THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT DAOIST THOUGHT AND WRITINGS THAT MAKES THEM APPEALING. Even though they seem simple, even simplistic, they nonetheless give one the sense that they are also subtle, inscrutable and profoundly wise.
As I re-read the “further teachings of Lao-tzu” in Thomas Cleary’s translation of the Wen-tzu (a Daoist classic from the Han Dynasty, ca. 200 B.C.E. – 8 C.E.), during the past week or so, that feeling came up for me over and over. To give you a hint of what I mean, I’ll share a few brief passages from the text:
“Nothing in the world is easier than doing what is good, nothing is harder than doing what is not good. Doing what is good means being calm and uncontrived, suiting your true condition … following your essential nature, preserving reality, and not changing yourself. Therefore doing what is good is easy” (Wen-tzu, Ch. 131, p. 126).
“When you get to the root of human nature by means of the [Dao], there is no perversity or pollution; but when you are steeped in things for a long time, you forget that root and conform to a seeming nature” (Wen-tzu, Ch. 134, p. 130).
“[C]lose the gates and pathways of the senses, and you merge with the [Dao]; the light of the spirit hides in formlessness, vitality and energy return to reality” (Wen-tzu, Ch. 139, p. 136).
These statements are simple and direct enough (at least in Cleary’s masterful translations), but do you feel the subtlety and wisdom of the insights they offer? What does Laozi mean by saying we should be “uncontrived”? What is our “true condition”; and our “essential nature”? Why would being “steeped in things” cause us to forget “the root of our human nature”? What would happen, if we were to find the “light of the spirit” hiding in “formlessness”?
The entire Daoist project appears to derive from deep observations of the ways of “Nature” (here including heaven, earth, nations, societies, and human beings). The observations lead to profound insights into the “Way” (Dao or “ultimate reality”) and how it manifests through the phenomenal reality in which we humans live.
Daoism, therefore, offers us wisdom about both the transcendent Dao and its manifestations, its De (virtue or power). The tradition also tells us how to apply that wisdom, how the De of the Dao can govern both one’s personal life, and an entire nation. In other words, Daoist practice is both spiritual and political, both introverted and extraverted, both yin and yang. And one of the tradition’s most important goals is to balance and harmonize these opposites.
Accordingly, a Daoist sage is as likely to be overlooked in obscurity as to be found advising rulers and government officials. Although the Dao De Jing and the Wen-tzu both begin with metaphysical insights, each soon addresses individual spiritual practices, and finishes by suggesting wise practices for good governance.
So, I suppose it’s the way Daoism brings wisdom and spirituality together into an ideal for social life that gives the tradition such appeal in the present age. What’s not to like about a tradition that offers hope for both the individual and the nation? (Well, that’s a question for another time.)
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