There is a Zen story that tells of a professor who lived in a university town in Japan. He was an authority on all subjects, from mathematics to history. The one thing he did not know about was Zen. Determined to include Zen among all his other scholastic achievements, he visited a Zen master who lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the town. The master, venerable Nan-in, invited him in and, as was the custom, served tea. He filled the professor's cup until it was full, but then kept pouring until the tea overflowed the cup, ran over the table, and began to spill onto the floor. The professor watched this until he could no longer restrain himself. "The cup is full! No more will go in!" "Exactly!" replied Nan-in. "Your mind is like this cup. It is so full of your ideas and opinions that there is no room for me to show you Zen!"

Our minds are very much like the professor's. Born into the cultural heritage of the West, the greatest hurdle we must overcome is to allow new ideas, strangely different from our own, to enter and be accepted into the framework of our thoughts. Close your eyes and imagine a full teacup inside your head. Then, if you can remove even one or two drops of the tea, you will have room to gain even a little insight into some Far Eastern beliefs.

What are these beliefs, and why are they so difficult for us to grasp? The following concepts are the four that seem to present the greatest obstacles.

Four Strange Ideas

These ideas are strange only to us. To almost half the world, they are as natural as breathing.

Multiple Religions

Most people in the Eastern hemisphere believe in two, three, or even four religions, all at the same time. They feel no conflict at all with this. This is the equivalent of asking someone in our Western society:

"Are you a Roman Catholic?"
"Yes. I attend Mass regularly."
"Are you a Baptist as well?"
"Of course!"
"And are you a Jew?"
"I certainly am!"

To us, this is a ridiculous conversation. But the fact is that most Chinese are Taoists, Buddhists, and Confucianists, simultaneously. Most Japanese are Shintoists and Buddhists, living in a highly Confucianist society, with some Japanese being Christian as well, giving them four religions. But most startling of all is that they see no conflict! I have spent many hours discussing this with people in the Far East and the reply is invariably so simple and direct that I cannot fault it: "If one religion is good, then two are better, and three are better yet!" This is an idea totally alien to us. They usually go on to say that they cannot understand why Westerners each practice only one of the many religions available.

Our Asian friend will also remind us of our bloody history of religious wars: Catholic against Protestant, Christian against Muslim, and wars between sects of the same religion. Religious warfare is almost unknown in the Orient. They simply do not understand our behavior regarding religion, and acting as an informal spokesman for the West in these conversations, I can offer only the weakest of explanations when trying to account for violence in the name of religion.

Acceptance of Opposing Concepts

We are raised and taught to think in straight, logical lines. If something is one thing and that thing only, it cannot be something else. Philosophically expressed, it would read:

"A is only A."
"A is not B."

This is perfectly rational to us, and we accept it without much further thought.

In the Eastern mind, however, this bit of elementary Greek logic does not necessarily hold. They may say:

"A is only A, and not B."
"A is B."

This pair of expressions is absolutely incomprehensible to any Western logician. How can two ideas, opposite in nature, be true at the same time? Yet in the Far East, this is seldom a point of dissension. We will come to realize this more in future chapters as we learn, for example, that two of the basic Chinese religions, equally recognized and observed, are exact opposites in intent and practice. These are Taoism and Confucianism, both forming the substructure of Chinese culture.

Contributing to this dilemma is the language itself. The nature of the Chinese language is obscure, relying on suggestion and imagery for many of its expressions. For example, "total darkness" may be written as "under the raven's wing." Language will be discussed further in later chapters, but we can begin here to grasp the relationship between the language and the thought. The artistic, creative, and imaginative attributes of Oriental writing are immeasurably enhanced by the nature of the language itself. But precise, definitive, logical patterns of thought are more easily expressed in English, French, and other European tongues.

Religions without Gods

Christian, Jew, or Muslim, we are inclined to center our religion on a supreme being or god. Our interpretation of this god changes as we grow older. As children, we are apt to perceive God as a father, perhaps with a long white beard. As we grow, this image is apt to change to a more generic idea of a creator. Depending on the religion itself, our upbringing, and our own thoughts, our idea of who or what God is changes several times for many of us as the years pass. He is frequently seen as the giver of moral and ethical laws such as the Ten Commandments, which must be obeyed. Success or failure in following these laws can result in reward or punishment accordingly. Even those who do not follow traditional religious beliefs as they mature may have vague feelings of guilt should they break a commandment. These feelings can often be traced back to early childhood, when the dicta "Thou shall..." and "Thou shall not..." were firmly implanted.

It is rather startling for most of us, then, to find that in some of the major religions of the Far East there is no god. In historical Buddhism, for example, the Buddha is not a god. The Buddha was a man and frequently referred to himself as such. Religion without a god seems a self-contradictory concept, but as we explore the Oriental framework of beliefs, we will gradually come to understand how this may be.

