Lau was an expert in Classical Chinese and translated many Confucian and Taoist works for the Penguin Classics series. He also helped develop London University’s School of Oriental and African Studies into a world-renowned center for studies of Chinese culture and philosophy. His translation of the Tao Te Ching, originally made in 1963 and revised periodically (I think he did a revision in the 1980’s taking into account the Mawangdui manuscripts) is still in print, and can be read online here. I have to say upfront that this is not actually my favorite translation. The literary style isn’t bad, but Lau can be a bit stilted at times, and he is definitely less poetic in style than many translators. Why, then, is his my go-to translation? The answer in brief is that I trust him more; but that will require some unpacking.
I’ve ended up writing more essays on the Tao Te Ching than I’d originally intended over in the “Your Own Personal Canon” series. Taoism has been an interest of mine for many years, and I may well return to Taoism even after I’ve finished the essays on the Tao Te Ching. Thus, I thought it would be a good idea to set up yet another index in which to collect the Taoist essays–and here it is!
My first premise about what translation of the Tao Te Ching–or any work, for that matter–should be is that it should indeed be a translation. That is, someone learned the source language of the work in question, became an expert in that language and in the milieu of the work to be translated, in particular, and then translated it into an effective and readable literary form in the target language. It’s not enough to know the source language (plenty of native English speakers can’t read Shakespeare with understanding) or the target language (all too many translations are written in nearly unreadable “translator-ese”, lacking the slightest sensitivity to literary style). These are, however, minimal requirements. If you don’t know both languages, you’re disqualified. Writing your take on something written in a language you don’t know, whatever it is, is not translation.
Now I appreciate that few of us have the time and resources to learn the original languages of every work that interests us. Even if I were of independent means and no worries, I’d hardly have the time to learn Sanskrit, Pali, Classical Chinese, Classical and Koine Greek, Biblical Hebrew, Classical Arabic, Aramaic, Akkadian, Sumerian, Ancient Egyptian, Georgian, German, Spanish, French, Latin, Russian, Portuguese, and all the other ancient and modern languages of various works that hold interest for me, and to do so well enough to read these works easily and well. A few brilliant polyglots can to that; I can’t. Thus, I keep various translations of works that are meaningful to me in order to switch from version to version for greater nuance, more readability, etc. I have, for example, nine translations of the Bible in full or in part, six of the Tao Te Ching, and two or three of the Bhagavad Gita. Making one’s own personal version of a meaningful book from a variety of translations is a natural and human thing to do.
As I said last time, a discussion of the translations of the Tao Te Ching was beyond the scope of that post. I’ve thought about it and decided it’s beyond the scope of a single post, period. This post is a sort of preliminary: a brief discussion of Taoism, its terminology, and its practices. This will give a background against which to discuss the founding and principal text of Taoism, the Tao Te Ching.
Any description of an entire religion in a blog post is, of course, going to be ridiculously compressed. Instead of waiting till the end, I’ll give a suggested reading right now. Probably the best introduction to Taoist ideas for Westerners is Benjamin Hoff’s classic The Tao of Pooh. Despite its humor and its use of the Winnie the Pooh books as a device for introducing the concepts, it is well-written and actually does a good job of getting across basic Taoist concepts. I’d recommend it to all. Meanwhile, I’ll proceed with my (alas, inferior) description.
Continuing in my series “Your Own Personal Canon”, about books that affected me in a deep or profound way, I now want to discuss the Tao Te Ching.
