The Tao is the most down-home, everyday, run of the mill, no big deal of all. You'll find that several places where the Tao is referred to as low or behind. This is from Chen's Verse 8:

Water is good in benefiting (li) all beings,
Without contending (cheng) with any.
Situated in places shunned (o) by many others,
Thereby it is near (chi) Tao. — T Clark

Do you really think I haven’t grasped this aspect of the Tao? These ideas I’m referring to are not ‘lofty’ in the sense that they’re unaware of a relation extending throughout all of existence. This is the point I’m trying to make about the Chinese language - when they refer to ‘water’, they’re referring to the idea of a fluid quality, not specifically to H2O or to a river as such. Other characters would refer to the liquid consistency of water, to its diluting, soaking or pouring qualities - and also be translated as ‘water’. I think in philosophy, particularly in understanding the Tao, it’s important to make this distinction between the consolidated thing and the qualitative idea. I don’t think it makes the idea ‘lofty’ - the transcendent quality of ideas such as ‘fluid’ doesn’t raise it above or distinct from ‘water’. The metaphorical sense is inherent in the choice of character.

We keep trying to get a sense of what Lao Tzu would be saying in English. But the idea that Lao Tzu is even a real person is a point of contention. Laozi means ‘old master’, and a similar ambiguity surrounds his living existence as does Jesus and Socrates.

I've never heard the term "ontic structural realism" before. I looked it up. Are you saying that the fact that Chinese words can act as any part of speech helps you break down artificial boundaries in our concepts? If not... — T Clark

Yes - not just this versatility, but the entire structure of the language.

Shen refers to the main part of a structure, whether that is the body, life, morality and conduct, mind or self. It’s all of it, really - as far as our awareness of it goes.
— Possibility

"Self" and "body" are different, and I think that may be an important difference between the translations. I also think they have something in common - they refer to how we see ourselves, judge ourselves. — T Clark

But shen doesn’t distinguish between self and body, anymore than jing distinguishes between fear and surprise. We can’t expect a 1:1 translation here. If you google translate ‘body’ to Chinese, you get shen ti, where both characters individually translate back to ‘body’. Ti refers to the quality of substance, while shen refers to the quality of a main part. A number of other characters also translate to ‘body’, each referring to different qualities such as health, form, machine, group, etc.

It’s the character of wú that lends the quality of introspection, leading to an interpretation of my existence as ‘self’, or my main part as ‘body’, when the three together refer to the main part of my existence - whatever I perceive or judge that to be.

In order to exist, I am one who suffers greatly, and in the capacity of this living existence up until my death, I exist - how is this unfortunate?
— Possibility

This, and some of your other interpretations, seem to me to be too lofty. To me, this verse, all the verses actually, describe things that are down-home, everyday, run of the mill, no big deal. — T Clark

Really? Considering that the main topic is the Tao? I do understand that these ‘lofty’ ideas may not be expected from an ancient text, but the versatility of the Chinese characters lend themselves to both lofty and run-of-the-mill interpretations, depending on your focus and awareness. The timeless applicability of the TTC comes from this structure of the language around the quality of ideas rather than consolidated concepts. A limited or comprehensive knowledge of the body is concealed in the English word ‘body’, but not in the Chinese character of shen. It refers only to a particular quality of our experience, which isn’t bound by time or knowledge.

I think this means something like "If you learn to deal with honors and misfortunes without hope or fear, you will be trustworthy" Chen thinks this verse is aimed at leaders, so it might be "a trustworthy ruler." — T Clark

I’m not sure I would trust a leader who claims to have no hope or fear - someone like Trump comes to mind...but I do get the notion of relating to honour and misfortune as if our own hopes and fears were irrelevant. I think we are more willing to entrust our lives to someone who leads by serving, than someone who leads by nobility.

