accidentally stepping on bugs. Members of the first three castes are designated as twice-born (dvija), in the sense that their initiations into their castes are like second births. The fourth level of the castes excluded from the twice-born designation is that of the Servants (sudras). For us today these might include occupations of unskilled laborers and factory workers. In theory, the servants have the least responsibility in society, and so receive the least punishment. The Law of Manu maintains that the best job for a Servant is to work under a Priest. If a Servant seeks a livelihood and is unable to subsist by serving Priests, he may serve Warriors or he may also seek to maintain himself by attending to a wealthy Artisan. But let the Servant serve Priests either for the sake of heaven, or with a view to both this life and the next. For he who is called the Servant of a Priest thereby gains all his ends. The service of Priests alone is said to be an excellent occupation for a Servant. For whatever else besides this he may perform will bear him no fruit. The Priests must allot to him out of their own family property a suitable maintenance, after considering his ability, his industry, and the number of those whom he is bound to support. The remnants of their food must be given to him, as well as their old clothes, the refuse of their grain, and their old household furniture. A Servant cannot commit an offense causing loss of cast, and he is not worthy to receive the sacraments. He has no duty to fulfill the sacred law of the Aryans, yet there is no prohibition against his filling the law. Keeping himself free from envy, the more the Servant imitates the behavior of the virtuous, the more he gains exaltation in this world and the next, without being condemned. The Servant must not make any collection of wealth, even though he is able to do it. For a Servant who has acquired wealth gives pain to Priests. [Manu, 10:74-77, 79-84, 121-129] The passage above describes the material and spiritual benefits for Servants who work for Priests. The odds are good that a Priest in fact wrote the above account and, thus, it looks almost like a job description in the help wanted classifieds that lists fringe benefits. The material fringe benefits are reasonable enough: Servants are likely to have better provisions if hired by Priests than they would if hired by Warriors or Artisans. The spiritual fringe benefit is that Servants can increase their karma by emulating the virtuous conduct that they see in Priests on a daily basis. However, from our perspective today, this spiritual fringe benefit raises ethical problems. The Priests, who create the rules of religion, stack the deck in their own favor by holding out spiritual rewards for Servants, which the Warrior and Artisan castes cannot offer. To the extent that Priests are virtuous, they should not manipulate the spiritual system to their own social advantage.

Aside from the caste systems sociological and historical relevance, two aspects of the system have philosophical implications. First, the caste system underscores that at least some of ones ethical responsibilities in life are defined by ones subculture, similar to how other ethical duties are defined by ones stage of life. Our individuality is shaped by larger circumstances, such as age and occupational class, and these in turn shape the ethical content of our lives. Second, ones caste membership also defines ones place in the cosmic scheme of things. We saw that, according to the doctrine of rebirth, through our good actions we become reborn in continually better circumstances. Climbing the ladder of rebirth at least in part involves ascending caste levels from one reincarnation to another. The above description of the Servant from the Law of Manu highlights the importance of self-improvement in ones present role so that we may gain exaltation in this world and the next. THE FORMAL SYSTEMS (DARSANAS). By the time of the Law of Manu, Hindu thought was highly diversified. Methods of release were offered that emphasized knowledge, action, meditation, and devotion. We saw that the Bhagavad Gita tried to reconcile these methods by seeing them as equally valid avenues for attaining release. By around the 4th century CE, many of these methods developed into formal systems and philosophical schools. In particular, six systems (darsanas) emerged, each of which aimed at helping the practitioner achieve release from rebirth, and become united with ultimate reality. The six schools are Samkhya, Nyaya, Vaisesika, Mimamsa, Yoga, and Vedanta. The philosophical content of these six schools is especially complex and most of their discussions are beyond the scope of an introductory study of Hindu philosophy. Many of their writings give detailed accounts of various forces of the universe and various levels of reality, which often look more like speculations about physics than philosophy. Samkhya. Tradition traces the Samkhya system back to a somewhat mythical figure named Kapila from the 7th century BCE. However, the earliest Samkhya text is the Verses on the Samkhya (Samkhyakarika), which appeared in the 4th century CE, written by Isvarakrsna (c. 350-450 CE). Later Samkhya scholars wrote sentence-by-sentence commentaries on this classic, further clarifying its doctrines. Philosophers today classify Samkhya philosophy as a type of metaphysical dualism, which is the view that the universe is composed of two radically distinct elements. Metaphysical dualism is a common way of looking at the makeup of the universe, and philosophers around the world frequently took this approach. One way of depicting the dual nature of the universe is to see it as containing a purely physical component and also a purely spiritual component. We might classify stars, planets, rocks and biological organisms as purely physical. By contrast, we might classify gods, the spirits of the dead, and the souls of the living as purely spiritual. This type of physical/spiritual dualism goes well with religious traditions that contrast the finite nature of the physical realm with the infinite nature of the spiritual realm. Samkhya scholars developed a similar metaphysical dualism between (a) prakriti, the physical components of the universe, and (b) purusha, the ultimate reality of the Atman-Brahman. Not only does the larger universe reflect this dual nature, but each of us individually reflects it. That is, we each have a physical purusha component, and an ultimate prakriti component. Both purusha and prakriti components are genuine parts of our being, although to attain release we must single out and give priority to purusha, our inner ultimate self. But singling out our inner ultimate self is a difficult task since our physical nature distracts us with a variety of mental manifestations, such as our individual identities and our sense perceptions. By analyzing these various mental manifestations and their limitations, we eventually infer that there is a contentless principle of consciousness (purusha) beneath these manifestations. A central characteristic of Samkhya discussions is an analysis of three essential features or strands (gunas) that make up prakriti. The notion of a strand is a metaphor, implying that three distinct fibers are woven together to create a single rope. Similarly, then, the physical world is composed of three distinct energy strands. The first and most noble strand is purity (sattva), which is also associated with pleasure, harmony, light, illumination, and knowledge. The second is activity (rajas), which is associated with restlessness, energy, and passion. The third and least noble is inactivity (tamas), which is associated with darkness, blindness, confusion and ignorance. To better understand how these three energy strands weave together, lets consider a different metaphor. Suppose that I have three spotlights, one red, one green, and one blue. As the light from these three spotlights mixes together in varying intensities, they produce an almost infinite variety of other colors. On this metaphor, prakriti consists of the three spotlights, and the spotlights themselves are three differing energy strands. Just as the three spotlights can vary in intensity, the three energy strands may also have different weights relative to each other. For example, when the three energy strands are in perfect balance, nothing happens sort of like how I can produce white light from a balanced combination of the red, green and blue spotlights. However, as one energy strand becomes stronger than the other two, prakriti takes on different appearances or manifestations sort of like how I

can produce yellow light by turning up the red and green spotlights. The physical world evolved (parinamavada) as various physical manifestations radiated out from the original prakriti, based on differing weights of the three energy strands. Our physical human component is also the product of the differing balances of prakritis three energy strands. The passage below from the Verses on the Samkhya describes how these 23 psychological manifestations emerge from prakriti. They are responsible for how we think, feel, behave, and see ourselves in relation to the rest of the physical world. The passages are followed by comments from Moonlight on the Principles of Samkhya (Tattvakaumudi), a commentary written by 9th century scholar Vacaspatimisra. [Verses on the Samkhya:] 1.22. From prakriti springs forth intellect (buddhi). From this springs forth the ego or Iprinciple (ahamkara). From this proceeds the set of sixteen manifestations. From five of this set of sixteen proceed the five basic elements. [Moonlight on the Principles of Samkhya:+ The set of sixteen is made up of the eleven sense organs, to be described later on [i.e., the mind, the five sensory abilities, and the five action abilities], and the five subtle elements. Out of these sixteen, from the five subtle elements proceed respectively the five elementary substances (space, earth, water, air, and fire). The groupings of the above mentioned manifestations are these: Intellect (buddhi): gives a thing the conscious ability to discriminate between its own self and other things; is the basis of the subject-object distinctions we make (produced directly by the three energy strands of prakriti). Ego (ahamkara): gives us our notion of personal identity (produced by the intellect). Set of Eleven (produced by the ego). Mind (manas): gives us our various cognitive faculties such as thinking, remembering and imagining. Five sensory abilities (buddhindriyas): hearing, touching, seeing, tasting, and smelling. Five action abilities (karmedriyas): speaking, walking, grasping, defecating, and orgasm.

Five subtle elements (tanmatras): the external qualities we perceive through our five sensory abilities, namely sounds, tactile textures, visual colors/shapes, tastes and smells (produced by the ego). Five basic elements (mahabhutas): space, air, fire, water, and earth, which provide the basis of the external world that we see (produced by the five subtle elements). Although the details of the above outline are a little daunting, we can note generally that the psychological elements higher on the list give rise to the ones lower on the list. Much of this fits our common sense intuitions, such as the fact that my ability to perceive and interact within the world is an offshoot of my ego sense of personal identity. However, the general relation between the top and bottom parts of the list is unusual. The top parts involve mental phenomena, and the bottom part especially the last group involve physical things. The implication, then, is that mental things give rise to physical things. The discussion continues describing the moral qualities of our intellects (buddhi), which is the first manifestation on the above list. Depending on which of the three energy strands (guna) predominates, a variety of good or bad qualities arise within each of us. [Verses on the Samkhya:] 1.23. The intellect (buddhi) is determinative [i.e., dictates what we should do]. Virtue, wisdom, dispassion, and power constitute its form when predominated by the goodness of the purity (sattva) strand. The opposite of these [namely, vice, ignorance, passion, and weakness] constitute its form when predominated by the darkness of the inactivity (tamas) strand. The most haunting aspect of the above passage is that our dispositions to be moral or immoral hinge on features of the empirical world that loom above us. If prakritis first energy strand predominates within me, then I will be inclined towards goodness. On the other hand, if prakritis third energy strand predominates, then I will be inclined towards bad things. The

above passage does not tell us whether any of this is within our control. The most pessimistic interpretation is that I am determined by the physical factors that form my identity, much like how my genetic makeup predisposes me to be intelligent or unintelligent. A less pessimistic interpretation is that there is some way that I can tweak the predominance of the various energy strands and alter who I am, much like how I can alter my mental chemistry by changing my environment. The Moonlight on the Principles of Samkhya commentary on the above passage appears to take this less pessimistic interpretation insofar is it describes the things that we can do to acquire the good dispositions. *Moonlight on the Principles of Samkhya:+ Determination consists in the notion that this should be done, and it belongs to and forms the characteristic function of intellect (buddhi). This acquires sentience from its proximity to the sentient faculty of the spirit. Intellect (buddhi) is regarded as the same as the said determination .... This also constitutes the definition ... of intellect (buddhi), insofar as it distinguishes it from all similar and dissimilar things. Having thus defined intellect (buddhi), the author (in order to help the attainment of discriminative wisdom) states the properties of intellect (buddhi) as abounding in the purity (sattva) and inactivity (tamas) strands. Virtue leads to prosperity and also to the highest Good; prosperity comes from the performance sacrifices, charity, and, and the highest Good comes from the practice of eight-fold Yoga. Wisdom consists in the knowledge of the difference between (a) the strands of prakriti, and (b) purusha. Dispassion is the absence of attachment. Power also is a property of the intellect (buddhi), and it is to this that the perfections, attenuation and the rest are due. These four [virtue, wisdom, dispassion, and power] are the properties of the intellect (buddhi), when there is a greater balance in the purity strand (sattva). When there is a greater balance in the inactivity strand (tamas), the attributes are the reverse of these, namely, vice, ignorance, passion, and weakness. As described in the above passage, I attain release by practicing Yoga; I obtain material success by sacrificing and giving to charity; I become wise by knowing how to distinguish between the physical world and ultimate reality; I become dispassionate by detaching myself from things. We find these same recommendations in earlier Hindu literature. However, the author of the above hints that through my efforts to become good, such as practicing Yoga, I impact the balance of the energy strands that ultimately incline me towards goodness or badness. The Verses on the Samkhya continues describing how the three energy strands affect the production of the lower 16 manifestations on the above list. *Verses on the Samkhya:+ 1.25. The set of eleven, abounding in the purity strand (sattva) of prakriti, evolves out of the purity-oriented form of the ego (ahamkara). The set of five subtle elements evolves from the inactivity-oriented form of the ego. And both of them evolve from the activity-oriented form of the ego. The most striking feature of this passage is that our higher mental functions are triggered by the most noble of the three energy strands, namely, purity (sattva). However, the external world of the five basic elements is triggered by the most ignoble of the three energy strands, namely, inactivity (tamas). This means that mental events are associated with illumination and knowledge, but that physical things are associated with ignorance and confusion. We started our discussion of Samkhya noting that it espouses the dualistic view that the universe has two key components: the empirical world of prakriti, and the inner ultimate world of purusha. All of our discussion so far has focused on prakriti and its various mental manifestations. Because of this, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that, according to Samkhya, our goal in life is to locate the ultimate purusha within us. In theory, the more we know about prakriti and its various manifestations, the easier it will be for us to recognize our inner ultimate purusha. The Samkhya school eventually died out as a separate system of emancipation. However, the prakriti/purusha distinction developed by Samkhya became integral to other later schools of emancipation, specifically the Yoga school. Schools Of Yoga. The word Yoga conjures up an array of images, such as contorted bodily postures, strange breathing exercises, and meditative trances. One practice associated with Yoga involves feeding a string through ones mouth, into ones nasal cavity, and out ones nostril. Some of these stereotypes are founded in the teachings of formal schools of Yoga that emerged from the 4th century CE and onward. It is possible that Yoga practices go back as far as the Indus Valley civilization. We saw that Yoga techniques became more established and more varied during the Brahmanic period, several of which are described in the Bhagavad Gita. Eventually the techniques were organized into six different disciplines. We should not see these six Yoga disciplines as distinct and mutually exclusive schools of thought. They overlap each other and were endorsed by the other formal systems of release, such as Samkhya. They are, then, more like refined techniques, which other systems might adopt for their specific purposes. Although at times the goal of the various Yogas

involved attaining release from the cycles of reincarnation (as indicated in the Bhagavad Gita), just as often their more modest goal was simply the discovery of ones inner ultimate self (purusha). Here is a summary of the six Yoga disciplines. (1) Jnana Yoga, or the discipline of knowledge, advocates pursuing release through rational thinking and the reading of philosophical treatises. In many discussions, Jnana Yoga follows Samkhyas closely reasoned account of the various manifestations of prakriti. (2) Karma Yoga, or the discipline of action, involves acting with indifference to the fruits of ones action. Described in the Bhagavad Gita, this technique presumes that the actions we perform in our physical lives have little to do with our inner ultimate selves. Some discussions of Karma Yoga distinguish between four types of action: bright actions that result in happiness, dark actions that result in sorrow, bright and dark actions that are mixed with happiness and sorrow, and actions that are neither bright nor dark and lack both pleasure and pain. (3) Bhakti Yoga, or the discipline of devotion, is often described as the easiest method and involves dedicated worship of a selected deity, such as Krishna. By shifting ones focus to this god, the god helps us become disassociated from our physical selves and attain release. (4) Mantra Yoga, or the discipline of sounds, involves repetition of sacred sounds derived from the Sanskrit alphabet, such as Om. The student is advised to practice this for 12 years under the guidance of a teacher. The purpose of the mantra is to bring on the presence of a specific deity. The Yogatattva Upanishad recommends this for people of average or below average intelligence. (5) Hatha Yoga, or the discipline of the body, involves a rigorous regime of up to 84 postures along with complex breathing exercises that include measuring the length of breaths. When done properly, ones breathing should be soft enough so not to move a feather. The Yogi is to keep his eyes open and focus on a point between the eyes or in the stomach. The purpose of the exercises is to create new energy within the person. These techniques rest on a mystical view of physiology in which various bodily channels (nadi) are cleaned out, and energy (shakti) is stimulated from 6 or 7 focal points (shakra) beginning at the base of our spines and up through the top of our heads. The various physical exercises of Hatha Yoga are practiced in preparation for the final, and most famous type of Yoga, namely, (6) Raja Yoga, or royal Yoga, which is the discipline of psychological exercise, or deep meditation. Metaphysically, Raja Yoga rest on the concepts developed by Samkhya, especially the prakriti/purusha distinction. However, Raja Yoga incorporates a slight change in terminology. We saw that the first and most important manifestation of prakriti is the intellect (buddhi) which enables us to make the distinction between oneself and other things. In place of the Samkhya term buddhi, the writers in the Raja Yoga school use the term citta, which we will here translate as ordinary consciousness. Thus, Raja Yoga explores the tension between an individuals ordinary consciousness (citta) and his inner ultimate self (purusha). It goes a step further, though, in offering meditative techniques by which we can suppress the commotion of ordinary consciousness and thereby experience our inner ultimate self. Patanjalis Yoga Sutra. The classic statement of Raja Yoga is a text called the Yoga Sutra, written sometime between the second century BCE and the fifth century CE, and attributed to an otherwise unknown figure named Patanjali. The text is a series of 145 short aphorisms in four chapters. Patanjalis Yoga Sutra proved so perplexing that scholars in later years wrote commentaries on each of its aphorisms. These commentaries themselves became classics in Yogic thought, especially those written by a seventh century scholar named Vyasa and an eleventh century scholar named King Bhoja. The Yoga Sutra opens noting how we identify ourselves with the variations of our ordinary consciousness (citta), rather than our inner ultimate self. The task of Yoga, then, is to subdue our ordinary consciousness so that we can more clearly see our inner self: 1.1. Here is the explanation of Yoga. 1.2. Yoga involves subduing the variations of ones ordinary consciousness. 1.3. In Yoga, the observer abides in himself. 1.4. At other times he identifies with the variations of his ordinary consciousness. Patanjali next lists and defines five variations of ordinary consciousness that distract us. They are true conception, misconception, fiction, sleep, and memory: 1.5. There are five kinds of variations of our ordinary consciousness, both painful and painless. 1.6. They are true conception, misconception, fiction, sleep, and memory.

1.7. The types of true conception are experience, inference and testimony. 1.8. Misconception involves an incorrect concept, that is, not staying in the proper form of that which is conceived. 1.9. Fiction is an incorrect notion of a thing, resulting in false knowledge conveyed by words. 1.10. Sleep is a variation of ordinary consciousness that depends on the conception of nothing. 1.11. Memory involves not letting go of an object of which one has been aware. The above five kinds of variations are the building blocks for everything that we ordinarily find valuable about ourselves. I often define my conscious identity by my true beliefs, false beliefs, fantasies, and memories. Even my sleep, which occupies me eight hours a day, involves a distinct mental state that I claim as part of my intimate identity. In spite of how these various states dominate my conception of who I am, the Yoga Sutra teaches that I must limit the impact of these mental variations. Through practice I subdue the variations, and through detachment I overcome desire: 1.12. Through practice and detachment these [five variations of ordinary consciousness] can be suppressed. 1.13. Of these, practice involves the repeated effort to keep ordinary consciousness in an unvaried stated. 1.14. Such practice must be done firmly, with devotion, and continually adhered to for a long time. 1.15. Detachment is the state of overcoming ones desires for things seen on earth things heard of in scripture. The last aphorism above reiterates a theme that weve seen throughout earlier Hindu writings. My desires distract me in my search for my inner ultimate self. This includes not only material desires, but, as weve seen in the Bhagavad Gita, spiritual desires as well, such as what I might learn about in the Vedas. I overcome these desires through detachment. Imagine that you are in a room with 50 radios playing, all tuned to different channels, and in the back of the room a cat is meowing. The only way to hear the cat is to first shut off all the radios, one by one. Similarly, the Yoga Sutra describes an eight-step, or eight-limbed, technique that guides us in successively shutting down the din of ordinary consciousness so that we can experience our inner ultimate self. One by one, we filter out the components of ordinary consciousness until nothing of it remains. The first five limbs are preparative stages that create the proper psychological setting. 2.29. The Eight steps to Yoga are appetitive restraint, social observance, bodily postures, breath regulation, suppression of the senses (pratyahara), focus (dharana), even awareness (dhyana) and meditative union (samadhi) 2.30.The appetitive restraints are not killing, not lying, not stealing, self-restraint, and not coveting. 2.32. The social observances are cleanliness, contentment, austerity, study, and continual devotion to the Lord. 2.46. Posture is steady and easy. 2.49. Breath regulation is stopping the movement of inhaling and exhaling. 2.54. Suppression of the senses is when the senses do not perceive objects and instead follow the nature of the mind. The goal of these first steps is to eliminate various distractions. (Limb 1) I first clear my mind from appetitive distractions by practicing the five abstentions (yama); namely, avoiding injury, lying, stealing, sensuality and greed. (Limb 2) I clear my mind from social distractions by engaging in the five practices (niyama), which are cleanliness, contentment, self-control, studiousness and contemplation of the divine. (Limb 3) I free myself from bodily distractions, such as tickling, by taking different postures (asana). These techniques were formalized in the Hatha Yoga discipline described above. (Limb 4) I free myself from distractions, such as coughs, through breathing control (pranayama), also formalized by Hatha Yoga. (Limb 5) I shut out the distractions of my five senses through concentration (pratyahara). This ends the five preparative steps of the eight-limbed approach, at which point the Yogi begins a state of meditation. The final three stages, collectively called combined practice (samyama), involve three closely connected

mental states: focus (dharana), even awareness (dhyana), and meditative union (samadhi). The Yoga Sutra is so sparse on the details of these three stages that we will also look at the glosses provided by two classic commentaries. 3.1. [Yoga Sutra:] Focus (dharana) is fixing the ordinary consciousness (citta) on a point in space. *Vyasas Commentary:+ Dharana means the mind becoming fast in such places as the sphere of the navel, the lotus of the heart, the light in the brain, the forepart of the nose, the forepart of the tongue, and such like parts of the body; or by means of the modifications only in any other external object. *Bhojas Commentary:+ On a point in space, that is, at the circle of the navel, etc. The fixing of the ordinary consciousness, by abstracting it from all other objects, is called Dharana (or focusing) of the ordinary consciousness. Having defined Dharana, Patanjali proceeds to state Dhyana. 3.2. [Yoga Sutra:] Even Awareness (dhyana) is the Continuous Flow of Similar Mental Variations. *Bhojas Commentary:+ Dhyana (even awareness) is a course of similar variations of knowledge at that place where the ordinary consciousness is fixed in attention by avoiding the otherwise dissimilar variations of knowledge. 3.3. [Yoga Sutra:] Meditative union (samadhi) is even awareness (dhyana) arising from the object alone, ignorant of itself. *Vyasas Commentary:+ When on account of the object of contemplation taking entire possession of the mind, contemplation shows forth only the light of the form of the contemplated object, and is devoid, as it were, of its nature of self-cognition, then it is called samadhi. *Bhojas Commentary:+ The term samadhi literally means that state in which the mind, having avoided the obstacles, is well fixed on, or confined to one object only. Although the commentaries provide more detail than we find in the Yoga Sutra alone, even these commentaries require some interpretation. (Limb 6) I shut out the distractions from my conscious mental thoughts by focusing (dharana) on a single external object, such as my navel. In the act of focusing, three distinct elements emerge: myself as the subject, the object of my thoughts, and my act of awareness that connects the two. (Limb 7) I single out this act of awareness, which now stands out against the backdrop of both myself as subject, and the object of my thoughts. This creates an even flow of awareness (dhyana). (Limb 8) Eventually, this even flow of awareness dissolves and I experience my inner ultimate self (purusha), free from any intermingling of ordinary consciousness (citta). This final state is called samadhi, literally meaning union. The Katha Upanishad explained that the quest to find our true inner self is so difficult that we need guidance from a good teacher. In essence, Hindu philosophers tell us that there is a hidden ultimate reality within each of us, but we dont stand much chance of discovering it on our own. The Yoga Sutra offers some guidance, but, it requires a radical change in life style, a highly concentrated effort, immediate supervision and, in short, appears to involve a lifetime commitment. This is surely frustrating for the novice truth seeker. When we see the inherent difficulties of meditative Yoga, we can all the more appreciate Hinduisms versatile approach to ultimate truth. There are other avenues to release, such as through knowledge, action, and devotion. Truth seekers may be better suited to one of these. Vedanta: Sankaras Monism (Advaita). In our discussion of Samkhya, we saw that it is natural to think of the universe as being composed of two distinct kinds of substances, such as matter and spirit. Samkhya philosophers were dualists, maintaining that the universe is made up of both a prakrati and purusha component. Other philosophers, though, are just as inclined to think of the universe as being composed of only one type of thing. Some speculate that everything in the universe is purely physical in nature. Others speculate that the universe, with all of its contents, is nothing but pure spirit. These theories are monistic, maintaining that all existence is made of one kind of stuff. The Vedanta school of philosophy is largely monistic, maintaining that there is only one true component of the universe: the Atman-Brahman. Vedanta philosophy is inspired by the Upanishads, which, we saw, offer the monistic view that all reality is unified in the AtmanBrahman. In fact, the name Vedanta means end of the Vedas, which is the traditional location of the Upanishads in the Hindu canon of scriptures. The earliest Vedanta writing is the Brahma Sutra, also called the Vedanta Sutra, composed perhaps around the first century BCE. The work is a short collection of cryptic aphorisms that summarize key points in the Upanishads. Over time, several sub-schools of Vedanta emerged, each putting a different spin on the obscure doctrines of

the Brahma Sutra. The most famous school of Vedanta is that of Advaita Vedanta, founded by Sankara (788-820 CE). The term Advaita simply means non-dualistic, or monistic. Philosophically, there are two ways that we can understand the notion of monism. The first, which we will call weak monism, is the view that the universe consists of one basic thing, but that thing is divided into sub-units. An orange, for example, is a unified whole insofar as it is a self-contained biological unit. On the other hand, an orange clearly has parts to it, such as its outer peal, inner sections, and seeds. The second kind of monism, which we will call strong monism, is the view that the universe consists of one undifferentiated thing that has no sub-units. A cannon ball, for example, is composed of a single metallic stuff through and through, and has no obvious internal parts that differentiate it. When reflecting on the monistic themes in the Upanishads, Sankara had to decide between interpreting them as weak monism or strong monism. He took the Upanishad notion of unity literally and went with strong monism. There are dramatic implications to strong monism. If reality as a whole is the single, unchanging Brahman, then there is something unreal about our common sense perception that the world has parts. That is, as I look around me, I visually perceive a world that is composed of parts, such as cars, houses, mountains, and rocks. Further, I also common sensically see myself as a distinct thing from the people and objects that surround me. For Sankara, all of these common sense perceptions which he calls jiva are unreal, both with regard to my perception of the empirical world and my individual self. My goal is to see the underlying unity of Brahman beneath the unreal jiva appearance of things. In the following, Sankara explains that individual selves and the phenomenal world are unreal. The only reality is the unchanging, undifferentiated Brahman: When accepted as the doctrine of the Vedas, this doctrine of the individual soul having its Self in Brahman does away with the independent existence of the individual soul (jiva). This is just as the idea of the rope does away with the idea of the snake [for which the rope had been mistaken]. And if the doctrine of the independent existence of the individual soul has to be set aside, then the view of the entire phenomenal world having an independent existence must likewise be set aside insofar as it is based on the individual soul. But in addition to the element of unity, an element of manifoldness would have to be [falsely] assumed in Brahman only for the purpose of establishing the phenomenal world. In the above, Sankara offers a metaphor to explain his point. Suppose that when walking down the road I see a snake. On closer inspection, though, it is not a snake at all, but only a rope. In the same way, the world deceptively appears differentiated, but on closer inspection it is undifferentiated. Sankara continues by citing the famous phrase from the Chandogya Upanishad: You are that (tat tvam asi). For Sankara this means that all (not just some) elements of the phenomenal world are unreal. Scriptural passages also declare that for people who see that everything has its Self in Brahman, [they also see that] the whole phenomenal world is non-existent, including actions, agents, and consequences of actions. Nor can it be said that this non-existence of the phenomenal world is declared by Scripture to be limited to certain states. For the passage You are that shows that the general fact of Brahman being the Self of all is not limited by any particular state. According to Sankara, then, the tree I see in front of me may seem to be there, but it is actually unreal. Similarly, in the above passage Sankara states that although I seem to be a real physical person that performs actions, this component of me is unreal too. Suppose that I grant Sankaras basic monistic point that everything is unified in Brahman. I could still argue that Brahman goes through a series of changes over time, such as becoming more active or more inactive. In fact some passages in the Upanishads imply that Brahman goes through changes, such as the way that a unified glob of clay takes on different shapes. Perhaps, then, the phenomenal world really does exist and is simply one of those changes within Brahman. Sankara disagrees with this view and firmly holds that Brahman is completely without change. By quoting parallel instances of clay (and its various modifications), it may be objected that Scripture itself endorses a Brahman which is capable of modification. For we know from experience that clay and similar things do undergo modifications. In reply, this objection is without force. A number of scriptural passages deny all modifications of Brahman and thereby teach that it is absolutely changeless (kutastha). Such passages are, Indeed, Brahman is this great unborn Self, undecaying, undying, immortal, fearless. ... For we cannot ascribe to one Brahman the two qualities of (a) being subject to modification and (b) being free from modification. And if you say, Why should they not be both predicated of Brahman? we reply that the qualification absolutely changeless precludes this. For the changeless Brahman cannot be the substratum of varying attributes.

Sankaras main argument above is that, since scriptures unambiguously confirm that Brahman is changeless, then it makes no sense to say on top of this that Brahman has changes. Sankara was aware that our common sense views of the phenomenal world are very strong and are not easily tossed aside. So, he explains in great detail how the unreality of the phenomenal world arises. He refers to the unreal view of things as maya. In early Vedic Hindu literature, maya referred more generally to creative or magical power of the Gods, with some deceitful overtones. However, Sankara sees maya as the illusory world produced through ignorance (avidya). Conceptually, the notion of maya is related to the Samkhya notion of prakriti. In fact, one text from around the time of Sankara explicitly links the two notions: One should know that nature (prakriti) is illusion (maya), and that the great God is the illusion-maker (Svetasvatara Upanishad, 4:10). In essence, then, Sankara holds that the entire realm of prakriti described by Samkhya philosophers is illusory. Maya, then, results from ignorance. What, though, is the source of this ignorance? The explanation in the original Brahma Sutra is that God does it as a matter of sport or play (lila). Sankara develops a more detailed explanation, though, by distinguishing between Brahman-without-attributes (nirguna) and Brahman-with-attributes (saguna). For Sankara, these are two distinct and unrelated Brahmans or Gods. Brahman-without-attributes is pure, unchanging, and undifferentiated existence, which is the true reality of the world. Brahman-with-attributes, by contrast, is a somewhat unreal God who manipulates our ignorance, thus making us see a plurality of selves and a world of differentiated objects. In the following passage Sankara argues that the world of maya does not exist, and, he belivieves, various scriptures make this clear. The changes we do see around us are only functions of the deceptive Brahman-with-attributes (saguna). The Vedanta texts declare that, for those who have reached the state of truth and reality, the whole apparent world does not exist. The Bhagavad Gita also declares that in reality the relation of Ruler and ruled does not exist. Scripture as well as the Bhagavad Gita says that, on the other hand, all those distinctions are valid [only] as far as the phenomenal world is concerned. ... Further, the view of Brahman as undergoing modifications will be of use [only] when closely reflecting on the Brahman-with-attributes (saguna). [Sankara, Commentary on the Vedanta Sutra 2:1:14] In short, the phenomenal world is a deceptive world that emerges when the deceptive Brahman-with-attributes manipulates our ignorance. How, then, do we remove ignorance? Sankara suggests that we accomplish this by recognizing the error in competing theories. Some theories are worse than others, but all are ultimately false. For example, the position that effects differ from causes is worse than the position that causes and effects are identical. When I reject all theories, then, I remove my ignorance and attain release. Vedanta: Ramanujas Qualified Monism (Visista-Advaita). Suppose that Sankaras strong monism is correct. That is, suppose that the only thing that exists in the universe is a single, unchanging and undifferentiated Brahman. Anything else that I think exists is a matter of deception. An interesting consequence follows from this strong monism, namely, that it makes no sense for me to worship Brahman. First, if Brahman is completely without parts, then Brahman has no personality and is much like a huge glob of clay. Theres no point in worshipping that kind of thing. Second, if my true inner self is this Brahman, then by worshipping Brahman I am worshiping myself, which also seems silly. Third, any acts of worship that I perform, such as prayer, sacrifice, or charity, would be phenomenal in nature. But the phenomenal world is not real, so any acts of worship I perform would also be unreal. These problems led an 11th century Vedanta scholar named Ramanuja to reject Sankaras strong monism in favor of the theory of weak monism. Ramanuja believed that devotion to God was important, and he himself followed Vishnu. According to Ramanujas weak monism, although the world is unified in a single Brahman, Brahman has differentiated parts. Like the different internal parts of a single orange, individual souls and the physical world make up the body of Brahman. Thus, we are in one sense united with Brahman, but in another we are distinct from Brahman. This approach rescues the common sense world, which Sankara rejected as unreal. For Ramanuja, when I perceive various cars, houses, mountains and rocks around me, they are all real parts of Brahman. When I distinguish between my own personal identity and other beings around me, I am again perceiving a genuine distinction within Brahman. This approach also rescues religious devotion. Since I am only a small component of Brahman, it is meaningful for me to show devotion to the totality of Brahman. Ramanuja called this view qualified monistic/nondual Vedanta (Visista-advaita Vedanta). In the following passage, Ramanuja argues that scriptures such as the Vedas and Upanishads clearly describe God as having different attributes, thus Brahman cannot be an undifferentiated being:

We cannot admit the claim that Scripture teaches that the cessation of ignorance springs only from the cognition of a Brahman devoid of all difference. Such a view is clearly denied by other scripture passages.... Because Brahman is characterized by difference, all Vedic texts declare that final release results from the cognition of a qualified Brahman. And even those texts that describe Brahman by way of negation really aim at setting forth a Brahman that possesses attributes. To illustrate his point, Ramanuja offers his own interpretation of the phrase You are that from the Chandogya Upanishad. Sankara took this phrase to mean that Brahman (that) is the same as the individual Atman (you). Ramanuja, though, argues that even in this phrase we see that Brahman has parts: In texts such as You are that (tat tvam asi), the relation of the constituent parts is not meant to convey the idea of the absolute unity of an undifferentiated substance. On the contrary, the words that and you denote a Brahman distinguished by difference. The word that refers to Brahman as omniscient, etc., which had been introduced as the general topic of consideration in previous passages of the same section, such as It thought, may I be many. The word you, which stands in relation to that, conveys the idea of Brahman insofar as its body consists of the individual souls connected with non-intelligent matter. ... In addition to appeals to scriptures, such as the above, Ramanuja also offers a more philosophical argument in support of his weak monism. Brahman must be differentiated, otherwise Brahman would possess the ignorance exhibited in the phenomenal world: Moreover, it is not possible for ignorance to belong to Brahman, whose essential nature is knowledge, which is free from all imperfections, omniscient, comprising within itself all favorable qualities. However, ignorance would result from the absolute oneness of that and you. It *i.e., Brahman+ would be the underlying strata of all those defects and afflictions which spring from ignorance. ... We can reconstruct the above reasoning more formally in a reduction to absurdity argument. That is, we must reject the view that Brahman is undifferentiated since that view leads to absurd consequences: (1) Suppose that Brahman is completely undifferentiated from all things identical with him. *Sankaras strong monistic position] (2) At the level of phenomenal appearances, we are ignorant of our identity with Brahman. [from intuition] (3) Therefore, ignorance must be an attribute of Brahman [from 1 and 2] (4) However, (3) above is absurd; Brahman is free from ignorance since perfect knowledge is his essential nature. [from Hindu concept of Gods nature+ (5) Therefore, it is false that Brahman is completely undifferentiated from all things identical with him. Ramanuja concludes further that if we reject the notion of an undifferentiated Brahman, then the words you and that retain their common sense meaning, and we also preserve Brahmans attribute of perfect knowledge. If, on the other hand, the text is understood to refer to Brahman as having the individual souls for its body, both words (that and you) keep their primary meaning. Thus, by making a declaration about one substance distinguished by two aspects, the text preserves the fundamental principle of relation. On this interpretation the text further implies that Brahman (free from all imperfection and comprising within itself all favorable qualities) is the internal ruler of the individual souls and possesses lordly power. [Ramanuja, Commentary on the Vedanta Sutra, 1.1.1] In the last sentence above, Ramanuja emphasizes that Brahman is the internal ruler of the individual souls, which is to say that Brahman guides us in life. Ramanuja maintains that Brahman reveals himself to humans in six ways: (1) by direct appearance to the liberated souls, (2) through accumulated knowledge, (3) through creation, (4) through the ten avatars of Vishnu, (5) within the human heart, and (6) through images people make of him. Sankara and Ramanuja were both motivated by a desire to accurately depict the monistic themes within the Upanishads. We must then ask, Which if either of these views is a correct description of ultimate reality? Sankara and Ramanuja both defended their respective views by appealing to the authority of Hindu sacred texts. Philosophers today are not likely to be persuaded by such appeals to authority. Also, philosophers today often feel that foundational questions

about monism cannot be demonstrated by any means of argumentation. It would be like trying to prove that yellow is a color, or that stealing is morally wrong, or that the Mona Lisa is a beautiful painting. We simply accept these basic notions and use them as points of reference for other views that we develop. The value of monistic theories rests on ones conviction that there is a unity to the world around us. This conviction is common to much of Hindu philosophy and is a conviction continually expressed by philosophers, theologians, and mystics all over the world. In view of monisms wide appeal, Sankara and Ramanuja provide us with an opportunity to see two different ways of capturing that intuition. By looking at Sankaras strong monism, we see how far one might take the monistic conviction, namely, to the point of dismissing the common sense world. By looking at Ramanujas weak monism, we see the limits that one might place on that conviction, namely, a limit aimed at preserving religious devotion and our common sense view of things. Although these two perspectives are logically distinct, it does not seem appropriate for advocates of one view to charge the other with being false, as Ramanuja seems to do. The driving force behind monism is an inner conviction or experience about the unity of all things. Sankara and Ramanuja both defend their views with arguments, but the initial conviction itself stands above argumentation. To that extent, the healthy skepticism introduced in the opening Vedic Creation Hymn is appropriate. We can go only so far in our efforts to make sense of this perplexing world, and beyond that it is prudent to recognize the limits of our vantage. DEVOTIONAL MOVEMENTS (BHAKTI). From the Vedas on through Ramanuja, religious devotion was a consistent theme within Hindu writings. At the close of the Brahmanic period around 300 CE, a series of popular devotional (bhakti) movements formed. According to historians of Indian religion, the devotional movements were so popular that they are partly responsible for the decline and disappearance of Buddhism within India, which was a grassroots rival to Hinduism since 500 BCE. The devotional movements produced a large body of literature called Puranas, composed between 500-1500 CE. Tradition ascribes the authorship of the Puranas to an ancient legendary figure named Vyasa, who also reportedly wrote the Vedas. There are 18 authoritative great Puranas, and 18 authoritative minor Puranas. Most are associated with one of the three key Hindu gods. The texts cover devotional worship, social duty, and a broader collection of topics which are traditionally called the five subjects: (1) creation, (2) destruction, (3) genealogy of the gods, (4) history of the periods of the first people, and (5) a history of dynasties. In places, they also contain philosophical discussions drawing from the six philosophical schools of Hinduism. The Trimurti. The devotional movements focus on a few major deities, particularly the three deities of what is called the Trimurti: Shiva (the destroyer), Vishnu (the preserver), and Brahma (the creator). Literally, Trimurti means trimorphic, which implies that there is a divine unity in three forms. Vedic texts commonly divided the gods into three groups, such as Agni, Indra, and Surya, representing fire, air, and sun respectively. However, in post-Vedic Hindu writings, Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma emerge as a distinct set of three deities. Details about the three gods are more of an issue for theologians than for philosophers. Nevertheless, some background about the nature of the three gods will help us understand the philosophical implications of the Bhakti movement. In terms of devotional practice, Shiva, the destroyer, is the most popular of the three gods. Contradictory in character, he is the god of death, destruction, disease, but also of dance and reproduction. He is also paradoxically the source of both good and evil, and is described as Ceaselessly active and eternally restful. Shiva does not directly appear in the Vedas, but seems to have developed from Rudra, the Vedic god of destruction. Shiva is sometimes depicted with an erection, and other times depicted with both male and female reproductive organs. Followers of Shiva are called Shaivites and give him the special title Mahadeva (Great God). Vishnu, the preserver, is the god of love and benevolence, and the controller of fate. He is a minor deity in the Vedas, appearing as the god of the atmosphere. The most distinct feature of Vishnu is that Hindus believe that he was incarnated throughout history in a series of nine animal and fourteen human forms, or avataras. Whenever the world degenerates, Vishnu manifests himself by assuming an earthly form to destroy evil and guard goodness. We saw earlier that one of these incarnations is Krishna, as recorded in the Bhagavad Gita. Buddha is another of the more famous avataras. The final avatara, Kalkin, has yet to appear but will ultimately arrive on a white horse, judge the wicked and virtuous, and bring time to an end. Devotees of Vishnu are called Vaisnavites. Finally, Brahma the creator is responsible for the origin of both nature and society. Like Shiva, Brahma is not mentioned in the Vedas. Although Brahma is distinct from and should not be confused with Brahman, he is depicted as the personification of Brahman. He is represented as red with four bearded faces and four arms, and is often shown riding on a white swan or goose. His wife, Sarasvati, is the goddess of science and wisdom. Having only two temples, and no cult following, Brahma is the least popular of the three deities and remains important in Hinduism mainly because of his inclusion in the Trimurti.

