The way is forever nameless.
Though the uncarved block is small,
no one in the world dare claim its allegiance.
Should lords and princes be able to hold fast to it,
the myriad creatures will submit of their own accord,
heaven and earth will unite and sweet dew will fall
and the people will be equitable, though no one so decrees.
Only when it is cut are there names.
As soon as there are names,
one ought to know that it is time to stop.
Knowing when to stop, one can be free from danger.
The way is to the world as the river and the sea are to rivulets and streams.
History can be seen as the relentless attempt by humanity to name what cannot be named, to stick large indelible heavy things on what is elusive and fleet. It’s true—things seem to stick for a time: ideas, names, artifacts, feelings, desires, lords and princes. But, in history, heaven and earth will not unite, sweet dew will not fall, and the people will not be equitable without decrees.
The Tao points to a past golden age, outside of history; it does not point to a future utopia. Whether this past age existed or not is not the point—a debate about what exists outside of history is a debate of academics and fools. To be outside of history is not necessarily to not have existed; yet, according to our rules of existence—the rules that arise from the cancerous growth of names—it is to not have existed.
Can humanity know when to stop? Is there evidence of this capability? Is our increasing love of names inexorable? Even though humanity may lack such aptitude, are individuals capable of such restraint? If they are—even if there are one or two—is it sufficient to balance the speed and acceleration of the rest? Is the effort required for restraint such that it results in strange and almost unnamable energies, a curious and unexpected counterbalance to the more obvious lack of cutting, naming, and desiring? If we were inclined to names, we might want to say things like, The Way knows, in the way that some say, the Lord knows or your gut knows or that guru knows. But we do not seem to be so inclined.
To be free from danger is not to be free from danger in the realm of names and knives; it is because the sage has removed herself from the realm of names and knives that she is free from danger. What happens in that realm is real to her and can strip her of goods, reputation, lovers, and life; but it cannot strip her of dignity, nobility, detachment, and the dark perspicacity of the way. Thus, she is free from danger.
The way empties into the world. It can neither be polluted nor exhausted. Whether this is comforting to polluting, exhausting humanity depends on how one is oriented to it.
No comments:
Post a Comment