Taoism, human language, and the value of words

James Ford, in a recent post on his blog Monkey Mind, Words Spiritual and Religious, discusses the human capacity for language, and the recent relative differences between the meanings of the words “spiritual” and “religious”.

Concerning language James says:

An old and dear friend said of language and she mainly meant vocabulary is like play dough, it’s meant to be played with.

How does Taoism approach human language?

Taoism and language:

Up until now, I’ve tip-toed around the fact that Taoist thought is so throughly intertwined with the nature and role of human language, simply because I can’t envision a way of introducing it without explaining most of Taoism at once.

Previously, in discussing the Taoist approach to understanding reality, I’ve said: a Taoist favors experience over formal education, tries to decode hidden truths within human institutions, and eventually tries to stop learning and lose unessential knowledge.

Now that I have some Taoist posts under my belt, let me start the conversation on language by discussing the importance of learning the value of words, or perhaps more accurately, learning the limitations inherent in language. These limitations are most exquisitely summarized in this passage from the Zhuangzi:

There are some things that you can talk about, and some things that you appreciate with your heart. The more you talk, the further away you get from the meaning.

In another passage, the value of words is discussed:

When people think of learning the truth, they think of books. Books are only words and words, of course, have a value. But the value of words lies in the meaning behind them. This so-called meaning is but an effort to grasp at something and that something cannot really be expressed by words.

This is something that nearly every person on the planet understands deep down as true, though few belief systems say it. In fact, most religions prescribe more than just beliefs, but a set of rituals and human institutions, the value of which, like words, lies in the meaning behind them, not the actual institutions themselves.

Love and Tao:

Take “love” as an example. No matter how you try to define and describe it, no words can encompass it completely. A person understands love not through words, but by experiencing it. If you’ve never experienced love before, then no matter how detailed I am, no matter how wide my vocabulary, I’ll never be able to pass on my understanding of love to you.

Love is more than any combination of words can describe. In fact, “love” is an arbitrary label given to an indescribable thing, so that people who’ve both experienced that indescribable thing can discuss it.

Within Taoism, the Tao itself is another such label for something that can’t really be described with words. In fact, the very first lines of the Tao Te Ching state:

The Tao that can be told of
Is not the Absolute Tao;
The Names that can be given
Are not the Absolute Names.

I can say to you that the Tao is the underlying process of the universe, but even as I do I feel that I’m cheapening it, and I want to say more, even though I know that no matter how much I write, I won’t be able to transmit to anyone my understanding of the Tao. Zhuangzi recognized the difficulty:

It is easy to know Tao, and difficult not to talk about it. To know and not to talk about it is to follow nature; to know and to talk about it is to follow man.

“Spiritual” vs. “Religious”:

The running theme of Taoism is the recognition of a thing’s primary and secondary parts, and valuing the primary over the secondary. With language, the words are secondary, the meaning primary. Human institutions and societal rules are secondary to the primary truths that they represent.

The focus of Jame’s post is the debate between the meanings of the words “spiritual” and “religious” in a modern context:

In general use spiritual stands for something good, while religious stands for something bad. Usually the good spiritual is personal and the bad religious is institutional.

Through a Taoist lens, these definitions lead us to see “religious” as secondary, and “spiritual” as primary. This mapping is reinforced by the idea that actual understanding of a thing is personal, and therefore primary.

Though we may “religious” to secondary status, that doesn’t mean it’s useless. Despite their limitations, words can be used to point us in the right direction, as another passage from the Zhuangzi states:

A bait is used to catch fish. When you have gotten the fish, you can forget about the bait. A rabbit trap is used to catch rabbits. When a rabbit is caught, you can forget about the trap. Words are used to express meaning, when you understand the meaning, you can forget about the words.

The same goes for human institutions. Though many things cannot be explained completely with words, they can be at least partially encoded into our institutions. The problem is that since that knowledge can be only partially represented using words, relying on human institutions for passing on understanding carries risk.

That is why a Taoist favors experience over formal education, because our human institutions, despite their best efforts to pass on essential knowledge of this universe, are limited by the limitations of words, and so people risk mistaking the institution itself for its deeper meaning.