“Laozi cultivated Dao and virtue,” as Sima Qian goes on to relate, and “his learning was devoted to self-effacement and not having fame. He lived in Zhou for a long time; witnessing the decline of Zhou, he departed.” When he reached the northwest border then separating China from the outside world, he met Yin Xi, the official in charge of the border crossing, who asked him to put his teachings into writing. The result was a book consisting of some five thousand Chinese characters, divided into two parts, which discusses “the meaning of Dao and virtue.” Thereafter, Laozi left; no one knew where he had gone. This completes the main part of Sima Qian’s account. — Laozi (SEP)

The second idea introduced in this verse is that of value or nobility in a life of great suffering, which also seems startling/scary.
— Possibility

I really don't see this. — T Clark

Yes, it seems most translations of this second line in the verse repeat the term ‘favour’ from the first line, but they’re actually two different characters, as are the notions of humility (disgrace) and suffering. Lao Tzu is always keen to repeat characters for effect, so when he uses different characters, I’d have to assume he’s referring to different ideas.

I guess I’m always open to the possibility, however remote, that none of the current translations are accurate. In hermeneutics, I’ve found that returning to the source language with fresh eyes can be enlightening.

Overall, I think this verse is about the courage to face what can seem a frightening perspective on life.
— Possibility

I think he's trying to help us get to a place where courage is not needed. I don't think sages are brave. — T Clark

In my view, courage is always needed. That’s because we’re human - and so we’ll never really be free from affect (desire/fear). I think that’s the difference between sages and ascetics, to be honest. Bravery is something else entirely, I think. “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow.” (Mary Anne Radmacher)

Over the past year, I've spent time with a lot of different translations of the TTC. All and all, I think Mitchell's translation holds up well. He does tend to put a more western accent on some things. That's not necessarily a bad thing.

It is what it is - I’m not about to judge anyone’s approach to the TTC as good or bad. But I do think that what he’s missing reduces what those who rely on his translation would be able to get out of the TTC. Having explored other translations, if you return to Mitchell’s as resonating most clearly with your own experience, I see no problems with that.
— T Clark

I've had disagreements with others about such words as "suffering" and "illusion," which are a big part of Buddhist teaching. I've taken the side that there are analogous concepts in Taoism, but the emphasis is different. I don't see suffering as a big theme in the TTC. — T Clark

Neither do I - but I think it’s an important aspect of this particular verse, is all.

Are you a Chinese speaker? You certainly seem to know a lot about the language. If you are, I have a few questions. — T Clark

No, I’m not. My background is PR communications, and I have a passion for written languages, hermeneutics and variations in linguistic structure. The structure of traditional Chinese pinyin appears to solve many of the issues I have encountered with articulating my own philosophical approach in English - in particular the Ontic Structural Realism aspect. It just makes intuitive sense to me. I think Fenollosa was onto something when he said there is much the West can learn from understanding how the Chinese structure their language and their ideas.

I'm still working on the difference between fear and surprise. As I said, I have a preference for "fear" because it speaks to me directly. What surprise and fear have in common is expectation. I think Lao Tzu may be telling us not to expect anything, good or bad. I think the sense of reaching for honor or cringing from shame, what you call a tendency to avoid, are a big part of the story here. — T Clark

I agree that this ‘good/bad’ sense of expectation is a key point here. I think the fact that jīng means both ‘to frighten’ and ‘to startle’ refers to a quality of relating to the unexpected that is neither positive nor negative. For me, this difference between fear and surprise relates back to affect, and Barrett’s theory that we predict our relation to the world in terms of valence (positive/negative) and arousal (high/low), and continually adjust our body’s energy distribution (in terms of attention and effort) accordingly. I’m not convinced that we’re able to not expect anything, but I think we can be aware of how affect influences our expectations, and remain sceptical of its positive/negative pull, at least.

I think Lao Tzu is making a much stronger statement than that. Fear and surprise are a result of expectations. No expectations, no fear, no surprise. It's not about overcoming fear, it's about seeing that there's nothing there.

Hope is the same thing as fear. Success is the same thing as failure. — T Clark

I think this is only in relation to the quality of expectation. To say that hope is the same thing as fear seems to me an oversimplification. Sure, if you ignore, isolate or exclude expectations either way, then there would seem to be no difference between success and failure. But in doing that you’re removing the ‘body’, the main part of a living existence. Have you ever tried to not have any expectations? Your brain is still generating predictions and distributing energies accordingly - you’re simply refusing to participate in the decision-making process.

