transformations

This post is part of an ongoing series.  You can find out more by clicking here.

This chapter is a unique one, I think.  It has echoes of Solomon’s guidance in the book Ecclesiastes. In it, we are advised to do everything completely, without reservation, in its proper time.  Then, move on.

Express yourself completely,
then keep quiet.
Be like the forces of nature:
when it blows, there is only wind;
when it rains, there is only rain;
when the clouds pass, the sun shines through.

I wonder, why is this advice necessary?  What is the unhealthy counter-tendency which we must try to avoid?

Sometimes people feel unable to be truly happy in fortunate circumstances or loving relationships; perhaps because they are holding on to pain from the past, or are afraid of being vulnerable, or whatever.  Conversely, it is sometimes just as difficult to grieve properly when life is hard or we lose someone close to us.  Again, people often restrain anger (or even just healthy frustration) for long periods of time, with unpleasant results.

Whatever the circumstance, we are advised to ‘Express ourselves completely‘.  Why?  Because if we hold nothing back we remain flexible and open, ready to respond to the next moment, the next change of weather and whatever it might bring.

Now we change tack.  We started by thinking about expressing ourselves, which is an outward motion.  The same idea of completeness applies to inward motion as well.  This comes in the form of opening, or not resisting.  This allows us to benefit from external things — Tao, insight, and loss — just as completely.

If you open yourself to the Tao,
you are at one with the Tao
and you can embody it completely.
If you open yourself to insight,
you are at one with insight
and you can use it completely.
If you open yourself to loss,
you are at one with loss
and you can accept it completely.

Do we have the kind of faith it takes to move freely, and be moved freely in return?  Or is it wiser to grasp our emotions and circumstances in clenched fists, doing our best to portray a crafted persona and avoid showing any vulnerability?  Is a philosophy of openness helped or hindered by faith in a personal God?  These are the questions sitting with me at the moment.

Since we know that everything is encompassed by the great shadowy force of Tao — emotions, circumstances, wisdom, and relationships — we can sum up everything that has been said in one thought.  Inward and outward motion find their natural harmony when we find our harmony with Tao:

Open yourself to the Tao,
then trust your natural responses;
and everything will fall into place.

This post is part of an ongoing series.  You can find out more by clicking here.

I said when introducing chapter 20 that I found it the most difficult one yet.  In my opinion, this chapter is perhaps one of the most beautiful!  I hope you will agree.

The challenging paradoxes in these proverbs are what make them so valuable:  in order to solve the puzzles, we have to pause long enough for the images to settle as we take them in.  Some people will read them quickly, write them off as nonsense, and forget them.  But a few will stop– ponder them for even just a few seconds, and perhaps find something valuable.  Are you willing to give them a chance?

If you want to become whole,
let yourself be partial.
If you want to become straight,
let yourself be crooked.
If you want to become full,
let yourself be empty.
If you want to be reborn,
let yourself die.
If you want to be given everything,
give everything up

Each of these proverbs follows the same pattern.  ‘If you want … let yourself …’ This is, on the face of it, a very strange idea.  Instead of progressing from goals to strategies, figuring out how to make the desired outcome a reality, we are encouraged to allow something to happen to us instead.  And not just anything, but allowing the very thing we don’t want to happen!

So why would I choose to ‘let [myself] be empty’ if what I really want is to be full?  Why would I ‘let [myself] die’ if what I really want is to live?

It is at this point on the road of Taoism where I find a surprising and amazing intersection between these ancient Chinese philosophers and the kind of Christian faith that I have been moving toward for several years now.  Explaining that will require a separate blog post (or several…).  But for now I invite you to draw your own conclusions; and, if you know anything about Jesus, I encourage you to keep it in mind as we imagine the example of a Taoist Master:

The Master, by residing in the Tao,
sets an example for all beings.
Because he doesn’t display himself,
people can see his light.
Because he has nothing to prove,
people can trust his words.
Because he doesn’t know who he is,
people recognize themselves in him.
Because he has no goal in mind,
everything he does succeeds.

Here is a fleshing-out of the kinds of opposites we’ve been talking about in action.  The Master’s light is shining because he doesn’t put himself forward; he is trustworthy because he isn’t intent on proving himself; he is likely to succeed because he remains flexible and adaptable to the circumstances.

Finally, one more example of the same ‘let yourself’ attitude that we’ve been considering.

When the ancient Masters said,
“If you want to be given everything,
give everything up,”
they weren’t using empty phrases.
Only in being lived by the Tao can you be truly yourself.

The goal of the Taoist is not to ‘attain’ an admirable, perfectly-tuned and balanced lifestyle. The goal of the Taoist — the only goal — is to make space for the Tao to do its work. Doing this means giving other things up; but in return we get something which is so much more valuable!

As ever, I hope this little commentary has been worth reading. I would love for you to leave a comment if it has been. Feel free to pre-empt my next post by saying how you see (or don’t see) similarities between the Taoist ‘Master’ and a certain inauspicious Jewish carpenter…

I said at the beginning of this series, I decided to limit myself to using the Stephen Mitchell translation of the Tao Te Ching.  Comparing different translations is really interesting, but a much bigger problem!

In my personal reading, I am using ‘The Illustrated Tao Te Ching’, by Man-Ho Kwok, Martin Palmer, and Jay Ramsay.  I really like it.  Translating classical Chinese is a tricky endeavour, and it seems there is considerable room for artistic licence!  In my opinion, I think this suits the message and attitude of the philosophy very well.

As an example, you can compare these two translations of chapter 20.  Notice how some lines make more sense in one translation or the other, and some lines are translated to have opposite meanings!  I hope you find this quick comparison entertaining, before we continue down the road we started…

This post is part of an ongoing series.  You can find out more by clicking here.

This chapter has an interesting format.  We start with a statement, and then ask some questions about it.  Let’s follow the rabbit trail…

The Master keeps her mind
always at one with the Tao;
that is what gives her her radiance.

Having ‘radiance‘ speaks to me of something internal that shines for other people to see.  What is the radiance of the Tao?  Tranquility?  Lack of dis-ease?  Openness and honesty?

Other things constantly vie for our attention, and the Tao is difficult to pay attention to.  But when we ‘keep our mind‘ attuned to it, it benefits us… somehow.

The Tao is ungraspable.
How can her mind be at one with it?
Because she doesn’t cling to ideas.

How can our ‘mind be at one‘ with something we can’t understand?  What does it mean to stop ‘cling[ing] to ideas‘?  Is this the same as Zen, or so-called ‘new age’?  I don’t think so.

The person who follows Tao know that she can’t hold on to it:  it is too big and too small, too solid but also too ephemeral, all at the same time!  The Tao-follower knows this, so instead of trying to grab it and hold it, she makes space for it in her mind and in her lifestyle.  The Tao can’t be possessed, but it can inhabit:  inhabit our lives, our relationships, and our homes.  If we make ourselves empty like a valley, then the Tao, like a river, can fill us up.

The Tao is dark and unfathomable.
How can it make her radiant?
Because she lets it.

Again, the key to living in Tao is to give it space to do its work.  So easy to do, and yet so difficult…

Since before time and space were,
the Tao is.
It is beyond is and is not.
How do I know this is true?
I look inside myself and see.

How can we trust the Tao?  Because some smart person told us to?  (Or because some silly blogs keep on talking about it…)

If Tao is the force behind everything, then we should be able to see it working in everything.  I like learning from books; others learn best from personal experiences, and others in all sorts of other ways.  The more we learn and understand, the more we see the Tao… if we choose to.  Truth is all around us, in everything we see… but we have to have the courage to look!  Do I?  Do you?