The precise relation between the three gods of the Trimurti is both a tricky and sensitive issue. In the early days of Christianity, theologians hammered out a definitive doctrine of the Christian Trinity in a series of Church Councils. The resulting doctrine then became the standard for any further discussion of the issue. However, within Hinduism, there is no officially established doctrine about the Trimurti. The classic texts and subsequent commentaries on them offer a range of interrelations between the three. We will look at three possible interpretations, with an eye toward the philosophical implications of the doctrine. One possible view of the Trimurti is to see Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma as three distinct deities with distinct interests and abilities whose combined forces complement each other. This is like three superheroes that conveniently form a team, each having their unique and complementary superpowers. A second view is to see them as three symbiotic forces of the universe that are only personified as deities. Although individually unique, they are necessarily dependent on each other, similar to the relation between the physical forces of action and reaction. Many texts link the three deities with the three energy strands (gunas) of prakriti. Brahma personifies activity (rajas), Vishnu personifies purity (sattva), and Shiva personifies inactivity (tamas). A third view is to see them as different personas, manifestations, or embodiments of the single Atman-Brahman. On this view, the distinction between the three personas might only be a matter of perspective on behalf of the spectator, or it might be a genuine difference within the Atman-Brahman itself. We should note that there are more possible interpretations of the Trimurti in addition to the above three. Also, each of the above interpretations by itself limits the overall picture that emerges within the highly diverse Bhakti literature. The safest approach is to see the interpretations as helpful guides, each of which latches onto some important aspect of the Trimurti. Ultimately, the litmus test for any good interpretation of the Trimurti is that it adequately reflects the believers initial attraction to the concept, namely devotion. Cosmology and the Cycles of the Universe. The most famous of the Puranas is a 10th century CE work called the Bhagavata Purana. Part of its appeal stems from its lengthy description of the early life of Krishna (Book 10). Philosophically, the work draws from both Samkhya and Vedanta. However, the text identifies Krishna/Vishnu as the single existence of the cosmos and thereby gives the notion of the Atman-Brahman a theistic slant. In a chapter of the text titled The Yoga of Knowledge (11:17), Krishna describes how he created the universe. Following Samkhya accounts of cosmology, Krishna notes that the unified Brahman existed before there was any division between subject and object. Brahman then split in two, thereby forming prakriti and purusha. The prakriti of Brahman involves creative power, and the purusha of Brahman is the part that possesses this power. Krishna says that he is Brahman in both the prakriti and purusha components. He continues describing how the rest of the universe emerged from himself: From the outset, prior to all distinctions between subject and object, Brahman existed by himself as a first without a second. During that time, called the Golden Age, those practiced in knowledge understood this single existence. This absolute existence, which is the Brahman beyond thought and words, then divided in half. One part was creative power (maya), and the other was that which contained this power. The first of these is prakriti, which constitutes cause and effect. The second of these is purusha, which is self-radiating. I am purusha and at my will, there emerge from my prakriti the three strands (gunas): purity (sattva), activity (rajas), and inactivity (tamas). Each of these has within themselves the power to create, which gave rise to the universal intellect (mahat). The universal intellect itself changed and produced the ego principle (ahankara) which creates the illusion of multiplicity in things. Krishna explains that Brahma (the creator) spontaneously emerged and created the realm of the gods, the realm of the spirits, and the realm of humans. Regardless of the various changes that took place, though, they all had their source in purusha and prakriti, namely, Krishna himself. Ultimately, according to Krishna, the variations in the phenomenal world are both transitory and illusory. The only thing that is real is the substance from which something originates (pravrti) and into which it dissolves (pralaya). According to most of the six Hindu schools of emancipation (darsanas) and the various Puranas, the cosmos goes through a series of creation/destruction cycles. Each new universe is its own epoch (kalpa), lasting a little over eight billion years, and consists of both a day during which time things emerge (pravrti), and night when things dissolve (pralaya). Insofar as Brahma is the creator of the universe, these epochal cycles are denoted as days and nights of Brahma. According to the Bhagavata Purana, just as the creative forces of the universe emerge from Krishna at his willful command, so too will the universe dissolve back into Krishnas single, undifferentiated being: Ultimately, the universe that I pervade, and in which occur the births and deaths of various things, will return to a state of dissolution (pralaya). It will return to me, the Atman, which alone is absolute reality.

There is a common stereotype that Eastern philosophers view the concept of time somewhat differently than Western philosophers do. As the theory goes, Western thinkers depict time linearly, with a distinct beginning, middle, and end of events that we can plot out on a timeline. Eastern thinkers, by contrast, depict time cyclically, with major events repeating. The Eastern notion of reincarnation is the primary example of this, insofar as ones existence involves a continual series of births and deaths. Another example is the series of creations and destructions of the universe, as we see in the Puranas. Although this portrayal of East/West differences is convenient, it is probably a mistake to take it too seriously. In particular, the creation and destruction cycle is a powerful and even mind-boggling theme that philosophers of various traditions have entertained, even in the West. Some mystically-minded physicists today feel a special affinity with this concept as they theorize about the big bang that started the universe, the forthcoming big crunch that will put it to rest, and perhaps a continual series of new big bangs and crunches. To the extent that this makes us feel awestruck and even helpless, the Hindu Puranas offer an element of comfort by putting a benevolent face on the intimidating machinery of the cosmos. Supreme Devotion to Devi. In Hindu mythology, female goddesses perform special functions that male gods are incapable of performing. The most important female deity is Devi, the wife of Shiva, who is often referred to simply as the Goddess. Like Shiva, Devi is contradictory in nature. In her gentle and subservient moments she takes on the form of a goddess named Parvati. In more fierce moments she takes on the form of the goddess known as Kali, who is depicted as wearing a necklace of human skulls, tearing away the flesh of sacrificed victims. As the mother goddess of all, Devi has a special creative power beyond all the Gods. The Hindu term for this creative power is shakti and, so, devotees to Devi are called Shaktas. These followers see her as the single original reality from which the three gods of the Trimurti emerge. They also see her creative power as the source of the origination (pravrti) and dissolution (pralaya) of the successive universes, as described above. Although the Puranas focus mainly on the male Gods of the Trimurti, the Devi Bhagavata Purana is devoted specifically to Devi and her creative powers. About one thousand pages in length, the text is classified as one of the 18 great Puranas, although it competes for that classification with the Bhagavata Purana discussed above. Followers of Devi argue that their Devi Bhagavata Purana is the older of the two Puranas, and the Bhagavata Purana is a later derivation from that. However, scholars believe that the Devi Bhagavata Purana was actually written in the 15th century CE, whereas its counterpart appears to be from the 10th century CE. Like other Puranas the Devi Bhagavata Purana is eclectic in nature and reflects the concepts and distinctions of the six Schools of Emancipation (darsanas). The text vividly describes the concept of supreme devotion (parabhakti), a central component of all the Puranas. One passage explains that there are three kinds of Yoga: that of action (karma), knowledge (jnana), and devotion (bhakti). According to Devi, who narrates the text herself, Of these three, the Yoga of devotion is the easiest in all respects. However, she explains, there are three lower forms of devotion that should be avoided. Some people worship Devi to spite other people. Others worship Devi hoping to attain some personal desire, such as fame. Still others worship Devi as a means of purifying their actions. A fourth type of devotion, though, is supreme devotion, which is completely selfless. As described below, it is so selfless that the worshiper does not even desire the experience of release itself. Now listen attentively about the supreme devotion (parabhakti) which I will now describe to you. He always hears my glories and recites my name. His mind always dwells in me, like the incessant flow of oil, and he is the receptacle of all good qualities and gunas. But he does not have the least trace of any desire to get the fruits of his actions (karma). Indeed, he does not want [the various levels of release (moksha), including] being on the same plane as God (salokya), nearness to God (samipya), having the form of God (sarsti), union with God (sayujya) and other forms of release.

Devi continues noting that true worshipers abandons all concepts of themselves, completely identify themselves with Devi, and make no distinctions between themselves and anything else. Worshipers find Devi in everything, including other souls: He becomes filled with devotion for me alone, worships me only, knows nothing higher than to serve me, and he does not even want final release. He does not like neglecting the notions of serving (sevya) and the servant who serves (sevaka). He always meditates on me with a constant vigilance, actuated by a feeling of supreme devotion. He does not think of himself as separate from me, but rather thinks to himself, I am the Lord (Bhagavati). He considers all souls (jivas) as myself, and loves me as he loves himself. He makes no distinction between the souls and myself since he finds the same pure consciousness (caitanya) everywhere and manifested in all. He does not quarrel with anyone since he has abandoned

all ideas of separateness. He bows down and worships the pure consciousness and all the souls. He becomes filled with the highest love when he sees my place, sees my devotees, hears the scriptures, describes my deeds, and meditates on my mantras. His hairs stand on end out of love for me and his tears of love flow incessantly from both of his eyes. He recites my name deeds in a voice that is choked with feelings of live for me. With intense feeling he worships me as the mother of this universe and the cause of all causes. [Devi Bhagavata Purana, 7.37] In this chapter we covered about 3,000 years of Hindu writing from 1500 BCE to 1500 CE and the word that best describes the scope of Hindu philosophy is diversity. We often feel that the simplest explanation of things is the best, and so we might question why Hindu philosophy differs so vastly. Historically, the answer is easy: Hindu thought is the product of many people over great spans of time and we should expect to find a corresponding amount of diversity in Hindu writings. Philosophically, we should see this versatility as an asset of Hinduism rather than a liability. The subjects of life, death, and ultimate reality are complex and often impossible to articulate. Although simple and unified solutions sometimes offer us quick satisfaction, they often gloss over the incomprehensible depths of these subjects. If the gods themselves may not know the origins of the cosmos, as the opening creation hymn suggests, then we should not expect to wrap things up in a tidy package. SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Primary Sources. Bhagavad Gita, tr. Barbara Stoler Miller (Bantam Books, 1986). Classical Hindu Mythology: A Reader in the Sanskrit Puranas, tr. Cornelia Dimmitt, (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1978). Hindu Scriptures, translated by R.C. Zaehner, (London: Penguin, 1966). Hindu Theology, Jose Pereira, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1976). Hinduism, ed. Louis Renou, (New York: George Braziller, 1961). Laws of Manu, tr. Wendy Doniger and Brian K. Smith, (Penguin: 1992) Principal Upanishads, tr. S. Radhakrishnan, (London: Allen, 1953). Rig Veda: An Anthology, tr. Wendy Doniger OFlaherty, (Penguin Books, 1981). Sacred Books of the Hindus, (Allahabad: Panini Office, 1909-1937), 32 Vol. Source Book of Adviata Vedanta, tr. J.A.B. Van Buitenen and Eliot Deutsch, (Honolulu: 1971). Sourcebook in Indian Philosophy, ed. S. Radhakrishnan, Charles Moore, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957). Sources of Indian Tradition, ed. W.T. de Bary (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958). The Beginnings of Indian Philosophy, tr. Franklin Edgerton, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1965) The Hindu Tradition, ed. Ainslee T. Embree, (New York, Modern Library, 1966). Yoga Philosophy of Pantanjali, tr. Swami Hariharananda Aranya (SUNY Press, 1983) Secondary Sources. Advaita Vedanta: a Philosophical Reconstruction, Eliot Deutsch (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1969) Critical Survey of Indian Philosophy, Chandradhar Sharma, (Delhi, M. Banarsidass, 1973). Essentials of Indian Philosophy, Mysore Hiriyanna (London: Allen & Unwin,1949). Hindu Philosophy, Theos Bernard, (New York, Greenwood Press, 1968).

History of Indian Philosophy, Surendranath Dasgupta (Cambridge: The University Press, 1969), 5 Vol. Philosophy of Upanishads, Balbir Singh (Atlantic Highlands, N.J. : Humanities Press, 1983). Survey of Hinduism, Klaus K. Klostermaier, (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1989) The Hindu Religious Tradition: A Philosophical Approach, Pratima Bowes, (London; Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1977). ****

CHAPTER 2: BUDDHIST PHILOSOPHY BACKGROUND. Buddhism was founded in 525 BCE in Benares, India by Gautama Siddhartha (563-483 BCE), also known as the Buddha, a term which means the enlightened one. Buddha lived for years as a Hindu monk but became dissatisfied with many Hindu teachings. He rejected the Hindu cast system, scriptures, and priests. He denied the existence of a hidden, permanent individual self. He also denied the idea of God as a personal divine being and maintained that release, or nirvana, is really a state of nothingness. In spite of these points of rejection, the substructure and vocabulary of Buddhism draws heavily from Hinduism. In fact, some have described Buddhism as Hinduism stripped for export. Life of Buddha. Traditional accounts of historys great people are often spiced with extraordinary and miraculous stories. For the original communities in which these accounts emerged, spectacular stories set a great person apart from everyone else. The message is that the appearance of this great person is a once in a lifetime event and perhaps even a completely unique event in the history of human civilization. Time determines whether succeeding generations perpetuate this admiration, or whether later generations see the great person as simply another historical curiosity. Most traditional accounts of Buddhas life are mixtures of historical fact and myth, the most famous of which is the Life of Buddha (Buddhacarita) written in the 2nd century CE by Asvaghosha. Time has been kind to the memory of the Buddha perpetuated in such accounts, and Buddhists around the world find the spectacular stories of his life as potent as did early Buddhist communities. Buddha came from a rich family in what is now the country of Nepal, where his father was a feudal lord. The night before he was born his mother dreamed that a white elephant entered her womb through her side. Hindu priests interpreted the dream as a dual destiny: he would be a universal monarch, or universal teacher. Similar predictions followed five days after his birth and priests informed his parents that if he remained at home, he would be a monarch. Buddhas mother died seven days after he was born and his sister raised him. Hoping that his son would take the path of a universal monarch, his father confined him to the family estate, sheltering him from the ugly experiences of illness and death. Stories report that he had 40,000 dancing girls at his disposal. It would be virtually impossible to shelter someone from all of lifes evils, as Buddhas father attempts to do here. The philosophical importance of this story, though, is that it has us reflect on what it would take for someone to be completely immune to higher spiritual issues. In essence, such a person would need to be completely deluded about his human makeup, and all of the frailties that human life involves. To simply be aware of our human condition means that we are engaged in a struggle that yearns for resolution. At age 16 Buddha married his cousin Yasodhare, and had a child. Finally, at age 29, he had three occasions to glimpse the outside world, and on each occasion he was shocked to learn about the suffering that humans experience. First he saw an old man, then a sick man, and then a dead body. On a fourth occasion he saw a Hindu monk, which inspired him to leave his family estate to pursue a monks life. The first three glimpses tell us precisely about the kinds of human predicaments that drive us to seek some resolution: age, illness, and death. These involve lifes most painful physical and emotional struggles. Wed like to retain our youth, health, and life, but factors beyond our control obstruct our wishes. Buddha wandered for six years, learning what he could from holy people about the solution to the human predicament. He quickly overtook his teachers and left to join a band of five ascetic monks, hoping to find truth through the practice of self-renunciation. So austere were his practices, though, that he almost died of starvation. He started eating again to regain his health, and his ascetic colleagues left him in disgust. Disheartened by his failures, he sat under a fig tree,

vowing to not rise until he achieved supreme awakening. He stayed up all night, and at the first glimpse of the morning star he became enlightened. Legends describe how Buddha was next tempted by Mara, the personification of evil. First, he was tempted to return home after being told that an evil cousin had taken over the family and imprisoned his father. Next, he was tempted by three voluptuous goddesses and a consort of dancers who were to seduce him by any manner they could. Finally, he was tempted by natural disasters produced by demons. Buddha then touched his finger to the ground, which produced a thundering sound and made Mara and the demons flee. He continued meditating, saw visions of his prior lives, and discovered the solution to ending misery. He was in rapture for 49 days. He considered that he would not be able to communicate his enlightenment and he speculated that it would be better if he would just reach nirvana. He then thought of the lotus flower: some float to the surface, others sink. To him this signified that at least some people would understand him, and these are the people he would preach to. Thus, he started on a ministry that lasted forty-five years. After reaching enlightenment, Buddha walked a hundred miles to Benares, hoping to find his five ascetic friends to tell them about his discovery. The ascetics resisted at first, but eventually listened. Buddha then gave his first discourse, consisting of the simple message that a middle path of avoiding extremes leads to nirvana, which, in turn, puts an end to the human craving that causes suffering. His ascetic friends were persuaded and became his first disciples. After this he converted his father, stepmother, and former wife. Teaching to people of all castes, he soon had 60 perfected disciples who attained enlightenment and went out themselves teaching his message. Monasteries were built in every major city, which were originally developed from annual meeting places. Scholars believe that these Buddhist monasteries were the first formal monasteries in the world. Urged by his cousin, Ananda, Buddha also allowed an order of nuns. A brief schism started when another of Buddhas cousins, Devadatta, plotted three times to kill him and assume leadership. The plot failed, though, and Devadatta soon died. Buddha himself finally died (483 BCE) by accidentally eating poisoned mushrooms at the home of his close disciple, Cunda. He was cremated, and his were relics placed in mounds of stone, which later became important shrines and pilgrimage points in Buddhism.

Development of Buddhism. During Buddhas life, Buddhism was located mainly in the eastern Ganges valley region of India. A few Buddhist councils took place over the next few centuries. Tradition maintains that several factors sparked the councils, including a growing number of factions within Buddhism, the need to establish governing rules within monasteries, and the need to formulate a canon of scriptures. However, the inadequacy of historical sources for this period has prompted modern scholars to question many traditional accounts. Buddhism greatly expanded during the 3rd century BCE, principally due to the conversion of the Indian king Asoka who ruled from 268-233 BCE. Asoka was the third ruler of the Mauryan Dynasty (321-185 BCE), which is often called the first empire of India. During his reign he brought most of India within his control, and dedicated himself to the spread of Buddhism throughout his empire and beyond. Tradition maintains that he sent Buddhist missionaries to east Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and Europe. Asokas son went to Ceylon to convert the king there. This was an important victory, as Ceylon later became a launching pad for further Buddhist expansion. Between 200 BCE and 100 CE, two principal divisions developed within Buddhism that continue to this day, namely, the Mahayana and Theravada sects. Scholars dispute about the precise time and causes of the split, but it rests generally on growing differences in doctrine and worship practices. Early Mahayana writers explained the difference using the metaphor of a ferryboat crossing a river. The starting shore of the journey is the common sense view of the world and our condition of suffering, and the final shore is enlightenment. The name Mahayana means large vehicle or big raft which carries people to the shore of enlightenment. The implication of the big raft is that the voyage to enlightenment is a group effort. Originally, they dubbed the Theravadists as the Hinayana school, meaning, little raft, which implied each person was on his own in the voyage to enlightenment. Members of this school were displeased with the negative implication behind the assigned title small raft, and later changed their name to Theravada, meaning the way of the elders. This title emphasizes the Theravadan claim to follow the true teachings of Buddha as written in the earliest Buddhist scriptures. Mahayanans, however, would claim to follow the true teachings of Buddha as exemplified in the life of the Buddha himself and in his orally transmitted teachings. As philosophy in Buddhism developed along Theravada and Mahayana party lines, it is helpful to note some preliminary points of distinction between the two schools. For Theravada Buddhism, enlightenment involves dissolving ones common sense view of the world and entering the realm of nirvana. Nirvana is thus an otherworldly state of

existence. We each pursue nirvana individually, which requires a full-time effort. The ideal practitioner is the Arhat (literally, the worthy) who strikes out for nirvana on his own. In theory, there are no superhuman gods to help us. Buddha himself is a mere man who figured out how to reach nirvana, and we learn the procedure from his teachings. Mahayana Buddhism, by contrast, has a this-worldly notion of nirvana, contending that it is in fact right here in the common sense realm and is not a separate state of existence. The fate of all humanity is linked together on the path to enlightenment, and, thus, enlightenment is a group project. In various ways Buddha is a divine being, not just a mere man, and can be called on for assistance in our quest. The idea disciple is the Bodhisattva (literally, enlightened being) who is destined to reach nirvana, but postpones this to help others. By virtue of his exceptional spiritual abilities, the Bodhisattva has a stockpile of spiritual credit, so to speak, which he reallocates to the accounts of less spiritually advanced people so that they too can enjoy the results of this spiritual wealth. In the following centuries the two schools further articulated their differences and, with more missionary activity, they predominated in specific geographical regions. The Mahayana sect became the larger of the two, and, to this day exists in China, Korea, Japan, Mongolia, and Tibet. The Theravada sect, by contrast, exists today mainly in the Southeast Asian countries of Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia. Within India, though, beginning around 700 CE Buddhism became absorbed into Hinduism, causing its disappearance from that country. Buddha himself was recognized as the ninth avatara of Vishnu, and his teachings lived on in Hindu form. THERAVADA PHILOSOPHY FROM THE PALI CANON. The Pali Canon is the oldest collection of writings within Buddhism, compiled during the first five centuries after the death of Buddha. It is the sacred text of Theravada Buddhism, and is of more limited value in Mahayana traditions. The texts are written in a language related to Sanskrit, called Pali, hence the designation Pali Canon. The collection also goes by the name Tripitika, literally meaning three baskets, in reference to the three key divisions of texts within the Pali Canon. The first of these divisions is the Basket of Discipline (Vinaya Pitaka), which presents rules of the Buddhist order. The second is the Basket of Discourses (Sutta Pitaka), which contains dialogues between Buddha and his disciples on various Buddhist teachings. The third division is the Basket of Ultimate Doctrine (Abhidhamma Pitaka), which includes various metaphysical discussions. The entire corpus of the Pali Canon is lengthy, consisting of 31 distinct texts, which in printed form take up dozens of volumes. According to Theravada tradition, the various portions of the Pali Canon were orally articulated in the first two centuries after Buddhas death, and fixed in oral form at a Buddhist council during the 3rd century BCE. The entire collection was then committed to writing during the 1st century BCE. Four Noble Truths. The most famous part of the Pali Canon is a section known as The First Discourse at Benares, also called the Turning of the Wheel of the Law (Dhamma-cakka-ppavattana Sutta). The latter title suggests a turning point in the direction of Indian religion with Buddhas new vision. According to tradition, Buddha delivered this message to his ascetic friends at Benares immediately after his enlightenment. The content of the discourse is the foundation of all Buddhist teaching. The discourse presents four noble truths concerning our quest for enlightenment. The first truth is that life is suffering: Now this is the noble truth concerning suffering. Birth is attended with pain, decay is painful, disease is painful, and death is painful. Union with the unpleasant is painful, and separation from the pleasant is painful. Any craving that is unsatisfied is also painful. In brief, the five components (skandhas) which spring from attachment are painful. This then is the noble truth concerning suffering. The Pali word for suffering (dukkha) is sometimes translated as anxiety or frustration, but perhaps the best description is dislocation. For example the pain that I experience from a dislocated shoulder is the result of my arm being yanked out of its normal position. Similarly, the root of all suffering involves some twisting or distortion of our true nature. A poignant illustration of suffering is the birth process. From the moment we come into the world as infants, we find suffering. With each contraction the mother is gripped with perhaps the greatest physical pain that she will experience in life, while anxious friends and relatives stand by helplessly. Physically contorted as it emerges, the baby is forced to cry so that it may begin breathing. Once giving birth, the mother remains in pain for some time, and the frail baby requires continual monitoring at the risk of dying. Buddhist writings offer a seemingly endless list of suffering that we experience throughout our lives, such as that from sickness, old age, fear of death, failure to fulfill ambitions, separation from loved ones, and association with people we dislike. Even on a good day if we can escape some actual human tragedy our lives are nevertheless dominated by preemptively avoiding suffering. We monitor our diets, struggle to keep up with an exercise routine, cautiously drive around town, lock our doors, and stay clear of hostile people.

The second truth is that the cause of suffering is desire (tanha, trishna): Now this is the noble truth concerning the origin of suffering. It is that thirst or craving which causes the renewal of existence, accompanied by sensual delight, and the seeking of satisfaction first here, then there. That is to say, it is the craving for the gratification of the passions, or the craving for a future life, or the craving for success in this present life. This then is the noble truth concerning the origin of suffering. The above quote describes desire as an insatiable craving for private fulfillment. We cling or grasp virtually to anything that might satisfy our yearnings, much like a child that jealously clutches a favorite toy. Ultimately, our cravings can never be truly satisfied, and so we suffer as a child does when we attempt to wrench a toy from his hands. The central point of this noble truth is that for every type of suffering we experience, there is some misguided craving that is at its source. Suppose, for example, that my leg gets broken in a car accident on my way to the store. Chronologically, I had several desires that led up to the accident. One desire impelled me to buy a car to begin with, rather than simply to walk everywhere. Another desire inclined me to purchase something that I dont currently own. Yet another desire had me go shopping at that particular time, rather than stay home. And, once Im at home in my leg cast, lying in bed, my present desires perpetuate my suffering. I want to go back to work, but I cant. Id like to go to a restaurant, but I cant. Id prefer to walk around outside but I cant. The more things that I desire and cling to, the more I increase my suffering. Why are we driven to cling so ferociously to so many things? Buddhist philosophers have an answer. Desire arises from five distinct components of our human nature (the Pali term for these components is skandhas, which literally means heaps or aggregates). These components are matter, sensation, perception, predisposition, and consciousness. Each of these five components has me rely on something outside of me. Even if I want to do something as simple as walk from the living room into the kitchen, I rely on the material construction of the house itself, my raw sense perception of it, and how these perceptions automatically register in my mind. Since the human condition is shaped by desire many if not most of which go unfilled then our condition is one of suffering. The third noble truth is that the end of suffering is achieved by extinguishing our desire; this is the state of nirvana, a term that literally means to extinguish. Of the virtually endless number of desires that bubble up from my five components, my goal is the destruction of these, as Buddha describes here: Now this is the noble truth concerning the elimination of suffering [i.e., the attainment of Nirvana]. It is the destruction of this very thirst, in which no passion remains. It is the laying aside of, the getting rid of, the being free from, and the harboring no longer of this thirst. This, then, is the noble truth concerning the destruction of suffering. In this passage Buddha depicts nirvana as a state in which no passion remains. Most people can understand the task of eliminating some desires such as the desire for unhealthy foods. But the idea of eliminating all desires is, to say the least, perplexing. Does it make sense to eliminate my desires to eat, sleep, or care for my family? The mere recommendation of extinguishing all desires suggests that the goal here is something far beyond our ordinary conception of human life. It also suggests that the attainment of this goal is very difficult and will undoubtedly involve much discipline. Addressing the goal of the third noble truth, the fourth is that nirvana is achieved by adopting a series of proper attitudes, beliefs, and actions, which Buddha collectively calls the eightfold path: Now this is the noble truth concerning the path that leads to the elimination of suffering. It is the noble eightfold path. Briefly, these are the eight recommendations. (1) We should adopt right views that are free from superstition or delusion. (2) We should have right aims that are high and worthy of the intelligent and earnest person. (3) We should practice right speech, which is kindly, open, and truthful. (4) We should perform right conduct that is peaceful, honest, and pure. (5) We should adopt a right livelihood that brings no harm or danger to living things. (6) We should put forth the right effort in self-training and selfcontrol. (7) We should have right mindfulness insofar as we have an active and watchful mind. (8) We should engage in right contemplation, which involves earnest thought on the mysteries of life. On the surface, the eightfold path endorses many of the values that, since our childhoods, weve been taught to adopt. In fact, these eight recommendations appear integral to simply conducting our normal desire-filled lives in a civilized manner. How, then, can these eight recommendations lead me to the much higher level of nirvana, which involves extinguishing all desires? According to Buddha these eight recommendations have an underlying theme, namely, adopting a Middle Way, which is the calm detachment achieved by avoiding the extremes of asceticism and self-indulgence. He describes this concept here:

There are two extremes, fellow monks, which a holy person should avoid: the habitual practice of ... self-indulgence, which is vulgar and profitless ... and the habitual practice of self-mortification, which is painful and equally profitless. There is a middle path discovered by the Tathagata [i.e., the Buddha] a path which opens the eyes and bestows understanding which leads to peace of mind, to the higher wisdom, to full enlightenment, and to Nirvana. Truly, it is the noble eightfold path .... [Samyutta-nikaya 56:2] For each of the recommendations in the eightfold path, we can see how we must follow a middle course. For example, with the first path of right aims, I should strive to be free from superstition and delusion. If we look at common superstitions and delusions today, such as belief in alien abduction or racial superiority, these are clearly extremist views that we should steer clear of. Again, though, the concept of taking a middle path between extremes is not unique to Buddha: many philosophical traditions around the world offer the same recommendation. How, then, does the Middle Path lead to nirvana? The answer in the above passage is that it opens the eyes and bestows understanding which leads to nirvana. That is, the Middle Path is a stepping-stone towards nirvana insofar as it creates a mental disposition, which in turn enables us to be receptive to the nirvana experience. There is still a great mystery about how this mental disposition triggers the nirvana experience, and this is a mystery that cannot be explained with a simple formula. The explanation comes with the nirvana experience itself, and preparation for that experience requires great dedication. Buddhahood and the Arhat. The second most popular section of the Pali Canon is a collection of 423 aphorisms called the Dhammapada. Literally meaning teaching verses, the Dhammapada was probably initially compiled as a manual of doctrine for students. The sayings are taken from other places within the Pali Canon, where, in their original contexts, they often appear as summary statements of longer discourses. As such, the sayings represent what Buddhists at the time believed was most central to their philosophy and religion. The Dhammapada has 26 divisions, each with a unique subject title, such as Earnestness, Thought, The Fool, and The Wise Man. Section 14 of the Dhammapada, titled The Buddha, or The Awakened, collects together nine aphorisms on this subject. The term buddha here does not refer to Gautama Siddhartha Buddha specifically, but to anyone who has been awakened by reaching nirvana through the elimination of desire. The first group of sayings point out the main moral obligations of all buddhas. For Theravada Buddhists, aphorism 183 is the best known of all sayings in the Dhammapada, which encapsulates all moral obligations with the recommendation that we do good, avoid evil, and purify our minds. 181. Even the gods envy those who are buddhas and not forgetful, who are given to meditation, who are wise, and who delight in the calmness of emancipation from the world. 182. It is difficult to be born as a human being. It is difficult to live the life of a mortal. It is difficult hearing the true law. It is difficult to attain buddhahood. 183. The teaching of all the buddhas is to not do evil, to do good, and to purify ones mind. 184. The buddhas call patience the highest observance and long-suffering the highest nirvana. For he is not a holy man who strikes others, and he is not an ascetic who insults others. 185. The teaching of the buddhas is to not blame, to not strike, to live restrained under the law, to be moderate in eating, to sleep and sit alone, and to dwell on the highest thoughts. The final four aphorisms below draw on the metaphor of a refuge, that is, a place of safety that we go to for comfort. There are various physical places that people go to for consolation, such a sacred place of worship. However, the best and true refuge is more conceptual and traditionally designated as the Three Jewels (tiratana), namely, take refuge in the Buddha, the Law (dharma), and the Buddhist Community (sangha). 188. People, driven by fear, go to many refuges, to mountains and forests, to groves and sacred trees. 189. But those are not safe refuges, and those are not the best refuges. A person is not delivered from all pains after having gone to those refuges. 190-191. Take refuge in Buddha, the Law, and the Buddhist Community. And with clear understanding, recognize the four noble truths: pain, the origin of pain, the destruction of pain, and the eightfold holy way that leads to the quieting of pain. That is the safe refuge, and that is the best refuge. Having gone to that refuge, a person is delivered from all pain. [Dhammapada 14]

The last aphorism reiterates the importance of the four noble truths. Whatever our suffering might be that drives us to seek refuge, the path to nirvana is the best safe haven we can find for deliverance from pain. The term Arhat literally means the worthy, and, in Theravada Buddhism, the Arhat is the ideal follower of Buddha who has reached the supreme level of perfection. The Pali Canon lists five key features which the Arhat must exhibit: (1) he is neither attracted to nor repelled by things that he senses, and thus he remains unaffected by them; (2) he understands the contingent nature of the five components (skandhas) of our individual identities which cause attachment namely, matter, sensation, perception, predisposition, and consciousness; (3) he holds no concept of an individual self; (4) he is unattached to things of the internal and external senses; and (5) he understands the concept of causation (Majjhima Nikaya, 1:280). These items constitute the foundation of early Buddhist philosophy, and we will turn to several of these in the sections below. Critics of Therevada Buddhism sometimes charge that these five philosophical features of the Arhat isolate him from other people and thus make him more or less useless for the betterment of society at large. In response, the Theravadist would argue that these five philosophical virtues must be balanced against four social virtues (brahmaviharas) which all Buddhists are required to display including Arhats. These are loving friendliness (metta), compassion (karuna), sympathetic joy (mudita) and composure (upekkha). Section seven of the Dhammapada, titled The Arhat, describes what life is like for the Arhat. In pursuit of nirvana, the Arhat rejects all of lifes luxuries and attempts to subdue his appetites: 90. There is no suffering for those who finished their journey, abandoned grief, freed themselves on all sides, and thrown off all fetters. 92. Like that of birds in the air, it is difficult to understand the path of those who have no riches, live on recognized food, and have perceived void and unconditioned freedom [nirvina]. 93. Like the birds of the air, it is difficult to understand the path of those whose appetites are stilled, who are not absorbed in enjoyment, and who have perceived void and unconditioned freedom [nirvina]. 94. Even the gods envy those whose senses, like horses well broken in by the driver, have been subdued, who are free from pride, and free from appetites. The section continues noting how the Arhat lives quietly and is content even in the most austere conditions: 95. Such a one who does his duty is tolerant like the earth, or like a gateway. He is like a lake without mud. No new births are in store for him. 96. His thought is quiet, quiet are his word and deed, when he has obtained freedom by true knowledge, and when he has thus become a quiet man. 97. The greatest person is free from confidence yet but knows the uncreated, who has cut all ties, removed all temptations, and renounced all desires. 98. In a town or in a forest, on sea or on dry land, wherever Arhats dwell, that place is delightful. 99. Forests are delightful; where the world finds no delight, there the passionless will find delight, for they do not look for pleasures. [Dhammapada, 7] Questions that do not Lead to Enlightenment. Theologians and philosophers of religions worldwide devote a great amount of attention to ethereal issues that cannot be easily demonstrated. What is Gods nature? How did the world come about? Is there life after death? What kind of existence can I expect to have in the afterlife? In fact, many religions feel that their main mission is to give decisive answers to these questions and convey their answers to as many people as they can. We readily recognize that some religious speculations are superfluous to the central aim of religion for example, speculations about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Where, though, do we draw the line between the superfluous and essential? The starting point is to determine what in fact is the main goal of religion. Buddhas single complaint about the formal religion of his time was that its rituals and speculations detracted from religions main goal, namely, enlightenment. He makes this point in a dialog with a student. The student, who has heard Buddha teach for some time, is puzzled that Buddha apparently ignores a number of issues that philosophers commonly address. Foremost among these are

whether the world is eternal and whether there is life after death. In response, Buddha notes that he refuses to discuss these topics since they do not facilitate enlightenment. In the passage below, he uses an analogy to explain his resistance to these questions. If someone is shot with a poisoned arrow, his main concern is to have his wound treated, and not to inquire after details about his assailants social caste: [Buddha:] Suppose that a man had been wounded by an arrow thickly smeared with poison. When friends and relatives went to procure for him a physician, suppose the sick man said, I will not have this arrow taken out until I have learned whether the man who wounded me belonged to the warrior caste, priestly caste, worker caste, or servant caste. Or again, suppose he said, I will not have this arrow taken out until I have learned the name of the man who wounded me, and to what clan he belongs. Or again, suppose he said, I will not have this arrow taken out until I have learned the whether the man who wounded me was tall, short, or middle height ... or was black, white, or yellow skinned ... or from this or that village, town or city .... That man would die without ever having learned these things. Suppose similarly someone said I will not lead the religious life under the Blessed One *i.e., the Buddha+ until the Blessed One explained to me that the world is eternal or not eternal ... or that the saint exists or does not exist after death. That person too would die before the Tathagata [i.e, the Buddha] ever explained this to him. Buddha continues arguing that speculations on such things do not address the basic problem of the human condition. We are in a state of seemingly endless suffering, and the only way to overcome this is to extinguish our desires. Ultimately, these are the truths that matter: The religious life does not depend on the dogma that the world is eternal, nor on the dogma that the world is not eternal. Whether the dogma obtains that the world is eternal or that the world is not eternal, there still remains birth, old age, death, sorrow, lamentation, misery, grief, and despair; and I prescribe the extinction of these in the present life. So, always bear in mind what it is that I have not explained, and what it is that I have explained. And what have I not explained? I have not explained that the world is eternal, ... that the world is not eternal, ... and that the saint neither exists nor does not exist after death. And why have I not explained this? Because this does not profit us, it has nothing to do with the fundamentals of religion, and does not tend to aversion, absence of passion, cessation, calm, the supernatural faculties, supreme wisdom, and nirvana. ... And what have I explained? Misery, the origin of misery, the cessation of misery, and the path leading to the cessation of misery. And why have I explained this? Because this does profit and concerns the fundamentals of religion ... [Majjhima-Nikaya, 63] In short, Buddha distinguishes between essential and nonessential religious speculations on the basis of whether they bring about the end of suffering through nirvana. We may easily grant that the students first question whether the world is eternal is not essential to achieving nirvana. It may be interesting to speculate about how the world was created and whether the physical components of the world will survive over time. But this issue is certainly of secondary importance if we presume that our quest for enlightenment involves a higher and less tangible component of our existence. The second question, though whether there is life after death is less easy to dismiss, especially for Buddhas students who believe in reincarnation. According to their conception, enlightenment would be intimately connected with their future lives in future bodies. By dismissing the issue of life after death as irrelevant, then, Buddha challenges his students to adopt a new notion of enlightenment, specifically one that does not hinge on a persons continued existence over time. No-self. Insofar as Buddha de-emphasizes the issue of our personal existence over time, he challenges us to look at the notion of personal identity in a new way. My common sense notion of my conscious self is that it is a fixed and permanent feature of my identity. Just as my arms and legs are features of my body, my consciousness is a feature of my non-physical self. As I travel through life, a conscious part of me receives new experiences through my senses, reflects on them, recalls other experiences from my memory, and has me act out in a variety of ways. There is always some permanent me that is watching, thinking, and acting. Buddha denies that there exists in any of us a permanent individual human consciousness. His view is known as the no-self (anatta) doctrine. Discoursing with a student, Buddha explains that there are three possible ways of viewing the self each of which he ultimately rejects: In regard to the self ... what are the views held concerning it? One holds the view that (1) sensation is the self, saying, sensation is my self, or one holds the view that, (2) truly, sensation is not my self insofar as my self has no sensation. Or one holds the view that (3) truly, neither is sensation my self, nor does my self have no sensation; my self has sensation and my self possesses the faculty of sensation.