So I don’t think it’s that there’s nothing there. Expectation is there - it’s happening. We can let affect (desire) call the shots and entirely ignore both our existing expectations and anything unexpected, or we can relate to the unexpected as neither good nor bad, but simply as unexpected, and find a way to learn from it, despite how we may be affected by it.

Firstly mental states are not identical to brain states; a state of happiness is a state of the person, not just a state of the brain. A brain state is a state of affairs of networks of neurons in the brain, a state of happiness is not such a neural state of affairs, but an emotional state, even if it could be correlated with a state of affairs of neural networks.

The mind is not the brain; if anything the mind is a process, not a thing; whereas the brain may be understood to be either thing or process, depending on the perspective of view.

So the mind is also not reducible to the brain; because to say this would be to say that the mind can be exhaustively understood in terms of brain processes, which it obviously cannot. 'Brain' makes sense as a noun, whereas 'mind' as a noun is misleading; better to think of it as a verb. — Janus

I agree with most of this. I think the variability in perspective that enables us to understand ‘brain’ as either/both a thing and a process is important here, because there is a similar variability that enables us to understand ‘mind’ as either/both a process and a capacity.

I think we’re looking for a reductionist methodology that retains awareness of a qualitative complexity recognised as irreducible. I like to think of it as rendering, in the same way that we can render a three-dimensional quality in a two-dimensional drawing.

The problem is often with English language’s reliance on the the verb ‘to be’ as a lazy conjunctive. You can’t render a relation of qualitative complexity with a question of ‘is’ or ‘is not’.

In another thread, we’ve been discussing the Tao Te Ching in detail, and one thing that complicates the translations has been an insufficient quality in this particular relational verb. The Chinese language has so many qualitatively different ways ‘to be’, many of which describe an indirect relation, or the effect of rendering one idea in a certain qualitative relation to another.

In the English language, especially in scientific and technical writing or logic, we focus on clearly defining the terms and try to keep our verbs and conjunctives simple and straightforward. The less qualitative variability in our writing, the more precise it appears to be. But then we discuss an agreed upon statement in detail, and realise that almost every word in it has a different quality to it in your experience than it does in mine, and we’ve been talking across purposes, round and around for hours...

But I digress. The mind is not quantitatively reducible to the brain - there is a qualitative relation between ‘mind’ and ‘brain’ that can only be understood when we recognise their qualitative multi-dimensional structures, with all of the variability that entails. When I apply crosshatch shading to a circle on a page, this doesn’t mean the rendered two-dimensional circle is identical to a three-dimensional sphere, but that it irreducibly includes a third dimensional aspect.

This is more difficult to demonstrate in relation to the mind and the brain, but a similar relation applies. Mind is rendered in our understanding of the brain as a temporal quality that isn’t an aspect of what constitutes the brain. Mind is not identical to this ‘brain state’, but would include every potential state for that brain - just as the sphere is not identical to the shaded circle, but would need to include every possible shaded perspective.

To refer to a ‘mind state’ or mental state is to reduce mind to only one temporal aspect, but the mind isn’t structured that way - it’s more like a block universe. So a ‘mind state’ is a false construct that doesn’t correspond to reality.

For me, the inequality between being shamed or being honored is connected to the fear of failing to accomplish a task or duty. Beyond the pain of embarrassment or the pleasure of recognition, what is most scary about the prospect of failure is the withdrawal of trust by others to do something. During 40 years of work in the building trade, the confidence of others grew as my skills became more capable and my familiarity with what was in front of me grew.

But that process only happened because I risked the loss of that confidence by trying something that was not mine yet. When the risk didn't work out, I became relatively isolated by those I gambled with.

