"The Way and its Power"

 

            The Buddha’s teachings and the philosophy of Taoism have much in common.  Philosophical Taoism (not to be confused with popular or religious Taoism) originated from the teachings of a Lao Tzu, who was born around 600 BC in China.  Taoism derives from Lao Tzu’s only written work, the Tao Te Ching, which means literally “the way and its power.” 

            The teachings on something called wu wei are central to what Lao Tzu taught.  Wu wei is a way of engaging life and can be very useful to us in engaging our own lives.  So we might ask:  What is wu wei?   How do we make use of it? and What are the benefits for ourselves and for the world?

            Wu wei can be understood most essentially as a state of consciousness (not a state of mind or thinking).  Specifically it is a state of extreme receptivity.  It is being in touch with what is present right here and right now in this moment and not being lost in thought, or chasing after something.  Thought, what we call the mind, is only a part of consciousness—the part that uses concepts and words, analyzes, categorizes, tries to figure things out, solves problems.  As useful as this is, it is only a small part of consciousness (the faculty of awareness).  Wu wei is a state of heightened consciousness without thought—the mind is turned off.

            Often when we are lost in thought we fail to notice of lot of what is present in any given moment.  I’ve had the experience of driving somewhere in my car and then arriving at the destination and having no recollection of anything during the time of my trip.  Where was I during this time?  Lost in the thought stream.  Probably all of us have had similar experiences.   In a state of wu wei, we are not thinking and are totally in touch with our inner and outer environment.

            It is like the state of consciousness of a person who listens intently to everything another person expresses:  the words, the pauses, hesitations, breathing, tone, body language, etc.  This is listening without thinking about what you want to say next, without trying to persuade the other person of anything, without judgment—the focus is totally on simply hearing what the other person is saying. 

            Wu wei is, of course, bigger than a way of listening to someone talk (although listening to what someone says in this way is a very powerful practice). It is “listening” using any of the senses, as well as introspection into your own thoughts and emotions.  It is “listening” to (receiving) whatever presents itself to awareness right here, right now.  Wu wei has been characterized in various ways such as:  stopping the mind, stopping thought, a heightened but relaxed state of awareness and alertness.  All this is accurate. We can also say that it is a state of not doing, of not forcing, not trying to make anything happen, so that we can become a “receiving station” for the present moment and see reality clearly.  

            And how do we go about entering a state of wu wei?  In order for this to happen we must put aside our personal desires, fears, hopes, knowledge, beliefs, judgments about good and bad, evaluations, attempts to control or manage things, and personal agendas.  These things act as filters and distorting elements which let in only those things which relate to them and screen out the things that do not.  For example, you will see the very same stretch of forest very differently if you are a logger or a botanist, a real estate developer or a painter, a zoologist or a geologist, a hot and tired hiker or a forest fire fighter.  These and other perspectives need to be dropped.

            We must stop trying to manipulate and control the universe, stop analyzing or categorizing it, and simply take it in.  This is essentially a meditation practice.

            The potential benefits of entering a state of wu wei are enormous:  we will see reality clearly.  And as a result of that clarity we will find that we frequently automatically, spontaneously, and effortlessly act and know what to do in situation.  I simply see what, if anything, the situation needs and then simply do it. There is no sense of a calculation, or of a “me” being present in the doing.     

            When I am seeing reality clearly in this way, I am in touch with the natural flow of energy in the immediate environment, and consequently able to act in a way that goes with and utilizes the natural flow of things rather than opposing it and trying to impose my personal will on things.

            Here is a simple example.  Let’s suppose I need to travel on foot from where I am now at the edge of a forest to a point that is two miles away inside the forest.  My thinking mind may tell me to plot a straight line course from point A to point B and then follow it.  I then put my plan into action and journey straight through the forest, going up over cliffs, through patches of thorny blackberries,  through deep gorges, and over huge boulders.  I arrive at my destination two hours later, exhausted and with numerous cuts, bruises, and scratches.  Well, that’s one way of doing it!  I am attempting to force things, to forcefully bend reality to conform to my personal will.

            A student of Lao Tzu would take a very different approach.  Such a person would enter the forest a short way and then sit quietly in a state of relaxed, alert, receptivity.  After a while she becomes aware of the natural openings in the forest, sees the “big picture, and sees the subtle “organization” of the forest.  As a result, she is able to move easily through the natural openings in the forest, perhaps in a roundabout way, to arrive uninjured and fresh at the destination in about half the time. 

            This is much in keeping with Taoism’s frequent use of the metaphor of water to explain the teachings.  Water is soft and pliable, and yet it can penetrate solid rock by seeking out the natural cracks, crevices, and porous places and flowing easily through them.  The water doesn’t force anything.

            Wu wei is often translated as “not forcing, and creative quietude.”  In that state of unforced creative quietude there is a space in which creative insights, useful changes in perspective, and new truths can arise spontaneously.  Suddenly I see my father’s underlying and pervasive fear, or I know without a doubt that continuing in architecture school is not right for me, or I see how utterly unproductive my habit of arguing with other people is.

            In Taoist teachings there is something called The Parable of the Oak Tree and the Willow Tree. The oak tree is very strong.  When it snows and it begins to accumulate and weigh down its limbs, the oak tree holds itself rigid and tries to resist the weight of the snow.  Eventually the snow load becomes too heavy and some of the limbs crack and break off.  The willow tree is not as strong as the oak, but the willow branch simply yields to the weight of the snow, the branches bend down, and the snow slides off easily.  The limbs then spring back to where they were before.  The willow is flexible and goes with the interplay of forces around it and thus effortlessly escapes harm.  This is the sort of intelligence that flows naturally from the state of wu wei.  It enables you to be so in tune to what is going on around you, and inside you, that deep wisdom becomes available to you. 

 

 

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