Fundamentals

The following preface was written by Justin as an introduction to Professor Wen-shan Huang’s book, Fundamentals of T’ai Chi Ch’uan, in 1966. The commentary has been paraphrased slightly to illustrate how it introduces T’ai Chi Chih as well.

To call T’ai Chi a form of exercise would be to completely miss the mark; it would be more appropriate to refer to it as a Chinese form of Yoga. Unlike exercise, T’ai Chi will not tire you. Indeed, as one continues in it, he will find himself actually deriving energy from the practice. About 20 minutes of T’ai Chi–a recommended time for performing the movements–will serve to “charge the batteries” in much the same way Hatha Yoga does.

In the West we make dichotomies where none previously existed. Thus we speak of the “mental, physical, and spiritual approach”, as though these were three different things. The Japanese word “Kororo” and the Chinese “Hsin” can be translated as “heart”, “mind”, or “spirit”, and realizing these are the same is a great step forward to Enlightenment. In T’ai Chi we cannot say whether we feel so good because of the physical tone acquired from this best-of-exercises, because of the tranquility of mind that comes (much like the Zen state of “Mushin”, no-mind, the pure state unbothered by conceptual thinking), or because of the “spiritual development.” Actually, we are dealing with the “whole man” here in what Professor Huang refers to as the “Organism”, without attempting to compartmentalize that which is without division. One is tempted to remember the sage’s advice to think of the space between the ears as being infinite; all things thus exist within us and we realize our true, unlimited identity.

Despite Western translations (by those who do not understand the Chinese mentality), in which “God” is substituted for the “Tao”, and Western anthropomorphic Jehovah, the Moslem Allah, and the Hindu Ishvara do not appear in Chinese thought at all. The Tao is completely impersonal, without characteristics, and to praise this abstraction in hymn and prayer would be meaningless. Thus is the analogy between T’ai Chi and Yoga. The latter simply means “Union”, though it is often expanded to “seeking Union with the Divine”. Just as definitely, T’ai Chi properly practised will draw one to “Union”, though Union with what will depend on the preconditioning of the individual culture. Perhaps it is best to say that T’ai Chi will make one’s body feel good, almost as though there had been an inner bath; it will bring a sense of well-being, much like the spiritual states described by mystics; and it will tranquilize the mind, tending to make it one-pointed in the same manner as deep meditation. It would not be far wrong to say that T’ai Chi is a “walking meditation”.

We in the West are the doubting ones. From a philosophic standpoint, this is admirable. All philosophy begins with doubt, taking nothing for granted in the manner of Descartes and Socrates. This is in no way a religious attitude, however, calling for faith in our ability to evolve and become what the sages tell us we always have been. Thus, to learn T’ai Chi, one must practice wholeheartedly. Talk will not bring results any more than the most erudite musical criticism can produce pleasing sounds. The longest journey starts with the first step. In T’ai Chi it is enough to learn the movements one at a time, and to perfect them by constant practice, without anticipating the other movements still to come. To think in terms of process, and to enjoy the process as it unfolds, will serve a much better purpose than to always use things merely as means to a goal. No one ever reaches perfection in T’ai Chi–indeed no two will ever perform it in exactly the same way, as it is a living evolving practice–and the Joy lies in the journey itself.