In the realm of personal relationships, the loss of trust can end the party entirely. — Valentinus

I appreciate this personal account. I think it relates to the distinction in this verse between focusing on the fear or the possibilities in life and risk. I’d suggest that the risks you took, whether or not they appeared to work out for everyone involved, no doubt taught you something about your trade each time, building on your skills and capacity, and also taught you something about how the industry works. What you may have lost in the confidence of others was more about their fear than about your actual failure. It’s not easy to focus on the possibilities rather than the fear, either in failure or success.

Their perspective seemed to also be one of entrusting their life to your venture. I think the last part of this verse is very much about accepting responsibility for the risks we take in life, as part of enhancing our gift to the world, or else we allow others to set the value of our gift.

I agree that Mitchell leaves too much out, and I think that comes down to what I was saying about awareness in relation to translation/interpretation. When we consolidate the ideas presented by specific characters or lines in the Tao, we leave out aspects of the relational structure as a whole. Mitchell seems attached to certain concepts such as hope, success and fear, and he restructures the text to help consolidate these, missing the variability of a more complex (and less tangible) rendering of these ideas such as how we evaluate our suffering, humility and life.

When we translate from Chinese to English, we try to translate all the characters, and then try to work out how the pieces fit together in our existing conceptual structures of experience and language. If it doesn’t seem to fit, there’s a tendency or temptation to distort the quality of these ideas, like forcing pieces of a jigsaw together. But the Chinese language has a very specific structure to it - and the way the ideas relate to each other in this structure is supposed to challenge the way we understand the world. The verses of the TTC are supposed to lead us to an irreconcilable contradiction every time - that’s when I think we get close.

Success is as dangerous as failure.

Some other translations are more explicit about this. Chen writes “Honors elevate (shang),
Disgraces depress (hsia).” Addis and Lombardo translate “Favour debases us. Afraid when we get it, Afraid when we lose it.” So, success leads to fear and failure leads to fear. — T Clark

The way I see it, this line describes the idea of favouring humility (disgrace) as seemingly scary - implying this fear is illusory, as in your quote from verse 46. Rúo refers to an indirect way of being - to seem, like, as, if. I like the suggestion from other translations that the idea may be more startling than scary - I think it removes the tendency to avoid, and rather suggests that we may simply feel unprepared.

The verse later fleshes out this first idea, which I translate as:

We seem to fear seeking a lower position and being content with what we have - we’re afraid to fail.

Contentment here is not about avoiding the challenges of life, but about not always needing to appear to be a success - about recognising that humility, embarrassment or failure is the first step to learning, and therefore has value in our lives. Whether we succeed or fail, this feeling of fear or unpreparedness doesn’t really go away, it only shifts.

The idea of favour in relation to humility or disgrace is a difficult one to grasp. Many translations prefer to keep them separate, and juxtapose them somewhere further down, but this seemingly contradictory relation is placed first because it IS the main topic - and that topic is scary, startling, something we feel unprepared for.

The second idea introduced in this verse is that of value or nobility in a life of great suffering, which also seems startling/scary. I think it’s important to note that the first idea talks about favouring, while the second talks about valuing something as expensive or noble. These relations don’t have the same quality.

Overall, I think this verse is about the courage to face what can seem a frightening perspective on life. Lao Tzu seems to makes a distinction in how we look at our potential: do we see our value in the life we live, full of suffering, or in the potential of this life’s interaction with the world - however brief, humiliating or painful it seems? The fact is that there is no possibility of a living existence without great suffering - and we can either focus on the suffering, or on the possibilities.

Hope and fear are both phantoms that arise from thinking of the self.

Chen writes “I have great misfortunes, Because I have a body.” That’s a really interesting difference. Some say “self,” some say “body.” When they say “self” they generally seem to be talking about social misfortunes. When they talk about the “body,” they talk about physical or medical misfortunes. That seems like a big difference. With the first, I get the feeling of the self as an unfortunate illusion. With the second I get the feeling of the body as something good that I can’t have if I’m not willing to face the negative consequences.

When we don't see the self as self, what do we have to fear?