Religion and Philosophy Are One

It is traditional for Occidentals to keep their religion and philosophy separate. Each of us may have our own religion and an unrelated philosophy as well, should we so choose. One may be a Roman Catholic and a pragmatist. Someone else may be a Methodist and a neo-Platonist, or a Jew and a logical positivist. Generally speaking, unless one is ultraorthodox in their religious commitment, the religious and philosophical aspects of their lives do not encroach upon each other.

In the Eastern hemisphere, however, another set of concepts exists. The religion and the philosophy are one and the same. A Taoist claims the Tao as both aspects of his life simultaneously. A Confucianist lives his religion as his philosophy, as does the Buddhist and the Shintoist. There is no differentiation. So we see that not only do most Far Easterners have multiple religions, but that each religion has a philosophy as well.

As we progress and gain insight into Eastern culture, these four strange ideas will become increasingly more understandable and, in turn, we shall become more comfortable with them. It is even possible that we may begin to see some value to them, a value that we may translate into an enrichment of our everyday lives. Albert Einstein said that common sense is nothing more than deep-seated ideas we acquired before the age of eighteen. He was referring to scientific research, but perhaps it applies to the study of foreign culture as well.

Before we know where we are going, we must know where we came from. This knowledge provides us with a basis of comparison as we examine the culture of the Far East.

Culturally, where do we come from? It would take an army of historians, scholars, and psychologists to attempt to answer this question, and the answer would still be incomplete. The fabric of our Western society is so complex that no one can describe it. The threads of this fabric reach endlessly back through time and space to ancient civilizations, through the arts and politics and wars of peoples in distant lands thousands of years ago. And each thread of this fabric has strands that stretch back into prerecorded antiquity.

Fortunately, we can identify the main bulwarks of our Western culture. The origins of how we think and what we value can for the most part be described in terms that are not distantly alien to us.

We Are All Greek

A bold statement, perhaps, but true. Anyone born, raised, and educated in Europe, America, or other parts of the world where Western civilization predominates, derives most of their culture from the ancient Greeks. Our democracies, architecture, fine arts, patterns of logical thought, justice and morality, and our outlook on life in general is Greek. Any American walking down Constitution Avenue in Washington, D.C., is looking at Greek columns on most of the federal buildings. And in the smallest of towns or county seats, chances are that the town hall will have similar Doric, Ionian, or Corinthian supports. In addition, many portraits of George Washington and other great Americans feature poses based on the Greco-Roman ideal of a gentleman farmer called to the defense of his country.

How did this happen? The rise of Greek civilization in the seventh, sixth, and fifth centuries b.c. transformed the world. Art, architecture, writing, government, commerce and trade flourished. But it was during the fourth century b.c. that Greek philosophy reached its highest development. The philosophy created by these Athenian masters embraces us to this day. Socrates, born in 470 b.c., was the teacher of Plato. Plato, in turn, was the teacher of Aristotle, who was the tutor to Alexander the Great. And Alexander conquered almost all the known world, thereby spreading the Hellenistic culture and its values.

But before we consider briefly just what this philosophy is, let us turn to a lesser-known Greek philosopher who lived before Socrates, Thales of Miletus, who is regarded as one of the seven wise men of ancient Greece. Thales lived in Miletus, the olive-growing capital of ancient Greece. Evidently, he was subjected to ridicule for being more concerned with abstract ideas than with the real world, so he decided to do something that would end the scoffing. Using his knowledge of science and weather, he predicted an early harvest for the olive crop. He then proceeded to lease all the olive presses available and, when the olive harvest arrived, he held the monopoly on their pressing. In one season he became a rich man, thereby proving to his detractors that philosophy had practical applications.

I confess to feeling a special kinship with Thales since, for many years, I, too, have been chided by friends and acquaintances for being involved in philosophy. Many people believe that philosophers live an ivory-tower sort of existence removed from the real world. Some people think I should be out golfing or discussing the stock market rather than bumbling around with dusty old books. But like Thales, I know that philosophy has practical applications.

In this book, we will be studying the religions -- which are also the philosophies -- of the Eastern world, and what we learn will be useful in our everyday lives.

There are 168 hours in a week. Most of our waking hours involve work, homemaking, sports, and other daily activities that may create a tremendous amount of stress. I suggest that the hours spent reading this book should be spent as though you were a philosopher. Relax, get comfortable, and read with an open mind; as new ideas begin to flow, you will instantly begin to feel "de-stressed." Like Thales, we know that philosophy, far from being useless abstractions, has practical application to our daily concerns. Furthermore, as Socrates taught in his outdoor lectures, philosophy (which literally translates as, "love of wisdom") is for all people, not just for a few professors in universities.