In short, we may, first, identify the self with sensation; second, deny that the self has or is in any way connected with sensation; or, third, suppose that there is a continuous self behind our sensations. The first of these theories which identifies the self with sensation is a somewhat skeptical theory. Over 2,000 years after Buddha, 18th century British philosopher David Hume offered a theory of just this sort. In Humes words, For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception. [Treatise of Human Nature, 1:4:6] A theory of the self such as this would appeal to philosophers who insist that experience is the ultimate guide for resolving philosophical questions. Since I only ever experience individual conscious sensations, then my self must consist only of these. But Buddha does not buy this theory. He begins attacking this view by noting that all of our sensations are of three sorts: the pleasant sensation, the unpleasant sensation, and the indifferent sensation. Buddha then explains that each of these sensations is transitory: Now, pleasant sensations are transitory, are due to causes, originate by dependence, and are subject to decay, disappearance, effacement, and cessation. Unpleasant sensations are transitory, are due to causes, originate by dependence, and are subject to decay, disappearance, effacement, and cessation. Finally, indifferent sensations are transitory, due to causes, originate by dependence, and are subject to decay, disappearance, effacement, and cessation. While this person is experiencing a pleasant sensation, he thinks, this is my self. And after the cessation of this same pleasant sensation, he thinks, my self has passed away. While he is experiencing an unpleasant sensation, he thinks, this is my self. And after the cessation of this same unpleasant sensation, he thinks, my self has passed away. And while he is experiencing an indifferent sensation, he thinks, this is my self. And after the cessation of this same indifferent sensation, he thinks, my self has passed away. So that he who says, sensation is my self, holds the view that even during his lifetime his self is transitory, that it is pleasant, unpleasant, or mixed, and that it is subject to rise and disappearance. Buddhas argument here is that sensations are fleeting and, so, if I identify myself with my sensations, then I admit that myself comes into and drops out of existence with each new sensation. This, according to Buddha, is absurd. The second of these theories which denies that the self has or is in any way connected with sensation is a bit ambiguous and could be understood in one of two ways. First, we might see it as asserting that all sensory experience is an illusion, regardless of how real it seems, and thus our true self has no sensation. Second, it might mean that only an outer and less consequential part of our physical existence experiences sensation, but our true inner self has no sensation whatever. Regardless of how we interpret this second theory, Buddhas brief response appears appropriate: In the second case above where it is said that truly sensation is not my self insofar as my self has no sensation, one should reply as follows. Brother, where there is no sensation, is there any I am? ... So ... it is not possible to hold the view that, truly sensation is not my self insofar as my self has no sensation. His point here is that, although sensations may not completely define my individual self, sensations nevertheless seem to be an integral feature of who I am. Whenever I am conscious, there is at least some kind of sensation that I am experiencing. So, if I lack all sensation then I thereby would have no self. Like the first view, Buddha finds this absurd and thus rejects it. The third theory which supposes that there is a continuous self behind our sensations is a compromise between the first two views. On this view, I neither identify my self with my sensations, nor do I deny that my self has no sensation. Instead, I maintain that there is an underlying self that possess sensations, yet is not identical with them. Buddha rejects this view as well: In the third case above, one states that truly neither is sensation my self, nor does my self have no sensation. My self has sensation and my self possesses the faculty of sensation. One should reply to this as follows. Suppose, brother, all sensation were to cease, utterly, completely, and without remainder. If there were nowhere any sensation, would there be anything after the cessation of sensation of which you could say this is me? ... So, ... it is not possible to hold the view that truly neither is sensation my self, nor does my self have no sensation. My self has sensation and my self possesses the faculty of sensation.

Buddhas reason for rejecting this view is largely the same as his reason for rejecting the second view above. That is, sensations seem to be an integral feature of my self, and, hypothetically speaking, if my sensations would cease, then I would have no remaining self to possess the sensation. In view of the problems with the above three possible accounts of the self, Buddha concludes that we are better off simply dismissing any theory of the self whatsoever. The key benefit of rejecting the notion of the self, Buddha believes, is that it frees us from attachment and thereby facilitates our attainment of nirvana. [Buddha:] From the time a monk rejects the above three views (namely that sensation is the self, that the self has no sensation, and that the self has sensation insofar as it possesses the faculty of sensation) he ceases to attach himself to anything in the world, and is free from attachment. He is never agitated, and being never agitated, he attains nirvana in his own person. He knows that rebirth is all gone, that he has lived a holy life, that he has done what it obligated him to do, and that he is no more for this world. [Digha-nikaya 256, Mahanidana sutta] In advocating the no-self doctrine here, Buddha may not be outright denying the existence of the self. It is more consistent with his Middle Path if instead we see him as recommending a more agnostic position: we should neither claim that there is nor that there is not a self. Abstaining from such convictions frees us from attachment and helps achieve nirvana. Even in its more moderate form, how successful is Buddhas argument regarding the no-self doctrine? The structure of his main argument is this: (1) We should either adopt one of three possible theories of the self or we should not assent to the notion of the self. (2) The three theories of the self are absurd, and thus must be rejected. (3) Therefore, we should not assent to the notion of the self. Buddhas reasoning above faces a major challenge. Indeed, the three views of the self that he sketches are absurd or at least puzzling. But are they any more puzzling than Buddhas recommendation that we not assent to the notion of the self? For most of us, we would likely prefer to adopt even a bad theory of the self rather than completely set aside that notion. However, the real force of Buddhas argument rests in the advantage that we obtain when rejecting the notion of the self, namely, achieving nirvana. This is an advantage that we do not find in any of the three other theories. Yes, it is puzzling to avoid asserting the existence of ones self, but this puzzle is outweighed by its facilitating nirvana. Perhaps because of its role in the achievement of nirvana, the no-self theory became a central doctrine in early Buddhist thought. Specifically, it is one of the Three Marks of Existence (ti-lakkhana), the other two being suffering (dukkha) and impermanence (anicca). Doctrine of Dependent Origin. The Hindu doctrine of karma maintains that our actions have moral consequences that will affect us either in this life or in a reincarnated life. The mental image we might have of this Hindu position is that an invisible supreme judge watches us and tallies up our good and bad deeds. He then appropriately rewards or punishes us as time permits, and, if time runs out in this life, then he carries the rewards and punishments over to the next life. Buddha rejected this particular picture of the doctrine of karma. There are no mysterious tally sheets with our names on them. However, Buddha does not completely reject the notion of karma, but instead gives it an earthly-grounded spin. According to Buddha, all events that take place are the result of precise causal chains of events. When I trace back the series of causes of any given unfortunate event, I find that it causally rests upon my desire, and, ultimately, on an unjustified concept I have of my conscious self. This notion of causal connectedness is called the doctrine of dependent origin (paticca-samuppada). In a discussion from the Pali Canon, one of Buddhas followers claims to have a perfectly clear conception of the doctrine of dependent origin. Buddha, though, is not impressed and explains how complicated the notion really is: Dependent origin appears complicated and is complex. It is through not understanding and penetrating this doctrine that humankind is accordingly like an entangled twist, an ensnared web, or like jumbled munja grass and pabbaja grass. It fails to disengage itself from punishment, suffering, destruction, and rebirth. In the final sentence Buddha suggests that misconceptions about punishment owe to our failure to grasp true causal connections. Suppose, for example, that my friend gets injured in an automobile accident shortly after he and I visited with each other. I might then feel partly responsible for the accident because our visit lasted too long, which put him in the

wrong place at the wrong time. I might then expect to receive some karmic punishment for my role. However, I may have a more realistic view of my responsibility if I better understand all of the causal forces at work in the accident particularly the mental states of those involved as well as the long string of sorrowful consequences that follow from the accident. We know from the first two noble truths that desire is the ultimate cause of suffering. According to Buddha, the doctrine of dependent origin allows us to explain the connecting links between desire and suffering in very precise terms. Focusing on the suffering associated with old age and death, he traces these back to their initial sources: If one asks whether old age and death depend on anything, the reply should be that old age and death depend on birth. If one asks whether birth depends on anything, the reply should be that birth depends on existence. If one asks whether existence depends on anything, the reply should be that existence depends on attachment. If one asks whether attachment depends on anything, the reply should be that attachment depends on desire. If one asks whether desire depends on anything, the reply should be that desire depends on sensation. If one asks whether sensation depends on anything, the reply should be that sensation depends on contact. If one asks whether contact depends on anything, the reply should be that contact depends on mental and physical phenomena. If one asks whether mental and physical phenomena depend on anything, the reply should be that they depend on consciousness. If one asks whether consciousness depends on anything, the reply should be that consciousness depends on mental and physical phenomena. [Digha-nikaya 256, Mahanidana sutta] Human consciousness, then, kicks off the entire series of causal events that results in the suffering from old age and death. The successive links are these: consciousness > mental and physical phenomena > contact > sensation > desire > attachment > existence > birth > old age and death. To attack the problem at its source, we should subdue our consciousness, and this is the message of the third noble truth, namely, nirvana. The doctrine of dependent origin is central theme of early Buddhist philosophy, which we will explore further in the sections below. NONCANONICAL THERAVADA PHILOSOPHY. The philosophical issues articulated in the Pali Canon were further clarified by succeeding Buddhist writers. Two noncanonical Theravada texts are particularly important. The first is Questions of Milinda (Milindapanha), anonymously written about 100 CE. The work is a dialog between the Buddhist monk Nagasena and King Milinda, traditionally identified as the Greek king Menander. The heart of the book contains philosophical dialogues on the issues of the self, karma, and reincarnation. The second important noncanonical Theravada text is The Path of Purity (Visuddhimagga) written in the 4th century CE by Buddhaghosa. We will look at discussions from both of these texts. Questions of Milinda: The Self in Perpetual Flux. The earlier discussion of the self from the Pali Canon emphasized a persons inability to identify himself with any concrete mental feature. But the Buddhist discussion of the no-self doctrine does not end there. Later Theravada Buddhist writers argued that we are a combination of the five components (skandhas), which continually flow in and out of existence. (Again, these five components are matter, sensation, perception, predisposition, and consciousness). Thus, the only self that exists is one that is in flux (pudgala). The self-in-flux doctrine is vividly illustrated in Questions of Milinda. In the passage below, King Milinda challenges the Buddhist no-self doctrine, and Nagasena replies. As the dialog opens, King Milinda is familiar with Nagasenas theory, and attempts to reduce it to absurdity. According to the King, Buddhist doctrine itself assumes the existence of people who have actual identities, and that these people must perform various moral duties. It is then grossly inconsistent for Buddhists to say, Oh, by the way, no one really has a self. [King Milinda:] If there is no self to be found, who is it then that furnishes you priests with the priestly requisites, robes, food, bedding, and medicine, the reliance of the sick? Who is it makes use of the same? Who is it that keeps the precepts? Who is it that applies himself to meditation? King Milinda argues further that, if the no-self doctrine is true, then Nagasena must absurdly admit that Nagasena himself does not exist: *King Milinda:+ When you say, My fellow-priests, your majesty, address me as Nagasena, what then is this Nagesena? Please, revered one, is the hair of the head Nagasena? [Nagasena:] No, truly, your majesty.

*King Milinda:+ Is the hair of the body Nagasena? [Nagasena:] No, truly, your majesty. [King Milinda:] Are nails ... teeth ... skin ... flesh ... sinews ... bones ... marrow of the bones... kidneys heart ... liver ... pleura ... spleen ... lungs .. intestines ... mesentery ... stomach .. feces ... bile ... phlegm ... pus ... blood ... sweat ... fat ... tears ... lymph ... saliva ... snot ... synovial fluid . . . urinebrain of the head ... form ... sensation ... perception ... predispositions ... consciousness ... form, Nagasena? *King Milinda:+ Are, then, form, sensation, perception, the predispositions, and consciousness unitedly Nagasena? [Nagasena:] No, truly, your majesty. [King Milinda:] Is it, then, something besides form, sensation, perception, the predispositions, and consciousness, which is Nagasena? [Nagasena:] No, truly, your majesty. *King Milinda:+ Although I question you very closely, I fail to discover any Nagasena. Truly, now, Nagasena is a mere empty sound. What Nagasena is there here? You speak a falsehood, a lie: there is no Nagasena. The Kings general point here is that we cannot identify Nagasena with any of his specific physical or mental properties, so we must absurdly conclude that there is no Nagasena. Nagasena replies using precisely the same logic that Milinda used. That is, using the example of a chariot, Nagasena argues that a chariot cannot be identified with any of its constituent parts. *Nagasena:+ Your majesty did you come on foot, or riding? [King Milinda:] I do not go on foot; I came in a chariot. [Nagasena:] If you came in a chariot, indicate this chariot to me. Is the pole the chariot? [King Milinda:] No, truly. [Nagasena:] Is the axle ... wheels ... chariot-body ... banner-staff ... yoke ... reins ... goading-stick the chariot? [King Milinda:] No, truly, Nagasena. [Nagasena:] Please, your majesty, are pole, axle, wheels, chariot-body, banner-staff, yoke, reins, and goad unitedly the chariot? [King Milinda:] No, truly, Nagasena. [Nagasena:] Is it, then, something else besides pole, axle, wheels, chariot-body, banner-staff, yoke, reins, and goad which is the chariot? [King Milinda:] No, truly, Nagasena. [Nagasena:] Although I question you very closely, I fail to discover any chariot. Truly now, your majesty, the word chariot is a mere empty sound. What chariot is there here? Your majesty, you speak a falsehood, a lie: there is no chariot. Here is another way of looking at the chariot puzzle. Imagine that King Milindas chariot consisted of 50 separate parts. Suppose that one day I took off part number 1, and then the next day I put it back on only after I removed part number 2. Suppose that I followed this pattern for 50 days, removing then replacing one part after another. Throughout that time span, the chariot would have only 49 parts present, and at some point each part would be absent from the whole thing. Nevertheless, on all of those days we would recognize that the chariot was still there although not necessary in a drivable condition. According to Nagasena, King Milinda himself must admit that there is indeed a chariot, even though we cannot

identify the chariot with any specific feature of it. Thus, words such as chariot refer only to the integration of a collection of parts. Nagasena then draws a parallel with the no-self doctrine. The term self is likewise only a word that refers to a collection of bodily and mental attributes that are in flux: [Nagasena:] You understand a chariot very well. In exactly the same way, in regards to me, *the word+ Nagasena is only a way of counting, a term, a label, a convenient designation, or a mere name for the hair of my head, hair of my body . . . brain of the head, form, sensation, perception, the predispositions, and consciousness. But in the absolute sense there is no self here to be found. And the priestess Vajira said the following in the presence of The Blessed One: Even as the word of chariot means that members join to frame a whole; so when the groups appear to view, we use the phrase, A living being. *Questions of Milinda, 25+ The strategy employed here is insightful. The author of this dialog recognizes that the problem of personal identity is the same kind of problem that arises when we try to pinpoint the identity of any complex thing, such as a physical chariot. Whether were talking about a collection of mental events or a collection of wooden pieces, identity in general involves a name that we use when we think about a set of interrelated parts. Identity, then, is not something that we locate within the object under investigation. Instead, it rests within the observers conception of how different parts of a thing connect together. Buddhaghosa: The Self as only Name and Form. The Path of Purity, by Buddhaghosa, develops the reasoning presented in Questions of Milinda concerning the self. According to Buddhaghosa, chariots are not the only physical things that involve a collection of integrated parts. There are in fact a variety of terms in our language that merely stand for the collection of their respective constituent elements. These include the terms house, fist, lute, army, city and tree: The word chariot is just a mode of expression for the axle, wheels, chariot-body, pole, and other constituent members, placed in a certain relation to each other. But when we come to examine the members one by one, we discover that in the absolute sense there is no chariot. The word house is just a mode of expression for the wood and other constituents of a house, surrounding space in a certain relation, but in the absolute sense there is no house. The word fist is just a mode of expression for the fingers, the thumb, etc., in a certain relation. The word lute is an expression for the body of the lute, strings.... The word Army is an expression for elephants, horses .... The word city is an expression for fortifications, houses, gates .... The word tree is an expression for trunk, branches, foliage, etc., in a certain relation, but when we come to examine the parts one by one, we discover that in the absolute sense there is no tree. Turning to the notion of the personal identity, Buddhaghosa argues that the constituent elements of the self are the five components (skandhas). In exactly the same way, the words living entity and self are just modes of expression for the presence of the five components (skandhas). But when we examine the elements of existence one by one, we discover that in the absolute sense there is no living entity there to form a basis for such figments such as I am, or I. In other words, in the absolute sense there is only name and form. Thus, for Buddhaghosa, the self only involves a name and form that stands for the five components. Again, his solution to the problem of identity reiterates that in Questions of King Milinda: personal identity involves a name that we use when we think about the form that connects different parts of a person together. Whats new in this account is the emphasis on form structure of the constituent components. Buddhaghosa argues further that asserting the existence of a permanent self leads to heresy. If there is a permanent self, it must either be immortal, or it must be mortal. Thus, we are impelled to desire either immortality or mortality, both of which obstruct the ideal of unattachment: The insight of him who perceives this is called knowledge of the truth. However, he who abandons this knowledge of the truth and believes in a living entity must assume either that this living entity will perish or that it will not perish. If he assumes that it will not perish, he falls into the heresy of the persistence of existences; or if he assumes that it will perish, he falls into that of the annihilation of existences. And why do I say so? Because, just as sour cream has milk as its antecedent, so nothing here exists but what has its own antecedents. To say, the living entity persists, is to fall short of the truth; to say, It is annihilated, is to outrun the truth. Therefore has The Blessed One said: There are two heresies, O

monks, which possess both gods and humans, by which some fall short of the truth, and some outrun the truth; but the intelligent know the truth.... *The Path of Purity, ch. 18+ Buddhaghosas solution to the problem of personal identity is consistent enough with that offered in Questions of King Milinda. However, it is tricky to see how both of these writers are consistent with the earlier discussion of the no-self doctrine in the Pali Canon. In that earlier discussion we saw that Buddha rejected three theories of the self, namely, those which, (1) identify the self with sensation; (2) deny that the self has or is in any way connected with sensation; or, (3) suppose that there is a continuous self behind our sensations. The theories offered by Buddhaghosa and in Questions of Milinda appear to be only an extension of the first of these the three theories that Buddha rejects. That is, the first rejected theory identifies the self with sensations in flux; by comparison, both of these later writers identify the self with the five components (skandhas) in flux. Weve seen that Buddha rejects the first theory because sensations are fleeting and, so, we are forced to the absurd conclusion that my self comes into and drops out of existence with each new sensation. This reasoning also applies to the two new theories. The five components matter, sensation, perception, predisposition, and consciousness are no less fleeting than are sensations alone. Thus, my self comes into and drops out of existence with each new manifestation of the five components. Heres one way of reconciling the problem. The no-self discussion in the Pali Canon maintained that we cannot discover a true notion of the self either a fluctuating or permanent one. Nevertheless, some explanation is needed to account for the common sense experience that I do have of my self. The most intuitive explanation is that personal identity involves a name and form that we conceptually link with the different fluctuating components of a person. Although explaining our common sense notion of personal identity, we are still denying any concept of a true, underlying self, a denial that frees us from attachment and thus leads to nirvana. Questions of Milinda: Rebirth Is Not Transmigration. The Hindu doctrine of reincarnation is that, with the death of our physical bodies, our souls are reincarnated in a series of new bodies. According to the Hindu Bhagavad Gita, souls change bodies much like the way we change our clothes. If you asked a lay Buddhist believer about reincarnation, the chances are good that he would give an account very similar to the Hindu view in the Bhagavad Gita. When we look at Buddhist writings, we frequently find passages that reiterate this Hindu notion. Based on this, we might conclude that Buddhism simply carries over the Hindu view. However, just as there are differing notions of reincarnation within Hinduism, there are also differing views of the subject within Buddhism. Philosophers are particularly attracted to a revised account of reincarnation that is hinted at in the Pali Canon, and developed more fully in Questions of King Milinda. According to this revised view, we cannot take the notion of reincarnation literally. We find part of the explanation for this within the no-self doctrine. If I have no permanent self, then it makes no sense to talk about my self being literally reincarnated into different bodies. At death, the five components of my identity disintegrate. What, then, is left to carry over? Although rejecting the literal notion of reincarnation, we can still view it more metaphorically: my present life has an impact on future lives and in that sense something of me does carry over. Rebirth, then, is not the transmigration of our souls, but the continuation of the consequences of our actions (karma) over future lives. Even though I have no self which is transferred over to a new body, my lifes actions carry over and affect the lives of new beings. This notion of the transference or carrying over of ones actions to a different life is intimately tied to the doctrine of dependent origin discussed above. There are two different ways that we can understand this transference. First, once I die, my actions will be transferred over to some other specific person, which will then affect that persons life. A second and less personal interpretation is simply that there are causes to whatever happens in someones life. If a drunk driver wrecks into my car, there are reasons for why he was drunk, and why he chose to drive in that state. Thus, in this more impersonal sense, his bad karma was transferred over to me, or, more simply, the accident was determined by prior causes. Questions of Milinda explains how, metaphorically speaking, rebirth can occur without any soul transferring over to another body. In the passages below, Nagasena offers the King two analogies for understanding this concept. The first involves one flame igniting a second: [King Milinda:] Does rebirth take place without anything transmigrating? [Nagasena:] Yes, rebirth takes place without anything transmigrating. [King Milinda:] How does rebirth take place without anything transmigrating? Give an illustration. [Nagasena:] Suppose a man lit a light from another light. Would the one light have passed over (or transmigrated) to the other light?

[King Milinda:] No, truly, Nagasena. [Nagasena:] In exactly the same way, your majesty, does rebirth take place without anything transmigrating. Nagasenas second analogy involves a student learning a verse of poetry from his teacher: [King Milinda:] Give another illustration. [Nagasena:] Do you remember having learned as a boy some verse or other from your professor of poetry? [King Milinda:] Yes. [Nagasena:] Did the verse pass over (or transmigrate) to you from your teacher? [King Milinda:] No, truly. [Questions of King Milinda, 71] Nagasena concludes from this that In exactly the same way, rebirth takes place without anything transmigrating. Even though no soul or self transmigrates at death, something of our lives is carried over and impacts other lives. Suppose, for example, that I play matchmaker for my friend, and set him up on a date. If they later marry and have children, then through my initial matchmaking efforts Ive played some causal role in the existence of these children. I am have not literally passed on my name and form to these children, but I have put in motion a chain of events that produced a new name and form: [King Milinda:] What is it that is born into the next existence? [Nagasena:] It is name and form that is born into the next existence. [King Milinda:] Is it this same name and form that is born into the next existence? [Nagasena:] It is not this same name and form that is born into the next existence; but with this name and form, one does a deed it may be good, or it may be wicked and by reason of this deed another name and form is born into the next existence. King Milinda detects a moral problem here: if there is no literal reincarnation, then I dont have to worry about being punished in the next life for the evil deeds that I perform now. [King Milinda:] If it is not this same name and form that is born into the next existence, is one not freed from ones evil deeds? *Nagasena:+ If one were not born into another existence, one would be freed from ones evil deeds; but, your majesty, inasmuch as one is born into another existence, therefore is one not freed from ones evil deeds. Nagasenas response here is that, in view of our causal impact on other lives, a new person will bear the consequences of our present moral conduct. Nagasenas theory now faces a problem of fairness: if you commit a crime, is it fair for your successor such as your son to pay the penalty? Nagasena believes that this is fair, and he defends his view with an analogy: [King Milinda:] Give an illustration. [Nagasena:] It is as if a man were to take away another mans mangoes, and the owner of the mangoes were to seize him, and show him to the king, and say, Sire, this man has taken away my mangoes; and the other were to say, Sire, I did not take away this mans mangoes. The mangoes which this man planted were different mangoes from those which I took away. I am not liable to punishment. Please, your majesty, would the man be liable to punishment? [King Milinda:] Assuredly, would he be liable to punishment.

[Nagasena:] For what reason? [King Milinda:] In spite of what he might say, he would be liable to punishment for the reason that the last mangoes derived from the first mangoes. [Nagasena:] In exactly the same way with a given name and form a person does a good or bad deed. By reason of this deed another name and form is born into the next existence. Therefore one is not freed from ones evil deeds. [Questions of King Milinda, 46] The example here states correctly that if I own a tree that I planted, then I own all the future fruit of that tree. So, if you take a mango off my tree, that counts as stealing as much as if you stole the initial tree itself. Although this legal point is sound, it does not provide a good analogy to the dispute at hand. The precise analogy that Nagasena offers is this: (a) You stealing my initial tree is to (b) you stealing the mangoes on that tree, just as (c) you stealing some object is to (d) your successor being punished for stealing that object. The first part of the analogy involves one guilty person and two items of property; however, the second part of the analogy involves two guilty people and only one item of property. The comparison is not at all parallel and, so, the analogy fails. In spite of the failed analogy, the question remains: is if fair to punish my successor for the crimes that I commit? Our intuitions suggest that this is not fair: the criminal alone assumes responsibility. However, the issue takes a new turn when a criminal commits a colossal evil such as a mass murder which cannot be adequately punished during the criminals comparatively short human lifespan of around 80 years. Theories of the afterlife, such as literal reincarnation, come to the rescue here. If punishment in this life is inadequate, then punishment continues in the next life. But, by denying literal reincarnation, Nagasena forfeits this method of justice. Drawing on the doctrine of dependent origin, he argues that residual blame passes on to those affected by our conduct. Sometimes this makes sense. If I am a bad father and raise my son to become a criminal, then my son is certainly to blame for his own criminal activity. However, Nagasenas theory does not match our intuitions about major crimes such as mass murders: responsibility ends with the criminal himself, despite the limited punishment he may receive. Nagasena would have us trust that, in the normal causal course of events, criminal blame is justly distributed and justly punished. Perhaps this is too optimistic. Buddhaghosas Discussion of Nirvana. In Theravada Buddhist teaching, achieving nirvana is our final goal. It ends the causal chain of karma and extinguishes our desires, which result in suffering. It is the equivalent to the notion of moksha (release, liberation) in Hinduism, and through nirvana we attain buddhahood. Although it is clear that nirvana is the goal, it is not clear exactly what the state of nirvana involves and Buddhist traditions vary greatly on its meaning. There are both negative and positive implications to the notion of nirvana. On the negative side, it seems to involve not only the annihilation of desire, but the complete annihilation of the person himself. In this sense, it is death with no reincarnation or afterlife. On the positive side, nirvana cannot simply mean permanent death since the Buddha himself achieved nirvana during his life. In this sense, nirvana seems to involve a meditative trance, a state of peace, and a union with pure reality. Paralleling the conceptual distinction between negative and positive descriptions of nirvana, Buddhist texts describe different categories of nirvana. Often nirvana is distinguished from parinirvana (complete nirvana). A similar distinction is made between nirvana with basis and distinguished from nirvana without basis. The key to these distinctions, according to some Buddhist scholars, is that we attain incomplete nirvana while we are alive and only attain complete nirvana at our deaths when we are totally extinguished. On this interpretation, Buddha himself is the exception to this rule insofar as he attained complete nirvana during his life. However, other scholars hold that there is only one kind of nirvana and this indeed is attainable in a persons life. In The Path of Purity, Buddhaghosa describes different approaches to nirvana. He opens his discussion noting how attaining nirvana not only involves entering a trance of cessation, but also is a source of honor: The blessings to be derived from the realization of this transcendent wisdom include not only the ability to enter the trance of cessation, but also the acquisition of honor etc. The individual may developed his wisdom through four paths. By doing so he is worthy of the worship, the veneration, the votive offerings, and the reverence of all the world of gods and humans, and is an unsurpassed source of merit for the world.

Buddhaghosa continues by distinguishing between four paths to nirvana. The details of these paths are fuzzy, but the first path notes that brighter people will attain nirvana more quickly than weaker minded people. In particular, the number of reincarnations they go through will be reduced. To particularize: (a) The person of weak faculties and dull insight who develops the wisdom of the first path is reborn seven times at most. After seven rebirths in states of bliss he will make an end of misery. The person who develops it with medium faculties and insight is a roamer. After two or three rebirths he will make an end of misery. The person who develops it with keen faculties and insight takes root but once, and in only one human birth will he pass through and make an end of misery. (b) The person who develops the wisdom of the second path returns once; only once more will he return to this world and then make an end of misery. In both of the first two paths, Buddhaghosa mentions reincarnation. Interestingly, the conception of rebirth here follows the traditional Hindu doctrine more than the metaphorical interpretation described above. That is, the more direct path to nirvana involves fewer rebirths. The third path notes that the development of ones wisdom also impacts both how long it takes to attain nirvana and how many intermediary steps are involved. (c) The person who develops the wisdom of the third path never returns. His destiny is fivefold, as follows: In the descending order of the worth of his faculties he passes into nirvana in the midst, at the end, without prompting, with prompting, or passes up current to the Sublime Gods. The person who passes into nirvana in the midst is reborn in someone of the Pure Abodes and passes into nirvana before attaining half the normal length of life of that heaven. The person who passes into nirvana at the end passes into nirvana after attaining half the normal length of life. The person who passes into nirvana without prompting achieves the fourth path without prompting or urging. The person who passes into nirvana with prompting achieves the higher path with prompting or urging. Finally, the person who passes up current to the Sublime Gods starts from the particular heaven in which he may be reborn, and ascends as far as to the Sublime Gods and there passes into nirvana. The fourth path describes a variety of sub-paths, namely through faith, wisdom, and various special types of knowledge. (d) Of those who develop the wisdom of the fourth path, one is freed by faith, another is freed by wisdom, another is doubly freed, another possesses the threefold knowledge, another the Six High Powers, but the greatest of all is he who has mastered the four analytical sciences and has lost all depravity. Concerning this last it has been said: At the time he is in the paths he is disentangling the snarl, at the time he is in the fruits he has disentangled the snarl, and there is in all the world of gods and humans none more worthy of votive gifts. *The Path of Purity, 23+ In his discussion of the four paths, Buddhaghosa is reiterating common practices of his day, rather than proposing a new system of his own. In this regard, Buddhists were mirroring a similar development within Hinduism, namely, that there are a variety of paths to release particularly as we find described in the Bhagavad Gita. As with Hinduism, this versatility represents a realistic assessment of the variation between humans: we excel in different abilities, and I may lack a skill that you have. In spite of these human differences, we all have a shot at nirvana that is suitable to our unique abilities. EARLY MAHAYANA PHILOSOPHY FROM INDIA. As the distinction between Mahayana and Therevada Buddhism emerged in the first centuries BCE, Mahayana scholars produced their own collection of writings, which aimed at replacing the Pali Canon. Although they acknowledged that Buddha indeed taught the doctrines in the Pali Canon, they considered these texts open to interpretation (neyartha). That is, the Buddha intentionally simplified his message for beginners. The Buddhas more advanced teachings, so they claimed, were transmitted orally and ultimately recorded in Mahayana texts. The newly produced Mahayana writings displayed three important features that distinguished them from the Pali Canon. One emphasis of these new texts is the central role of the Bodhisattva who foregoes his own attainment of nirvana to help others find the way. The role of the Bodhisattva is graphically illustrated in a famous story of four travelers who set

out from their homeland to discover a paradise city. Once finding the city, all four approach the city walls. One traveler hoists himself up, looks over the top, and is so enthralled with its beauty that he immediately climbs down into the city, not giving a thought to what he left behind. The next two travelers do the same. The final traveler then looks over the top of the wall, almost climbs over, but remembers all the people left behind in his homeland. He turns from the city and goes back to his people to serve as their guide to the paradise city. The central quality that defines the Bodhisattva is the aspiration for enlightenment (bodhicitta), which is expressed in a solemn vow: to strive for enlightenment on behalf of all living beings, and renounce moral merit by altruistically transferring it to others. Some particularly advanced Bodhisattvas take on a divine status and become great or celestial Bodhisattvas (mahasattvas). The most famous of these is a mythical figure named Avalokitesvara. All Bodhisattvas, though, are expected to develop ten specific perfections (paramitas). They are giving (dana), morality (sila), patience (ksanti), vigor (virya), contemplation (dhyana), wisdom (prajna), means-to-ends ability (upaya), resolution (pranidhana), strength (bala), and knowledge (jnana). A second and more philosophical emphasis of Mahayana writings is that there is a unified reality of all things, which is variously described as nirvana, the Buddha-nature, emptiness, or suchness. Specifically, Mahayana philosophers rejected the radical distinction drawn by Theravadists between, (a) the phenomenal realm of suffering, and, (b) the realm of nirvana in which suffering is extinguished. For Mahayana writers, the phenomenal realm and nirvana are the same thing; that is, the world itself does not change when viewing it in nirvana, although ones understanding or interpretation of it alters. Some Mahayana texts express this intuition in the bold phrase samsara is nirvana, that is, the realm of life and death is the same as the nirvana realm. A third important emphasis in Mahayana writings concerns the nature of the Buddha. For Theravada Buddhism, the Buddha was seen as a supreme teacher. In Mahayana Buddhism, however, the notion of Buddha is frequently taken more broadly in reference to a supreme divine reality. Later Mahayana Buddhism describes the divine Buddha as having a Triple Body (trikaya). (1) At the highest level is the Body of Dharma (dharmakaya), which is the formless, undifferentiated reality behind all phenomena. In this sense, Buddha is the Absolute of all existence, and is not identified with the human Gautama Siddhartha. (2) At the lowest level is the Body of Transformation (nirmanakaya) which involves numerous transitory human incarnations of Buddha, such as Gautama Siddhartha. Socrates, Jesus, and other great spiritual teachers are sometimes seen as such incarnations. (3) At an intermediate level is the Body of Bliss (sambhogakaya), which is a heavenly or celestial manifestation of the formless eternal Buddha (dharmakaya). It serves as a meditative focus for Bodhisattvas who have moved beyond worship of human incarnations of the Buddha, but have not yet directly grasped the formless eternal Buddha (dharmakaya). The most famous of these celestial Buddhas is Amita, who is the focus of Pure Land Buddhism described below. Means-to-Ends and the Tale of the Burning House. As indicated above, the seventh of the ten perfections of the Bodhisattva is means-to-ends ability (upaya). This quality emphasizes the use of various techniques to achieve a spiritual goal. An early Mahayana text called the Lotus Sutra (Saddharmapundarika sutra) offers a vivid account of the importance of this means-to-ends ability. Early Theravada-oriented Buddhism teaches two paths towards enlightenment: (1) that of the Arhat who, belonging to a monastic community, achieves enlightenment on his own, and (2) that of the isolated practitioner (pratyekabuddha) who, without association with a monastic community, similarly achieves enlightenment on his own. Mahayana Buddhists created a problem for themselves by maintaining that the only true path was (3) that of the Bodhisattva who foregoes his own enlightenment to assist others in achieving it. The Lotus Sutra solves this problem by maintaining that Buddha taught the first two alleged paths to enlightenment simply to attract followers and thereby rescue them. Once these followers were on board, they would be more receptive to the true path, namely that of the Bodhisattva. Thus, paths (1) and (2) are only a useful means to a greater end, namely the path of the Bodhisattva. In the passages below, the Buddha debates with one of his students about whether this means-to-ends tactic is deceptive. Buddha opens his discussion explaining that he tailors his message to the temperaments of his listeners, but his ultimate goal is to get them on the path of the Bodhitsattva: Have I not told you before that I preach the law by useful devices, varying directions and indications, fundamental ideas, interpretations, with due regard to the different dispositions and inclinations of creatures whose temperaments are so various? All my preachings of the law have no other end but supreme and perfect enlightenment, for which I am rousing beings to the course of the Bodhisattva. But to better explain this I will tell you a tale .... According to the tale, an old mansion is on fire. The rich owner has several children inside who are aware of the fire, but are not interested in leaving. To lure them out, their father promises them various playthings knowing full well that he will not deliver on the specifics of his promise.

The man reflects as follows: The house is burning and blazing in a mass of fire. I fear that my children and I will come to grief and disaster. Therefore, I will use some skillful means (upaya) to get them out of the house. The man knows the disposition of the children, and has a clear perception of their inclinations. Now these children have various toys to play with which are pretty, nice, pleasant, dear, amusing, and precious. Knowing the disposition of each of the children, he says to them: My children, I have placed your various toys ... outside the door, such as your bull-carts, goat-carts, and deercarts. Quickly, run out of the house and I will give each of you what you want. ... Who will be the first, the very first? Once the children are lured to safety, the father then must make good on his promise. However, he does not give them ordinary bull-carts, goat-carts, and deer-carts as he initially indicted. Instead, he gives them exceptionally elaborate bullcarts: Seeing that his children safely and happily escaped, and knowing that they are free from danger, the man sits down in the open air on the village square. His heard is filled with joy and delight, released from trouble and hindrance, and is quite at ease. The children go to the place where their father is sitting and say: Father, give us those toys to play with, those bull-carts, goat-carts, and deer-carts. Running swift as the wind, the man gives his children bull-carts; however, they are made of seven precious substances and have benches and many small bells. They are decorated with rare and wonderful jewels, jewel wreaths, and garlands of flowers. They are carpeted with cotton mattresses and woolen coverlets, covered with white cloth and silk, and covered on both sides with rosy cushions. The carts are yoked with white military bulls, led by many men. He gives each of his children several bull-carts of one specific type. He does this because, being rich, and in possession of many treasures and granaries, he correctly thinks, Why should I give these children inferior carts? They are my dear and precious children. I own such great vehicles and ought to treat all my children equally and without partiality. As I own many treasures and granaries, I could give such great vehicles to all beings. How much more then I should give to my children? Meanwhile the children are mounting the vehicles with feelings of astonishment and wonder. The three carts represent the distinct approaches of the Arhat, the isolated practitioner, and Bodhisattva. The approach of the Bodhisattva, though, is represented by the bull cart that, ultimately all of his children receive. Concluding the tale, Buddha considers whether the father of the children is guilty of lying in view of his rescue strategy. Buddhas student contends that there was no lying. By no means, lord, by no means. That is not sufficient to qualify the man as a speaker of lies since it only was a skillful device to persuade his children to go out of the burning house and save their lives. No, besides saving their very beings, they received all those toys. If that man had given no single cart, even then he would not be a liar. For he had previously been thinking about saving the children from a great amount of pain by some able device. ... [Lotus of the True Law, 3] The Buddha commends the student for his correct answer and explains that, like the father in the story, the Buddha uses skillful means to rescue people from lifes suffering and the realm of death. The fathers strategy in this tale is troublesome since means-to-ends reasoning is in general morally suspect. A common illustration involves torturing a prisoner of war to obtain military secrets that may save thousands of lives. Less dramatically, this reasoning underlies the Robin Hood philosophy of stealing from the rich to benefit the poor. We might defend the tale against this sweeping charge by pointing out that no one in this story is harmed by the fathers white lie. In fact, the tale is carefully crafted to show that all three children benefit beyond their wildest dreams. If all applications of means-to-ends reasoning were this benevolent, then perhaps the whole means-to-ends strategy would be less morally questionable. It is also noteworthy that the tale is constructed to avoid excessive bias against the two non-Mahayana approaches. According to the tale, the way of the Bodhisattva (represented by the bull-cart) is roughly correct; however, the believers final spiritual condition (represented by the grandeur of the final bull-carts) is more exceptional than even Mahayana believers conceive it. Although the tale of the burning house was intended to address a comparatively narrow religious dispute between Mahayana and Theravada Buddhism, the tale can have much broader implications. Throughout history, world religions particularly Western ones claimed to be true at the exclusion of all others. Fed up with such disputes, many philosophers today explore the notion of religious pluralism, a view that gives credence to a wide number of religions. The tale of the burning house offers some hints in that direction. As radically different as religions are even to the point of being mutually contradictory they may nevertheless be useful means of achieving a greater spiritual end. The success of the

broader application of this tale hinges on whether religions are as generous as Mahayana Buddhism, and thus similarly recognize that their respective religion may not accurately reflect the final truth of the matter. Emptiness and Perfection of Wisdom. One of the first clear indications of the Mahayana schism within Buddhism is reflected in the appearance of a series of texts beginning around 100 BCE called Perfection of Wisdom literature (prajnaparamita). The texts emphasize the role of the Bodhisattva and his development of the perfection of wisdom. As we saw, Bodhisattvas need to exhibit ten specific perfections, the sixth of which is wisdom (prajna). So, Perfection of Wisdom literature emphasized the attainment of this wisdom. Some of the early Perfection of Wisdom texts were unmanageably long, and between 300 and 500 CE several of these long texts were compacted into summary form. The most popular of these condensed versions are the Diamond Cutter Sutra (vajracchedika-prajnaparaita) and the Heart Sutra (prajnaparamita-hydaya). Eventually even these were compressed into shorter statements resulting in a series of mantras that captured the essence of wisdom. One theme behind the Perfection of Wisdom texts is the notion of emptiness (sunyata), the view that all reality is devoid of any content or description. Composed around 350 CE, the brief Heart Sutra explains that all aspects of our phenomenal identities have no true inherent existence. Listing various aspects of our identities that are empty, the text specifically refers to the five components (skandhas) of individual existence and 18 additional elements (dhatus) of consciousness. The venerable Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara was studying in the deep Perfection of Wisdom. He reflected that there are the five components (skandhas) [of our phenomenal nature], and he considered these to be empty by their nature. *Speaking to Sariputra,+ he said, Oh Sariputra, form here is emptiness and emptiness is indeed form. Emptiness is not different from form, and form is not different from emptiness. Whatever is form is emptiness, and whatever is emptiness is form. The same applies to perception, name, conception and knowledge. Here, Sariputra, all things have the character of emptiness. They have no beginning, no end, they are faultless and not faultless, they are perfect and they are imperfect. Therefore, Sariputra, there is no form in this emptiness, no perception, no name, no concepts, no knowledge. There is no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind. There is no form, sound, smell, taste, touch, or objects. There is no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind, no objects, no mind-knowledge. It should come as no surprise to read in the above paragraph that all of the raw components of our physical existence are empty of content. These are the features of our lives that lead to suffering and thus should be extinguished. More surprising, though, is that the author continues noting that knowledge and even the four noble truths themselves are empty. There is no knowledge, no ignorance, or no destruction of knowledge. There is no decay and death, or no destruction of decay and death. There are no [four noble truths, namely,] that there is pain, the origin of pain, the elimination of pain, and the path to it. There is no knowledge, no obtaining, no not obtaining of nirvana. Therefore, Sariputra, as there is no obtaining of nirvana, a man who has approached the Perfection of Wisdom of the Bodhisattvas dwells for a time enveloped in consciousness. But when the envelopment of consciousness has been annihilated, then he becomes free of all fear, beyond the reach of change, enjoying final nirvana. [Heart Sutra] The author makes his point in an intentionally paradoxical manner: even with our highest spiritual treasures, such as knowledge and nirvana, we neither have them nor lack them. In that sense, true emptiness is devoid of anything positive, such as assertions of facts, and also devoid of anything negative, such as denials of facts. This truth, the author concludes, constitutes the Perfection of Wisdom. The metaphor of emptiness presumes that there is something like a container that has nothing in it. The container, in this case, has a label on it that reads reality. But is the container literally empty in the sense that nothing at all exists? The short answer is no. It is one thing to say that reality is not as it initially appears, and it is another to say simply that nothing exists. The point of the metaphor is this: when we look inside the container we find that it has no distinguishable parts or qualities that define its true nature. It is for all practical purposes empty, but there is still some characterless thing there. Still, even if we grant that there is some reality, it is counterintuitive to hold that this reality is characterless. Virtually everything that we experience throughout life presumes and highlights different qualities of the world. I very quickly draw distinctions between myself and my surroundings, and the objects of my surroundings do not simply meld together into an amorphous mass. The dog in front of me is a different kind of thing than the cat in front of me. To hold that reality is characterless, I must set aside these common sense distinctions. This is impossible for any of us to do without experiencing the emptiness of things, and Buddhisms mission is to facilitate that experience.