Chen writes "If I don't have a body, What misfortunes do I have?" Addis and Lombardo say "No self, No distress." Ivanhoe translates "When I no longer have a body, what calamity could I possibly have? — T Clark

Shen refers to the main part of a structure, whether that is the body, life, morality and conduct, mind or self. It’s all of it, really - as far as our awareness of it goes. It doesn’t mean ‘the body’ as a separate entity from ‘the self’, but an integral part of a broader structure.

Wú refers to ‘I’ or ‘my’ - it’s easy to assume this means ‘the self’ as an entity, except it refers not to a thing, but to the position each of us takes in relation to the text, to the experience/idea, or to the Tao. How we might define ‘self’ isn’t relevant here - it’s more about the relation.

The later fleshing out of this second idea I would translate as:

In order to exist, I am one who suffers greatly, and in the capacity of this living existence up until my death, I exist - how is this unfortunate?

Why do we fear this idea of value or nobility in what we can only escape by ceasing to exist? Yes, existence necessitates suffering, but the alternative is not existing - it removes this main structure. So where @Amity mentions that “without a body I am dead”, I don’t think we can overlook this reality. My existence depends on substance, and as much as I can think of the self as immaterial, it’s actually inseparable from this substance: a living existence that suffers greatly and then dies. This is a startling reality for some of us to face, a frightening one for others. But it’s undeniable, all the same.

Therefore treasure the body as the world,
As if the body can be entrusted to the world.
Love the body as the world,
As if the body can be entrusted to the world. — T Clark

This is not quite how I understand this part. There are two different sets of characters here that he has translated to read ‘as if the body can be entrusted to the world’.

I see it more as:

So, to evaluate your life used for the world is to depend on the world; to love your life as used for the world is to be entrusted with the world.

There are two important distinctions here. The first is between ‘evaluate’ (treasure) and ‘love’ in relation to the life we have as part of the world. The second is between depending on (being entrusted to) and being entrusted with that world.

We are a temporary gift to the world. We can see that gift as one of expensive value and nobility, as if entrusted to the world. This perspective is dependent on the world to recognise that value and use our life carefully. The alternative is to see that gift as one of love, in which we are entrusted with the world. This perspective empowers us to collaborate with the world in a way that builds a lasting value and significance into our gift, so that it continues to give well beyond our death.

The Tao, for me, IS the diverse quality of the world as a relational whole, inclusive of wu.
— Possibility

That's where I keep coming up against a wall. The Tao is completely not diverse. It is all one no-thing. The 10,000 things are diverse. You know, 10,000 and all. — T Clark

I think I understand what you mean. But for me, it’s a difference between quantitative distinction (thingness) and qualitative diversity (variability). The Tao is one but not a thing - it is variability without thingness, whether one or 10,000.

The TTC clearly intends to provide guidance to rulers about how to lead their country. I don't really see that as an ethical issue, more of a how-to. I wonder if maybe that tone is an artifact of translation from ancient Chinese into English. — T Clark

I agree that it seems to come down to translation/interpretation. But I don’t think the intentions of the text are clear at all. I believe those seeking a how-to on running their country will find one, and those seeking an ethical structure will find one, too. I think that’s the beauty of the Chinese language: it’s like a system language for navigating the Tao with a limited understanding. And the TTC is like a self-diagnostic program that can be run on any integrated structure of relations to help refine its operation in relation to the Tao, regardless of the level of awareness, connection or collaboration.

I see this verse a little differently. I think it has more to do with the fact that when we seek to overwhelm the senses or indulge in excess, we’re unable to appreciate the diverse qualities of the world.
— Possibility

I guess the difference between my way of seeing it and yours is the distinction between my "perceive the Tao" and your "appreciate the diverse qualities of the world." I guess I would interpret "diverse qualities" as referring to the 10,000 things. That carries through to the other senses described. — T Clark

I did say qualities, but I think it makes more sense to say quality. The Tao, for me, IS the diverse quality of the world as a relational whole, inclusive of wu. I’m referring to both the existence and non-existence of quality here. The 10,000 things is not inclusive of wu. It’s a process of consolidation, which necessarily excludes the qualitative aspect of the Tao that pertains to it as a relational whole, as something that possibly exists in itself.