The book, traditionally said to have been composed by the sage Laozi, whose name is an alternate title for the book, is probably the most widely translated piece of Chinese literature, and perhaps one of the ones spelled in the most different ways. Its title in Chinese (shown above in calligraphy) is 道德經. The older systems of Chinese transliteration, of which the Wade-Giles is the most influential, usually render the title “Tao Te Ching“, occasionally spelling the “Te” as “Teh”. The most widely used system now, and the one official in Mainland China, is Pinyin. In Pinyin, the syllables are respectively transliterated “Dao”, “De”, and “Jing”. The combination (or lack thereof) into syllables varies: it may be given as Dao De Jing, with the transcription of each character written as a separate word, or as Daode Jing, or as Daodejing. The pronunciation is the same regardless of script. The first syllable rhymes with the “Dow” of “Dow Jones”; the second with “duh”, as in the sound a person makes if confused; and the last rhymes with the first syllable of “jingle”. Technically, the first consonant of the “Dao” and “De” is actually an unvoiced “t”, not a “d”. To hear the difference, say “tall” and then “stall” and listen carefully. The “t” in “tall” has a puff of air after it–that is, in linguistic terms, it’s aspirated. The “t” of “stall” is unaspirated and sounds almost like a “d”. In English, the unaspirated “t” never comes at the beginning of a syllable; in Chinese, it does. Listen to a Spanish speaker–“t” in Spanish is never aspirated–for a good idea of how the “d” of “Dao” should sound. “D” is used because that’s how it sounds to speakers of many European langusges, such as English. “D” (unaspirated “t”) was written as just “t” in Wade-Giles; and the aspirated “t”, just “t” in Pinyin, was given as t’ (a “t” followed by an apostrophe) in Wade-Giles.
Similarly, the “J” of “Jing” is not really a “J”, but like the “ch” in the word “cheese”, but with no puff of breath (i.e. it’s unaspirated). It was represented in Wade-Giles by plain “ch”, while its aspirated equivalent is ch’ in Wade-Giles and “q” in Pinyin. As to the vowels, “ao” is like the “ow” in “cow”; “e” in Chinese is like the “u” in “but” or the last “a” in “America”; and “i” in Chinese is like the “i” in “machine”. This holds for both transliteration systems, though some variants of Wade-Giles use “eh” for “e”.
Whether or not one can pronounce it properly, the meaning of the title, Tao Te Ching (I’m using Wade-Giles from this point on out of nostalgia, since that was still used in most translations at the time I first read it), though containing much nuance, isn’t too difficult. “Tao”, though a very complex concept in Chinese thought, is almost universally translated as “Way” (usually, though not always, capitalized). Occasionally it is left untranslated as “Tao” or “Dao”. “Te” means “virtue” or “power”, though I rather like Victor Mair’s rendition of it as “integrity”. “Ching” could be “book”, but in Classical Chinese is usually translated as “classic”. When Buddhism entered China several centuries after the composition of the Tao Te Ching, the word “ching” was used as a translation for the Sanskrit sutra (or Pali sutta). Thus, possible translations of Tao Te Ching would be “The Book of the Way and the Power”, “The Classic of the Way and Virtue”, and others along those lines.
High virtue is non-virutious;
Therefore it has virtue.
Low virtue never frees itself from virtuousness;
Therefore it has no virtue.
High virtue makes no fuss and has no private ends to serve;
Low virtue not only fusses but has private ends to serve.
High humanity fusses but has no private ends to serve:
High morality not only fusses but has private ends to serve.
High ceremony fusses but finds no response;
Then it tries to enforce itself with rolled-up sleeves.
Failing Tao, man resorts to Virtue;
Failing Virtue, man resorts to humanity;
Failing humanity, man resorts to morality;
Failing morality, man resorts to ceremony;.
Now, ceremony is the merest husk of faith and loyalty;
It is the beginning of all confusion and disorder.
As to foreknowledge, it is only the flower of Tao,
And the beginning of folly.
Therefore, the full-grown man sets his heart upon the substance rather than the husk;
Upon the fruit rather than the flower.
Truly he prefers what is within to what is without.
—Tao Teh Ching, chapter 38, translated by John C. H. Wu
Weapons are instruments of evil omen;
Creation abhors them.
One who aspires to the Way
does not abide in them.
The superior man
at home honors the left,
on the battlefield honors the right.
Weapons are not instruments of the superior man;
Weapons are instruments of evil omen,
to be used only when there is no other choice.
He places placidity above all
and refuses to prettify weapons.
If one prettifies weapons,
this is to delight in the killing of others.
One who delights in the killing of others
Cannot exercise his will over all under heaven.
For this reason,
On occasions for celebration,
the left is given priority,
On occasions for mourning,
the right is given priority.
A deputy general stands on the left,
The general-in-chief stands at the right.
In other words,
They stand in accordance with mourning ritual.
The killing of masses of human beings,
We bewail with sorrow and grief.
Victory in battle,
we commemorate with mourning ritual.
—Tao Te Ching, translated by Victor H. Mair