The Middle Path School of Nagarjuna. The notion of emptiness became the central theme of the Middle Path (or Madhyamika) School of Mahayana Buddhism, founded in the 2nd century CE by Nagarjuna (c. 150-250 CE). The title Middle Path suggests his belief that he was clarifying the doctrine of the Middle Path as advanced by Buddha. In his Treatise on the Fundamentals of the Middle Path (Mulamadhyamakakarika) Nagarjuna endorses an extreme view of emptiniess, and argues that all aspects of the phenomenal world of ordinary experience are empty of anything real. According to Nagarjuna, the language and categories we use are empty since the words are all relative to each other, and do not point to an underlying reality. He also exposes contradictions in traditional philosophical discussions of basic ideas, such as ideas of time and causality. For Nagarjuna, we attain freedom from ignorance by recognizing the emptiness of everything. Again, though, we should not understand Nagarjunas notion of emptiness as nihilism, which denies the existence of things. Instead, it involves the inability to describe ultimate reality because of its completely undifferentiated nature. In this regard, the term emptiness is similar to the Mahayana notions of nirvana, Buddha-nature, and the Eternal Buddha (dharmakaya). Nagarjunas middle path, then, is to avoid the one extreme of making assertions about a differentiated thing, and to avoid the other extreme of making denials about a differentiated thing. Proponents of the Middle Path school contended that the state of nirvana and, similarly, the Buddha-nature, is also empty of any true descriptive quality. Ironically, then, the phenomenal realm and the nirvana realm are in fact the same realm since they both denote the same undifferentiated existence. The following passage from Nagarjunas Treatise expresses this point with the statement that There is no difference at all between nirvana and the realm of life/death (samsara). If everything is relative, and there is no [real] origination and no [real] annihilation, how, then is nirvana conceived? Through what deliverance and through what annihilation [would this take place]? If everything is real in substance, and there is no [new] creation and no [new] destruction, how, then, would nirvana be reached? Through what deliverance and through what annihilation [would this take place]? [Nirvana is] what is neither released, nor ever reached; what is neither annihilated nor is eternal; what neither disappears nor has been created. This is nirvana. It escapes precision. ... There is no difference at all between nirvana and the realm of life/death (samsara). There is no difference at all between the realm of life/death and nirvana. What makes the limit of nirvana is also then the limit of the realm of life/death. Between the two we cannot find the slightest shade of difference. [Nagarjuna, Treatise, Ch. 25] There is something shocking in this claim that the phenomenal realm and the nirvana realm are the same. The fundamental doctrine of Buddhism since the days of Buddha himself is that we need to move beyond the world of suffering and then experience nirvana. Nagarjunas point is that, by grasping the true undifferentiated nature of reality, we can see that even the notions of phenomenal existence and nirvana are artificial constructs that we must set aside. The Middle Path School died out in the 8th century CE, but their doctrines became central to later Mahayana Buddhism, particularly in China. Yogacara School. The Yogacara school (also called Vijnanavada) was founded in the fourth century CE by two brothers, Asanga and Vasubandhu, who wished to emphasize the importance of meditative Yoga practice. Philosophers today classify the Yogacara school as a type of idealism the view that reality is principally a function of mental events, rather than a function of material things. Imagine, for example, that I have an apple pie in front of me. As I see, taste, smell, and feel its qualities, I typically assume that these qualities belong to the apple itself, and are not simply a product of my imagination. However, according to idealism, the reverse is the case. All of the qualities that I mentally perceive in the apple in fact constitute the entire apple itself! Idealism is sometimes summarized in the expression that to exist is to be perceived. According to Asangas idealism, reality is an undifferentiated mind and is constituted by a continuous flow of ideas. The external physical world and our individual selves are illusory ideas that are projections of this mind. Asanga distinguishes between eight different kinds of consciousness that shape our erroneous perceptions of both the world and ourselves. These are (1-5) consciousness from each of the five senses, (6) an internal center of sense from which conceptions emerge, (7) a center of thought responsible for reasoning and willing, and (8) a storehouse consciousness (alaya-vijnana) responsible for memory and accumulated karma from previous lives. For unenlightened people, the distorted view of things that we get from the first seven components of consciousness taints the final storehouse consciousness. He describes this metaphorically as contaminated seeds from the first seven, which are implanted in the storehouse. As these seeds grow, they generate new contaminated seeds from which we form the conceptions of life/death cycles (samsara) and karmic punishment. However, as we become enlightened, the contaminated seeds are replaced with uncontaminated ones, until the taint of the life/death cycles is eliminated. The Yogacara notion of nirvana

and life/death cycles is expressed in the Lankavatara-Sutra composed around the 4th century CE. Like Nagarjuna, this text also states that there is no difference between nirvana and the realm of birth/death. The birth/death realm is only an aspect of the storehouse of consciousness. Those who are afraid of the sorrow that arises from the cycle birth and death (samsara) seek nirvana. They do not realize that there is really no difference at all between the realm of birth/death (samsara) and nirvana. They see nirvana as the absence of all becoming and the cessation of all contact of sense organ and sense-object. They will not understand that it is really only the inner realization of the storehouse of consciousness (alaya-vijnana). Hence, they teach the three vehicles [i.e., Arhats, private practitioners, and Bodhisattvas], but not the doctrine that nothing truly exists but the mind in which are no images. Therefore, they do not know the extent of what has been perceived by the minds of past, present, and future Buddhas, and continue in the conviction that the world extends beyond the range of the minds eye. *Lankavatra Sutra, Ch. 8] Asanga argues that achieving enlightenment is a several step meditative Yoga process that begins with recognizing the illusory nature of the physical world. Secondly, we recognize the illusory nature of our individual identities. Thirdly, we understand the undifferentiated nature of pure mind, and the fact that it has neither descriptive existence nor nonexistence, but is a state of emptiness. Finally, we attain release and all categories of thinking dissolve. Vasubandhu systematized the Yogacara doctrines in two elaborate treatises and in a series of shorter summary works. He considers the criticism that external physical objects must exist since we commonly perceive them in space and in time. Further, the critic contends, the notion of external material reality assists us in our daily lives. In response Vasubandhu argues that when we dream we perceive things as existing in an external material realm, but we recognize that these images are illusions. For Vasubandhu, this is how we should understand our waking conception of the external material realm. The critic might counter this by pointing out that in our waking moments we would be aware that external objects are not real, just as in waking moments we know that our dreams are fictional. In response Vasubandhu contends that we are not truly awake even in our waking moments. True awakening occurs when we move beyond our ordinary consciousness into the state of pure undifferentiated mind. Although Yogacara idealism goes against common sense, there are reasons for holding to an idealistic view of things. Everything that I know about an external object, such as an apple, is exhausted in the various qualities that I perceive through my five senses. And these sensory qualities are shaped by my own conscious identity. For example, the apple tastes sweet and appears to be red in color because of the way that my mind is configured. Other people and other animal species may have different perceptual experiences based on how their minds are configured. If all of the perceived qualities that make up the apple are mind-dependent, it is only a small step further to maintain that the apple itself is mind-dependent. Suchness and the Awakening of Faith. The notion of ultimate mind was developed further in The Awakening of Faith (Sraddhotpada-sastra), a text composed in the 5th or 6th century CE by an unknown author traditionally named Asvaghosha (not to be confused with the first century CE author of the Life of Buddha by the same name). The text is famous for its notion of suchness (tathata) as the undifferentiated reality behind all existence. Asvaghoshas concept of suchness is again similar to the Mahayana notions of nirvana and the Eternal Buddha (dharmakaya). According to Asvaghosha, when suchness breaks into the realm of temporal existence, it takes on a unique metaphysical characteristic called Mind. There is a single absolute Mind, and individual human beings are part of this. The challenge for Asvaghosha is to illuminate how individual humans are part of the absolute Mind. Asvaghoshas solution is that Mind has two aspects: (1) Mind-as-suchness, and (2) Mind-as-phenomena (or birth/death). We ordinarily see ourselves as existing in a realm of phenomena, when in fact we are grounded in a more eternal realm, namely, Mind-as-suchness. In the one Mind we may distinguish two aspects. The one is the Mind-as-suchness, the other is the Mind-as-phenomena involving birth-and-death. Each in itself constitutes all things, and both are so closely interrelated that one cannot be separated from the other. Drawing on the earlier Mahayana notion that nirvana and the realm of life/death are the same, Asvaghosha notes in the above passage that these two realms are so interrelated that they cannot be separated from each other. He continues arguing that we cannot easily find the language to describe Mind-as-suchness since it is an undifferentiated thing.

What is meant by the Mind-as-suchness is the oneness of the totality of things, the great all-including whole, the essence of the doctrine. For the essential nature of the Mind is uncreated and eternal. Therefore all things in their fundamental nature are not nameable or explicable. They cannot be adequately expressed in any form of language. They are without the range of apperception. They are universals. They have no signs of distinction. They possess absolute sameness. They are subject neither to transformation, nor to destruction. They are nothing but the one Mind, for which suchness is another designation. Therefore they cannot be fully explained by words or exhausted by reasoning. In the essence of suchness, there is neither anything that has to be excluded, nor anything that has to be added. ... Drawing on terminology of the Middle Path school, Asvaghosha contends that suchness is both empty and non-empty. It is empty in the sense that it is devoid of individual distinctions and cannot be captured in ordinary thoughts. It is non-empty, though, insofar as we can describe it with positive attributes, such as that it is transcendent, or above ordinary experience. In the passage below, Asvaghosha makes clear that the Mind-as-suchness is connected to the Mind-asphenomenon. The Mind-as-phenomena involving birth-and-death comes forth [as the law of causation] from the embryonic Tathagata (tathagatagarba). But the immortal [i.e., suchness] and the mortal [i.e., birth-and-death] coincide with each other. Though they are not identical, they are not a duality. Thus when the absolute Mind [as suchness] assumes a relative aspect by its self-affirmation it is called the all-conserving Mind. The same Mind has a twofold significance as the organizer and the producer of all things. In the final sentence above Asvaghosha states that Mind-as-phenomenon is the root of all that we see around us in the physical world insofar as it both organizes and produces all things. We become enlightened when look we beyond the phenomenal realm and encounter Mind-as-suchness. We are unenlightened, by contrast, when we fail to do this; the result is ignorance and making unwarranted differentiations about the world (such as subject/object differentiations): Again Mind embraces two principles: (1) enlightenment; (2) non-enlightenment. Enlightenment is the highest quality of the Mind. As it is free from all limiting attributes of subjectivity, it is similar to space, penetrating everywhere, as the unity of all. That is to say, it is the universal Body of Dharma (dharmakaya) of all Tathagatas. The multitude of people are said to be lacking in enlightenment, because ignorance prevails there from all eternity, because there is a constant succession of confused subjective states from which they have never been emancipated. But when they transcend their subjectivity, they can then recognize that all states of mentality, viz., their appearance, presence, change, and disappearance [in the field of consciousness] have no genuine reality. They are neither in a temporal nor in a spatial relation with the one Mind for they are not self-existent. ... So, how do I achieve enlightenment? Ironically, Asvaghosha suggets, if I feel determined to achieve enlightenment, my very stubbornness will grind things to a halt. I cannot force the process and instead must wait for a kind of spontaneous discovery: When you understand this, you also understand that enlightenment in appearance cannot be manufactured, for it is no other thing than enlightenment in its suchness, which is uncreated and must be discovered. To illustrate: a man who is lost goes astray because he is bent on pursuing a certain direction; and his confusion has no valid foundation other than that he is bent on a certain direction. It is even the same with all beings. They become unenlightened, foster their subjectivity and go astray, because they are bent on enlightenment. Asvaghosha noted above that the Mind-as-suchness is closely connected with the Mind-as-phenomenon. He continues explaining the precise relation between these two states. Ultimately, the Mind is pure, although it becomes tainted through ignorance. When it is thus tainted or disturbed, it loses its eternal qualities and goes through changes and becomes differentiated. Through this corruption, the Mind then becomes conscious of the external world. While the essence of the Mind is eternally clean and pure, the influence of ignorance makes possible the existence of a defiled Mind. But in spite of the defiled Mind, the Mind itself is eternal, clear, pure, and not subject to transformation. When the oneness of the totality of things is not recognized, then ignorance as well as particularization arises, and all phases of the defiled Mind are thus developed. But the significance of this doctrine is so extremely deep and unfathomable that it can be fully comprehended by Buddhas and by no others. [Awakening of Faith, Part 3]

In short, my individual consciousness is an outgrowth of a distortion that takes place within the Pure Mind. Asvaghosha concedes that it is difficult to grasp the process of degeneration and this, in turn, is why it is so difficult to attaining enlightenment. LATER MAHAYANA PHILOSOPHY OUTSIDE INDIA. Through missionary efforts from India, Buddhism was introduced into China as early as the first century CE. Social disunity within China during the next few centuries limited its spread, but by the 6th century it gained followers within all levels of Chinese society. From there Buddhism spread to Korea and Japan. In 845 CE the Chinese government suppressed Buddhism and persecuted its followers, which led to the disappearance of many of its schools. Ultimately only the more accessible and most eclectic schools of Buddhism survived in China, particularly Tien-Tai (Tendai), Chan (Zen), and Pureland Buddhism. Early Chinese Buddhist Philosophy. During Chinas period of disunity (221-589 CE), Buddhist and Taoist philosophers came in contact with each other, and parallels were made between their respective doctrines. For example, the Buddhist distinction between nirvana and phenomenal life (samsara) was linked with the Taoist distinction between stillness (ching) and movement (tung). Making use of such parallels, seven philosophical schools (chi tsung) of Buddhism emerged that focused on the notions of non-existence and existence. The somewhat descriptive names of these schools are as follows: (1) the school of original non-being, (2) the variant school of original non-being, (3) the school of matter as such, (4) the school of non-being of mind, (5) the school of stored impressions, (6) the school of phenomenal illusion, and (7) the school of causal combination. The original writings of these schools are now lost and the fragmentary information we have of them comes from later texts. In any event, the influence of these seven schools was limited. In the fourth century CE Nagarjunas Middle Path School was introduced into China by Kumarajiva (344-413 CE). For the next few centuries, the notion of emptiness dominated philosophical discussion. A prominent representative of this movement is the philosopher Seng-chao (384-414 CE) who argued in his Treatise (Chao Lun) that existing things are empty: Since the existent is not existent in itself, but only becomes so as the result of causation, we may know that it does not have absolute existence. Since it does not have absolute existence, though it exists, it cannot be called *real+ existence. [Treatise of Chao, Ch. 2]] Put more formally, his argument is this: (1) If something has real existence, then it has uncaused (or non-contingent) existence. (2) Existing things appear real, but they exist only as a series of causes (or contingencies). (3) Therefore, existing things are unreal. [1, 2, modus tollens] (4) If something is not real, then it is empty. (5) Therefore, existing things are empty. [3, 4, modus ponens] According to Seng-chao, emptiness underlies both existence and non-existence; our task, then, is to unite our minds with this supreme emptiness, and this is the job of wisdom (prajna). Seng-chao also attacked our common views concerning the motion and change exhibited in the world around us. Although things seem to move and be in flux, in reality everything is at rest. Finite things seem to go out of existence, but in reality everything is immutable. The whole notion of time upon which these common views rest is only an illusion. Early Chinese Buddhist philosophy took an idealist turn with Hsuan-tsang (596-664 CE) who championed the Yogacara view of mind. For 16 years Hsuan studied Buddhist philosophy in India and returned with over 600 Buddhist texts. With sponsorship from the Chinese government, he and several assistants translated 75 of these, most of which were Yogacara texts. With this background, he wrote his Treatise on the Establishment of the Doctrine of Consciousness-Only and created his School of Consciousness-Only (Fa-hsiang). Hsuan argued that everything is a projection of conscious mind, and nothing has reality in itself. Following Asanga, Hsuan argued that there are eight different kinds of consciousness (namely, consciousness from the five senses, a conceptual center, a self, and a storehouse consciousness). All eight of these kinds of consciousness go through changes or transformations that distort what we perceive. The changes arise

according to the laws of cause and effect, and are responsible for the illusion we have of an external and material world. In his Treatise, Hsuan presents several possible objections to his theory, such as this: If what seems to be external objects are simply products of the inner consciousness, why is it that the things which we see in the world, both animate and inanimate (such as places, times, bodies, and functions) are in some cases constant, and in others not constant? Like Vasubandhu, Hsuan replies that, This uncertainty may be explained by comparison with the world of dreams. Even in dreams, space and time are relevant. The people we dream about live in towns at particular points in time, they have bodies, and they bleed if they are cut. All this is a product of the mind. By the same reasoning, the space/time concepts that we have of the external world while we are awake are also a product of the mind. During the 7th century CE, the Consciousness-Only school was one of only two dominant schools of Chinese Buddhism (the other being Chan Buddhism). Unfortunately, the Consciousness-Only school did not survive past the persecution of Buddhism in the 9th century. Tien-Tai. An early school of Chinese Buddhism, which had a lasting impact, is that of Tien-tai (Tendai in Japanese). Founded by Chih-I (538-597 CE), the school is named after a mountain where Chih-I taught. In an attempt to make sense of the perplexing array of Buddhist Sutras and their doctrines, Chih-I organized their contents into five chronological periods of Buddhas life. The last and most developed of these is represented in the Lotus Sutra, a central aspect of which is its emphasis on means-to-ends ability (upaya), and the differing paths of enlightenment available. Although Chih-I established this new school, his own writings are more religious than philosophical. We find the philosophical component of the TienTai movement in a work titled The Method of Concentration and Insight (Ta-cheng Chih-kuan Fa-men) usually ascribed to an older contemporary of Chih-Is named Hui-ssu (514-577). This work lays out three distinct features that are foundational to Tien-Tai philosophy: (1) everything is pure mind, (2) there are three levels of truth, and (3) three thousand realms of the phenomenal world are contained in a single thought. As to the first of these features, Tien-tai doctrine holds that the constituents of our ordinary existence are an illusion, and the only true reality is undifferentiated suchness, which is pure mind. According to the Method of Concentration and Insight, All things (dharmas) depend upon this mind to have their being, and take mind as their substance. Regarded in themselves, they are all void and illusory, and their existence is not [real] existence. In contrast to these illusory things, mind is said to be genuine. Although phenomenal things have no real existence, they appear to come into existence and go out of existence because of illusory causal forces. Mind itself, though, is untouched by this and is eternal. We become enlightened by realizing our unity with pure suchness. Concerning the second feature of Tien-tai philosophy, echoing Nagarjunas Middle Path Treatise, Tien-tai doctrine holds that there are three interrelated levels of truth about the phenomenal world. The first level is the Truth of Emptiness: ordinary existence is empty of any permanent nature since such things depend on fleeting causes. The second level is the Truth of the Temporary: ordinary things have at least a temporary existence since they depend on causes. The final level is the middle truth: the phenomenal world is both empty and temporary. Concerning the third feature of Tien-tai philosophy, insofar as the phenomenal world has temporary existence (as indicated by the second level of truth), Tien-tai doctrine contends that there are 3,000 interrelated realms of the phenomenal world. The number three thousand is arrived at in this way. First, there are ten distinct beings, which are Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, isolated practitioners (pratyekabuddhas), Arhats (sravakas), heavenly beings, spirits, human beings, deceased people, animals, and depraved people. Each of these 10 beings can overlap with any of the other nine, thereby involving 100 possible phenomenal beings. Each of these hundred beings have ten characteristics: character, nature, substance, energy, activity, cause, condition, effect, retribution, and ultimacy. This gives us 1,000 distinct interrelations. These 1,000 interrelations themselves interrelate in three ways: (1) with living beings, (2) in space, and (3) entities composed of the five constituents (skandhas). The total, then, is 3,000 interrelations. According to Tien-tai, these three thousand interrelated realms of the phenomenal world are all contained in a single instant of thought. Insofar as they all interpenetrate each other, then even the smallest component of the phenomenal world such as a tiny thought contains every other relation. This conclusion is not only stunning, but it has important implications for our attainment of enlightenment. As I attempt to free myself from the illusion of ordinary existence, I need look no further than my simplest thought to understand the scope of that illusion. As trivial as my single thought might seem, it nevertheless maps out the

entire range of 3,000 three thousand temporary existences, which distract me from my true unity with suchness. Even the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas the dearest symbols of religious belief are distracting temporary existences that I must set aside. Chan and Zen Buddhism. Zen Buddhism is renown for its paradoxical meditative puzzles, such as what is the sound of one hand clapping? This branch of Mahayana Buddhism was founded in China around the 5th century CE under the name Chan, and later emerged in Japan by the name Zen. The word chan is short for the Chinese word chan-na, which in turn derives from the Hindu word dhyana, or meditation. We will use the later and more familiar Japanese word Zen in our discussion here. Zen Buddhism resists any verbal formula, and has no creeds. The focus of Zen is experience, and rational discourse and doctrine play no role in gaining enlightenment. In Zen, the experience of enlightenment is transmitted from the mind of a seasoned teacher to the student in training. It frequently is compared to a flame that is passed from candle to candle. Conceptually, Zen has its foundation in a discourse of the Buddhas, known as the Flower Sermon, in which he simply held up a golden lotus. No one in the crowd understood Buddhas cryptic meaning except his leading disciple, Mahakasyapa. The origin of Zen proper is attributed to a somewhat fictitious figure named Bodhidharma (470-543 CE) who reportedly moved from Northern India into China. For nine years he sat in meditation and was eventually approached by a young man named Hui-Ko who wanted to be Bodhidharmas disciple. Bodhidharmai resisted, until, in an act of desperation, Hui-Ko cut off his left arm and said to Bodhidharma, My mind is not at peace; please bring it peace. In reply Bohdhidharma said, If you bring me your mind I will give it peace. Hui-Ko replied, When I look for it, I cannot find it. Bodhidharma answered, There! I have pacified it for you. Hui-Ko then became enlightened (The Koans of Wu-men, 40). Over the next few centuries Zen gained a strong following. A system of Zen leaders or Patriarchs (soshigata in Japanese) emerged which established a direct line of transmission tracing back to the Buddha himself. After Buddha, 28 succeeding Patriarchs from India passed along the teaching, followed by six additional Chinese Patriarchs. The final Chinese Patriarch was Hui-neng (638-713 CE). An important text titled The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch (Liu-tsu-ta-shih Fapao-tan-ching) presents a legendary account of Hui-nengs life and teachings. Autobiographical in style, the text opens with Hui-neng explaining how he became enlightened and then appointed the Sixth Patriarch: At midnight the Fifth Patriarch called me into the hall. There he explained the Diamond Sutra *One should use ones mind in such a way that it will be free from any attachment+. As soon as I heard it, I immediately became awakened. That night, without anyones knowledge, he passed on to me the Law (dharma) of sudden enlightenment and the robe. He said, You are now the Sixth Patriarch. This robe is the sign that is passed on from generation to generation. The Law that I give you is transmitted from mind to mind. You should have people try to become awakened. *Platform Sutra, Ch. 1.9+ Hui-neng describes the central teachings of the Chan school. It involves abandonment of thought, detachment from objects, and, ultimately, experiencing the Buddha-nature. In the teaching of our school from its founders down to today, we have established no thought as essential, no phenomenon as the substance, and no abiding as the basis. No Phenomenon means to be amid yet devoid of the phenomenal. No thought means to be in thought yet devoid of thought. No abiding means ... during the process of successive thoughts not to think of the objects before one. [Platform Sutra, Ch. 4] On his deathbed, Hui-neng did not designate a patriarchal successor. Instead, through the teachings he passed on to his students, he believed that they all would carry on the tradition of the school. From his students, five houses or schools of Chan were formed (Lin-chi, Tsao-tung, Wei-yang, Yun-men, and Fa-yen). Eventually, the first two of these subsumed the others, forming the two principle and rival schools of Zen we have today, namely, the Lin Chi (Rinsai in Japan), and the Tsao-tung (Soto in Japan). The two schools differ dramatically in the techniques they advance in the pursuit of enlightenment. One technique they both have in common, though, is seated meditation (zazen), which consists of sitting in the lotus position with ones eyes half open for hours on end. A principle point of difference involves the use of the koan system by the Rinsai school, which amounts to a Zen master having his student answer a series of up to 50 absurd riddles over the course of many years. Around the 11th century CE famous koans were assembled in several written collections. Some classic beginners koans found in these collections are What was your face like before you were born? Does a dog have the Buddha-nature? and the famous What is the sound of one hand clapping? Such questions defy any logical response, and are aimed at loosening the students mind from traditional reasoning and allowing him to experience the emptiness of all things. Some classical

correct responses include lifting one finger, kicking a ball, and slapping the face of an inquirer. There are also intermediary level koans which request impossible tasks, such as Stop that ship on the distant ocean, or Take the four divisions of Tokyo out of your sleeve. A solution in this latter one might be to take out a paper handkerchief folded in four sections, which symbolically become the four divisions of Tokyo. In a formalized series of consultations (sanzen), the student meets with his master twice daily to discuss progress on the solution. Usually the master would criticize the students solution, and, ultimately, the student will recognize by himself when he gets it right. The end result is enlightenment (satori). The Soto school criticized the Rinsai for its use of the Koan system on the grounds that it creates an artificial desire for enlightenment. For the Soto school, enlightenment is identified with seated meditation (zazen) itself. Simply sitting and meditating on ordinary conscious experience underscores the Mahayana intuition that nirvana is not a distinct realm. Pure Land Buddhism. Pure Land Buddhism is based on the worship of Amida (Amitabha), the Buddha of infinite light, who established a perfect region, or Pure Land, which awaits his followers in their next lives. This school was founded in China during the sixth century CE by Tao-cho (562-645), the second Chan Patriarch of China. Tao-cho announced that in the year 549 CE a new religious era (mappo) would begin which disallowed individuals from achieving enlightenment on their own. Instead, they would need to rely on the merits of the Amida Buddha. The Amida Buddha is not conceptually the same being as Guatama Buddha. We saw that the Triple Body doctrine of Mahayana Buddhism distinguishes between (1) the Absolute Buddha (dharmakaya), (2) transitory human incarnations of Buddha (nirmanakaya), and (3) eternal Buddhas (dharmakaya). Amida falls in the third of these catagories and is, thus, a heavenly and supernatural figure. According to legend, Amida was originally a monk named Dharmakara who vowed to create a perfect Buddha-land. After accumulating good deeds for an immeasurably long period of time, he became the Amida Buddha and now lives in his Pure Land called the Land of Highest Happiness (sukhavati). Mahayana traditions acknowledge the existence of countless Buddha-lands, one of which was founded by another heavenly Buddha named Aksobhya. However, the Pure Land of Amida has received the greatest attention. Amidas Pure Land is a utopian state of only gods and men women are reborn as men. It is filled with gem-trees, jeweled palaces, and lotus lakes. People have miraculous powers, do not succumb to sickness, and live exceptionally long lives. Acceptance into the Pure Land requires acts of devotion in this life, such as continually chanting the name of Amida. However, even deathbed confessions are sufficient for one to gain entry. One of the central texts of Pure Land Buddhism is The Sutra on Contemplation on Amitayus (Amitayurdhyana-sutra). The work presents a story about a king and queen who are imprisoned by their evil son who wishes to usurp the thrown. The queen is depressed by her situation and calls on Gautama Buddha to encourage her with accounts of more perfect places. Do you not know, Queen, that Amida Buddha is not very far from here? You should apply your mind entirely to close meditation upon those who have already perfected the pure actions necessary for that Buddha-land. I will now fully explain them for you in many tales, and thereby give all ordinary people of the future who wish to cultivate these pure actions an opportunity of being born in the Land of Highest Happiness (sukhavati) in the western quarter. Buddha then describes the Pure Land of Amida and explains that we gain entrance by following three specific moral requirements: Those who wish to be born in that country of Buddha must cultivate a threefold goodness. First, they should act respectfully towards their parents and support them. They should serve and respect their teachers and elders, be compassionate, abstain from doing any injury, and cultivate the ten virtuous actions. Second, they should take and observe the vow of seeking refuge with the Three Jewels [i.e., take refuge in the Buddha, Law, and Buddhist Community], and not lower their dignity or neglect any ceremonial observances. Third, they should devote their whole mind to the attainment of perfect wisdom (bodhi), deeply believe in the principle of cause and effect, study and recite the doctrines of Mahayana sutras, and persuade and encourage others who pursue the same course as themselves. The second and third requirements in particular take us full circle to the earliest philosophical doctrines in the Pali Canon. In spite of the complex Mahayana systems that emphasize emptiness, suchness, Absolute Mind, and celestial Buddhas, there remains a core set of doctrines that Theravadists and Mahayanists alike espouse. We should take refuge in the Buddha, the Law, and the Buddhist Community. We should understand the cause effect relations that start with desire and end with a variety of human suffering. Most importantly, we should understand nirvana as the true nature of things and our lifes goal.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Primary Sources. Awakening of Faith, tr. Yoshito S. Hakeda (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967). Buddhism in Translations, tr. Henry Clarke Warren, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1896). Buddhism, a Religion of Infinite Compassion, ed. C.H. Hamilton, (Liberal Arts Press, 1952). Buddhist Bible, ed. Dwight Goddard, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1938). Buddhist Experience: Sources and Interpretations, tr. Stephan Beyer, (Dickinson, 1974). Buddhist Scriptures, tr. Edward Conze, (Penguin, 1959). Buddhist Texts Through the Ages, tr. Edward Conze, (Oxford: 1954). Experience of Buddhism: Sources and Interpretations, John S. Strong (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth Pub. Co., 1995). History of Chinese Philosophy, 2 Vol., Fung Yu-Lan, Derk Bodde, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952-53). Pali Text Society Translation Series, ed. T.W. Rhys Davids, (London: Oxford University Press, 1909-present), 50 Vol. Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, tr., Philip B. Yampolsky (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967). Sutra of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, tr. Leon Hurvitz, (New York: 1976). Teachings of the Compassionate Buddha, ed. E.A. Burtt, (Mentor: 1955). What the Buddha Taught, tr. Walpola Rahula, (Grove Press, 1974). World of the Buddha, ed. Lucien Stryk, (Doubleday, 1968). Secondary Sources. Buddhist Handbook, John Snelling, (Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions International, 1991). Buddhist Philosophy: A Historical Analysis, David J. Kalupahana, (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1976). Causality: The Central Philosophy of Buddhism, David J. Kalupahana, (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1975). Heart of Buddhist Philosophy, Nolan Pliny Jacobson. (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1988). Introduction To Buddhism, Peter Harvey, (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990). Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, John Powers, (Ithaca, New York: Snow Lion Publictaions, 1995). Understanding Buddhism: Key Themes, Heinrich Dumoulin; translated and adapted from the German by Joseph OLeary, (New York: Weatherill, 1994). ****

PART 3:

CONFUCIAN PHILOSOPHY BACKGROUND. Confucian philosophy is grounded in the Confucian religion of China, founded in the 5th century BCE by followers of Confucius. Understanding Chinese religion in general poses a challenge since for the past few centuries it has been an amalgam of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism. In earlier times, however, the three religions were separate systems, and at one stage Confucianism was the main religion of China, constituting 1/4 of the worlds population. Blamed for cultural stagnation, it greatly declined since the fall of the Chinese Empire in 1912 and, since the communist Cultural Revolution, traditional practiced religion has all but disappeared. In spite of its public denouncement by recent Chinese governments, Confucianism is still part of Chinese thinking and is also found in differing degrees in Korea, Japan, and Vietnam. Unlike Hindu and Buddhist philosophy, which are heavily metaphysical in nature, early Confucian philosophy emphasizes moral and political issues. In a nutshell, Confucianism proposes that the ideal or superior person embodies benevolence, decency, and protocol. Good government is an extension of morals insofar as rulers are to become superior persons and thereby pass on these qualities to their subordinates. Confucius and the Period of 100 Philosophers. Confucius lived during Chinas classical period of philosophy that occurred between 600200 BCE. At the time, China was in social upheaval and numerous philosophers offered solutions to the problem. Earlier, China was an orderly, chivalrous feudal society, but anarchy broke out when national monarchies exercised less political power over Chinas various states. Local rulers increased their strength, streamlined their administrations, and waged wars against each other to the point that only the strongest states could survive. Although exaggerated, stories reported that as many as 400,000 people were slaughtered in conflict. The worlds oldest surviving treatise on warfare, The Art of War, was written during this period and reflects the almost amoral attitude about war during this time of social chaos: It is only the person who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war who can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on. In order to kill the enemy, our soldiers must be roused to anger; that there may be advantage from defeating the enemy, the soldiers must have their rewards. When you plunder a countryside, let the spoil be divided among your soldiers; when you capture new territory, cut it up into allotments for the benefit of the soldiery. In spite of the horrors that war holds open for both sides of a conflict, The Art of War treats military victory as though it were a mechanical puzzle to be solved, and the above passages emphasize the psychological components in creating effective soldiers. In response to the problem of social chaos that impacted nearly everyones life, a Period of 100 Philosophers emerged in which sages proposed several solutions. These philosophies were later classified into six schools: (1) Confucianism, which advocated returning to a more idealized and rational feudalism; (2) Taoism, which refused to advocate any political system that required structure and conformity; (3) Mohism a school founded by the philosopher

Mo-tzu which advocated loving everyone as a means of attaining peace; (4) the Yin and Yang School, which saw existence as a dynamic process of change following patterns of pre-established harmony; (5) the Logicians, which emphasized the relativity of things; and (6) Legalism, which recommended a totalitarian system, concentrating power in the ruler. The various schools competed with each other, hoping for endorsement by the rulers of China. In time, Confuciuss school won the competition, thereby propelling his views to national recognition and influence. Confucius lived from 551479 BCE, and was born in the state of Lu (now Chu Fu), in Chinas northern Shantung province. His family name was Kung, and the name Confucius, by which we know him in the West, is a Latinized version of Kung Fu-tzu, which means master Kung. His father, a distinguished soldier, and his mother both died when he was a child. He married at 19, had a son and daughter, and worked as a clerk in a temple in which he learned rituals from elders. Confucius set his eye on governmental work and eventually, in his 50s, held posts including police commissioner and imperial ambassador for a peace conference. Disillusioned by these jobs, he traveled for 13 years to the various states in China, giving advice on government. He made the grandiose claim to show concrete improvements within one year, and achieve complete change within three years. No one took him up on his offer and, disillusioned again, he returned to his home state. He continued teaching his followers and died at age 73. Although he considered himself a failure, his followers preserved and developed his teachings, which ultimately resulted in the flourishing of the Confucian school. The Five Classics (Ching) and the Four Books (Shu). The early writings of Confucianism are traditionally classed into two groups: The Five Classics, and the Four Books. As to the first of these, during Confuciuss final years, he edited several compilations of classical Chinese writings. These and other writings became central to Confucian teaching, and by the 12th century CE the designating title Five Classics (ching) was used in reference to a group of these early texts. The Five Classics are important in two regards. First, they contain records of pre-Confucian Chinese beliefs and writings, many of which date back to perhaps 1,000 years before Confucius. Some of the passages, though, were written as late as the second century CE. Second, they contain doctrines and rituals that became central to Confucianism itself, insofar as Confucius sought to revive past Chinese cultural practices. Tradition maintains that, in addition to compiling the Five Classics, Confucius also wrote comments on parts of these, which were incorporated into the texts themselves. The traditional Five Classics are these: (1) The Book of Changes (I Ching), which is a book of divination and oracles; (2) The Book of History (Shu Ching), which contains a legendary history of China, and moralizing speeches by emperors and noblemen; (3) The Book of Poetry (Shih Ching), which contains 305 selected poems dealing with love, piety, and war; (4) The Record of Rites (Li Chi), which contains rules of dancing, music, ancestor worship, and imperial sacrifices; and (5) The Spring and Autumn Annals (Chun Chiu), which is a record of events from 722-481 BCE, purportedly written by Confucius himself, chronicling the history of Confuciuss native land. Closely associated with the Five Classics are four philosophical texts called the Four Books (shu), which is short for the Books of the Four Philosophers. The history of these texts is detailed and during the middle ages some were grouped along with the Five Classics to form a longer collection. However, around the 12th century CE these four texts were singled out by Confucian philosophers because of their more focused philosophical content, the underlying theme of which is the proper development of moral character. The Four Books are these: (1) The Analects (Lun Yu), which is a record of conversations between Confucius and his students; (2) The Great Learning (Ta Hsueh), which is a short work on good government, (3) The Doctrine of the Mean (Chung Yung), which advocates developing proper morals through temperance, and (4) The Mencius (Meng-tzu), which is a record of conversations between the philosopher Meng-tzu and his students. PHILOSOPHY IN THE FIVE CLASSICS. Most of the content of the Five Classics is not philosophical in nature. However, the I Ching and the Record of Rites, in particular, describe belief structures that were central both to early Chinese philosophy and its later Confucian development. Divination and the I Ching. An important aspect of early Chinese belief systems was divination and the role of the ancestors. According to popular Chinese thought, the universe is comprised of an earthly realm and a heavenly realm, and communication is always attempted between these two realms. In spite of how we may view this idea with skepticism, the very idea of communication with the dead has far reaching philosophical implications. First, the heavenly and earthly realms must be vastly different from each other since our typical human forms of communication simply will not work as we might attempt to interact with the dead. By attempting to break through the barrier, we become acutely aware of metaphysical differences between the two. Second, if we could communicate with the dead, imagine the special knowledge that we might obtain! Truths that lay hidden from our normal earthly sight might be revealed to us, such as

truths about our destiny, about our ancestors assessment of us, and how they think that we should morally conduct our lives. The avenue of communication with the dead is two way. Living people attempted to communicate their wishes to an ancestor through forms of worship and sacrifice. Clan temples and domestic shrines were constructed for veneration purposes, and Spring and Autumn were occasions for sacrifices, offerings, and pilgrimages to graves. Since neglecting ancestral rites might result in vengeance, duties of veneration were not to be taken lightly. As the living communicated to the dead through veneration, the dead communicate to the living through omens. Some omens involved internal signs, such as involuntary itching, sneezing, twitching, and stumbling. Other omens were external signs, such as thunder, lightning, courses of the stars, and even animal excrement. Divination the method of interpreting divine messages was an art form that most people attempted to acquire to at least some extent. Initially divination methods focused on astrology and dream interpretation. Later, though, the I Ching dominated divination. The origin of the I Ching rests on the ancient practice of diviners finding special patterns in a variety of natural objects such as rocks or animal bones patterns that reflect the volitions of the ancestors. Diviners would then associate familiar patterns with specific oracles or messages. The I Ching is a book of written oracles associated with 64 abstract figures. Scholars believe that diviners originally looked for patterns in the broken lines of tortoise shell sections as heat was applied to them. As this became too cumbersome, reliance on tortoise shells was replaced with other media, such as the patterns exhibited in a bundle of sticks when tossed, or the pattern of heads and tails that emerged from repeatedly tossing a coin. Each of the 64 patterns of the I Ching is composed of six lines that are either divided or undivided. Briefly, the procedure for consulting the I Ching is that (a) we recognize a pattern in nature, (b) we identify it with one of the 64 pictograms in the I Ching, and (c) we look up the written oracles corresponding to that pictogram. The attraction of the I Ching is that it offers a fast and simple method of divination that even a novice can learn. The I Ching contains appendices that, according to tradition, were written by Confucius himself. In spite of Confuciuss association with the I Ching, he appears to have de-emphasized the importance of divination just as many philosophers throughout history have moved away from popular religious conceptions and superstitions. In place of divination, Confucius highlighted the emotions that memories of ancestors evoke in us. Even if we abandon hopes of directly discovering the wishes of spirits, the influence of our ancestors is no less real when we keep alive our thoughts of them. In any event, the notion of ones ancestors can have a powerful impact on moral behavior. If I think either literally or figuratively about the spirits of my dead relatives watching events unfold here on earth, I am provided with a good rule of thumb for determining proper moral conduct: do those actions that will bring honor to my ancestors. Not only will this help me discover the right thing to do, but I will also be strongly motivated to perform the right action, just as if my ancestors were physically in front of me. Yin, Yang, and the Elements. Today, when we think about the primary stuff from which everything is composed, we typically have in mind the hundred or so raw elements on the periodic table. Much like a cooking recipe, we see that a rock or a tree is made from a pinch of this element and a dash of that one. Early Chinese philosophers had their own much shorter list of physical elements, specifically the five elements (wu-hsing) of wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. But Chinese philosophers had notions of more fundamental natural forces that underlie even these elements. The most foundational of these are yin and yang, the two interacting forces in all phenomena. The distinction was drawn perhaps as early as 1,000 BCE. Yin is a female and negative principle with attributes that include lower energy, fertility, darkness, coldness, wetness, evil, and even numbers. By contrast, yang is a male and positive principle with attributes that include high energy, activity, warmth, dryness, brightness, procreation, goodness and odd numbers. Yin and yang forces permeate all aspects of nature, society, and individual humans. The relation between the yin and yang forces is one of opposition, as seen, for example, in the opposing qualities of active-passive, positive-negative, light-dark. However, at the same time, the two forces are complementary; this is illustrated in the yin an yang symbol in which one black tear drop shape and one white teardrop shape are enveloped in a unified circle. Most objects are a mixture of both yin and yang. For example, an old log seems to have mainly yin qualities, but it exhibits yang when burned. With humans, at death our yin component remains on earth as the corpse, and the yang component is received into heaven. Some things, though, are dominated by one of the two forces. For example, society is primarily yang, in view its active and confrontational character. In addition to yin and yang, another natural force is central to early Chinese thought. Chi (breath) is vital energy and a fundamental substance of the cosmos. It circulates in living things to ensure vitality and strength. Everything is made of vital energy, some more concentrated than others.