The distinction between belly and eyes you describe is echoed by some other commentators. Others see things differently. Here's Chen, who includes your interpretation among others:

This is a persistent primitivistic theme in the text—that humans should be contented with the simple pleasures of life (ch. 80) and that the overstimulation of the senses renders them incapable of functioning smoothly...

...According to Wang Pi the issue is between preservation or dissipation of the self. The sage makes things serve him; he does not enslave himself to things. Food, which is for the belly, serves to sustain the body, but the eyes lead us to outside distractions and dissipate the body’s energies.

...We suggest that the symbols of the belly and the eyes go deeper. The belly, representing instinct, the unconscious, and the unopened self, is the seat of life and unity (Gebser: 145). The eyes, opening us to the external world, represent consciousness, sight being the most refined and intellectual of the senses. — T Clark

Chen and Wang Pi seem to relate to the text as an ethical position, as if it’s telling the reader how they should behave, what is good and what is bad. This is common practice in relation to ancient metaphysical texts, but I think it’s a mistake to assume that either the text or its author has that kind of authority over us (and I think Lao Tzu makes a disclaimer to this effect in the second verse).

FWIW, I disagree with the isolated message ‘that humans should be content with the simple pleasures of life’ - I think this is a misunderstanding. Having said that, I do think that contentment with simple pleasures has merit in relation to certain situations, but it cannot stand alone as an instruction for a ‘good’ life.

I also disagree that “the sage makes things serve him”. It isn’t about slave or enslave, and preservation of the self is not the goal here - but I think we may see this more clearly in verse 13. Seeing a ‘thing’ we don’t have but could have, we have a tendency to want it, regardless of whether or not we need it. The sage understands the difference, and isn’t concerned with ‘things’ in relation to the ‘self’, but with his/her participation in the flow of energy. Recognising a qualitative lack (what the eyes or other senses tell us about our relation to the world) is not the same as recognising need (what the belly or other interoception tells us about our internal energy requirements). When we look at an ocean view of blues and greens, we don’t concern ourselves with ‘fixing’ the lack of redness. And when we listen to a symphony, we don’t complain that the cymbalist isn’t playing most of the time. The lack is an important part of the whole.

Where you read substance and lack I see being and non-being; 10,000 things and Tao. I think we're talking about different things, but I'm not sure. — T Clark

I think perhaps we’re looking at the same relation in different ways. The terms ‘being’ and ‘non-being’ refer to a particular level of awareness, which is often associated with human consciousness. The terms ‘substance’ and ‘lack’ I used in relation to the previous verse because it referred to a different level of awareness - a tangible, observable relation to the world. But the idea is the same - this relates to your issue that verse 11 seems to change the meaning of ‘being’ and ‘non-being’.

(EDIT: Chinese characters aren’t words, they’re more like ideas. Each character embodies the most complex rendering of an idea, and its contextual application determines the relative complexity referred to in the text. So it isn’t surprising for me that the ‘meaning’ of the character changes in relation to its context. It’s supposed to.)

The difference between ‘the 10,000 things’ and ‘the Tao’ is the same idea again at a more complex level of awareness - but at some point we have to accept that it’s the relation we’re referring to, not two different ‘things’. ‘The 10,000 things’ refers to, but is not, the Tao. And ‘the Tao’ refers to, but is not, the Tao. They’re relative aspects of one absolute.

As we devolve into a totalitarianism characterized by intolerance, divisiveness, and massive propaganda/ignorance, you just have to wonder whether the desire to be free has been selected out of Western people.

Does anybody in the West still want to be free? — synthesis

I think referring to what the US have right now as totalitarianism is a symptom of lost faith in your democratic system. I’m not sure if you quite realise what totalitarianism really amounts to. What you’re experiencing is a sense of lost freedoms, which is understandable in the current circumstances. But it’s not totalitarianism, by any stretch. The US appear to have a dichotomous perspective of the world: black or white, red or blue, left or right, freedom or totalitarianism, all or nothing, etc. In my view, it’s this general approach that needs to be examined...