One of Plato's famous parables tells about a cave in which a group of men are chained together in a row facing the wall. They cannot turn around, or see in any other direction. Behind them is a fire which casts the shadows of these men upon the wall. To them, these shadows are the only reality. One of the men, however, breaks free of his bonds and runs to the entrance of the cave. There, under the blazing sun, he sees the real world. If he were to reenter the cave and relate his discovery to the remaining prisoners, his description of the outside world would make no sense to them and they would, in fact, consider him to be either witless or insane.

So it is in our daily lives. We all go about tending to our chores and duties, and enjoying our pleasures and recreations. Most of us, most of the time, accept the things we see and do at face value, much like the prisoners accepted the shadows in the cave as reality. But if we occasionally take a little time to contemplate or to question what we see or do, then we are like the man who escaped -- we begin to see things as they really are, illuminated by the sunshine of knowledge and truth. We are, under those circumstances, beginning to think like philosophers.

What the Greek philosophers sought to attain, we still seek today... the Good Life. To this end, they pursued three main ideals: Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, which they believed would bring them to their goal. In seeking the truth, they studied logic. In seeking goodness, which may be interpreted as morality, justice, and proper conduct, they studied ethics. In seeking beauty, they studied aesthetics.

Since this is not a book on Western philosophy, we will elaborate further on just one of these concepts. Logic contains many tools of thought that are used to guide us on a straight path towards the truth. One of the simplest, yet purest instruments of logic is known as the syllogism. We will discuss it only briefly here, because in a later chapter on Buddhism we will encounter a religion that is based on a thought process so lucidly syllogistic in nature that it could be attributed to the Greeks.

The Greek syllogism, perfected by Aristotle, usually consists of two statements known to be true, from which we can then deduce the truth of a third statement. The classic example is:

Man is a rational animal. (major premise)
Socrates is a man. (minor premise)
Therefore, Socrates is a rational animal.(conclusion)
Or we may say:
Alligators like to eat meat. (major premise)
Albert is my pet alligator. (minor premise)
Therefore, Albert likes to eat meat. (conclusion)

The clarity and purity of logical thought leaves no room for superstition or mysticism. That is why Buddhism is sometimes called the "thinking man's religion," since it is based primarily on what seems to be a series of logical statements.

It is also interesting to note that parts of the Talmud, which is the sacred book of Judaism, were written by Hellenized Jews, that is, Jewish scholars who had studied Greek logic after Alexander the Great had conquered that part of the world. They used applied logic to explain and interpret the Five Books of Moses in the Bible.

Our Judeo-Christian Heritage

This brings us to the second element of our Western culture -- our spiritual and religious backgrounds. We cannot deny the major impact that our Judeo-Christian heritage has on our civilization to this day. We know that an Old Testament saying is inscribed on our Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. In many cases, even nonobservant Jews or Christians will feel guilty upon breaking a commandment. And how many of us raise our eyes heavenward when a wish is granted or a disaster averted? It is simply built into us as a part of our spiritual and cultural heritage.

Pragmatism -- The American Philosophy

The third component that contributes to our Western cultural patterns applies primarily to Americans. It is a philosophy known as pragmatism.

The United States has given several cultural gifts to the world. Probably the most well known is jazz. Born in New Orleans, developed and enriched in Memphis and Chicago, this distinctive sound has been widely exported. Our second major cultural contribution is some of our modern art. In the 1950s, for the first time in history, more American art was exported to Europe than European art was imported into the U.S. Jackson Pollock, de Kooning, Alexander Calder, and many others have influenced the art world in both hemispheres.

And as novice philosophers, readers of this book should take pride in our philosophical export, pragmatism, as well. Just what is this American-grown philosophy? Since this is not a book about Western philosophy, we will deal with it as briefly as possible, capturing its basic concepts superficially, but with enough meaning to grasp how it influences all of us.

The best way to do this is by relating a story told to me as a student many years ago at Case Western Reserve University; it illustrates the essence of pragmatism so well that it remains with me to this day. Daniel Boone, the great American pioneer and explorer, is the hero of this tale.

It seems that he awoke hungry one morning and taking his rifle in hand, set out into the forest in search of game for breakfast. Soon he spotted a squirrel on the trunk of a large oak tree, and he pointed his rifle toward the squirrel. At this, the squirrel ran swiftly to the opposite side of the tree trunk, out of sight of the hunter. Boone immediately moved behind the tree, but the squirrel countered by running again to the opposite side. This continued in such a manner that if Boone moved either right or left, the clever squirrel immediately raced to the opposite side of the trunk, thereby remaining out of sight and no longer presenting a target. This continued for a while, much to Daniel Boone's annoyance.