The Book of Rites contains a vivid description of how the various forces and elements of the universe combined to create the world that we see around us. The work explains how human beings are composed of the various forces and elements: People are the product of the attributes of heaven and earth, by the interaction of the dual forces of nature *yin and yang], the union of the animal and intelligent souls, and the finest subtle matter of the five elements. The larger cosmos itself is a reflection of the yin and yang forces, insofar as the bright luminary heavens abound in yang and the dark earth is saturated with yin: Heaven exercises the control of the strong and bright [yang] force, and hangs out the sun and stars. Earth exercises the control of the dark and weaker *yin+ force, and gives vent to it in the hills and streams. According to the author, the five elements display a harmonious relation between each other, which we see reflected in rhythmic and predictable cycles of nature: The five elements are distributed through the four seasons, and it is by their harmonious actions that the moon is produced, which therefore keeps waxing for fifteen days and waning for fifteen. The five elements in their movements alternately displace and exhaust one another. Each one of them, in the revolving course of the twelve months of the four seasons, comes to be in its turn the fundamental one for the time. We find a similar balance between other elemental things in the world around us. The five notes of harmony blend to make an infinite variety of musical sounds. All tastes are combinations of the five flavors. The five colors are the source of visual beauty: The five notes of harmony (with their six upper musical accords and the twelve pitch tubes) come each in their turn among themselves to be the first note of the scale. The five flavors (with the six condiments and the twelve articles of diet) come each one in their turn in the course of a year, to give its character to food. The five colors (with the six elegant figures, which they form on the two robes) come each in their turn among themselves to give the character of the dress that is worn. Even these seemingly dissimilar building blocks have a larger harmonious theme that underlies them: human existence and enjoyment are their focal point. The author writes, people are the heart and mind of heaven and earth, and the visible embodiment of the five elements. We live in the enjoyment of all flavors, the discriminating of all notes of harmony, and the enrobing of all colors. Knowledge comes about when we understand the intricate weave of this harmonious tapestry, and the best rulers are those that work with the natural forces as they govern: Thus it was that when the sages would make rules for people, they felt it necessary to find the origin of all things in heaven and earth; to make the two forces of nature the origin of all; to use the four seasons as the handle of their arrangements; to adopt the sun and stars as the recorders of time, the moon as the measurer of work to be done, the spirits breathing in nature as associates, five elements as giving substance to things, rules of social custom and righteousness as their instruments, the feelings of people as the field to be cultivated, and the four intelligent creatures as domestic animals to be reared. As the origin of all things is found in heaven and earth, they could be taken in hand, one after the other. [Book of Rites] The Five Relationships. Early Chinese writings describe yet another elemental scheme that specifically underlie the order of society, namely, the five human relationships. Each of these relationships involves a superior and a subordinate: (1) father and son, (2) elder brother and younger brother, (3) husband and wife, (4) elder friend and junior friend, and (5) ruler and subject. Confucian writings sometimes refer to a shorter list of relationships called the Three Bonds, which include those of the father-son, husband-wife, and ruler-subject. The Book of Rites describes various duties required of both the superior and subordinate: What are the things which people consider right? Kindness on the part of the father, and filial duty on that of the son. Gentleness on the part of the elder brother, and obedience on that of the younger. Righteousness on the part of the husband, and submission on that of the wife. Kindness on the part of elders, and reverence on that of the juniors. Benevolence on the part of the ruler, and loyalty on that of the minister. These ten are the things which people consider to be right. [Book of Rites] With each of the five relationships, the subordinate person is duty bound to show obedience, and the superior person to show kindness. In societies throughout time and around the world we invariably find social hierarchies involving superiors and subordinates, such as political, religious, military, vocational and educational systems. Within these hierarchical social

structures, the complementary duties of obedience and kindness are crucial. To this extent, the central idea behind the five relationships is universal. In their own time and context the five relationships undoubtedly played a crucial role in holding social structures together. In Western countries today, though, we may be inclined to tone down the hierarchical nature of some of the five relationships, and throw out others completely.

For example, the father-son relationship threatens individuality when a father overrides his sons wishes, especially with important decisions such as the choice of a spouse or career. The elder-younger brother relationship makes less sense now that laws of primogeniture are a thing of the past. The elder-junior friend relationship is also difficult to grasp when we simply see friends as friends, regardless of age. The ruler-subject relationship compromises political freedom, and we feel entitled to challenge and even despise our governments as we see fit. The husband-wife relationship is grossly prejudicial against the female gender and for this reason alone we should reject this hierarchical relationship. As complex as society is, it may be difficult to find any single relationship that is uniformly hierarchical in nature. Even employeremployee relationships are tempered with collegiality, teamwork, and grievance procedures that often make it difficult to determine who is the superior and who is the subordinate. Nevertheless, to the extent that we find ourselves in a hierarchical relationship either as superior or subordinate Chinese philosophers are certainly correct that the complementary duties of obedience and kindness are critical. ANALECTS. The Analects (Lun Yu), or digested conversations of Confucius is an unsystematic collection of discussions with his students. Scholars consider them the most reliable source of information about Confuciuss teachings. They were compiled by his disciples who tried to preserve, probably from memory, their recollections of the great master. The result is a somewhat sketchy list of highlights, which does not record any of Confuciuss organized discourses. Nevertheless, within the Analects a clear picture emerges of Confuciuss central teachings. Although Confucius believed in a supreme God and a heavenly realm, these are not the focus of his writings and, indeed, he remains silent on key theological issues. Instead he emphasizes the challenges that we face as humans to develop proper moral attitudes, to consistently display these attitudes in proper conduct, and to integrate moral dispositions into political structures. Insofar as Confucius saw himself as a political reformer and geared his teachings towards Chinas rulers, the moral teachings of the Analects also carry a strong political tone. We will look at some of the key themes of the Analects. Humanity (Jen). Perhaps the most central concept in Confuciuss teachings is the notion of jen which is commonly translated as humanity, goodness, benevolence, or altruism. Originally the term referred to a specific virtue involving concern towards others, especially as exhibited by nobility. However, Confucius expanded its meaning to designate the ideal moral life generally speaking; as such, humanity is the linchpin of all morally good qualities. Confucius also distinguished between ones outer expressions of humanity in contrast with ones inner sense of it. And, our inner sense is more revealing than our outer expressions: Fine words and an insinuating appearance are seldom associated with true humanity (1:3). When we think of humane behavior, we think of how we relate to other people. However, Confucius also notes that I myself should be the focus of my own humanity. I should develop the virtues dignity and patience, which will help me be at peace regardless of the difficulties that I face in life: 4:1-4. The Master said, It is humane manners that constitute the excellence of a neighborhood. If a person in selecting a residence does not fix on one where such prevail, how can he be wise? The Master said, Those who are without humanity cannot abide long either in a condition of poverty and hardship, or in a condition of enjoyment. The virtuous rest in humanity; the wise desire humanity. The Master said, It is only the truly humane person who can love, or who can hate, others. The Master said, If ones will is set on humanity, there will be no practice of wickedness. Acquiring humanity is no easy task and Confucius contends that he never met a person who perfectly personified this ideal: 4:6-7. The Master said, I have not seen a person who really loved humane attitudes, or one who really hated inhumane attitudes. One who loved humanity would value nothing above it. One who hated inhumanity would practice virtue in such a way that he would not allow anything that is not humane to approach his person. Is anyone able to apply his strength to humanity for even a single day? I have not seen the case in which his strength would be insufficient to do so. Should there possibly be any such case, I have not seen it. The Master said, The faults of people are characteristic of the class to which they belong. By observing a persons faults, it may be known that he is virtuous.

Central to the concept of humanity is the Confucian principle of reciprocity (shu), which maintains Do not do to others what you would not have them do to you. This principle is similar to the famous Golden Rule in the New Testament, namely, Do to others what you would want done to yourself. The principle difference, though, is that the Golden Rule prescribes a positive duty, that is, I should treat you benevolently or charitably since that is how I prefer to be treated. The principle of reciprocity, on the other hand, prescribes negative duties to avoid harm. For example, I should not steal from or lie to you since I would not want that kind of treatment myself. Because of this difference in emphasis, the principle of reciprocity is sometimes called the Silver Rule. We find Confucius state the principle of reciprocity in a variety of passages throughout the analects. In one case he chastises a student for not following the principle: Tzu-kung said, What I do not wish people to do to me, I also wish not to do to people. The Master said, Tsze, you have not attained to that (5:11). In another passage perhaps an alternative report of the same event Confucius states that the principle of reciprocity should be the guiding principle of ones life: Tzu-kung asked, saying, Is there one word that may serve as a rule of practice for all ones life? The Master said, Is not reciprocity such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others (15:23). In another passage, though, the principle appears among a longer list of recommendations: 12:1-2. Chung-kung asked about perfect virtue. The Master said, It is, when you go abroad, to behave to everyone as if you were receiving a great guest; to employ the people as if you were assisting at a great sacrifice; not to do to others as you would not wish done to yourself; to have no murmuring against you in the country, and none in the family. Chungkung said, Though I am deficient in intelligence and vigor, I will make it my business to practice this lesson. Sze-ma Niu asked about perfect virtue. The Master said, The person of perfect virtue is cautious and slow in his speech. Because of its emphasis on mere avoidance, the principle of reciprocity is sometimes criticized for being too passive: it is one thing to say that I should simply avoid harming you, but it is another and much better thing to say that I should actively seek your betterment. In response, the wording of the principle of reciprocity is flexible enough to include positive as well as negative duties. For example, since I would not want anyone to withhold charity from me, then I should not withhold charity from others. Defenders of the principle of reciprocity also point out that in other passages Confucius advocates that we should help establish good character in others, which is a positive duty. Critics also attack the principle of reciprocity for focusing on ones own preferences as a way of determining our obligation to others. For example, eating bran flakes for breakfast may be best for me but may not be best for you. In response, perhaps the principle of reciprocity loses viability when it is used as a tool for micromanaging the lives of others, such as choosing breakfast cereals for other people. However, Confucius does not seem to offer it as a tool for micromanagement, but instead emphasizes it as a way of cultivating proper social attitudes and dispositions. Further, since I do not want people to meddle in the details of my life, the principle of reciprocity itself suggests that I should not use reciprocity as a basis for micromanaging other peoples affairs. Social Custom (Li). For Confucius, mastering social custom and protocol is necessary to becoming virtuous. The Chinese word for this is li, which by Confuciuss time, became associated with ceremonial formality, particularly in religious practices. But Confucius uses the term more broadly in reference to effortless adherence to social norms and performance of social rituals. This includes customs as diverse as major holiday celebrations and simple greetings. In English translations of Confucian texts, the term li is often translated as ritual or propriety; we will use the phrase social custom. For Confucius, rituals and traditions are the visible glue that binds society together. For virtually every activity, there is a proper way of behaving. If we dont follow these customs, then, in spite of our best intentions, we behave like bumbling fools. He persuasively makes this point here: 8:2. The Master said, Respectfulness without the rules of social custom becomes laborious bustle. Carefulness without the rules of social custom becomes timidity. Boldness without the rules of social custom becomes insubordination. Straightforwardness without the rules of social custom becomes rudeness. When those who are in high stations properly perform all their duties to their relations, the people are inspired towards virtue. When old friends are not neglected by them, the people are preserved from meanness. Imagine, for example, that, during a city council meeting, I want to propose the development of a new park. As I make my case I need to be duly respectful and careful, yet bold and straightforward. If I dont know the rules of social custom, my efforts will be strained, and, in the course of the discussion I can too easily either understate my view or inadvertently insult the council members. On the other hand, if I am properly skilled in the social customs of business discussions, then Ill be able to make my case easily and effectively.

According to Confucius, social custom is not only a tool for effective interaction with others, but he believes that it is the key to developing ones own good character. He emphasizes the overall benefit of social custom here: 16:13. Another day he was in the same way standing alone, when I passed by below the hall with hasty steps. He said to me, Have you learned the rules of social custom? On my replying Not yet, he added, If you do not learn the rules of social custom, your character cannot be established. I then retired, and learned the rules of social custom. Like the notion of humanity (jen), which has an inward and outward side, so too is there an inward and outward component of social custom. The outward component involves the visible ritual itself. The inward component involves having the proper attitude in ritual conduct, rather than simply going through the motions with no thought of their significance. Confucius argues that the true development of social custom requires that we subdue ourselves. Also, when performing our various duties, it is important that our actions flow from within ourselves, and are not motivated by outward pressures: 12:1 Yen Yuan asked about perfect virtue. The Master said, To subdue ones self and return to social custom is perfect virtue. If a person can for one day subdue himself and return to social custom, all under heaven will attribute perfect virtue to him. Is the practice of perfect virtue from a person himself, or is it from others? Yen Yuan said, I beg to ask the steps of that process. The Master replied, Do not look at what is contrary to social custom; do not listen to what is contrary to social custom; do not speak what is contrary to social custom; do not make movements which are contrary to social custom. Yen Yuan then said, Though I am deficient in intelligence and vigor, I will make it my business to practice this lesson. For Confucius, learning social custom involves active social participation, similar to how we learn any skill or art form through direct involvement. Insofar as it is a skill, Confucius groups social custom together with the skills of learning odes and music: 7:17. The Masters frequent themes of discourse were-the Odes, the History, and the maintenance of the rules of social custom. On all these he frequently discoursed. 8.8. The Master said, It is by the Odes that the mind is aroused. It is by the rules of social custom that the character is established. It is from Music that the finish is received. Odes, music, and social custom go together in other ways as well. They refine us and elevate the quality of our lives. They involve cultivating a special aesthetic sense of appreciation. Perhaps most importantly for Confucius in his role as a teacher, we receive moral instruction through the development of these and other art forms (wen). Superior Person (Chun-tzu). For Confucius, the superior person, or chun-tzu, is the ideal human who personifies the highest moral attributes. The term originally referred to children of aristocrats who inherited their family estates, but, like the term gentleman in English, chun-tzu acquired a broader ethical meaning. In the Analects, Confucius continually refers to the superior person as a means of illustrating the ideal to which his followers should strive. According to Confucius, the superior person consistently exhibits a range of virtuous qualities, four of which he lists here: 5:15. The Master said of Tzu-chan that he had four of the characteristics of a superior person: in his conduct of himself, he was humble; in serving his superior, he was respectful; in nourishing the people, he was kind; in ordering the people, he was just.

In addition to humility, respectfulness, kindness and justice, the superior person is also unbiased, honest, consistent, cautious, and studious. Although this is a somewhat abstract list of qualities, an interesting set of passages in the Analects points out some very particular attitudes of the superior person:

15:17-22. The Master said, The superior person in everything considers righteousness to be essential. He performs it according to the rules of social custom. He brings it forth in humility. He completes it with sincerity. This is indeed a superior person. The Master said, The superior person is distressed by his want of ability. He is not distressed by people not knowing him. The Master said, The superior person dislikes the thought of his name not being mentioned after his death. The Master said, What the superior person seeks is in himself. What the inferior person seeks is in others. The Master said, The superior person is dignified, but does not wrangle. He is sociable, but not a partisan. The Master said, The superior person does not promote someone simply on account of his words, nor does he put aside good words because of the person. In this passage we see that, paradoxically, the superior person is not driven by a need for fame, yet at the same time he dislikes the thought of his name not being mentioned after his death. Heres one way of resolving this seemingly conflicting pair of values. The drive for fame while we are alive is too frequently tied with how wealthy, powerful, or successful we are. The underlying passions here are pride and arrogance, which the superior person should clearly reject. On the other hand, when we consider our life-long legacy and how people remember us after our deaths, we think more about how good weve been as human beings, and less about the degree of wealth and power that weve obtained. It is, then, quite admirable to hope to be remembered for our legacy as a good person. In spite of the lengthy list of values that the superior person holds, Confucius makes it clear that the superior person is not a by-the-book rule follower, whose beliefs are rigidly fixed. On the contrary, The superior person in the world does not set his mind either for anything, or against anything. What is right he will follow (4:10). That is, the superior persons attitudes and conduct will be guided by an overall sense of justice, and not by a nitpicky set of regulations. In keeping with his emphasis on the internal aspects of moral attributes, Confucius describes the psychological state of tranquility to which the superior person must rise. Distress, anxiety, and fear are all obstructions: The superior person is satisfied and composed; the inferior person is always full of distress (7:36). As the following passage explains, regardless of how much tragedy we might experience, our internal sense of virtue should give us peace: 11:4-5. Sze-ma Niu asked about the superior person. The Master said, The superior person has neither anxiety nor fear. Niu said, Being without anxiety or fear! Does this constitute what we call the superior person? The Master said, When internal examination discovers nothing wrong, what is there to be anxious about? What is there to fear? Sze-ma Niu anxiously replied, Other people all have their brothers, Im the only one who doesnt. Confucius said to him, There is a saying which I have heard: Death and life have their determined appointment; riches and honors depend upon Heaven. Let the superior person never fail in reverence to order his own conduct, and let him be respectful to others and observant of social custom. Then everyone within the four seas will be his brothers. What has the superior person to do with being distressed because he has no brothers? The above quote tells us that we will overcome distress when we conduct an internal examination and discover nothing wrong. That is, if I know that my internal character contains the marks of virtue, then I can take faith in this, even if Im plagued with misfortunes such as family tragedy or financial disaster. Becoming a superior person involves an ongoing process that cannot be quickly attained. An anecdote about a 17th century Confucian monk illustrates this point. Upon turning 90, the monk commented that he now saw how foolish he was at 80, and he looked forward to when hed have better knowledge at a later age. Ironically, Confucius did not believe that he himself was a perfectly superior person. 7:32.The Master said, The sage and the person of perfect virtue; how dare I rank myself with them? It may simply be said of me, that I strive to become such without being filled, and teach others without weariness. Kung-hsi Hwa said, This is just what we, the disciples, cannot imitate you in. 7:33. The Master said, In letters I am perhaps equal to other people, but the character of the superior person, carrying out in his conduct what he professes, is what I have not yet attained to. He acknowledges here his strong points, specifically earnestness, perseverance, and knowledge. However, he also recognizes his points of failure, specifically that he does not yet fully embody the values he knows that he should possess. The Analects actually contain little material on the life and character of Confucius. Scholars believe that, to compensate for this absence, Confuciuss followers took a discussion of the superior person and adapted it into an account

of their master. This account describes Confuciuss mannerisms as he interacted with people from all walks of life. As he moved from common people on through the nobility, he would adapt his behavior as protocol demanded: 10:1-4. In his village, Confucius looked simple and sincere, and as if he were not able to speak. When he was in the princes ancestral temple or in the court, he spoke minutely on every point, but cautiously. When he was waiting at court, in speaking with the great officers of the lower grade, he spoke freely, but in a straightforward manner. In speaking with those of the higher grade, he did so blandly, but precisely. In all of these situations we see Confucius show the signs of the superior person, especially personal humility, respectfulness, and attention to social custom. He avoids intimidating people or arrogantly displaying his own wisdom. Illustrating his mastery of court protocol, the account continues describing his subtle changes in manner when before royalty. When the ruler was present, his manner displayed respectful uneasiness; it was grave, but self-possessed. When the prince called him to employ him in the reception of a visitor, his appearance changed, and his legs moved forward with difficulty. He bent toward other officers standing around him, moving his left or right arm as their position required, but he kept the front and back of his robe evenly adjusted. He dashed his arms forward, like the wings of a bird. When a guest retired, he would say to the prince, The visitor is not turning round any more. When he entered the palace gate, he seemed to bend his body, as if it were not sufficient to admit him. When he was standing, he did not occupy the middle of the gateway. When he passed in or out, he did not tread upon the threshold. When he was passing the vacant place of the prince, his appearance changed, and his legs bent under him, and his words came as if he hardly had breath to utter them. He ascended the reception hall, holding up his robe with both his hands, and bending his body. He also held in his breath as if he dared not breathe. When he came out from the audience, as soon as he had descended one step, he began to relax his expression, and had a satisfied look. When he got to the bottom of the steps, he advanced rapidly to his designated place, with his arms like wings, and on reaching it, his manner still showed respectful uneasiness. We see from this description how even seemingly trivial things such as bodily posture, the movement of our arms, and even the manner in which we breathe are all relevant. The larger message is that virtue should permeate every facet of a superior persons life. Like the principle of reciprocity, the very mental image of the superior person may serve as a broad guiding principle of moral conduct. What kind of attitudes does the superior person have? How would the superior person behave in this situation? When referring to the superior, person Confucius sometimes holds up images of specific sages from Chinas past, such as the virtuous emperors Yao and Shun. He also has us contrast the image of the superior person to that of the small and inferior person. This contrast itself gives us a way of tapping our moral intuitions, as we see in these two passages: 2:9. The Master said, The superior person is universal and not partisan. The inferior person is partisan and not universal. 4:11. The Master said, The superior person thinks of virtue; the small person thinks of comfort. The superior person thinks of the sanctions of law; the small person thinks of favors which he may receive. The key differences noted here are that the inferior person is self-oriented and rigidly narrow focused. The superior person, by contrast, looks beyond himself with an open mind. Filial Obedience (Hsiao). Filial obedience, or hsiao, concerns respect for elders, typically in the father-son relationship, and is linked with the five traditional relationships described above. Virtually all cultures stress the obligations that children have to respect and obey their parents and, to that extent, this value is not a Confucian invention. Like other virtues, though, Confucius gives a unique twist to this one by emphasizing the importance of having the proper attitude in fulfilling this duty, rather than simply abiding by the letter of the law. Without this proper inner attitude, we are no better than animals that might help provide for older members of its species: 2.7. Tzu-yu asked what filial obedience was. The Master said, Filial obedience nowadays means to support ones parents. But dogs and horses also are able to do something in the way of support. Without reverence, what is there to distinguish the one support given from the other?

By having the proper attitude of respect for our parents, we will perpetuate the value system that we learned at home, long after we are grown and leave the house: If the son for three years does not alter from the way of his father, he may be called filial (4.10). The respect that we have for our parents while they are alive continues in the form of ancestral veneration when they die, and requires that we perform various sacrificial duties: 2.5. Meng-I-tzu asked what filial obedience was. The Master said, It is not being disobedient. Soon after, as Fan Chih was driving him, the Master told him, Meng-sun asked me what filial obedience was, and I answered him, not being disobedient. Fan Chih said, What did you mean? The Master replied, That parents, when alive, be served according to social custom; that, when dead, they should be buried according to social custom; and that they should be sacrificed to according to social custom. Suppose that my father asks me to do something that was obviously wrong, such as steal our neighbors wheelbarrow or rob a store. Would my duty of filial obedience obligate me to follow my fathers instructions? This question is addressed in a short 4th century BCE work called the Classic of Filial Obedience (Hsiao Ching), which at one time was grouped along with the Five Classics. The text reports that Confuciuss reply to this question was When a command is wrong, a son should resist his father, and a civil servant should resist his noble ruler. Respect for parents, then, is not blind obedience. For Confucius, one benefit of resisting is that we will remind our father of his moral duty and prevent him from committing some wrong: If a man has a good friend to resist him in doing bad actions, he will have his reputation preserved. So, if a father has a son to resist his wrong command, he will be saved from committing serious faults. The whole prospect of resisting ones parents and attempting to morally instruct them certainly places the child in an awkward situation. This highlights the obligation that parents are under to cultivate a proper sense of morality within themselves and thus avoid forcing this dilemma on their children. Filial obedience is valuable in itself by building family ties, but it also has wider social benefits. Confucius argues that respect for all superiors is ultimately an extension of respect for ones parents, and we should treat elders with respect almost as if they were surrogate parents: 1:6. The Master said, When at home, a youth should be filial *to his parents+, and when abroad he should be respectful to his elders. He should be earnest and truthful. He should overflow in love to all, and cultivate the friendship good people. When he has time and opportunity, after the performance of these things, he should study art and literature (wen). In a similar passage Confucius describes a chain of positive consequences that filial obedience triggers: by respecting parents we will respect elders in general, and by doing this we will be less likely to stir up confusion and thereby undermine social order, either in or outside of the home: 1:2. The philosopher Yu *i.e., Confuciuss pupil+ said, Few people who are filial and fraternal are also fond of offending superiors. No one who is respectful to superiors is fond of stirring up confusion. The superior person bends his attention to what is fundamental. When that root is established, moral law (tao) naturally grows. Filial obedience and fraternal submission, are the root of all humane action (jen). Insofar as filial obedience brings on this sequence of positive social benefits, Confucius sees it as the root of both the moral law and all humane actions. Rectification of Names (Cheng Ming). The rectification of names, or cheng ming, involves correctly using language. We are to make our actions, relationships, obligations, and institutions conform to their ideal meanings. Put simply, the rectification of names is an admonition to avoid lying either explicitly or implicitly. We must both speak and act according to the truth, and it is a sign of virtue when we understand the importance of having our words and conduct conform to objective reality. This involves not only avoiding blatant falsehoods, but also avoiding ambiguity and exaggeration, which might mislead people. To use words properly, we must first take pause before we speak:

4:22. The Master said, The reason why the ancients did not quickly utter their words, was that they feared their actions would not live up to them.

4:24. The Master said, The superior person wishes to be slow in his speech and earnest in his conduct. Philosophers typically see that the notion of truth applies to the words and sentences that we utter. In the course of just a few minutes, I may utter a stream of sentences that you will quickly inspect for their truth: the door is open, the time now is 3:00, there is nothing good on TV right now. Confucius, though, extends the notion of truth beyond the realm of words and into the realm of actions. In fact, he argues that our actions are a better indicator of our true intentions than our words are and, so, we might even look to our actions as guides for what we might truthfully say: 2.8. Tzu-kung asked what constituted the superior person. The Master said, He acts before he speaks, and afterwards speaks according to his actions. 5:9. The Master said, At first, my way with people was to hear their words, and give them credit for their conduct. Now my way is to hear their words, and look at their conduct. It is from [my student] Yu that I have learned to make this change. The central point here is that the truth of our words and actions should perfectly coincide: what we say in our speech should be reflected in our actions and, conversely, what we do in our actions should be reflected in what we say. Any discrepancy between our words and actions, then, amounts to a lie. If we fail to speak and act truthfully, a slippery slope of disastrous consequences follow. Without truth, social affairs will suffer, which will undermine culture, which in turn will undermine societys sense of justice, which finally will paralyze society: 13: 3. Tzu-lu said, The ruler of Wei is waiting for you to help administer the government. What is the first thing you will do? The Master replied, I will tend to rectifying names. Indeed! said Tzu-lu. Youve missed the target. Why must there be such rectification? The Master said, How uncultivated you are! A superior person shows a cautious reserve in regard to what he does not know. If names are not correct, language is not in accord with the truth of things. If language is not in accord with the truth of things, affairs cannot successfully be carried. When affairs cannot be successfully carried on, social customs and music do not flourish. When social customs and music do not flourish, punishments will not be properly given. When punishments are not properly given, the people will not know how to move hand or foot. Therefore a superior person considers it necessary that the names he uses may be spoken appropriately, and also that what he speaks may be carried out appropriately. What the superior person only requires that there may be nothing incorrect in his words. Confucius finds the rectification of names so important that he recommends it as the first order of business in ruling a country. Again, the importance here is conveying the truth. It is fine for a government to act boldly so long as their language is equally bold. It would be an act of deception if a government embarked on a series of major projects such as military campaigns or social reforms without being upfront with the citizens about what it was doing: 14:4-5. The Master said, When good government prevails in a state, language may be lofty and bold, and actions the same. When bad government prevails, the actions may be lofty and bold, but the language may be with some reserve. The Master said, The virtuous will be sure to speak correctly, but those whose speech is good may not always be virtuous. People of principle are sure to be bold, but those who are bold may not always be people of principle. Good Government. Confucius saw himself as a political reformer, recommending that rulers promote virtuous traditions as a means of warding off social anarchy. For Confucius, the ruler should not simply mandate conformity to tradition, but, instead, should set the moral example for the whole country. His goodness will trickle down through the various layers of social hierarchy, and the whole country will prosper when he is benevolent. Confucius makes this point very picturesquely here: He who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the north polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it (2:1). What, though, must the ruler himself do to acquire virtue? In one of the more lengthy aphorisms in the Analects, Confucius lists and explains five kinds of actions that will lead to good government:

20:2. Tzu-chang asked Confucius, saying, In what way should a person in authority act in order that he may conduct government properly? The Master replied, Let him honor the five excellent things, and banish away the four bad, things; then may he conduct government properly. Tzu-chang said, What are meant by the five excellent things? The Master said, When the person in authority is beneficent without great expense; when he lays tasks on the people without their grieving; when he pursues what he desires without being selfish; when he maintains a dignified ease without being proud; when he is majestic without being cruel. Confucius continues his discussion by clarifying each of these five good actions: Tzu-chang said, What is meant by being beneficent without great expenditure? The Master replied, When the person in authority makes those things more beneficial to the people from which they naturally derive benefit; is not this being beneficent without great expense? When he chooses the labors that are proper, and makes them labor on them, who will grieve? When his desires are set on benevolent government, and he secures it, who will accuse him of greed? Whether he has to do with many people or few, or with things great or small, he does not dare to indicate any disrespect. Isnt this maintaining a dignified ease without any pride? He adjusts his clothes and cap, and throws a dignity into his looks, so that, thus dignified, he is looked at with awe. Isnt this being majestic without being fierce? First, as to what it means for a ruler to be beneficent without great expenditure, Confucius explains that, to be beneficent, the ruler does not necessarily have to actively shower his subjects with luxuries. Instead, the ruler can emphasize things that people naturally benefit from, such as efficient governmental programs and honest governmental administrators. Second, concerning laying tasks on people without making them grieve, Confucius believes that the ruler should discover peoples natural capacities and encourage them to work in those areas. A musician, for example, should not be forced to work as an accountant. Third, a ruler can unselfishly pursue what he desires when he restricts his desires to cultivating a good government. Fourth, without being arrogant, he should carry himself with dignity with everything and everyone he comes in contact with. Fifth, without being fierce, a ruler should appear majestic in everything that he does right down to how he places a cap on his head. In contrast to these five good actions, Confucius warns rulers to steer clear from four bad types of actions, namely, cruelty, oppression, injury, and officiality: Tzu-chang then asked, What is meant by the four bad things? The Master said, To put the people to death without having instructed them; this is called cruelty. To suddenly require from them a full load of work, without having given them warning; this is called oppression. To issue orders as if without urgency, at first, and, when the time comes, to insist on them with severity; this is called injury. And, generally, in the giving pay or rewards to people, to do it in a stingy way; this is called acting the part of a mere official. Confucius repeatedly urges rulers to avoid cruelty. Tyrannical rulers typically get subjects to comply through threats of punishment. However, Confucius thinks that this tactic is a mistake and instead argues that virtue is the best motivation for social compliance: 2:3. The Master said, If the people are led by laws, and uniformity imposed through punishments, then they will try to avoid the punishment, but have no sense of shame. If they are led by virtue, and uniformity imposed through the rules of social custom, then they will have the sense of shame, and moreover will become good. Within this simple aphorism is a rather profound psychological theory of human motivation. Shame rather than fear is the human feeling that most successfully directs us to be good. Criminals certainly fear being caught and punished for their crimes, but this does not necessarily deter them. On the other hand, if a person feels the internal sting of shame when contemplating a crime, he may be less likely to follow through on the misdeed. We instill this sense of shame by teaching virtue and imbedding virtue in the many rules of social custom that guide our lives. Through these virtuous social customs, we become habituated to do the right thing, and a sense of shame will quickly emerge when we stray from our virtuous habits. The task of achieving a good government is not easy, and Confucius warns against rulers who look only at short term results with the hope of accomplishing things quickly: 13:17. Tzu-hsia, being governor of Chu-fu, asked about government. The Master said, Do not desire to have things done quickly and do not look at small advantages. If you desire to have things done quickly, this prevents them being done thoroughly. If you look at small advantages, this prevents great affairs from being accomplished.

For example, in good economic times a ruler may win the short-term favor of the people by radically lowering taxes; this, though, may harm long-term prosperity by cutting into the money surplus that a country needs in bad economic times. Major governmental achievements take time, and a certain amount of patience is needed when rulers shift their focus to long-term benefits. When this is accomplished, though, all culture within the country will flourish: 16.2. Confucius said, When good government prevails in the empire, ceremonies, music, and military expeditions proceed from the son of Heaven. When bad government prevails in the empire, ceremonies, music, and military expeditions proceed from the princes. ... TWO BOOKS. The Four Books (shu) of Confucianism consist of two short works that originally appeared in the Book of Rites but were extracted from this because of their unique philosophical content. They are The Great Learning (Ta Hsio) and The Doctrine of the Mean (Chung Yung). The Great Learning. Weve seen in the Analects that rulers should govern by setting an example of virtuous conduct in their own lives; this was expressed most vividly in the statement that He who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the north polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it (2:1). The point is that when rulers live virtuously goodness will transfer down the social hierarchy to the people. This is also the message of The Great Learning that is, the path of learning how to be great. Tradition attributes this work to either Confuciuss disciple or to his grandson. However, scholars contend that the work was probably written much later during the 3rd century BCE. According to The Great Learning, the ruler must have a vision of what he hopes to achieve namely, a clear character of moral virtue and through this vision the ruler will have the tranquility to carry out the tasks of governing: The path of learning to be great consists of exhibiting clear character, loving people, and resting in the highest good. If we know the point in which we are to rest, we can determine the object of pursuit. When we determine that, we can attain a calmness, and from that will follow tranquility. In tranquility we can carefully deliberate, and that deliberation will be followed by the attainment of the desired end. Things have their roots and their branches. Affairs have their beginnings and ends. To know what is first and what is last will lead us near the path of learning to be great. To be great, then, the ruler must acquire a clear character. How does the ruler do that? The Great Learning tells us that there are eight causal links or eight steps as later tradition terms them that culminate in clear character and effective governing. The underlying theme of these eight steps is intense moral and philosophical reflection: The ancients who wished to exhibit their clear character to the world first brought order to their states. Wishing to order their states, they first regulated their families. Wishing to regulate their families, they first cultivated their personal lives. Wishing to cultivate their personal lives, they first corrected their minds. Wishing to correct their minds, they first sought to be sincere in their thoughts. Wishing to be sincere in their thoughts, they first extended their knowledge. Such extension of knowledge rests in investigating things. The discussion next repeats these eight steps in reverse order, starting with the ruler investigating the nature of things, and ending with the tranquility of the nation. Things being investigated, knowledge became complete. Their knowledge being complete, their thoughts were sincere. Their thoughts being sincere, their minds were then corrected. Their minds being corrected, their personal lives were cultivated. Their personal lives being cultivated, their families were regulated. Their families being regulated, their states were rightly governed. Their states being rightly governed, the whole kingdom was made tranquil and happy. From the son of heaven down to the common people on earth, all must consider the cultivation of ones personal life as the root of everything else. When the root is neglected, what springs from it will not be well ordered. No one has ever taken slight care of greatly important things, and no one has greatly cared for slightly important things. The first step in acquiring clear character is investigating things, a phrase that is unfortunately vague. In its most straightforward sense, it means that we should be sort of like scientists and learn what makes things around us tick. Later Confucian philosophers offered more precise views about what it means to investigate things. We find perhaps the most

influential perspective in the writings of Neo-Confucian philosopher Chu Hsi who we will discuss in greater detail below. According to Chu, investigating things means rationally uncovering the nonphysical structural order of things. When we look at things in the world around us, such as rocks, trees, and dogs, they are not simply a random grouping of elements. There is an underlying form that gives structure to these things and makes one thing a tree and another thing a dog. Chu believes that we can discover these structural forms through a kind of intuitive and rational insight. He writes, If we wish to carry our knowledge to the utmost, we must investigate the structural form (li) of all things we come into contact with. For the intelligent mind of humans is certainly formed to know, and there is not a single thing in which its principles do not reside. But so long as all principles are not investigated, human knowledge is incomplete. Chu continues noting that understanding the structural form of things enables us to comprehend all the qualities of things: [Once exerting ourselves in learning,] the qualities of all things, whether external or internal, the subtle or the rough, will all be apprehended. Then the mind, in its entire substance and its relations to things, will be perfectly intelligent. This is called the investigating things. Chu offers only one possible spin on the cryptic notion of investigating things, and his interpretation became a point of contention for rival Confucian schools of philosophy after him. The Doctrine Of The Mean. Many moral and religious traditions around the world condemn extremist attitudes and instead recommend a middle ground between extremes. The Hindu Bhagavad Gita tells us to Renounce attachments, and balance yourself evenly between success and failure. Buddhist philosophy advocates a middle path between asserting and denying, and between desires and aversions. A similar notion appears in the Analects where Confucius recommends moderation that is, a mean (chung yung) between extreme behaviors. This notion is revisited in the Confucian Doctrine of the Mean (Chung Yung). The work is traditionally attributed to Confuciuss grandson, but scholars place authorship of the text much later during the 2nd century BCE. Although the work reiterates the moral notion of the mean as expressed in the Analects, it adds a more cosmic component. The discussion opens explaining that there is an ultimate Path or Way (tao) that nature has in store for us; it is a way that is integral to our existence, and one which cannot be separated from us. 1. What nature (tien) has conferred is called human nature. What follows this nature is called the Way (tao). The regulation of this Way is called instruction. The Way may not be separated from us for an instant. If it could be separated from us, it would not be the Way. On this account, the superior person does not wait until he sees things to be cautious, nor until he hears things to be worried. There is nothing more visible than what is secret, and nothing more manifest than what is minute. Therefore the superior person is watchful over himself when he is alone. The text continues by identifying this Way with a specific manner of dealing with emotions. Emotions are essential to our human nature, and are there to prompt us to into action. If I was incapable of experiencing pleasure or joy, then I would not be motivated to listen to music, eat at a nice restaurant, go to the movies, or any of the things that I typically enjoy. According to the author, when I experience no feelings, I am in a state of equilibrium sort of like a machine on standby. One by one, though, my emotions emerge, and I am in a state of harmony when I control my emotions to a proper degree. We say that the mind is in a state of equilibrium (chung) when it has no stirrings of pleasure, anger, sorrow, or joy. When these feelings are stirred, and they act in their proper degree, we call the results a state of harmony. This equilibrium is the great root from which grow all the human actions in the world, and this harmony is the universal path that they all should pursue. When the states of equilibrium and harmony exist in perfection, a happy order will prevail throughout heaven and earth, and all things will be nourished and flourish. My ideal emotional state, then, involves an interplay between experiencing no emotions (equilibrium) and having controlled emotions (harmony). In this manner I hit the mean between non-emotion and emotion. When I abide by the mean between extreme mental states, then harmony and order will come to the world.

After this opening discussion, the work proceeds with 31 sections of quotations from Confucius, many of which describe virtues that are connected with the path of the mean. The passages below tells that the superior man embodies the path of the mean. However, attaining it is difficult for both the wise and foolish:

2. Confucius said, The superior person embodies the mean; the inferior person acts contrary to the mean. The superior person embodies the mean because he is a superior person, and so always maintains the mean. The inferior person acts contrary to the mean is because he is an inferior person, and has no caution. In spite of the books more cosmic overtone, the work nevertheless reiterates the notion of the mean as a position of moderation between extremes, which we see here: 6. Confucius said, Shun was indeed a man of great wisdom! He loved to question others and to examine their words, however ordinary. He concealed what was bad in them and displayed what was good. He took hold of their two extremes, took the mean between them, and applied it in his dealing with people. This was how he became Shun (the sage-emperor). HUMAN NATURE. Picture a science fiction scenario in which a group of scientists wanted to create a special breed of humanoids. Retreating to their laboratory, the scientists tinker with human genetics, first subduing good human qualities such as kindness and charity, and then accentuating bad qualities such as selfishness and malevolence. The experiment is a success, and they forge humanoid creatures that are inherently evil. In spite of the humanoids bad nature, the scientists then put them through an intensive indoctrination program, training them to suppress their bad tendencies and develop their good ones. The result, then, is an inherently evil humanoid with somewhat mixed behavior: sometimes their actions are good, and other times evil. Imagine further that a rival group of scientists produced an opposite breed of humanoids inherently good, yet indoctrinated to suppress their goodness and express badness. The result, again, would be a breed of humanoids that, because of social conditioning, exhibited a mixture of good and bad behavior. Finally, imagine that the two new breeds of creatures were placed side by side and, without being told which was which, we had to pick out the inherently bad ones from the inherently good ones. Because they were both subjected to social conditioning and appear essentially the same, the task of distinguishing between them would be very difficult. The philosophical question for us now is, Which of these two new breeds of humanoids best represents our normal human nature? Like both sets of creatures, we too exhibit both good and bad qualities and, so, it is no easy task to look through our layers of social conditioning and discover our true inherent nature.

Confucius did not take a stand on the issue of the inherent goodness of human nature. However, science fiction scenarios aside, shortly after Confuciuss death, Confucian and other Chinese philosophers debated just this point: Are humans naturally evil or good, selfish or unselfish? We will look at the views on this subject by three early Chinese philosophers, namely, Mo-tzu, Mencius, and Hsun-tzu. Mo-tzu. Mo-tzu (480390 BCE) was born about the time of Confuciuss death. According to tradition, in his early years Mo-tzu followed Confucianism, but soon founded his own school, called the Mohists. Unlike most of his Confucian counterparts who were of aristocratic backgrounds, Mo-tzu and his followers were soldiers and participated in military exercises. For almost two centuries Mo-tzus reputation and influence were on a par with that of Confucius. A collection of writings bears the name Mo-tzu, which scholars believe was written either by Mo-tzu himself or his disciples. The writings are critical of Confucianism for being overly ritualized and socially passive. They also question the Confucian notion of natural harmony. Instead Mo-tzu argued that the world was originally chaotic, and people sought to fulfill their own selfish interests with no common aims. To move out of this chaotic condition and make society function, people learned to love everyone even strangers to the same degree that we love our relatives and even ourselves. This is particularly so for those in positions of superiority, such as kings, ministers, and heads of households. If the ruler loves his subjects as himself, then his subjects will be content. In a chapter titled Universal Love Mo-tzu argues for this point. He first notes the various causes of social disorder among family members as well as larger social units: It is the business of the sages to bring about good government in the world. Because of this, they should examine the cause of disorder, and when they do so they will find that it arises from the lack of mutual love. When a government minister and a son are not filial to their rulers and their fathers, this results in disorder. A son loves himself and does not love his father; he therefore wrongs his father, and seeks his own advantage. A younger brother loves himself, and does not love his elder

brother; he therefore wrongs his elder brother, and seeks his own advantage. A government minister loves himself, and does not love his ruler; he therefore wrongs his ruler, and seeks his own advantage. All these are cases of disorder. ... Whether a person is a robber or a king, according to Mo-tzu, selfishness and the absence of mutual love is the source of disorder. We simply do violence to others to benefit ourselves: How do these things come about? They all arise from the lack of mutual love. Take the case of any thief or robber: it is just the same with him. The thief loves his own home, and does not love his neighbors home. He therefore steals from his neighbors home to benefit his own. The robber loves his own person, and does not love his neighbor; he therefore does violence to his neighbor to benefit himself. Why is this? It all arises from the lack of mutual love. Now consider cases in which great officers throw each others families into confusion, and princes attack each others states. It is just the same with them. The great officer loves his own family, and does not love his neighbors; he therefore throws his neighbors family into disorder to benefit his own. The prince loves his own State, and does not love his neighbors; he therefore attacks his neighbors State to benefit his own. All disorder in the kingdom has the same explanation. When we examine the cause of it, we find that it is the lack of mutual love. Mo-tzu continues by comparing two rulers, one of which is selfish and makes distinctions between people, and the other of which expresses universal love. The language of the two will be completely different. The ruler who makes distinctions between people will make flimsy arguments for giving himself priority, and in the mean time his people will suffer: Let us test this by taking two illustrations. Let anyone suppose the case of two rulers, the one of whom will hold the principle of mutual love, and the other will hold the principle which makes distinctions. In this case, the latter of them will say, How can I be interested in the well-being of my people as much as I am in my own? This is greatly contrary to human feelings. The life of people on the earth is but a very brief space; it may be compared to the rapid movement of a team of horses whirling past a small mark. Reasoning in this way, the ruler may see his people hungry, but he will not feed them; cold, but he will not clothe them; sick, but he will not nurse them; dead, but he will not bury them. Such will be the language of the ruler who holds the principle of distinctions, and such will be his conduct. In contrast with the ruler who makes distinctions between people, the ruler who expresses universal love will tend to the needs of all his subjects. When he sees any of the people hungry, he will feed them; if cold, he will clothe them; if sick, he will nurse them; if dead, he will bury them. Mo-tzu then imagines that, when economic times are tough and the people have to choose between two rulers, they will certainly choose the more loving one: Let us suppose that their words are equally sincere, and they act in accord with their words. That is, their words and actions correspond like the parts of a coin, with every word being carried into effect. Let us now put the following questions to the case. Suppose that one year a pestilence sweeps across the country, many people suffer from cold and famine, and multitudes die in ditches. If at that time they had an election between the two rules as described, which would they prefer? Mo-tzus theory is an interesting mixture between pessimism and optimism. On the pessimistic side, people are inherently selfish and will not hesitate to harm others for personal gain. On the other hand, we have enough good sense to restrain ourselves and adopt an attitude of mutual love, even if our ultimate motivation is selfish. The pessimistic component of Mo-tzus theory became the direct target of attack by the Confucian philosopher Mencius. Mencius. The fourth text of the Four Books of the Philosophers (shu) is named after its author Mencius (390305 BCE), or Meng-tzu. Mencius studied under a disciple of Confuciuss grandson and, like Confucius, Mencius traveled to promote political reform. He confronted rival philosophical schools specifically the schools of Mo-tzu and Legalism that emphasized human selfishness. Mencius believed that governments should be run through exemplary conduct, with goodness as the goal. The ideal ruler must possess both humanity (jen) and righteousness (i). Humanity, for Mencius, is not a universal love that we show towards all people, as Mo-tzu believed. Instead, we should display love in proportion to how close people are to us. In this regard, a ruler is not in a position to love all people equally. With righteousness, though, the ruler must indeed put the interests of his people before himself, and this is universal. The most well known aspect of Menciuss thought is his view of the inherent goodness of people. According to Mencius, our minds and hearts house our inherent tendency towards moral goodness. Evil, he believes, results from environmental factors that sap our powers. Book Six of his writings present some conversation fragments between

Mencius himself and a skeptical philosopher named Kao-tzu (420350 BCE). Kao-tzu argues that human nature is neither good nor bad, but can be molded either way, just as we can mold a piece of wood into different things. 6A.1. [Kao-tzu:] Human nature is like a tree, and righteousness (i) is like a wooden cup or a bowl. The fashioning of benevolence and righteousness out of a persons nature is like the making of cups and bowls from the tree. Mencius rejects Kao-tzus analogy and argues that any such molding even for the sake of moral goodness would do violence to our nature. We would thus be forced to see moral virtues such as benevolence and righteousness as distortions of who we are. [Mencius:] Without touching the nature of the tree, can you make it into cups and bowls? You must do violence and injury to the tree before you can make cups and bowls with it. If you must do violence and injury to the tree in order to make cups and bowls with it, on your principles you must in the same way do violence and injury to humanity in order to fashion from it benevolence and righteousness. Thus, your words would certainly lead all people on to consider benevolence and righteousness to be calamities. As the conversation continues, Kao-tzu states his basic theory that human nature is neither inherently good nor inherently evil. However, just as we might redirect the flow of water east or west, society is capable of directing our nature towards good or towards evil. 6A.2. [Kao-tzu:] Human nature is like water whirling around in a corner. Open a passage for it to the east, and it will flow to the east. Open a passage for it to the west, and it will flow to the west. Human nature is indifferent to good and evil, just as water is indifferent to the east and west. Mencius again rejects this analogy and argues that human nature possesses potential goodness, just as the nature of water is to flow down hill. [Mencius:] Water indeed will flow indifferently to the east or west, but will it flow indifferently up or down? The tendency of human nature to do good is like the tendency of water to flow downwards. All people have this tendency to good, just as all water flows downwards. Now, by striking water and causing it to leap up, you may make it go over your forehead, and, by damming and leading it, you may force it up a hill. But are such movements according to the nature of water? It is the force applied which causes them. When people are made to do what is not good, their nature is dealt with in this way. As Book 6 continues, Mencius tells us exactly what our inherently good nature consists of. First, he argues that we naturally have four specific moral virtues, namely, commiseration, shame, respect, and approval. Second, Mencius argues that these four virtues naturally give rise to others, namely humanity (jen), righteousness (i), social customs (li), knowledge (chih): 6A.6. The feeling of commiseration implies the principle of humanity. The feelings of shame and dislike imply the principle of righteousness. The feelings of reverence and respect imply the principle of social custom. The feelings of approving and disapproving imply the principle of knowledge. Humanity, righteousness, social custom, and knowledge are not infused into us from outside factors. The four secondary virtues listed in the above passage have a central place in Confucian thought, and, with the addition of mutual trust (hsin), constitute the five principal virtues (wu-chang). Mencius insists that nature has instilled these in all of us, which we can all find if we just look for them: We are certainly furnished with them. Any different view simply owes to an absence of reflection. Hsun-tzu. The philosopher Hsun-tzu (298238 BCE), a younger contemporary of Mencius, also entered into the debate about human nature. Hsun-tzus writings are collected in a 32 chapter book titled the Hsun-Tzu. More skeptical than his predecessors, Hsun-tzu argued that all events are in accord with natural law, and prayer does no good. However, he contends, if we follow the way of nature, then misfortune will not arise (Chapter 17). In a section of his work titled Human Nature is Evil (Chapter 23) Hsun-tzu takes a position opposite to that of Mencius. According to Hsun-tzu, we are by nature envious, selfish, and lustful, and we simply have no natural inclination towards kindness. From these evil instinctive tendencies, our actions are violent and lewd:

Human nature is evil and the good that we show is artificial. Even at birth human nature includes the love of gain. Since we act according to our desires, conflict and robberies emerge. We will not find self-denial and altruism. Human nature includes envy and dislike, and as actions are in accordance with these, violence and injuries spring up, whereas loyalty and faith do not. Human nature includes the desires of the ears and the eyes, leading to the love of sounds and beauty. And as the actions are in accordance with these, lewdness and disorder spring up, whereas righteousness and social custom, with their various orderly displays, do not. It thus appears that following human nature and yielding to its feelings will surely create strife and theft. It will lead to violation of everyones duties and disruption of all order, until we are in a state of savagery. In the final sentence above Hsun-tzu concludes that, if we follow our evil natural inclinations, the result will be a state of savagery in which we brutalize others and take what we want from them. Our natural inclinations by themselves, then, do not prepare us for peaceful social interaction. He continues arguing that, in spite of our inherently corrupt human nature, through education and laws we can achieve a state of peace: We must have the influence of teachers and laws, and the guidance of social custom and righteousness. For, from these we get self-denial, altruism, and an observance of the well-ordered regulations of conduct, which results in a state of good government. From all this it is plain that human nature is evil; the good which it shows is artificial. Hsun-tzu argues here that righteousness and social custom are the keys to our successful transition to a state of peace. The notion of righteousness tells us what it means to be good. Social custom functions as a kind of social conditioning or even brainwashing that reshapes our otherwise evil nature and makes it consistent with the moral rules of righteousness. Emphasis on the two virtues of righteousness and social custom places Hsun-tzu squarely in the Confucian tradition. According to Hsun-tzu, we first learn righteousness and social custom from our teachers, and then wise rulers create laws that force us to conform to these standards. He continues by offering vivid illustrations that show how severely our human nature needs reshaping: Consider some illustrations. A crooked stick must be submitted to the pressing-frame to soften and bond it, and then it becomes straight. A blunt knife must be submitted to the grindstone and whetstone, and then it becomes sharp. Similarly, human nature, being evil, must be submitted to teachers and laws, and then it becomes correct. It must be submitted to social custom and righteousness, and then it is capable of being governed. If people were without teachers and laws, our condition would be one of deviation and insecurity, and would be entirely wrong. If we were without social custom and righteousness, our condition would be one of rebellious disorder and we would reject all government. He notes here that such reshaping will not take place on its own, and, so, teachers and laws are essential to our moral transformation. Rulers of the past, he argues, fully understood this and they crafted laws for just this purpose: The sage kings of old understood that human nature was evil, in a state of hazardous deviation, improper, rebellious, disorderly, and resistant to governance. Accordingly, they set up the principles of righteousness and social custom, and framed laws and regulations. These efforts served to straighten and embellish our natural feelings. They correct them, tame them, change them and guide them. By this means we might proceed on a path of moral governance which is in agreement with reason. [Hsun-Tzu, ch. 17 Human Nature is Evil+ The superior person, then, follows social custom and righteousness as taught and legally mandated. The inferior person simply falls back on his natural evil inclinations. Hsun-tzu directly attacks Mencius for not understanding the true evil side of human nature. Even with righteousness and social custom we never completely eliminate our evil nature, but only try to control it. For example, he argues, it is human nature for us to desire to eat when we are hungry. However, through reshaping, if a person is hungry in the presence of an elder he does not dare to sit before him; he yields to the elder. Thus, we learn to yield to others in the face of our natural inclinations. Hsun-tzu concludes that the principles of righteousness and social custom that mold us are purely artificial creations invented by the sage, and should not be seen as part of our original nature. The sage is an artist who crafts moral virtue, just as the potter shapes clay. The sages pondered long in thought and gave themselves to practice, and so they succeeded in producing social custom and righteousness, and setting up laws and regulations.

Hsun-tzus theory is an attack against all moral philosophers who claim that there is an objective foundation of morality. Mencius along with the bulk of moral philosophers world-wide argue that morality is grounded in a natural order of things, the will of God, an instinctive human disposition, or some other rigid source that is not subject to human whims. Hsun-tzu rejects all theories of this sort; instead he offers the skeptical view that morality is only a creation of insightful leaders leaders who understand the urgency of reshaping our naturally evil dispositions and thereby raising society above a state of savagery. His view is not only bold, but also timeless in the sense that it contains the main ingredients of skeptical moral theories that philosophers offer today. NEO-CONFUCIANISM. Shortly after the time of Hsun-tzu, Confucianism was established as the state religion of the Han dynasty (206 BCE220 CE). The Five Classics of Confucianism became the cornerstone of education and the basis of the government civil service exam, and a university was formed to teach its doctrines. Confucian temples were built and sacrifices were offered to Confucius. Confucius himself, though, was never deified and thus remained a great teacher. Confucian political philosophers of the time preferred Hsun-tzus more skeptical views of human nature over the more optimistic views of Mencius. Elements of early Legalist philosophy were incorporated into Confucianism, which emphasized placing power in a totalitarian ruler. Metaphysical philosophy at this time was dominated by an interest in yin and yang, and philosophers focused on cosmological issues from the Book of Changes (I Ching), concerning the production of physical elements from the yin and yang forces. Ultimately, the Han dynasty was overtaken by military leaders, and Confucianism fell into disrepute. Although it regained some influence in succeeding dynasties, Confucianism was further overshadowed by the arrival of Buddhism and the growth of Taoism within China. In reaction to the challenges posed by Buddhism and Taoism, the Neo-Confucianist movement emerged in the 11th century CE. It borrowed ideas from the rival religions and revitalize the languishing Confucian tradition. Chou Tun-i. Tradition credits the founding of Neo-Confucianism to the scholar Chou Tun-i (1017-1073). Chou draws on philosophical doctrines in the Book of Changes (I Ching), particularly the cosmology described in this sentence from Appendix 3: In the Changes (I) there is the Great Ultimate (tai chi), which produces the two forms (i) *i.e., yin and yang+. These two forms produce the four emblems, and these four emblems produce the eight trigrams. The eight trigrams serve to determine good and bad fortune [for human affairs], and from this good and bad fortune spring the great activities [of human life]. According to the Book of Changes, the Great Ultimate (tai-chi) is the originator of everything, starting with the forces of yin and yang. Chou links this notion of the Great Ultimate (tai-chi) with the Taoist notion of the Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi). A central doctrine in Taoist thought is that all things eventually return (fu) to an ultimate state of nothingness (wu-chi, literally, the summit of nothingness). For example, a tree grows, reaches its maturity, and then begins a process of degeneration, death and decay until there is nothing left of it. From this realm of nothing, new things are generated. Taoists also had an elaborate system of cosmology that explained how all things are created through yin and yang. Drawing on these too, Chou develops a Confucian/Taoist hybrid cosmology in a brief work titled Diagram of the Great Ultimate Explained (Tai-chi Tu). For Chou, the Great Ultimate (tai-chi) described in the Book of changes is the same thing as the Taoist Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi). This combined Ultimate, then, is the source of all creation. Sometimes the Ultimate moves or quakes, and other times it is still. During its moments of movement, yang emerges. During its moments of stillness yin emerges: This concerns the Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi) and, likewise, the Great Ultimate (tai-chi). By moving (tung) the Great Ultimate creates yang, and once its movement subsides, it becomes still. By being still, the Great Ultimate creates the yin, and once this inactivity subsides it becomes active again. In this way, activity and inactivity interchange and become the root of the other. This is the basis of the yin and yang distinction, and this is how those two aspects come into existence. From the resulting interplay between yin and yang the elements and seasons emerge. This spawns heavenly male forces and earthly female forces: From the changing of yang and its union with yin, the five elements (wu-hsing) arise, namely, water, fire, wood, metal, and earth. When these five physical forces (chi) are disbursed in an organized fashion, the four seasons follow in succession.

Chou continues describing how the continued interplay between yin and yang produces the variety of things that we see around us: The five elements comprise one schema of yin and yang, and yin and yang comprise one Great Ultimate. The Great Ultimate is in essence the Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi). The five elements arise with their own unique nature. When the reality of the Summit of Nothingness, the nature of yin and yang, and the five elements become mysteriously united, there is cohesion. The [resulting+ Heavenly (chien) force makes up the male component, and the *resulting+ Earthly (kun) force makes up the female component. The interaction of these two forces in nature brings about and transforms innumerable things. These innumerable things reproduce which results in endless transformations. [An Explanation on the Diagram of the Great Ultimate] Chou had an immediate impact on philosophers of his time and, after about a century, Neo-Confucianism developed in two radically different directions creating a rationalist school and an idealist school. Chu Hsis School of Structural Form (Li). The rationalist approach to Neo-Confucianism is the School of Structural Form (Li-hsueh) championed by Chu Hsi (1130-1200). Chu Hsis influence in Chinese Confucianism is surpassed only by that of Confucius and Mencius. We owe to Chu Hsi the famous grouping of the Four Books (shu), namely the Analects, the Great Learning, the Doctrine of the Mean, and the Mencius. He wrote commentaries on these, and his interpretation of them became the content of the Chinese civil servant examination from 1313 to 1905. Like his Neo-Confucianist predecessors, Chu sees the Great Ultimate (tai-chi) as the origin of everything else, and also identifies the Great Ultimate as the Taoist Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi). In explaining the emergence of things from the Ultimate, Chu follows earlier NeoConfucianists and distinguishes between a things structural form (li), and its material force (chi). Both of these terms require comment. As to li, this Neo-Confucian notion should not be confused with the earlier Confucian concept of social custom, which is also transliterated in English as li. In Chinese, the two words are homonyms that have separate meanings and are in fact designated by separate Chinese characters. The notion of li in Neo-Confucian thought has a distinct metaphysical meaning and refers to the structural form behind natural things, including the structural form of human beings. In this sense, it is often translated as principle. This metaphysical concept of li has its origin in passages from the Appendices to the Book of Changes, such as this: They plumbed li to its depths and completely penetrated the nature, thereby reaching to [an understanding of+ Destiny (Appendix 5). As to chi, early Chinese thought sees this as a physiological principle associated with breath and blood, similar to the notion of animal spirits in medieval European biology. As such, it is often translated as vital energy. However, the meaning of chi radically changes with NeoConfucianism, and instead it refers to the material nature of things which is a force in its own right. Thus, li and chi denote a form/matter relation. Chus discussion of structural form (li) and material force (chi) is complex, but at the heart of his account there is a commonsense view of how we look at the world. Everything that we see in the world around us appears to involve a mixture of both matter and form. For example, if I took the chair in front of me and attempted to remove its visible form leaving only its material stuff behind Id end up with useless material sludge. Technically, even that remaining sludge would have some form left to it insofar as it would be in the shape of a glob and have a molecular structure. To completely remove the form from that glob I would have to annihilate it. For Chu Hsi, the Great Ultimate is pure, unified structural form. Everything in the universe partakes of and exhibits this universal structural form, including heaven, earth, yin/yang, individual objects, and humans. To explain how this single, unified structural form can be exhibited in a multitude of things, Chu offers the analogy of the moon and its reflections: there is one moon, but its light is scattered on lakes and rivers everywhere. The universe with everything in it is a fusion of structural form and material force. In the universe of things (heaven, earth, objects), material force cannot exist without structural form (although structural form exists purely in the Great Ultimate). Since that everything in the universe is shaped by structural form, then the investigation of things (as advocated in the Great Learning) is an investigation of structural form. In the following, Chu describes how when we examine the universe of things, we can consider either its essential nature (tien), or its physical nature. Examining essential nature is a consideration of the structural form in things. 43.2. Essential nature is structural form only, but apart from the material force and the solid matter of earth, structural form would have nothing in which to reside. However, when this material force is received particularly if it is clear and translucent then structural form flows forth freely. If there is a small amount of obscurity and obstruction, then

the structural form of heaven will dominate. If there is a greater amount of obstruction, then selfish human desire will dominate. Thus we see that the original nature is completely good. ... Examining physical nature is a consideration of a things structural form as mingled with material force. 43.3. When we speak of the nature of heaven and earth we refer specifically to structural form. When we speak of the physical nature, we refer to structural form combined with material force. Before the material structure existed, nature already existed. Material force is transitory, and nature is eternal. Although nature is implanted in the midst of material force, the material force is still material force, and nature is still nature, without confusing the one with the other. ... Chu uses an analogy to describe the relation between the essential nature and physical nature of any given thing. Essential nature is like clear water, and physical nature is like flavoring we add to it which permeates the entirety. Chus theory also contains a moral component. As all things in the universe have essential nature and exhibit particular structural forms, this is so of human beings as well. According to Chu, the essential nature of humans is fundamentally good, although differences in our physical nature have us behave morally or immorally from birth. As various material forces predominate in us specifically the five elements (wu-hsing) of wood, fire, earth, metal, and water we have different personality traits:

43:13. Although essential nature is the same in all people, their material features are necessarily unequal. There are those who have material features in which wood predominates. In them the feeling of compassion is strong, although signs of shame, honor and moral sensibility are weak. And similarly, there are those who have material features in which metal predominates. The result is that shame is strong, although the other three feelings are weak. This is so too with the material features of water and fire. It is only when yin and yang unite all virtues and the five moral qualities are all complete [namely, humanity (jen), righteousness (i), social customs (li), wisdom (chih), and mutual trust (hsin)] that you will have the proper Mean [chung] and uprightness of the sage. Chu continues explaining how humanity (jen) is produced in human beings by the interaction between structural form and material force. 47.3. The two things that make people to be people are structural form (which is the structural form of heaven and earth) and material force (which is the material force of heaven and earth). Structural form is without traces and invisible, and it is thus only in material force that we can see it. If we would understand the meaning of humanity (jen), we must think of it as exhibited in an all-comprehensive, mild, and gentle material force. This material force is the positive springtime material force of heaven and earth; its structural form is the life-producing Mind of heaven and earth. If next we turn to a persons own personality and suppose him to possess this structural form, what do we find? The moment he possesses it he is good in precisely the same way as exhibited in heaven and earth, which is free from decay. For Chu, humanity encapsulates our best moral attributes. It is a feature hidden within us all which springs forth, just as a tree springs forth from a seed. Wang Yang Ming and the School of Mind. The idealist school of Neo-Confucianism, officially called the School of Mind (hsin-hsueh), was founded by Lu Hsiang-shan (1139-1193). In 1177 he debated Chu Hsi and opposed him on virtually every point. Lus idealist spin on Neo-Confucianism can be seen in two important respects. First, he argues that our minds have several innate capacities, including knowledge of the nature of things, knowledge of what is good, and the ability to do good. Second, and more importantly, Lu argued that there is really only one mind: My mind, my friends mind, the mind of the sages thousands of years ago, and the mind of sages thousands of years to come are all the same (35.10). Further, he contends that this single mind is the universe: The universe (yu chou) is my mind, and my mind is the universe (36.5). Why, though, do I see myself as distinct from others and the rest of the universe? For Lu, we often become blinded by material desire and thus lose sight of our original minds. Simplifying the metaphysical baggage of NeoConfucianism, this original and universal mind is the structural form (li) of everything and, consequently, the investigation

of things involves an investigation of mind. Lu also identifies mind with the Great Ultimate (tai-chi). He finds the Taoist notion of The Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi) to be nonsense since mind has always existed. He concludes that both Chou Tun-i and Chu Hsi are thereby mistaken when they identify the Great Ultimate (tai-chi) with the Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi). Although Lu never achieved the fame of Chu Hsi, he set an idealist agenda that was later championed by Wang Yang-Ming (1472-1529). In the three centuries between Lu and Wang, though, the interpretation of Confucianism offered by Chu Hsi became official orthodoxy. Other philosophical speculation was discouraged and, in the process, Chus doctrines became static creeds that were memorized, but not necessarily applied to peoples moral lives. China itself faced turmoil from corrupt governments, bandits, and economic decline. In his early years, Wang was influenced by Chus account of the investigation of things, which involved finding the structural form (li) inherent in things. Attempting to discover the structural form of bamboo, Wang once sat in front of some bamboo trees for seven days. He became disillusioned with Chu when he did not obtain the knowledge for which he was seeking. A civil servant in his 30s, Wang was exiled for opposing an advisor who usurped the imperial throne. During exile, he had an awakening regarding the Confucian notion of the investigation of things, and this became the basis of his philosophy. Over the years he continued both his political and philosophical careers, and several of his philosophical conversations with students were recorded in a work titled Instructions for Practical Living (Chuan-hsi lu). Temporarily overturning Chu Hsis accepted interpretation, Wangs idealism dominated Confucianism during the 16th and 17th centuries.

The two key principles of Wangs philosophy are (1) knowledge of everything is innate in our minds, and (2) knowledge and action are unified. Regarding the first of these, Wang follows Lu Hsiang-shan and holds that our minds are identical with the structural form (li) of everything; thus we have innate knowledge of everything. Accordingly, the investigation of things involves an inquiry into our minds. One particular discussion in Wangs Instructions explains how moral knowledge is innate. A student begins by questioning Wang about his sweeping claim that all knowledge is innate. In particular, understanding moral duties such as filial obedience, loyalty, sincerity, and benevolence apparently involve looking beyond ones mind into the outside world. Contrary to the students suggestion, Wang insists that even this is innate and we see these structural forms in our minds once we eliminate selfish desires: In the matter of serving ones father, one cannot seek for the structural form (li) of filial obedience in ones parent. Or in serving ones prince one cannot seek for the structural form of loyalty in the prince. Or in making friends or governing the people one cannot seek for the structural form of sincerity and benevolence in the friend or the people. They are all in the mind, for the mind itself is identical with structural form. When the mind is not obscured by selfish aims, it is the embodiment of structural forms of heaven. It is not necessary to add one bit from outside. When service of parents emerges from the mind characterized by pure heaven-given structural forms, we have filial obedience. When services of princes emerge, we have loyalty. When the making of friends or the governing of the people emerge, we have sincerity and benevolence. It is only necessary to expel human passions and devote ones energies to the external principles. [Instructions for Practical Living, 1:2] The second key principle of Wangs philosophy the unity of action and knowledge involves two related things. First, when we know something, we necessarily act with that knowledge in mind. Second, our knowledge of something, such as filial obedience, must be informed by our actions. In the discussion below, a student challenges Wangs doctrine of the unity of action and knowledge. According to the student, it seems that some people know things, such as filial obedience, but cannot act out on them. Again, Wang argues, the problem concerns selfishness and the person who does not act filial has not yet grasped the knowledge of filial obedience: [Wang:] This separation is due to selfishness and does not represent the original character of knowledge and action. No one who really has knowledge fails to act on it. Knowledge without action should be interpreted as lack of knowledge. Sages and virtuous people teach us to know how to act because they wish for us to return to nature. They do not tell us to merely reflect and leave it at that. The Great Learning exhibits true knowledge and action so we may understand this. Suppose I say that someone knows filial obedience and someone knows brotherly respect. They must have actually practiced filial obedience and brotherly respect before they can be said to know them. ... [Student:] The ancients said that knowledge and action are two different things. People should also understand this clearly. One section examines knowledge, another action. Only then do we have a starting point for our task.

[Wang:] Here you have lost the meaning of the ancients. I have said that knowledge is the purpose for acting, and that action implies carrying out knowledge. Knowledge is the beginning of action, and action is the completion of knowledge. If I know how to attain the desired end, I speak only of knowing and the acting is already naturally included. Or if I speak of acting, the knowing is already included. [Instructions for Practical Living, 1:5] From Confucius on through Wang Yang Ming, Confucian philosophers continually emphasized issues of moral character. Even the most complex metaphysical discussions by Neo-Confucianists were at some level directed by this concern. The central Confucian notions throughout the centuries were humanity, righteousness, filial piety, clear moral character, innate goodness, and innate moral knowledge. The goal here is not so much spiritual enlightenment, as we see in other Eastern religions, but a peaceful and virtuous society. A skeptic might easily dismiss mystical experiences and theories of an all-pervading and undifferentiated ultimate reality. However, it is less easy to dismiss our need and desire for a morally decent social environment. At every moment our lives are affected by the moral considerations of people around us, and Confucian philosophers never lost sight of this. The focus on moral character enabled the Confucian tradition to produce theories as diverse as Hsun-tzus moral relativism and Wang Yang Mings moral idealism. We cannot reconcile their radically differing visions of where morality comes from whether morality is invented by insightful political leaders or is instead an inherent part of the divine mind. However, the specific values that they each recommended bear the clear marks of Confucius. SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING Primary Sources. Analects, tr. D.C. Lau, (Penguin, 1979). Chinese Classics, tr. James Legge, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1893). Chu Hsi and the Ta-Hsueh, tr. Daniel K. Gardner, (Harvard University Press, 1986). Classics in Chinese Philosophy, ed. Wade Baskin, (Totowa: Littlefield, 1974). I Ching, or Book of Changes, tr. Cary Baynes, R. Wilhelm, (Princeton University Press, 1967). Mencius, tr. D.C. Lau (Chinese University Press, 1984), 2 Vol. Sourcebook in Chinese Philosophy, tr. Wing-Tsit Chan, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963). Sources of Chinese Tradition, ed. W.T. de Bary (New York: Columbia University Press, 1960). Secondary Sources. Chu Hsi and Neo-Confucianism, ed. Wing-tsit Chan, (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1986). Concept of Man in Early China, Donald J Munro, (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1972). Confucius and the Chinese Way, H.G. Creel (New York: Harper, 1960) Confucius, Raymond Dawson, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). History of Chinese Philosophy, 2 Vol., Fung Yu-Lan, Derk Bodde, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952-53). Message of the Mind in Neo-Confucianism, William Theodore de Bary, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989). Neo-Confucianism, Wing-tsit Chan, (Hanover, N.H.: Oriental Society, 1969). Outline of Confucianism, D.Y. Lee, (Bloomington, IN: Eastern Press, 1988 1987). Short History of Confucian Philosophy, Wu-chi Liu (New York: Dell Pub. Co., 1955).

****

PART FOUR: TAOIST PHILOSOPHY BACKGROUND. Like Confucianism, Taoism emerged during the Warring States period in Chinas history. It recommended ending social chaos by imitating nature, and going back to the primitive tradition of China before the appearance of kings and feudal systems. Over the centuries, Taoism developed two radically distinct emphases. One emphasis is called Philosophical Taoism (Tao-chia); it identifies the Tao as the ultimate ordering principle of nature which we should incorporate into our individual and social lives. The other emphasis is called Religious Taoism (Tao-chiao), which stresses techniques for attaining physical immortality in this life. Early Philosophical Taoism is associated with two texts: the Tao Te Ching (c. 300 BCE) and the Chuang-Tzu (c. 250 BCE). However, a distinct school of Philosophical Taoism was not formally recognized until sometime after 200 BCE during Chinas Han Dynasty (206 BCE- 220 CE). At that time the name Taoism was coined by scholars to refer to the similar doctrines contained in the Tao Te Ching and the Chuang-Tzu. A classic Chinese history book by Ssu-ma Chien titled Historical Records (c. 100 BCE) gives a brief description of the school: The Taoist school urged people to unity of spirit, teaching that all activities should be in harmony with the unseen, with abundant liberality toward all things in nature. As to practice, they accept the orderly sequence of nature from the yinyang school, gather the good points of Confucians and Mohists, and combine with these the important points of the school of Names and Law. In accordance with the changes of the seasons, they respond to the development of natural objects. Their achievements fit everywhere. Their ideas are simple and easily carried out. They perform but little, yet their achievements are numerous. Before the composition of the Tao Te Ching and the Chuang-Tzu, the philosopher Yang Chu foreshadowed important Taoist concepts. Yang Chu lived around 450 CE and was seen as a rival to the Confucian school. None of his writings survive and he is remembered principally in quotations from others who typically sought to refute him. He emphasized the importance of self-preservation, which his critics understood as advocating selfishness. Accordingly, Mencius depicted him as a man who would not pluck out a hair on his head for the benefit of the world. Yang Chu steered clear of all danger and was revered by rulers because of the value he placed on life as opposed to material possessions. Perhaps the most Taoist description of him is found in a second century BCE Taoist work titled the Huia-Nan-Tzu: Completeness of living, preservation of what is genuine, and not allowing outside things to entangle ones person: these are what Yang-tzu established, and were condemned by Mencius. To aid in self-preservation and avoid entanglement in outside things, Yang Chu recommends living as a recluse. Lao-Tzu. The traditional founder of Taoism is a legendary figure named Lao-tzu. Some modern scholars question whether Lao-tzu was a real person, and suggest that he merely represents a literary genre of wise sayings. Some also suggest that the figure of Lao-tzu was created by early Taoists to establish historical primacy over Confucianism. The traditional account of Lao-tzu is that he was an older contemporary of Confucius and he earned his living as a curator of the Chou dynasty archives. Tradition also credits him with composing the Tao Te Ching, Taoisms most important text. Ssuma Chiens Historical Records gives the following legendary account of the composition of the Tao Te Ching: Lao-tzu cultivated the way and virtue, and his teachings aimed at self-contrition. He lived in Chou for a long time, but seeing its decline he departed. When he reached the Pass, the Keeper there was pleased and said to him, As you are about to leave the world behind, could you write a book for my sake? As a result, Lao-tzu wrote a work in two books,

setting out the meaning of the way and virtue in some five thousand characters, and then departed. None know where he went to in the end. Later tradition embellished events of Lao-tzus life adding, for example, miraculous birth stories. A case in point is the following from a 6th century CE stone inscription by Hsieh Tao-Hang in the Temple of Lao-tzu: The Master Lao was conceived under the influence of a star. We cannot imagine from where he received the lifes breath, but he pointed to the plum tree under which he was born, and adopted its surname [i.e., Li]. We do not understand where the musical sounds came from [that were heard during his birth]. However, he kept his marvelous powers concealed in the womb for more than seventy years. When he was born, the hair on his head was already white, and he took the designation of The Old Boy *i.e., Lao-tzu]. Legends aside, the mysterious figure of Lao-tzu is nevertheless inseparably linked with the founding of Taoism. TAO TE CHING. Although tradition dates the Tao Te Ching at around 450 BCE, scholars today ascribe to it a later date from around 300 BCE, based on the works literary style. The book is an anthology compiled to instruct kings on government; specifically it recommends that kings should rule through an extreme hands off policy, allowing social events to conform to nature. The work was initially called The Lao-Tzu after its alleged author, but was dubbed the Tao Te Ching during Chinas Han dynasty (206 BCE- 220 CE). The title Tao Te Ching means the Way (tao) and its Power (te). The term ching simply designates it as a classic book. It is in two parts. The first part, titled Tao, consists of 37 brief chapters, and the second part, titled Te, consists of 44 chapters. Our discussion of the Tao Te Ching below is arranged according to four principal Taoist concepts: (1) the Tao, (2) return, (3) non-action, and (4) non-mind. The Tao. The notion of the Tao is the central concept in Taoism. Literally the term means way or path, although it refers to the fundamental ordering principle behind nature, society, and individual people. The two notions of Tao (way) and Te (power) are inseparable insofar as Tao is the producing force in nature, and Te is how it unfolds. In people, Te involves the power or virtue which people acquire through the Tao. Strictly speaking, the Tao cannot be defined and so it has an unspeakable and mystical quality. Many discussions of the Tao, such as those in the paragraphs below, try to capture its unfathomable nature. The opening passage from the book is probably its most famous. 1. The Tao that can be named is not the eternal and unchanging Tao. The name that can be spoken is not the eternal and unchanging name. The nameless is the source of heaven and earth. The named is the mother of all things. Always be without desires and you will see mystery. Always be with desire, and you will see only its effects. These two are really the same, although, as development takes place, they receive the different names. They are both a mystery, and where mystery is the deepest we find the gate of all that is subtle and wonderful. Interpreting and even translating the Tao Te Ching is a great challenge. Part of the problem is that the original Chinese text is very frugal, containing only basic concepts with little embellishment. To simply read the text in Chinese requires filling in conceptual gaps. A second problem is that the Tao Te Ching aims to describe a mystical quality of the universe, which defies true description. According to the above passage, if you try to name, speak, or describe the Tao, then you have missed the point and distorted the Taos meaning. It is an indescribable source of all existence, and we grasp the Tao only by mystically experiencing its subtlety. According to the above passage, this experience begins with subduing ones desires. From the start, the Tao Te Ching advocates a non-intellectual and even anti-intellectual approach. We should abandon hopes of finding an adequate verbal description of the Tao, and instead psychologically realign ourselves so that we are not driven by our desires. With no mental conceptions or desires to muddy the waters, we then allow the Tao exhibit itself through our own lives, and we can recognize its presence in the natural world around us. Another passage early on in the Tao Te Ching hints that the indescribable nature of the Tao is like an empty vessel, which we should never try to fill with concrete descriptions that will invariably misrepresent it: 4. The Tao is like the emptiness of a vessel; and in our employment of it we must be on our guard against all fullness. How deep and unfathomable it is, as if it were the honored ancestor of all things. We should blunt our sharp points, and unravel the complications of things; we should dim our brightness, and bring ourselves into agreement with the obscurity of others. How pure and still the Tao is, as if it would continue forever. I do not know whose son it is. It might appear to have been before God.