But what has this to do with philosophy? The philosophical question asked here is this: If Boone continues to circle the tree, facing it, moving to both the right and the left and, if the squirrel continues to counter-move in such a way as to always be on the opposite side of the trunk out of the hunter's sight, then is Daniel Boone going around the squirrel or not?

This question can be argued in two ways. On one hand, we may say that since the squirrel is on the tree and remains there, and Boone is circling the tree, then he is going around the squirrel. On the other hand, since the squirrel cleverly remains on the opposite side of the trunk, moving continually out of sight, then Boone is not going around the squirrel, only around the tree. Such is the philosophical argument, which could continue endlessly.

Along comes pragmatism, like a breath of fresh air, which says: "The wrong question is being asked, and a stupid one at that! The question should be: 'Does he get the squirrel or not?' " In other words, pragmatism places its value on the efficiency and successful application of an idea: Does it work?

Founded in 1905 by Charles Sanders Peirce and William James, pragmatism was often ridiculed by European scholars who called it the "American businessman's philosophy." But the fact is that Americans are a practical and can-do sort of people. We have produced inventors such as Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, and the Wright Brothers. Anyone recalling World War II remembers feats such as the Navy Seabees arriving on a remote jungle island and in twenty-four hours completing a landing strip for Air Force use. We may complain about our telephone service but, as any experienced traveler will tell you, we have the best in the world. We have landed men on the moon and probed the depths of the seas. Perhaps the most common, everyday experience that illustrates America's technological skills is the feeling of pleasure when our car starts in the morning at the first turn of the key.

There is a story about an English country gentleman who one day became absolutely elated when he discovered that all his life he had been speaking prose! Similarly, most of us are pragmatists, but don't know it until it is pointed out to us. The basic concept of pragmatism, which takes philosophy out of the abstract and theoretical realms and tests it by practical application, is an integral part of most of us.

Some years ago I was fortunate to be able to spend a few days with a world-recognized American philosopher. I held him in special esteem because he had a grasp of both Eastern and Western beliefs. I had always wondered what his personal choice was, but he had never answered this question during his hundreds of worldwide lectures. One evening, however, at a party at which he had had enough wine to "loosen his tongue," I asked him, of all the philosophies, which was the one he found most satisfying? "Of all the philosophies I know," he replied, "my personal choice and the one I live with is pragmatism."

From the Greeks, we have inherited the concept of the Good Life. We value truth, justice, and beauty. Our love for freedom and democracy is rooted in our cultural Greek ancestry.

From our Judeo-Christian heritage comes our religious and spiritual background, reflected in our art, morality, and basic cultural concepts.

Pragmatic values influence us daily. "Let's try it this way and see if it works" is as American a concept as any we might conceive.

Obviously, this is far from being a complete account of our Western cultural heritage. But these three Western influences will be used as reference points as we examine Far Eastern philosophical concepts in the chapters which follow.

The Major Difference

If I were asked to reduce this entire book to its simplest terms, it would be this: The difference between the Western mind and Eastern mind is that Westerners see themselves as superior to nature, opposing it and dominating it. Eastern man, on the other hand, sees himself as a part of nature, identifying with it and being at one with nature.

How on earth did we ever get the idea that we should oppose or conquer nature? This is another one of those questions that cannot be readily answered. But we can come up with one very valid possibility: our own Bible. In Genesis 1:28 we read, "God said 'Fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living thing that creepeth upon the Earth.' "

If we subdue and have dominion over the earth, then we are setting ourselves apart from nature. This apartness, this sense of being separate from the rest of the universe, often leads to a feeling of loneliness or desolation. True, the benefits of putting ourselves above nature result in many scientific advances for which we are rightly and truly grateful, but this is a double-edged sword. The further we drift from nature, the more we are isolated from our roots, the more we are condemned to a sense of uneasiness about where we really belong.

The great anthropologist-poet-essayist Loren Eisely often bemoaned our sense of isolation from the very nature from which we have sprung. I had the good fortune to know Loren Eisely, and I regret to this day not telling him something about the Far Eastern view of man and the universe. It might have eased his mind to know that the other half of our planet sees things quite differently.

All the religions, philosophies, art, beliefs, and attitudes of the Eastern hemisphere revolve around the concept that we are a part of, a creation of, and should strive to be in harmony with nature. As we shall see, this feeling leads to a sense of inner peace and tranquility that can transcend our daily lives.

It is with these thoughts in mind that we enter the world of Tao, which best expresses these ideas, and in fact forms the underlying theme for much of the wisdom of the East.