The Taos nature, according to the above, is infinitely deep and as mysterious as any investigation into the origin of things in the far distant past. To understand it, we must take an approach that is opposite to what we might expect. For example, as the passage below tells us, we typically learn about things through our senses of sight, hearing, or touch. But the Tao lacks any sensory qualities that might enable us to perceive it in this manner. In fact, if we try to investigate the Tao as though it were just another physical object of perception, we will find that its nature actually consists of lacking any tangible qualities: 14. We look at it, and we do not see it, and we name it the Equable. We listen to it, and we do not hear it, and we name it the Inaudible. We try to grasp it, and do not get hold of it, and we name it the Subtle. With these three qualities, it cannot be made the subject of description; and hence we blend them together and obtain The One. Its upper part is not bright, and its lower part is not obscure. Ceaseless in its action, it yet cannot be named, and then it again returns and becomes nothing. This is called the Form of the Formless, and the Appearance of the Invisible; this is called the Fleeting and Indeterminable. We meet it and do not see its front; we follow it, and do not see its back. When we can lay hold of the Tao of old to direct the things of the present day, and are able to know it as it was of old in the beginning, this is called unwinding the clue of Tao. What is the Taos form? It is formless. What is its appearance? It is invisible. Try as we might to list its qualities, we are left with empty descriptions. In spite of the Taos unspeakable quality, the Tao Te Ching tells us at least something about the Taos nature. One recurring point is that the Tao both produces and nourishes everything that exists: 10 ... The Tao produces all things and nourishes them; it produces them and does not claim them as its own; it does all, and yet does not boast of it; it presides over all, and yet does not control them. This is what is called the mysterious quality of the Tao. Although the Tao is the originator of all things, we should not misconstrue it as a kind of pre-existing God who created a universe distinct from itself. Instead, before things originated, the Tao was in a formless state of potential. As it took on the state of existence, the Tao produced things that remain part of its nature: 25. There was something undefined and complete, coming into existence before Heaven and Earth. How still and formless it was, standing alone, and undergoing no change, reaching everywhere and in no danger of being exhausted. It may be regarded as the Mother of all things. I do not know its name, and I give it the designation of the Tao, the Way or Course. ... As in the above passage, the Tao Te Ching repeatedly refers to the Tao as the mother of everything. The metaphor here is striking. A cosmic father evokes images of a craftsman or builder who aggressively manufactures the world from some external raw material. But a cosmic mother gives birth to things, generating them from within herself, and continually nurturing them. It is like a great tree that sprouts branches, leaves, and fruit, continually feeding them all from within. It is like a great river that spawns and sustains a myriad of life forms. Amidst these somewhat ethereal accounts of the Tao, we must not lose sight of the practical recommendations in the Tao Te Ching, which describe the Taos impact on society and our personal lives. As a political treatise, the Tao Te Ching insists that if rulers follow the Tao then their states will be well ordered. The passage below describes how the law of the Tao flows from the Tao itself, down through heaven and earth, and then to the ruler: 25. ... Therefore the Tao is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; and the sage king is also great. In the universe there are four that are great, and the sage king is one of them. People [i.e., rulers] take their law from the Earth; the Earth takes its law from Heaven; Heaven takes its law from the Tao. The law of the Tao is its being what it is. Earth and heaven automatically follow the law of the Tao. The king, however, has a choice in the matter. When he fails to follow the Taos law, things become disastrous. On the other hand, when he does follow the Tao, his kingdom is in natural harmony: 32. ... If a prince or the king could guard and hold the Tao, all would spontaneously submit themselves to him. Heaven and Earth under its guidance unite together and send down the sweet dew, which, without the directions of people, reaches equally everywhere as of its own accord. As soon as it moves on to action, it has a name. When it once has that name, people can know to rest in it. When they know to rest in it, they can be free from all risk of failure and error. The relation of the Tao to all the world is like that of the great rivers and seas to the streams from the valleys.

To rule in accord with the Tao, a leader must abandon common notions of governance, which typically involve authoritatively imposing his will on the people. Instead, a more Tao-centered way of ruling paradoxically involves not ruling at all, but allowing things to emerge naturally. Return (Fu, Fan). The Tao Te Ching only briefly hints at the concept of return, and from its handful of passages we are left to speculate somewhat about its meaning. In the widest and most cosmic sense, the Tao expresses itself in cycles of closeness and remoteness: Great, it passes on in constant flow. Passing on, it becomes remote. Having become remote, it returns (25). As the Tao becomes close, heaven and earth exhibit life and regeneration; as it becomes remote, things decay and die. All objects around us have been recycled and will again be recycled. Trees, animals, and even societies grow and die, and their elements will ultimately be recycled. In this sense, the Taoist notion of return is that all things eventually decay and return to their ultimate source within the Tao. The passage below illustrates this point with plants, which first display luxuriant growth, and then return to their origin: 16. The state of vacancy should be brought to the utmost degree, and that of stillness guarded with unwearying vigor. All things alike go through their processes of activity, and then we see them return to their original state. When things in the vegetable world have displayed their luxuriant growth, we see each of them return to its root. This returning to their root is what we call the state of stillness; and that stillness may be called a reporting that they have fulfilled their appointed end. Growth and decay are not just one-time events, but in fact occur again and again in an endless natural cycle. This is the pulse of the universe that we find in most everything that we observe. Within the natural world we see patterns of opposition, such as day/night, heat/cold, life/death. In human life we see infancy/aging, fortune/misfortune, joy/sorrow. Even in society we find cycles of opposition such as wealth/poverty, war/peace, order/chaos. Although the notion of return is textually obscure within the Tao Te Ching, it is probably the most understandable of all Taoist notions when we pay attention to how things operate in the natural world itself. We tend to praise human accomplishments that have the most lasting value, such as timeless works of art, scientific discoveries, and moral traditions. When we look at nature, though, we see that nothing is permanent and everything comes and goes in cycles. In later Taoist thought, the ultimate source to which everything returns is actually a state of nothingness (Wu-chi, literally, the Summit of Nothingness). Things grow, and then decay to the point that they lack any positive description whatever. Perhaps this will be the fate of the universe in the distant future when it collapses under its own gravity and nothing distinguishable will remain. In the mean time, though, we all witness the natural cycles of return that occur around us. Non-Action (Wu-Wei). The most practical advice of Taoism is that all of our actions should flow with simple spontaneity and without contrivance. Artificial actions run counter to the natural course of things and typically involve aggression and competition. This is the heart of the Taoist notion of non-action (wu-wei), which advocates that we should avoid aggressive and unnatural actions. Picture a log floating down a river with a large rock in its path. Rather than knocking the rock over, the log gently bumps into it, casually floats around it, and continues on its course. Passivity, rather than aggression, is a virtue. Accordingly, Taoism recommends that we accentuate yin the female low-energy mode of nature and downplay yang. The following passage illustrates that, in the natural world, weakness is linked with life, and strength with death: 76. Man at his birth is supple and weak; at his death, firm and strong. So it is with all things. In their early growth, trees and plants are soft and brittle; at their death they are dry and withered. In this manner, firmness and strength are the accompaniments of death, whereas softness and weakness are the accompaniments of life. We might initially think that passivity and weakness would make us an easy target of attack, and much more vulnerable to manipulation than we otherwise might be. Paradoxically, though, most discussions of non-action in the Tao Te Ching aim to show how this technique is in fact the most successful means of self-defense and engaging in war. The basic strategy is explained here: 43. The softest thing in the world dashes against and overcomes the hardest; that which has no substantial existence enters where there is no crevice. I know by this what advantage there is to doing nothing with a purpose. There are few in the world who attain to the teaching without words, and the advantage arising from non-action. According to the above, we overcome obstacles by first entering where there is no crevice that is, by homing in on an adversarys vulnerabilities. We then effortlessly shatter our adversarys strength. We find a good illustration of this within

the Marshal Arts, which distinguish between hard and soft techniques. Hard defense forms such as Tae Kwon Do attempt to batter an adversary into submission through forceful kicks and punches. By contrast, soft defense forms such as Aikido attempt to redirect an adversarys force against himself through techniques of twisting and throwing. Taoists clearly prefer a soft approach when engaging in combat: Hence the person who relies on the strength of his forces does not conquer; and a tree that is strong will fill out-stretched arms, and thereby invites the lumberjack. Therefore the place of what is firm and strong is below, and that of what is soft and weak is above (76). The Tao Te Ching illustrates the soft approach by noting the sometimes devastating effects of water: There is nothing in the world more soft and weak than water, and yet for attacking things that are firm and strong there is nothing that can outrank it. The same passage continues, though, lamenting that, even though we all know that the weak overcomes the strong, no one is able to carry it out in practice (78). We need to adopt an all too rare attitude of humiliation to accomplish this. Aside from issues of military combat, the larger message of non-action in the Tao Te Ching pertains to proper governing. The more aggressive input and regulation a government imposes on its citizens, the more disorder results. By contrast, when a leader sits back and does nothing ruling through non-action society develops on its own: 57. A state may be ruled by measures of correction; weapons of war may be used with crafty dexterity; but the kingdom is made ones own only by freedom from action and purpose. How do I know that it is so? By these facts: growth of restrictive laws in kingdoms increases the poverty of the people; the more devices that the people have to add to their profit, the greater disorder there is in the state and clan; the more acts of crafty dexterity that people possess, the more do strange contrivances appear; the more display there is of legislation, the more thieves and robbers there are. ... The underlying assumption in the above is that nature needs no help from rulers. When the general public follows the Tao, we each naturally find peaceful and simple ways to flourish. Even a well-intentioned leader may disrupt the natural flow of social order by imposing rules. The mere existence of rules will generate rule-breakers. Taoism thus recommends political anarchy in the true sense of the word, namely, a peaceful state of no rule in which we naturally find our place. 57. ... Therefore a sage has said, I will do nothing with purpose, and the people will transform themselves; I will keep still, and the people will correct themselves. I will not trouble with them, and the people will become rich by themselves; I will show no ambition, and the people will arrive at primitive simplicity by themselves. The perfect society envisioned in the Tao Te Ching does not consist of large and complex cities of the sort that we find throughout the world today. Instead, primitive simplicity is the ideal, which in practical terms means small farming families and communities. Non-Mind (Wu-Tsin). Paralleling the notion of non-action, the concept of non-mind (wu tsin) is that the elimination of knowledge is needed for true spontaneous intuition. Accumulated knowledge hinders creativity and can make one inflexible or subject to a false sense of security. The Tao Te Ching rejects traditional methods of education, such as learning from a master or traveling around and acquiring knowledge through experience. To the extent that the Tao runs through each of us, everything that we need to know about life is already within ourselves. Nature will automatically direct us when needs arise. The true sage never has to even leave home: 47. Without going outside his door, one understands all that takes place under the sky; without looking out from his window, one sees the Tao of Heaven. The further that one goes out from himself, the less he knows. Therefore the sages got their knowledge without traveling, gave their right names to things without seeing them, and accomplished their ends without any purpose of doing so. Not only should we avoid acquiring knowledge by conventional means, but we should also rid ourselves of the cumbersome knowledge that weve acquired throughout the years. The passage below explains further that non-mind is a step towards achieving our ultimate goal of non-action; for, if we avoid thinking about things, then we are less likely to act. 48. He who devotes himself to learning seeks from day to day to increase his knowledge. He who devotes himself to the Tao seeks from day to day to diminish his doing. He diminishes it and again diminishes it, until he arrives at doing nothing on purpose. Having arrived at this point of non-action, there is nothing that he does not do. He who gets as his

own all under heaven does so by giving himself no trouble with that end. If one takes trouble with that end, he is not equal to getting as his own all under heaven.

It is only through non-mind and non-action, the passage concludes, that we can ever acquire lifes best things. The notion of non-mind also applies to how we grasp the Tao itself. The passage below contends that we cannot achieve an understanding of the Tao through philosophical discourse and dispute. In fact, the more we dispute about the Tao, the less we actually know about it: 81. Sincere words are not fine, and fine words are not sincere. Those who are skilled in the Tao do not dispute about it, and those who dispute are not skilled in it. Those who know the Tao are not extensively learned, and the extensively learned do not know it. The sage does not accumulate for himself. The more that he expends for others, the more does he possess of his own. The more that he gives to others, the more does he have himself. With all the sharpness of the Way of Heaven, it injures not; with all the doing in the way of the sage he does not strive. In view of the inherently indescribable nature of the Tao, it is no surprise that the most perceptive Taoists avoid disputing about it. Imagine that, for a brief moment, a group of people saw a color that ordinarily lies beyond the human visual spectrum. Suppose that, after the experience, the people started discussing what they saw. Well, it was kind of like a really intense blue one might say. No, another would counter, it was like a pure bright light with an eerie afterglow. Youre both wrong, interjects a third, it wasnt really a color but a visible aura. Debates of this sort would be meaningless, since we have no persistent experience of the new color that might form the basis of our vocabulary and concepts. Similarly, debates about the Tao would be equally meaningless since even our best mystical experience of it would defy concrete conceptualization. As with other central Taoist notions, the Tao Te Ching draws important political implications from the concept of non-mind. The passage below suggests that rulers can reduce social discord when their subjects adopt the practice of nonmind: 3. Not to value and employ people of superior ability is the way to keep the people from rivalry among themselves. Not to prize articles which are difficult to procure is the way to keep them from becoming thieves. Not to show them what is likely to excite their desires is the way to keep their minds from disorder. Therefore, in exercising his government, the sage empties the peoples minds, fills their bellies, weaken their wills, and strengthen their bones. He constantly tries to keep them without knowledge and without desire, and where there are those who have knowledge, to keep them from acting on it. When there is this abstinence from action, good order is universal. According to the above, the specific kind of knowledge that is most damaging to social harmony involves conventional standards of value and worth. Nature does not teach us to value one style of clothes over another, for example. The value that we place on specific luxury items, leisure activities, standards of beauty, or human accomplishments are principally matters of cultural brainwashing. Criminals break the law because they cannot easily acquire the endless array of things society dangles before them. We noted earlier that rulers should adopt the practice of non-action and avoid regulating society. However, to the extent that the ruler does intervene in society, his task should be to empty these artificial values from his subjects minds. CHUANG-TZU. Second only to the Tao Te Ching is the work attributed to and named after Taoist philosopher Chuang-tzu (369-286 BCE). The text is in 33 chapters, although scholars believe that only the first seven chapters commonly called the inner chapters can safely be attributed to him. The latter chapters, they believe, may have been written by his students. In any event, the entire work is quite remarkable. Unlike the Tao Te Ching, the Chuang-Tzu is not a political treatise. Intended for a more general readership, it is composed in a popular style with vivid stories and parables. We know few facts about Chuang-tzus life. Tradition maintains that he held a minor political position. According to a discussion in the latter portion

of the Chuang-Tzu, he was once invited to become a prime minister but replied, I would rather leave myself to my own enjoyment in the mire than be a slave to the ruler of a state. I will never take office. Thus, I shall remain free to follow my own inclinations. We also find an anecdote about Chuang-Tsus burial plans: When Chuang-tzu was about to die, his disciples indicated their wish to give him a grand burial. He replied, I will have heaven and earth for my coffin and its shell; the sun and moon for my two round symbols of jade; the stars and constellations for my pearls and jewels; and all things assisting as the mourners. Will not the provisions for my burial be complete? What could you add to them? *Chuang-Tzu, Chapter 32] Chuang-tzu echoes the central notions of the Tao Te Ching, such as return, non-action, and non-mind. The Tao itself, he argues, is in everything, including human urine and excrement (Ch. 22). In addition to these, he stresses three concepts that extend beyond the teachings of the Tao Te Ching: that opposites are identical, that all things are in a process of transformation, and we should achieve complete freedom from unnatural constraints. Tale of the Butcher: Non-Action and Non-Mind. Like the Tao Te Ching, Chuang-tzu also recommends that we practice non-action (wu wei) and non-mind (wu tsin) in our quest to live according to the Tao. He vividly portrays this in a parable of a cook who takes a Taoist approach to butchering. The cook was once slicing meat in the presence of his employer a prince, who was quite impressed with the cooks rhythmical and harmonious cutting technique. The cook then explained his secret: I am devoted to the method of the Tao, which is superior to any skill. When I first began to cut up bulls, I saw nothing but the [entire] carcass. After three years I ceased to see it as a whole. Now I deal with it in a spirit-like manner, and do not look at it with my eyes. I discarded the use of my senses, and my spirit acts as it wills. Observing the natural lines, [my knife] slips through the great crevices and slides through the great cavities, taking advantage of the accommodations thus presented. My skill avoids the ligaments, and much more the large bones. A good cook changes his knife every year because he cleanly cuts. An ordinary cook changes his every month because he hacks. Now I have used my knife for nineteen years. It has cut up several thousand bulls, and yet its edge is as sharp as if it came right from the whetstone. [Chuang-Tzu, Book 3.] By working in harmony with the meat and slicing between the joints, rather than hacking through bone, the cook incorporates a basic Taoist perspective. In accord with the practice of non-mind, he loses awareness of the techniques of butchering and cuts the meat in a spirit-like manner almost as if in a trance. In accord with the practice of non-action, by cutting in the crevices between the joints rather through harder areas, the cook illustrates a non-aggressive approach we should take in all our actions. Impressed by the cooks explanation, the Prince concludes the parable: I have heard the words of my cook, and learned how to care for life. Unlike the Tao Te Ching, which puts a heavy political and military spin on both non-action and non-mind, Chuang-tzu illustrates these concepts with a quite ordinary task. The point is as the Prince notes all of our lifes activities, no matter how mundane, should be conducted through the practice of non-action and non-mind. Athletes today describe a psychological state that they call the zone a euphoric and almost unconscious condition in which they perform at peak ability, giving no thought to the mechanics of their activity. In a sense, Chuang-tzu recommends that we expand that zone to encompass everything that we do. Tale of the Dying Man: Transformation (Hua). One of the oldest philosophical puzzles known today as the problem of evil attempts to reconcile the presence of human suffering with the existence of a divine being. Diseases, natural disasters, wars, injustices are undeniable facts of the human condition, and the abundance of such suffering does not quite mesh with the idea of a benevolent God or ultimate reality. Philosophers have offered a variety of solutions to this problem, such as blaming suffering on human free choice or seeing suffering as a necessary part of a larger divine plan. Chuang-tzu discusses this problem in a parable about a diseased and dying man. His account focuses on one particular type of suffering that which results from natural causes, such as disease, rather than that which owes to our own human choices. As the story beings, four friends become united in their quest to understand the Taoist conception of life and death. In time, one becomes seriously ill and deformed. Rather than resent the natural course of events, he accepts the inevitable. He then comically explains that if nature saw fit to transform his body parts into strange things such as a rooster or a crossbow, he would readily accept the course of nature here too. Not long after, Yu fell ill, and Ssu went to see him. How great is the Creator! said the sufferer. He made me the deformed object that I am! Yu was a crooked hunchback; his five viscera were squeezed into the upper part of his body;

his chin bent over his navel; his shoulder was higher than his crown; on his crown was an ulcer pointing to the sky; his breath came and went in gasps. Nevertheless, he was easy in his mind, and made no trouble of his condition. He limped to a well, looked at himself in it, and said, I cant believe that the Creator would have made me the deformed object that I am! Ssu said, Do you dislike your condition? He replied, No, why should I dislike it? If the creator transformed my left arm into a rooster, I would watch the time of the night. If he transformed my right arm into a cross-bow, I would then be looking for a duck to shoot for roasting. If he transformed my rump-bone into a wheel and my spirit into a horse, I would then be able to ride in my own chariot. Id never have to change horses. I obtained life because it was my time. I am now parting with it in accordance with the same law. When we rest in what the time requires, and manifest that submission, neither joy nor sorrow can enter. This is what the ancients called loosening the rope. Some, though, are hung up and cannot loosen themselves. They are held fast by the bonds of material existence. But it is a long-acknowledged fact that no creatures can overcome Heaven. Why, then, should I hate my condition? *Chuang-Tzu, Book 6] The story continues with another of the four friends falling ill. He also submits to the natural process of transformation, and explains that to do otherwise amounts to disobedience: If a parent tells a son to go east, west, south, or north, the son simply follows the command. The yin and yang [forces of nature] are more to a man than his parents are. If they are hastening my death and I do not quietly submit to them, I would be obstinate and rebellious. Ultimately, we have no say in the matter. Chuang-tzus solution to the problem of natural suffering is that everything in the world is in a state of transformation (hua) from one form to another, including our own human lives. Like the notion of return in the Tao Te Ching, the concept of transformation for Chuang-tzu suggests that everything in the past has been recycled, and everything that now exists will be recycled. Plants and animals die and decay, leaving their elements to become the raw materials of other things. We too will wither, die and decay, whether we like it or not. In the above tale, Chuang-tzu recommends that we submit to these inevitable natural changes rather than resist them. It seems strange to accept ones physical decline with the glee that Yu does in this story, and his friend appropriately shows surprise. But we must see this kind of optimism as a side effect of adopting a total Taoist outlook on life. An isolated understanding of natural transformation will only have us feel that nature is cruel and ruthless. A satisfying resolution only comes about when we follow the Tao and identify ourselves with the larger natural process of transformation. Tale of the Horses: Freedom from Societys Constraints. The Tao Te Ching, as weve seen, encourages rulers to empty artificial values from their subjects minds. By freeing ourselves from the constraints that others place on us, we will then be able to act according to our natural inclinations. Chuang-tzu develops this theme. A passage in the latter portion of the Chuang-Tzu (Book 23) describes a man coming to the old sage Lao-tzu for advice. When he arrives, Lao-tzu asks And why, sir, have you come with such a multitude of attendants? The man in fact arrived alone, and thus looked behind himself in fright. The man then explains to Lao-tzu that he carried an enormous burden because people expected him to acquire wisdom, charity, and duty to others. Lao-tzu replies that his initial assessment was correct: the man indeed arrived accompanied by others. The lesson behind this story is that we should free ourselves from common views of morality in particular the kind of virtues advocated by Confucian tradition, such as humanity, reciprocity, and filial piety. This is a startling message since we typically think that moral values are the most important things that we can cultivate. In his tale of the horses, Chuang-tzu tells us exactly why we should cast off popular moral systems.

He opens the story describing the natural condition of horses and how they flourished in their free and unconstrained environments. In Chinese mythology there is a figure named Poh Loh who is credited with being the first tamer of horses sort of like an equestrian Adam. Drawing on this myth, Chuang-tzu explains the damage that Poh Loh did by removing horses from their natural environment and imposing artificial behaviors on them: With their hoofs horses can tread on ice and snow, and with their hair withstand the wind and cold; they feed on the grass and drink water; they prance with their legs and leap. This is the true nature of horses. Even if grand towers and large dormitories were made for them, they would prefer not to use them. One day Poh Loh [the original mythical tamer of horses+ said, I know well how to manage horses, Accordingly, he clipped them, pared their hoofs, haltered their heads, bridled them and shackled their legs, and confined them in stables and corrals. [With this treatment] two or three in every ten of them died. Still, he subjected them to hunger and thirst; he galloped them and raced them, and made them prance in regular order. In front of the horses were the evils of the bit and ornamented breast bands, and behind were the terrors of the whip and switch. With this treatment more than half of them died.

Chuang-tzu reiterates his point by noting how an original potter and an original carpenter imposed their own artificial designs on clay and wood. Horses, clay and wood should all be left in their original conditions, undisturbed by human manipulation. He then draws his analogy: this is the same error committed by those who govern the world. That is, rulers typically restrict the freedom of their subjects and prevent them from naturally flourishing. Paralleling the natural condition of horses, Chuang-tzu describes the ideal condition of the humans in an earlier time. In this perfect state of virtue, plants, animals and humans all followed their natural course. People lived in harmony with nature and had no social distinctions between each other. When people had special needs, nature would direct them towards the solution: According to my idea, those who know how to properly govern humankind would not act so. People had their regular and constant nature. They originally wove and made themselves clothes; they tilled the ground and for food. These are common to humanity. They all agreed on this, and did not form themselves into separate classes. In this way they were constituted and left to their natural tendencies. Therefore in the age of perfect virtue people walked along quietly, steadily looking forward. At that time, on the hills there were no footpaths or excavated passages. On the lakes there were no boats or dams. All creatures lived in groups, and the places of their settlement were made close to one another. Birds and beasts multiplied to flocks and herds. The grass and trees grew luxuriant and long. In this condition the birds and beasts could led about without feeling the constrained. One could climb up to the nest of the raven and peep into it. Yes, in the age of perfect virtue, people lived in common with birds and beasts, and were on equal terms with all creatures, forming one family. How could they have distinctions between superior and inferior people? As they were all without knowledge, they did not leave their condition of natural virtue. Equally free from evil desires, they were in the state of natural integrity. In that state of natural integrity, the nature of the people was what it ought to be. The notion of a state of nature has been an important conceptual tool for philosophers around the world. When we look at society today we find countless problems. Muggings, assaults, murders, and rapes are common occurrences. By looking at what human society was like at its outset, though, we might find some direction for fixing current problems. Chuan-tzus description above is a remarkably fertile vision of an ideal and perfect state of nature. Just as artisans go against nature by imposing their own design on things like horses, clay and wood, Chuang-tzu argues that social customs are contrary to the natural course of things and, because of them, a country becomes divided. Ironically, the trouble began when sages and philosophers told us that we have a special moral duty to our fellow humans: But when sages appeared, tripping people up with charity and constraining people with the duty to ones neighbor, then people universally began to be perplexed. The sages went to excess in performing music and fussed over the practice of ceremonies. Then people began to be separated from each other. If raw materials were not cut and hacked, who could have made a sacrificial vase from them? If natural jade was not broken, who could have made the handles for the ceremonial drinking cups? If the Tao was not abandoned, who could have introduced charity and duty to ones neighbor? If they did not depart from the natural instincts, how could ceremonies and music have come into use? If the five colors were not confused, who would practice decoration? If the five notes were not confused, who would adopt the six pitched-pipes? The cutting and hacking of the raw materials to form vessels was the crime of the artisans. The injury done to the Tao in order to practice charity and duty to ones neighbor was the error of the sages. *Chuang-Tzu, Book 9] In short, sages first disrupted the natural order of things by introducing an alien standard of morality: they dangled charity and duty to ones neighbor in order to comfort their minds. Sages added to this an endless list of complex ceremonies, which only confused people and created differences between them. These differences prompted people to outdo each other by striving for knowledge and pursuing personal gain. Finally, sages instituted governments to assure that people conformed to these new standards. Chuang-tzus vision of a perfect society is so radical that, if we were to institute it today, it would obliterate civilization as we currently know it. It would require dismantling cities, returning to simple agrarian living, and probably reducing world population to a fraction of what it is now. Some environmentalists think that this is the way we must go if we are to preserve the natural balance of things. It is not surprising, then, that Taoism has found a special place within todays environmental movement. But, short of a colossal natural disaster forcing our hand in this direction, society today is not geared towards following Chuang-tzus extreme advice. However, we might find more modest recommendations in his tale of the horses. First, there are limits to how much artificial design we can impose on nature. Through Poh Lohs

training techniques, half of the horses died. Now, as environmentalists warn, we are set on a path that is more devastating than even this. Second, there is a danger to blindly following moral conventions. Chuang-tzu suggests that the values imposed by early sages had the effect of creating social differences between people. Moral theories have often been used to justify the worst kinds of social distinctions including racial prejudice and even slavery. A set of values that goes in this direction should be rejected. Parable of the Monkeys: Opposites are Identical. There is a classic tale from India about six blind men that try to describe an elephant, each from his own limited perspective. One, touching the elephants side, thinks its a wall. Another, touching its tusk thinks its a spear. The others respectively think that its trunk is a snake, its knee a tree, its ear a fan, and its tail a rope. The point of the tale is that the same thing can have radically different descriptions, depending on ones perspective. Chuang-tzu makes this basic point: the ordinary ways that we describe things are relative to our own view points, and our relative descriptions ultimately misrepresent the object we are examining. Useless verbal disputes, then, arise. To illustrate his point, he offers his own picturesque tale about a group of monkeys engaged in a verbal dispute with their keeper: We trouble our minds and intelligence by being obstinately determined [to establish our own respective view], and do not know the agreement [which underlies it along with the views of others]. In such cases we have what may be called three in the morning. What do I mean by three in the morning? A monkey keeper was giving out acorns to the monkeys and said to them: In the morning I will give you each three and in the evening four. This made the monkeys angry, and the keeper then said, Fine! In the morning I will give you four and in the evening three. The keepers two proposals were essentially the same, but the result of the one was to make the creatures angry, and the result of the other was to make them pleased. This illustrates the point I am insisting on. Therefore, the wise person brings together a dispute in its affirmations and denials, and rests in the equal fashioning of nature [i.e., the Tao]. According to Chuang-tzu, if we recognize that all conflicting assertions are merely relative perspectives of a single and unified thing, then it doesnt make sense for us to engage in disputes with each other. Instead, we should work to mediate opposing contentions. Sometimes our relative perspectives are not only conflicting, but they are even opposite to one another. A painting may look beautiful to me, but ugly to you. A rock looks large to me, but small to you. Disputes of this kind, Chuang-tzu believes, are caused by our conventional and imperfect uses of words that become ingrained over time: Does a thing seem so to me? I say it does. Does it not seem so to me? I say it does not. Just as a path is formed by people constantly treading on the ground, a thing is called by its name through the constant application of the name to it. How does something become so? It becomes so because [people say] it is so. How does something not become so? It doesnt become so because *people say+ it is not so. Everything has its inherent character and its proper capacity, and there is nothing which doesnt have these. How, though, do we move beyond this needless verbal wrangling? Chuang-tzus answer is that we need to recognize the underlying unity of all things even opposite things within the Tao: Accordingly, let us take a small beam and a large pillar, an ugly woman and a classic beauty (such as Hsi Shih), large things, insincere things, crafty things and strange things. In light of the Tao, they may be reduced to the same category. [ChuangTzu, Book 2] Thus, all dualities are equal or identical (chi-wu) aspects of the same reality and, thus, even opposite attributes such as beautiful and ugly designate identical things. His central argument here is this: (1) Opposite perspectives of things are relative. [from observation] (2) The true reality behind all perspectives is unified in the Tao. [Taoist principle] (3) Therefore, opposite perspectives point to an underlying unified reality. [from 1 and 2] (4) Things that are unified are identical. [Taoist notion of unity] (5) Therefore, opposite perspectives point to identical realities. [from 3 and 4]

To be precise, neither the utterances nor the attitudes reflected by opposing perspectives are identical. Instead, it is the underlying realities that are identical the realities that our utterances ultimately point to. The key premise in this argument is (4), which contends that unified things are identical. There is a sense in which this premise is simply false: a tree is a unified thing, but a particular branch on that tree is certainly not identical with its trunk. However, Chuang-tzu would argue, that the Tao is not simple a large set of interconnected things like the various parts of a tree. Instead, the parts of the Tao (if it has any parts at all) are inseparable and indistinguishable from each other. This is a view of the Tao that goes beyond what we find in the Tao Te Ching. Chuang-tzu concedes that this is a difficult point to grasp: Only those who are far reaching in thought know how to understand the unity of things. If we do grasp it, he contends, then we understand the Tao itself. LATER PHILOSOPHICAL TAOISM. During Chinas Han dynasty (206 BCE- 220 CE), Confucianism was the state religion and the dominating intellectual force within the country. With the fall of the Han dynasty in 220 CE, China entered a period of turmoil and disunity, and Confucian philosophy fell into disrepute. For the next few centuries, Buddhism and Taoism flourished, temporarily overshadowing Confucianism until the emergence of Neo-Confucianism in the 11th century CE. During this interim, Taoism developed in both philosophical and religious directions. Two philosophical trends will be noted here: the Neo-Taoist movement, and the composition of the Lieh-Tzu. Neo-Taoism. In the 3rd and 4th centuries CE various schools of philosophical Taoism appeared which are collectively designated as Neo-Taoism. The Neo-Taoists were not pure Taoists, but instead blended elements of Confucianism and Taoism. They introduced Confucian social philosophy into Taoist teachings and, in turn, interpreted Confucian texts using Taoist vocabulary. The most famous group of Neo-Taoists is the School of Secret Teaching, or Dark Learning (HsuanHsueh). Members of the school were part of a broader development within China known as the School of Pure Conversations (Ching Tan). Scholars within this unique intellectual movement had refined and highly literary discussions on speculative philosophical topics. Several Neo-Taoist scholars in this movement are also designated as the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, so called for their regular meetings in bamboo gardens. The principle writings of the School of Secret Teaching are a series of commentaries on the Tao Te Ching and the Chuang-Tzu composed most notably by Wang Pi (22649), Ho Yen (d. 249), Hsiang Hsiu (221-300), and Kuo Hsiang (d. 312). Kuo Hsiang in his Commentary on the Chuang Tzu develops some of the key themes of Neo-Taoism. For Kuo Hsiang, the Tao is essentially non-existence and, accordingly, the pivotal philosophical concept for him is nothing (wu). Although Lao-tzu and Chuang-tzu describe the Tao as being without quality and thus incapable of description, Kuo goes a step further maintaining that the Tao is literally nothing at all. Since the Tao is nothing at all, then it cannot be the originator or creator of things. Instead, things freely arise out of nature itself. The Chinese term for nature in this context is tien, which had a long history of varied meanings in early Chinese and later Buddhist thought. It was sometimes used to designate a heavenly realm in the after life, or a personal divine being, or even a force governing the universe. For Kuo, it is nature as a whole. Thus, we should see the emergence and disintegration of things in the world around us as merely the unfolding of natural processes. In the following, Kuo describes the notion of the Tao as non-existence: The music of nature is not an entity existing outside of things. The different apertures, the pipes and flutes and the like, in combination with all living beings, together constitute nature. Since nonexistence is non-being, it cannot produce being. Before being itself is produced, it cannot produce other beings. Then who produces things? They spontaneously produce themselves; that is all. [Kuo Hsiang, Commentary on Chuang Tzu, 2:1:21] We may speak metaphorically about things coming from the Tao, but it is only metaphor. Kuo also argues for a more active social component to Taoism. Some passages in the Tao Te Ching and the ChuangTzu suggest that following the Tao and practicing non-action require us to become reclusive. Chuang-tzus tale of the horses is especially susceptible to this interpretation since it denounces the adoption of contrived moral duties to ones neighbor. Kuo rejects such social inactivity: Are we to insist that a person should fold his arms and sit in silence in the middle of some mountain forest before we will say he is practicing non-action? This is why responsible officials reject the words of Lao-tzu and Chuang-tzu. This is why responsible officials insist on remaining in the realm of action without feeling any regret. [Kuo Hsiang, Commentary on Chuang Tzu, 1:1:10]

In response to Kuos indictment, there may be some room within the Tao Te Ching and the Chuang-Tzu to develop a meaningful conception of social responsibility. For example, a defender of these texts could argue that nature impels us to help others in their time of need. What we should reject is the imposition of rigid codes of ethics, not our natural inclinations towards public involvement. Nevertheless, as Kuo correctly points out, these texts as they stand do not speak loudly enough on the issue. Lieh-Tzu. The Lieh-Tzu is a 3rd century CE text that is pseudonymously attributed to an almost unknown figure named Lieh-tzu, also called Lieh Yu-kau (c. 450-375 BCE). Taoist tradition ranks this text third in importance after the Tao Te Ching and the Chuang-Tzu. Like the Chuang-Tzu the work offers various tales with philosophical messages. Lieh-tzu himself appears flying through the sky as a normal mode of traveling. Sometimes called the Classic of Complete Emptiness, the Lieh-Tzu recommends pursuing the path of emptiness as a means of becoming united with the Tao. As a whole, the work has a skeptical and dismal undertone, emphasizing the certainty of our annihilation, resigning oneself to fate, and abandoning efforts in life. The text has eight chapters, each addressing a distinct topic, the most famous of which is the Yang Chu Chapter. We noted earlier that Yang Chu lived around 450 and is depicted by Mencius as being obsessed with self-preservation. In the Yang Chu Chapter, Lieh-tzu fictitiously uses Yang Chu as a mouthpiece to present a number of stories, the thrust of which is that, in view of the shortness of life, we should follow our own natural inclinations in pursuit of happiness. Lieh-tzu criticizes the emphasis we often place on pleasing others and acquiring notoriety that will last beyond the grave. This emphasis is especially strong in Confucianism, which holds that The superior person dislikes the thought of his name not being mentioned after his death (Analects, 15:20). Lieh-tzu begins his argument by effectively noting the how short life is. If were lucky we will live for at most 100 years, but most of our lives will be consumed by infancy, the incapacities of old age, sleeping, suffering and illness. After all of this there is less than an hour during which time we are comfortable, satisfied and carefree. Where, then, are we to find happiness during our brief lives? Lieh-tzus answer is pleasure: It is only found in beautiful things and good food, music and sex. Unfortunately, he continues, our efforts here are often thwarted. Often these pleasures are out of our reach. Worse yet, we often voluntarily forego available pleasures in the hopes of attaining fame or empty praise after our deaths. And even when alone we deny ourselves pleasures simply to conform to what others expect. We thus deny ourselves happiness in our best years, and we cannot live freely for a moment. Lieh-tzus solution is that we should enjoy lifes pleasures when the opportunities arise, and avoid conforming for the sake of praise from others. It is irrelevant whether you leave an honorable or dishonorable legacy after your death since, once dead, you wont be conscious of your legacy at all: People of long ago understood that in life we are here temporarily and in death we are gone temporarily. ... The wicked and foolish both die. While alive they were the virtuous emperors Yao and Shun. When dead they are rotten bones. While alive they were the evil emperors Chieh and Chou. When dead they are rotten bones. In either case, they are rotten bones. Can anyone tell them apart? Enjoy your life right now while you still have it. Why bother with what happens to you after you die? On face value, Lieh-tzus emphasis on pursuing pleasure seems to run counter to the Taoist rejection of desire, which we find in the opening verse of the Tao Te Ching: Always be without desires and you will see mystery; always be with desire, and you will see only its effects. But there may be some wiggle room here. On the one hand, if we are preoccupied with desire then we will not be able to see the Tao work though all things, including our own lives. On the other hand, though, part of our nature makeup is to have desires; as Chuang-tzu suggests in his tale of the horses, these natural inclinations should guide our conduct. The issue then rests on whether the desires for pleasure are natural or artificially imposed. Leihtzus list which includes desires for beautiful things, good food, music and sex appears to be grounded in our natural human inclinations. RELIGIOUS TAOISM (TAO-CHIAO). Benjamin Franklin made the famous statement that in this world nothing is certain but death and taxes. Although we may in fact cheat the tax collector, it is absolutely bizarre to think that anyone could cheat the grim reaper. But Religious Taoists made precisely that claim. Religious Taoism is conceptually distinguished from Philosophical Taoism because of its ritualized techniques for attaining immortality in our present physical bodies. The history of Religious Taoism is somewhat complex, with over 80 distinct schools emerging during and after the second century CE. The texts of Religious Taoism are

equally vast with the Taoist canon of 1444 (updated in 1607) listing almost 1,500 distinct works. Of the various schools, three deserve special mention. A first and early school is the Celestial Master sect founded by Chang Tao Ling (2nd century CE). It is also referred to as the Five pecks of Rice Taoism (Wu-tou-mi Tao), since the entrance fee into the religion was five pecks of rice. Chang Tao Ling claimed to have received a revelation directly from Lao-tzu in which he learned that Three Officials ruled the universe. These divine rulers, he contended, reward and punish us based on our good and evil deeds. Punishments consisted of being inflicted with illness and having our lives shortened. Confession and repentance, though, would suspend these punishments. Followers of Chang believed that he ascended into heaven and, accordingly, they called him the Celestial Master. Successive leaders in this school also went by this title. A second important school of Religious Taoism is that known as the Way of Supreme Peace (Tai-ping Tao) founded by Chang Chueh (d. 184 CE). A revolutionary and messianic movement, the sect had formal fasting ceremonies (chai) that involved ritual healing and public confession of fault. The group started what is known as the Yellow Turban rebellion, named after its followers who wore yellow cloths. The rebellion was crushed, and Chang was killed. The third noteworthy school of Religious Taoism is the School of the Magic Jewel (ling-pao pai), a highly ritualistic movement which contended that religious enlightenment requires assistance from deities (tien tsun). Central to this school is the doctrine of the three heavens (san-ching) and the deities who reside in them. The first is the heaven of jade (yu-ching) in which resides the creator deity, Yuan-shih; believers contended that the creator revealed their sacred text, the Writings of the Magic Jewel (ling-pao ching). Second is the heaven of purity (shang-ching), which is ruled by the deity Ling-pao, the guardian of the Writings of the Magic Jewel. Finally there is the heaven of highest purity (tai-ching) in which the deity Lao-tzu (Tao-te) guards the Tao and Te.

Techniques for Immortality. Religious Taoisms doctrine of bodily immortality traces back to the following passage in the Tao Te Ching, which suggest that anyone who possesses the secret of the Tao will become immune to the attack of armed men and wild animals: He who has in himself abundantly the attributes [of the Tao] is like an infant. Poisonous insects will not sting him; fierce beasts will not seize him; birds of prey will not strike him. ... [Tao Te Ching, 55] Variously interpreted, this statement may mean that we achieve life after death, longevity, or immunity from death in this world. Religious Taoism adopted the second and third interpretations and, over time, writers in the tradition recommended a variety of techniques for supposedly achieving longevity and immortality. Many of the techniques strive to unite the yin and yang forces within the human body. One technique involves drinking an elixir of immortality, which is made through alchemy by distilling the five elements (earth, metal, wood, fire, water); these five elements, in turn, are products of yin and yang. Another technique involves breath control: the longer we can hold our breath (chi), the closer we are to immortality. Other techniques involve dietary restraints, particularly avoiding meats and the five grains (rice, millet, wheat, barley, and soybeans), which clog up the body. Instead of these, we should eat fruits, berries, roots and tubers. The most controversial method, however, involves sexual practices (fang-chung shu). When engaging in intercourse, men absorb yin from the female partner, and are to refrain from ejaculation, which nurtures their own yang. The semen returns to the body, where, mixed with breath, it travels to the brain and repairs it. Women, on the other hand, strengthen their energy by suppressing their own orgasms. Some texts recommend having intercourse at least ten times a day with different partners. One of the more famous texts of religious Taoism is the Book of the Master who Embraces Simplicity (Pao-pu-tzu), by alchemist Ko Hung (280-340 CE), which describes the main theories of attaining immortality. According to legend, Ko himself attained immortality by taking an elixir he extracted from mercury. In the following, Ko argues by analogy that drinking elixirs from gold and mercury revitalizes human nature just as adding oil to a lamp revitalizes its flame:

Ive carefully considered texts on the nourishment of human nature and gathered methods for immortality. Ive examined thousands of such texts and they all contend that cinnabar [changed into mercury] and gold liquid are most significant. These, then, represent the highest road to immortality. ... As these materials are heated, the changes they bring about become more remarkable. Even if it is melted in a furnace one hundred times, yellow gold will not break down. It will not decompose when buried under ground until the end of the world. When we eat these remedies our bodies become fortified and we will not grow old or die. Such methods rely on outside elements to increase our vitality, similar to putting oil in a lamp so it will not go out. If copperas is rubbed on ones feet, then ones feet will not degenerate even when in water. In this case, ones skin is protected by virtue of the vitality of the copper. By contrast, gold liquid and cinnabar *turned to mercury+ completely infiltrate ones blood and energy once introduced into the body. As such, they operate differently than copperas which only treats externals. [Book of the Master who Embraces Simplicity, Ch. 4] Longevity and the Treatise on Actions. Although Ko Hungs discussion of immortality emphasizes mechanical techniques, such as elixirs, he also recognizes the importance of moral conduct for extending ones years. However, the issue of longevity is presented in a purely moral context in a popular 10th century text titled Treatise on Actions and their Rewards (Tai-shang Kan-ying Pien). In this brief work longevity is directly linked with ones moral conduct. A specific number of years are reduced from ones life span for evil deeds: There are no special doors for misery and happiness. They come as people themselves bring them on. Their rewards and punishments follow good and evil, just as a shadow follows an object. Accordingly, in heaven and earth there are spirits that take account of peoples misdeeds. Based on the lightness or heaviness of their offenses, the spirits take away from their length of life. When that life span is reduced, people become poor and degraded, and meet with many miseries and afflictions. Other people hate them. They are attended with punishments and calamities. Good luck and occasions for celebration shun them. Evil stars send down misfortunes on them. When their term of life is exhausted they die. ... In the case of everyones offenses, when they are great, twelve years are taken from their life span. When they are small, a hundred days are removed. We see great and small misdeeds in hundreds of things. Those who wish to seek for long life must first avoid these. ... Those who seek to become immortals (hsien zan) of heaven ought to give proof of 1,300 good deeds. Those who seek to become immortals of earth should give proof of 300 good deeds. The text continues listing dozens of offenses that should be avoided. Some of these include political subversion, shooting birds, hunting animals, overturning nests, slander, pride, vanity, wasting cloth, wasting food, envy, lust, theft, boastfulness, infanticide, and abortion. Other more trivial offenses are also listed, such as spitting when facing north and singing in front of a fireplace. The text continues explaining that, if we commit more offenses than we can address in the remaining years our lives, then the punishment is passed on to our children. However, if we repent of the evils that we commit, and afterwards only do good, then we can count on good fortune: In the case of crimes such as these, the spirits presiding over the persons life will take away from the offender periods of twelve years or one hundred days, depending on the weight of the offense. When a persons term of life is exhausted, he dies. If at death there remains unpunished guilt, then judgment extends to future generations. ... If one has done wicked actions but afterwards alters his way and repents, resolves not to do anything wicked, and practices reverently all that is good, in the long run he is sure to obtain good fortune. This is called changing misfortune into blessing. Therefore, the good person speaks what is good, contemplates what is good, and does what is good. Every day he has these three virtues. At the end of three years, heaven is sure to send down blessings on him. The bad man speaks what is wicked, contemplates what is wicked, and does what is wicked. Every day he has these three vices. At the end of three years, heaven is sure to send down misery on him. Why is it that people will not exert themselves to do what is good? [Treatise on Actions] As with other Eastern philosophies, we again witness a diversity of views within Taoism. We find the Tao Te Chings account of the ineffable Tao; Chuang-tzus lively description of transformation; Kuo Hsiang vision of the continually unfolding natural process; Lieh-tzus depressing account of inevitable annihilation; and Ko Hungs bizarre recipes for immortality. Diverse as these discussions are, there is still a strong theme that unifies them all: the place of human life and death in the natural order of things. Questions of life and death are behind many philosophical theories. Taoist philosophers, though, continually attempted to understand our human mortality as part of the inevitable course of the natural world. Heavenly spiritual realms do not conveniently fit into this scheme. Any questions that we have about our function and destiny, then, must be answered by grasping the totality of the Tao of nature. SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER READING

Primary Sources. Alchemy, Medicine, Religion in the China of A.D. 320: The Nei Pien of Ko Hung, tr. James R. Ware, (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1966). Book of Lieh-tzu, tr. A.C. Graham, (London: John Murray, 1964). Chuang-tzu: The Seven Inner Chapters, tr. A.C. Graham, (London: 1981). Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, tr. Burton Watson, (New York: 1968). Tao Te Ching, tr. D.C. Lau Texts of Taoism, tr. James Legge, in S.B.E., (1891), 2 Vol. Secondary Sources. Facets of Taoism, Holmes Welch (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977) History of Chinese Philosophy, 2 Vol., Fung Yu-Lan, Derk Bodde, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952-53). Tao Is Silent, Raymond M. Smullyan, (New York: Harper & Row, 1977). Tao of the Chinese Religion, Milton Chiu,(Lanham, Md: University Press of America, c1984 1985). Taoism : Growth of a Religion, Isabelle Robinet, tr. Phyllis Brooks (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997). Taoism : The Road to Immortality, John Blofeld, (Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 1978). Taoism and Chinese Religion, Henri Maspero, tr. Frank A. Kierman, Jr.(Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1981). Taoism and the Rite of Cosmic Renewal, Michael Saso, (Pullman: Washington State University Press, 1972). Taoism: The Parting of the Way, Holmes Welch, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1965) What is Taoism? Chang Chung-yuan (1963). **** GLOSSARY Amida: The most famous of the Celestial Buddhas in Mahayana Buddhism, who instituted a heavenly Buddha-Land called the Pure Land. Analects (Lun Yu): Literally digested conversations, the most reliable of all collections of Confuciuss teachings, and one of the Four Books (shu) of Confucianism; the principal themes include humanity (jen), social custom (li), the superior person (chun-tzu), filial obedience (hsiao), the rectification of names (cheng ming), and good government. Arhat: Literally the worthy, Theravada Buddhist term referring to the ideal Buddhist who devotes himself full time to his individual achievement of nirvana. Aryan: Light skinned migrating people, perhaps from Europe, who settled in India around 1500 BCE and instituted Vedic Hinduism. Asoka: 3rd century king of Indias Mauryan Dynasty who converted to Buddhism and helped its advance. Asvaghosa: (1) 2nd century CE author of the Life of Buddha (Buddhacarita); (2) 5th century CE author of the Awakening of Faith (Sraddhotpada-sastra).

Atman-Brhaman: The notion of the Self-God in Brahmanic and Vedanta Hinduism which maintains that our true inner self is identical to the all pervasive God. Awakening of Faith (Sraddhotpada-sastra): Mahayana Buddhist text of the 5th or 6th centuries CE by an otherwise unknown figure named Asvaghosha; the work which emphasizes ultimate reality as suchness (tathata). Bhagavad Gita: Literally song of God, short philosophical dialog within the Hindu Mahabharata epic which discusses the Atman-Brahman and the ways of achieving liberation. Bhagavata Purana: Most famous of the 18 major Puranas of Bhakti Hinduism; focusing on Krishna/Vishnu, the work synthesizes various Hindu traditions and presents a theistic version of monistic Vedanta. Bhakti Hinduism: Devotional movement within Hinduism beginning around 300 CE which emphasizes the gods of the Trimurti. Bodhisattva: Literally enlightened being, ideal saint in Mahayana Buddhism who postpones his own enlightenment to assist others on their spiritual journey. Brahma: Creator God of the Trimurti in Bhakti Hinduism. Brahman: Hindu notion of the all-pervasive God who is identical to the self within us, especially as described in the Upanishads and Vedanta. brahman: The notion of sacrificial power in Vedic Hinduism which was controlled by priests. Brahmanism: Reform movement within Hinduism from 1000 BCE to 300 CE which de-emphasizes priestly sacrificial rites and emphasizes the notion of the Atman-Brahman (Self-God). Brahmin: Priestly caste of people in Hinduisms caste system. Buddha: literally englightened one, Buddhist term which variously refers to Gautama Siddhartha, or any enlightened person. In Mahayana Buddhism the term may denote, an enlightened person who is a step higher than the Bodhisattva, a celestial Buddha, or ultimate reality itself. Buddhaghosa: fourth century CE Buddhist philosopher and author of The Path of Purity (Visuddhimagga), among the most important texts in Theravada Buddhism written after the Pali Canon. Buddha-Lands: In Mahayana Buddhism, heavenly realms instituted by Celestial Buddhas to which the devoted go after death; the most famous Pure Land is that of the Amida. Buddha-Nature (buddhata): In Mahayana Buddhism, undifferentiated absolute existence behind all appearances, similar to nirvana, emptiness, suchness, and the Eternal Buddha. Buddhi: Intellect; in Samkhya Hinduism buddhi is the first and most important manifestation of prakriti (physical nature). Buddhism: Religion founded in India by Gautama Siddhartha (563-483 BCE) which stresses the four noble truths; Buddhisms main two main divisions are the Theravada and Mahayana schools. Caste System (jati): Hereditary and hierarchical structuring of social groups within Hinduism traditionally including four castes (varnas): Priests (Brahmins), warriors (Ksatriyas), artisans (Vaisyas), and servants (Sudras). Celestial Bodhisattva (mahasattvas): In Mahayana Buddhism, a heavenly or god-like Bodhisattva, similar to (and perhaps one step under) the Celestial Buddhas, the most famous of which is Avalokitesvara; showing devotion to Celestial Bodhisattvas results in them assisting us in our quest for enlightenment. Celestial Buddha (sambhogakaya): in Mahayana Buddhisms Triple Body (trikaya) theory, these are heavenly or god-like Buddhas, the most famous of which is Amita; by showing devotion to Celestial Buddhas they assist us in our quest for enlightenment.

Celestial Masters: Sect of Religious Taoism formed by Chang Tao Ling in the 2nd century CE which holds that divine rulers reward and punish us based on our good and evil actions. Chan: School of Chinese Mahayana Buddhism (Zen in Japan), founded by a legendary figure named Bodhidharma (470-543 CE), the key philosophical text of which is the Platform Sutra of Hui-neng; all sub-schools of Chan emphasize experience over doctrine, and the practice of seated meditation. The Rinsai school also emphasizes the koan system. Chi: literally breath, important philosophical term of varied meaning throughout Chinese history. Early Chinese writings see it as a physiological principle of vital energy; neo-Confucian writers such as Chu Hsi see it as a metaphysical principal of material force in contrast with structural form (li). Chou Tun-i (1017-1073): Founder of Neo-Confucianism whose short work Explanation on the Diagram of the Great Ultimate describes how all things emerged from the Great Ultimate by means of its yang activity and yin inactivity. Chu Hsi (1130-1200): Most influential Neo-Confucian philosopher whose interpretation of Confucianism became the standard view until the 20th century; for Chu, the investigation of things involves knowledge of the structural form (li) of the universe, as distinct from the material force of the universt (chi). Chuang-Tzu (369-286 BCE): Second of the great Taoist philosophers, attributed with composing the first portion of the text titled the Chuang-Tzu; using colorful stories, the text describes the notions of the Tao, non-action, non-mind, transformation, and freedom artificial social constraints. Citta: Ordinary consciousness in Hindu Yoga, as contrasted with purusha (our inner ultimate self). Confucianism: Religious and philosophical system of China based on the teachings of Confucius which emphasizes social values such as filial obedience, custom, and governing by way of example. Confucius (551-479 BCE): Latinized name for Kung Fu-tzu, Chinese founder of Confucianism whose sayings are preserved in the Analects. Darsanas: Formal systems of emancipation in Hinduism from the 7th century CE and on; the six traditional schools are, Samkhya, Nyaya, Vaisesika, Mimamsa, Yoga, and Vedanta. Dependent Origin (paticca-samuppada): Buddhist doctrine that everything that occurs in the world is the result of prior causes. All mental events, appearances, and external events arise from previous events. The various causal chains culminate in suffering (dukkha). Only nirvana is not subject to such causal interactions. Desire (tanha, trishna): Second noble truth of Buddhism which designates that suffering results from craving sensory and mental objects. Devi: Mother Goddess and wife of Shiva in Hinduism, associated with the notion of creative power (shakti). Devi Bhagavata Purana: Composed around the 15th century, one of the major Puranas of Bhakti Hinduism which focuses on the Goddess Devi, they mythological wife of Shiva; the text is central to proponents of Shaktism. Dharma: in Hinduism, social duty including the caste system and four stages of life (asramana). In Buddhism, dharma refers to the teachings of Buddha. Dharmasastras: Law books in Hinduism such as the Law of Manu which mandate social duties (dharma). Divination: An attempt to understand communication from the dead by means of various signs; the I Ching, one of the Five Classics of Confucianism, is the most noted of these in popular Chinese belief systems. Doctrine of the Mean (Chung Yung): philosophical section from the Book of Rites which advocates maintaining a mental state of equilibrium between extreme emotions; it is one of the Four Books (shu) of Confucianism. Dravidian: Original dark skinned inhabitants of Indias Indus Valley civilization from 3500-1500 BCE.

Eightfold Path: Fourth noble truth of Buddhism, also called the middle path, which includes proper cultivation of the following: views, aims, speech, conduct, livelihood, effort, mindfulness, and contemplation. Emptiness (sunyata): Central notion in Mahayana Buddhism that ultimate reality is not discoverable; the concept is similar to nirvana, Buddha-nature, suchness, and the Eternal Buddha. Eternal Buddha (dharmakaya): In Mahayana Buddhisms Triple Body (trikaya) theory, the Eternal Buddha is undifferentiated absolute existence behind all appearances, and similar to nirvana, emptiness, Buddha-nature, and suchness. Filial Obedience (hsiao): Central Confucian concept designating respect for elders. Five Classics (ching): 12th century CE designation for five early Chinese classical texts which were purportedly compiled by Confucius; they are The Book of Changes (I Ching), Book of History (Shu Ching), Book of Poetry (Shih Ching), Record of Rites (Li Chi), Spring and Autumn Annals (Chun Chiu). Five Elements (wu-hsing): Five principal substances in Chinese thought, which are wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. Five Relationships: Traditional Confucian superior-subordinate social relationships between (1) father and son, (2) elder brother and younger brother, (3) husband and wife, (4) elder friend and junior friend, and (5) ruler and subject. Four Books (shu): 12th century CE designation for four early Confucian philosophical writings; they are the The Analects (Lun Yu), (2) The Great Learning (Ta Hsueh), The Doctrine of the Mean (Chung Yung), The Mencius (Meng-tzu). Four Goals of Life (purusharthas): Ideal aims of life in Hindu social duty (dharma), including pleasure (kama), success (artha), right conduct (dharma), and liberation (moksha). Four Noble Truths: central doctrine of Buddhism which contends that (1) life is suffering, (2) suffering comes from desire, (3) extinguishing desire (nirvana) ends suffering, and (4) desire is extinguished through the eightfold path (or the middle way). Four Stages of Life (asramana): Hindu social duty (dharma) designating four ideal life stages: student (brahmacarin), householder (grihashta), forest dweller (vanaprastha), and ascetic (sannysin). Gautama: Family name of Gautama Siddhartha (563-483 BCE), known as The Buddha and founder of Buddhism. Good Government: View in the Confucian Analects that rulers should rule by setting a moral example which the whole country will follow. Great Learning (Ta Hsio): Short philosophical section from the Book of Rites which states that a rulers virtuous conduct will be transferred down the social hierarchy to the people; it is one of the Four Books (shu) of Confucianism. Great Ultimate (tai-chi): Main productive force of the universe as described in the I Ching and developed by NeoConfucianism. Gunas: Literally strands; three essential features of prakriti (our physical nature) in the Samkhya school of Hinduism; the three gunas are purity (sattva), activity (rajas), and inactivity (tamas). Han Dynasty: Period in Chinese history from 206 BCE- 220 CE during which time Confucianism became the dominant religion. Hinayana: Little raft school of Buddhism as so named by their Mahayana Buddhist rivals; the school later changed its name to Theravada. Hindu: General term designating the religion of India and its various movements including Vedic Hinduism, Brahmanism, and Bhakti Hinduism. Hsuan-tsang (596-664 CE): Chinese Mahayana philosopher who followed the Yogacara School, thus founding in China the School of Consciousness-Only (Fa-hsiang).

Hsun-Tzu (298-238 BCE): Early skeptical Confucian philosopher who argued that all events are in accord with natural law, and that humans are by nature selfish; his writings are collected in a work titled The Hsun-Tzu. Hui-neng (638-713 CE): Sixth and final Chinese Patriarch of Chan Buddhism whose life and teachings are presented in the Platform Sutra (Liu-tsu-ta-shih Fa-pao-tan-ching). Humanity (jen): Central Confucian concept advocating benevolent action towards people. I Ching: Literally Book of Changes, a book of written oracles associated with 64 abstract figures; one of the Five Classics of Confucianism. Identity of Opposites: Taoist notion of the Chuang-Tzu that opposing descriptions of things are relative and in fact point to a single underlying reality. Investigation of Things: Concept in the Great Learning which prompts moral conduct which, in turn, culminates in social happiness; Neo-Confucianist Chu Hsi identified this with a study of structural form (li), in contrast to Lu Hsiang-shan and Wang Yang Ming who identified it with the study of mind and its innate knowledge. Isvarakrsna: 4th century CE founder of the Hindu school of Samkhya; author of Samkhyakarika (literally Verses on the Samkhya). Karma Yoga: Sub-school of Hindu Yoga which advocates becoming indifferent to the consequences of ones actions, thereby disassociating oneself from ones ordinary consciousness Karma, law of: Hindu view that the good and bad consequences of ones actions affect ones status in future lives (samsara) Karma: Action in Hinduism and Buddhism, often associated with the doctrine of karma. Ko Hung (280-340 CE): Author of the Religious Taoist text Book of the Master who Embraces Simplicity (Pao-pu-tzu) which describes various techniques for attaining immortality. Koan System: Instruction technique of the Rinsai school of Zen Buddhism in which a master poses a series of koans to his students over a period of several years. Koan: Paradoxical question posed by Zen masters using the koan system, such as what is the sound of one hand clapping? Krishna: Legendary Hindu figure in the Bhagavad Gita who is said to be a human incarnation of the god Vishnu. Kuo Hsiang (d. 312 CE): Neo-Taoist philosopher who emphasized that the Tao is non-existence, and things arise from nature (tien). Lankavatra Sutra: 4th century CE Mahayana Buddhist text of the Yogacara school which is most noted for its lengthy discussion of nirvana in Chapter 8. Lao-Tzu: Legendary founder of Taoism and author of the Tao Te Ching, who is said to have been an older contemporary of Confucius. Li: Confucian notion of ceremonial formality, or social custom. Li: Neo-Confucian metaphysical principal of structural form, which is in contrast with material force (chi). (Not to be confused with previous term, which is a homonym in Chinese.) Lieh-Tzu (c. 450-375 BCE): Early Taoist philosopher of whom almost nothing is known; a third century CE text by the name Lieh-Tzu is pseudonymously attributed to him which emphasizes the certainty of our annihilation, resigning oneself to fate, and avoiding all effort in life. Lotus Sutra (saddharma-pundarika): Early Mahayana Buddhist text (composed between 100 BCE and 200 CE) which emphasizes the means-to-ends ability (upaya).

Lu Hsiang-Shan (1139-1193): Neo-Confucian philosopher and founder of the School of Mind; Lu argued that knowledge of the world and morals is inntate to our minds, and that there is only one universal mind. Mahayana: Large raft school of Buddhism which sees religion as a group effort, emphasizes the role of the Bodhisattva, sees nirvana as the same state as the ordinary realm of life and death, and describes ultimate reality as emptiness, suchness and Buddha-nature. Manu, Law of (Manava Dharmasastra): Most famous of the Hindu codes of law (Dharmasastras), written about 200 BCE. Mara: Hindu god of pestilence, better known as the tempter who tried to foil Buddhas attainment of enlightenment Material Force (chi): Neo-Confucian term used by writers such as Chu Hsi who see it as a metaphysical principal in contrast with structural form (li). Maya: Hindu term coined by Advaita Vedanta to refer to the illusory or unreal nature of the empirical and differentiated world. Mencius (390-305 BCE): Latinized name for Meng-tzu, the most important Confucian writer after Confucius; Mencius emphisized the importance of humanity (jen) and righteousness (i), and argued that human nature is essentially good. His writings, the Mencius, are one of the Four Books (shu) of Confucianism. Middle Path (majjhimapatipada): Central doctrine taught by Buddha concerning the avoidance of extremes as a means of attaining enlightenment; early Buddhist writings associate the Middle Path with the Eightfold Path. Middle Path School (madhyamika): Indian school of Mayanana Buddhism founded by Nagarjuna in the 2nd century CE, emphasizing the emptiness of all things, including nirvana and the ordinary world of life and death; the school continued in China as the School of Consciousness-Only (Fa-hsiang). Moksha: Release; Hindu notion of the ending of the cycle of reincarnation (samsara); also associated with the highest stage of religious awareness and Yoga meditation. Mo-Tzu (480-390 BCE): Early Chinese philosopher and founder of Mohism who criticized Confucianism for being too ritualistic and socially passive; Mo-tzu argued that, to ward off social chaos, we should love everyone as a matter of selfinterest. Nagarjuna (c. 150-250 CE): Founder of the Middle Path School of Mahayana Buddhism, and author of the Treatise on the Fundamentals of the Middle Path (Mulamadhyamakakarika), which emphasizes the emptiness of all things. Neo-Confucianism: Broad Confucian movement beginning in the 11th century CE which developed metaphysical doctrines at times borrowing from Buddhism and Taoism; founded by Chou Tun-i, other leading Neo-Confucianists were Chu Hsi, Lu Hsiang-shan, and Wang Yang Ming. Neo-Taoism: Movement within Philosophical Taoism during the 3rd and 4th centuries CE which drew from Confucianism; leading proponents are Wang Pi, Ho Yen, Hsiang Hsiu and Kuo Hsiang. Neti Neti: Literally, not this, not this; famous Hindu expression from the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad which indicates that the Atman cannot be identified with this or that particular physical thing. Nirvana: Literally to extinguish, highest state of existence in Buddhism; in Theravada Buddhism nirvana is a realm beyond ordinary consciousness, and in Mahayana Buddhism nirvana is the same empty realm as ordinary conscious existence. No Self (anatta): Buddhist doctrine that we have not unified and individual self, but only a fluctuating series of material and conscious states (skandhas). No self is one of the Three Marks of Existence (ti-lakkhana) in Buddhism. Non-Action (wu-wei): Taoist position that we should avoid all unnatural action and act passively and spontaneously. Non-Mind (wu-tsin): Taoist position that we should eliminate knowledge to allow us to live spontaneously.

Pali Canon: the oldest sacred collection of Buddhist writings from the 3rd-1st centuries BCE, written in the Pali language, and comprising three main divisions: the Basket of Discipline (Vinaya Pitaka), the Basket of Discourses (Sutta Pitaka), and the Basket of Ultimate Doctrine (Abhidhamma Pitaka). Paramita: Literally perfections; Mahayana Buddhism notes 10 perfections of the ideal bodhisattva: giving (dana), morality (sila), patience (ksanti), vigor (virya), contemplation (dhyana), wisdom (prajna), means-to-ends ability (upaya), resolution (pranidhana), strength (bala), and knowledge (jnana). Patanjali: Unknown Hindu figure from the 4th-6th centuries CE, and author of the Yoga Sutra which describes eight steps to meditation. Perfection of Wisdom (prajnaparamita): In Mahayana Buddhism, an early collection of writings beginning about 100 BCE which focuses on the importance of wisdom among the ten ideal perfections (paramitas); emphasizing the notion of emptiness (sunyata), the most famous of these works are the Diamond Cutter Sutra (vajracchedika-prajnaparaita) and the Heart Sutra (prajnaparamita-hydaya). Period of 100 Philosophers: period of philosophical creativity in reaction to Chinas warring states period (403-221 BCE), later classed into six schools: Confucianism, Taoism, Mohism, Yin and Yang School, Logicians, and Legalism. Philosophical Taoism (tao-chia): Early non-religious direction of Taoism as found in the Tao Te Ching, the Chuang-Tzu, the Lieh-Tzu, Neo-Taoism. Prajna: Literally, wisdom, one of the ten perfections (paramitas) of Mahayana Buddhism; this wisdom is usually seen as an understanding of the emptiness of all things. Prakriti: Notion of our physical nature in the Samkhya and Yoga systems of Hinduism; contrasted with purusha (inner ultimate self). Pratyekabuddha: The isolated practitioner of Theravada Buddhism who seeks enlightenment outside of a formal monastic setting; by contrast, the Arhat seeks enlightenment within a formal monastic setting. Purana: Devotional literature of Bhakti Hinduism, the most famous of which is the Bhagavata Purana which describes the life of Krishna; there are 18 authoritative great Puranas, and 18 authoritative minor Puranas. Pure Land Buddhism: School of Mahayana Buddhism founded in China by Tao-cho (562-645 CE) which emphasizes devotion to Amida, the Celestial Buddha who founded a heavenly Buddha-Land called the Pure Land which awaits his followers upon their deaths. Purusha: Notion of ones inner ultimate self in the Samkhya and Yoga systems of Hinduism; contrasted with prakriti (our physical nature) which hides our inner self. Questions of King Milinda (Milindapanha): Important Theravada Buddhist philosophical text written about 100 CE in the Pali language; the issues discussed include the self, karma, and reincarnation. Ramanuja: 11th century CE Hindu founder of Visista-advaita Vedanta (qualified monistic Vedanta) who maintains that God himself is composed of parts; individual souls and the physical world comprise the body of God. Rectification of Names (cheng ming): Central Confucian concept involving the correct use of language such that words and actions conform to reality. Religious Taoism (Tao-chiao): Later development within the Taoist tradition which emphasized techniques of attaining physical immortality in this life. Return (fu, fan): Taoist notion that all things follow a natural process by which they grow from the Tao, and then disintegrate into the Tao. Samadhi: without support; the highest stage of meditation in Hinduisms school of Raja Yoga.

Samkhya: One of the six Hindu systems of emancipation (Darsanas) which emphasizes a distinction between purusha (our inner ultimate self) and prakriti (our physical nature). Samsara: Hindu notion of reincarnation in which ones present life is followed by a series of new lives in new physical bodies. Sangha: General term referring to religious communities in India; in Buddhism the Sangha refers either more narrowly to the monastic communites, or more broadly to the Buddhist community consisting of the both lay and monastic practitioners. Sankara (788-820 CE): Hindu founder of Advaita Vedanta, a monistic (or nondual) interpretation of Vedanta philosophy; Sankara emphasizes the unity of the individual self and the larger world; the deceptive (maya) nature of the world prompts us to erroneously distinguish the two. Sanskrit: Ancient Indo-European language in which the classic texts of Hinduism are written. Satori: Term for enlightenment in Zen Buddhism. School of Mind (Hsin-Hsueh): Idealist-oriented Neo-Confucian school founded by Lu Hsiang-Shan which emphasized innate knowledge of the mind. School of Structural Form (Li-Hsueh): Rationalist-oriented Neo-Confucianist school founded by Chu Hsi which emphasized understanding the structural form (li) behind things. Seated Meditation (zazen): Zen Buddhist practice of sitting and meditating on ordinary conscious experience for long periods of time. Seng-chao (384-414 CE): Chinese Mahayana philosopher who followed the Middle Path School of Nagarjuna. Shakti: Hindu notion of creative power, associated with the Goddess Devi, wife of Shiva. Shaktism: Hindu tradition which focuses on the creative power (shakti) of the Goddess Devi, wife of Shiva. Shiva: destroyer God of the Trimurti in Bhakti Hinduism. Siddhartha: First name of Gautama Siddhartha (563-483 BCE), known as The Buddha and founder of Buddhism. Skandhas: Literally heaps, sometimes translated as aggregates or components; in Buddhism, there are five skandhas which shape our human perception of things: matter, sensation, perception, predisposition, and consciousness. Social Custom (li): Central Confucian concept advocating effortless adherence to social norms and performance of social rituals. Ssu-ma Chien: Author of classic Chinese historical text titled Historical Records (c. 100 BCE) which contains brief accounts of Confucius, Lao-tzu, and Chuang-tzu. Structural Form (li): Neo-Confucian term used by writers such as Chu Hsi who see it as a metaphysical principal in contrast with material force (chi). Suchness (tathata): Mahayana Buddhist notion of ultimate reality which designates existence as it is in itself, as opposed to how it appears to us; the concept is similar to nirvana, Buddha-nature, emptiness, and the Eternal Buddha. Suffering (dukkha): First noble truth of Buddhism which designates a state of anguish that results from clinging or grasping (tanha, trishna). Suffering is one of the Three Marks of Existence (ti-lakkhana) in Buddhism. Summit of Nothingness (wu-chi): Taoist concept of the realm of nonexistence from which all things emerge and then return (fu); Neo-Confucianists such as Chou Tun-i and Chu Hsi identified the Summit of Nothingness with the Great Ultimate (taichi).

Superior Person (chun-tzu): Central Confucian concept designating the ideal human who personifies the highest moral attributes. Tao Te Ching: Literally, The Way and its Power; oldest and most important text in Taoism which emphasizes living according to the Tao, the virtuous power (te) we attain from the Tao, the return of everything to Tao, and the principles of non-action, non-mind. Taoism: Chinese movement originating in the warring states period which advocates following the Tao and living in harmony with nature; Philosophical Taoism and Religious Taoism are its two principal approaches. Tat Tvam Asi: Literally you are that; Hindu expression in the Chandogya Upanishads indicating that the individual person is identical with the universal Brahman. Tathagata: Literally, thus gone, an honorary title used by Buddha in reference to himself, perhaps indicating that he has gone before others on the path of enlightenment. The Record of Rites (Li Chi): One of the Five Classics of Confucianism, an anthology of rules of dancing, music, ancestor worship, and imperial sacrifices; it contains philosophical discussions on cosmology, yin and yang, the five elements, and the five relationships. Theravada: Literally way of the elders, later designation for the Hinayana school of Buddhism which sees religion as an individual effort, emphasizes the role of the Arhat, sees nirvana as distinct from ordinary existence, and de-emphasizes metaphysical speculations. Three Jewels (tiratana): The three most precious things in Buddhism, namely, the Buddha, the law (dharma), and the Buddhist community (sangha) Three Marks of Existence (ti-lakkhana): Buddhist designation for three aspects of human physical existence: suffering (dukkha), impermanence (anicca), and no self (anatta). Tien: Chinese term for heaven used in philosophical Neo-Confucianist and Neo-Taoist discussions to mean nature Tien-tai: School of Chinese Mahayana Buddhism (Tendai in Japan), founded by Chih-I (538-597 CE); the school follows the Yogacara doctrine of absolute mind and proposes that three thousand realms of the phenomenal world are contained in a single thought. Transformation (hua): Taoist notion in the Chuang-Tzu that everything in nature involves transformation from one state to another. Treatise on Actions and their Rewards (Tai-shang Kan-ying Pien): 10th century text of Religious Taoism which maintains that people lose longevity in proportion to their evil deeds. Trimurrti: Trimorphic view of God in Bhakti Hinduism consisting of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Tripitika: Literally three baskets, another name for the Buddhist Pali Canon. Triple Body (trikaya): In Mahayana Buddhism, the notion of three levels or bodies of Buddhas existence: (a) the Eternal Buddhas of the Body of Dharma (dharmakaya), (2) human incarnations in the Body of Transformation (nirmanakaya), and (3) Celestial Buddhas in the Body of Bliss (sambhogakaya). Upanishads: 108 philosophical texts of Brahmanic Hinduism composed between 800-500 BCE which emphasize the notion of the Atman-Brahman. Upaya: Means-to-ends ability, or useful means, one of the ten perfections (paramitas) of Mahayana Buddhism; upaya typically involves the use of differing (and sometimes inferior) approaches to enlightenment. Vedanta: Literally end of the Vedas; one of Hinduisms formal schools of emancipation (darsanas) which draws heavily on the Upanishads and the Brahma Sutras and the doctrine of the Atman Brahman; its two main sub-schools are Sankaras Advaita Vedanta (monistic Vedanta) and Ramanujas Visista-advaita Vedanta (qualified monistic Vedanta).

Vedas: Hindu sacred texts of the Aryan invaders written between 1500-800 BCE which includes the Rig-Veda, Sama-Veda, Yajur-Veda, and Arth-Veda. Vedic Hinduism: Religion of the Indias Aryan invaders (1500-800 BCE), the sacred text of which is the Vedas Vishnu: The preserver God of the Trimurti in Bhakti Hinduism who is said to have human incarnations (avataras). Wang Yang Ming (1472-1529): Philosopher and statesman, and leading proponent of the Neo-Confucianist School of Mind; Wang argued that all knowledge is innate to our minds, and that knowledge and actions are co-related. Warring States Period: period social and political unrest in Chinas history from 403-221 BCE in reaction to which Chinas classical philosophy emerged. Way of Supreme Peace (tai-ping tao): Messianic sect of Religious Taoism founded by Chang Chueh (d. 184 CE) which emphasized based formal fasting ceremonies (chai) involving ritual healing and public confession of fault. Yang Chu (c. 450 BCE): Early Chinese philosopher who emphasized self-preservation and may have inspired Taoist notions about the evils of society. Yang Chu Chapter: Famous chapter in the Leih-Tzu text arguing that we should enjoy the pleasures of life while we can since death is certain. Yin and Yang: negative (female) and postive (male) complementary forces of the universe central to Chinese thought since perhaps as early as 1,000 BCE. Yoga: Hindu meditative practices; the formal school of Yoga developed in the middle ages contains seven sub-schools: Jnana Yoga (knowldge), Karma Yoga (action), Bhakti Yoga (devotion), Mantra Yoga (sounds), Laya Yoga (dissolution), Hatha Yoga (postures, breathing), and Raja Yoga (meditation). Yogacara School: Idealist school of Mahayana Buddhism founded in the 4th century CE by two brothers, Asanga and Vasubandhu; the school maintains that ultimate realty is an undiffernentiated mind; eight kinds of mental consciousness are responsible for our erroneous perceptions of an external world and differentiated self. Zen: Japanese name for the Chinese school of Chan Buddhism. (See Chan).