This seems like a pretty straight-forward verse. Sensual pleasures (sounds, tastes, and sights), greed, and excitement damage our perception organs and mind. I think this means they distract us from our perception of the Tao, which requires quiet contemplation. I guess they are the result of or a reflection of desire. — T Clark

I see this verse a little differently. I think it has more to do with the fact that when we seek to overwhelm the senses or indulge in excess, we’re unable to appreciate the diverse qualities of the world.

To enjoy colour, we need to be able to distinguish the different light frequencies. All of them at once creates a bright white light - with a colourless, blinding quality.

To enjoy sounds, we need to be able to distinguish the different tones and frequencies. All of them at once make noise - with a deafening quality.

To enjoy flavours, we need to be able to distinguish different smells and tastes. Strong neutral flavouring cleanses the palate of any lingering tastes, enabling us to then enjoy the delicate flavours in fine wine or food.

A continually fast pace, or a busy life full of high stress is maddening, frantic, crazy.

When something is exceedingly rare and treasured, it can drive a person towards harmful, negative behaviour.

Therefore, the sage seeks only what he needs, not what he sees (acts in the capacity of his belly, not his eye). So he foregoes that in order to choose this.

I remember as a child being scolded by my mother (who grew up in Singapore) when I dished up a quantity of food I couldn’t finish: “your eyes were too big for your belly”.

All of this refers back to the relation between substance and lack: if we concentrate only on filling our world to the brim, then it leaves no room to appreciate wu in relation to the Tao.

I'm seeing it differently than that. I own the pitcher, but I use the emptiness. I hold the pitcher by it's clay handle, but the hollowness is what actually allows the pitcher to function. — T Clark

You don’t really own it, though. Your possession of it is an event in which you are relating to the pitcher’s substantial potentiality (its capacity to be held, seen, felt, etc), and your use of it is an event in which you are relating to the pitcher’s insubstantial potentiality (its capacity to be empty or filled, sold, given away, etc).

Your comments regarding the logic of the characters reminds me of the fierce debates that surround the book Chinese Written Character as a Medium for Poetry regarding the "ideogrammic" nature of the writing.
The debates have been going on for a hundred years now and reflect many problems delineating differences in how languages convey meaning.
I am not qualified to offer an opinion on the matter but reading the book gave me an appreciation of how poetic expression provides different paths of association and order through different languages. For instance, the first word of the Iliad in Ancient Greek is Wrath; There is no way to express that sequence in English. — Valentinus

This essay is very helpful - thank you. Here is a PDF version (unfortunately without the Chinese characters).

An excerpt:

Let us go further with our example. In English we call "to shine" a verb in the infinitive, because it gives the abstract meaning of the verb without conditions. If we want a corresponding adjective we take a different word, "bright." If we need a noun we say "luminosity," which is abstract, being derived from an adjective. To get a tolerably concrete noun, we have to leave behind the verb and adjective roots, and light upon a thing arbitrarily cut off from its power of action, say "the sun" or "the moon." Of course there is nothing in nature so cut off, and therefore this nounizing is itself an abstraction. Even if we did have a common word underlying at once the verb "shine," the adjective "bright" and the noun "sun," we should probably call it an "infinitive of the infinitive." According to our ideas, it should be something extremely abstract, too intangible for use.

The Chinese have one word, ming or mei. Its ideograph is the sign of the sun together with the sign of the moon. It serves as verb, noun, adjective. Thus you write literally, "the sun and moon of the cup" for "the cup’s brightness." Placed as a verb, you write "the cup sun-and-moons," actually "cup sun-and-moon," or in a weakened thought, "is like sun," i.e., shines. "Sun-and-moon cup" is naturally a bright cup. There is no possible confusion of the real meaning, though a stupid scholar may spend a week trying to decide what "part of speech" he should use in translating a very simple and direct thought from Chinese to English.

The fact is that almost every written Chinese word is properly just such an underlying word, and yet it is not abstract. It is not exclusive of parts of speech, but comprehensive; not something which is neither a noun, verb, or adjective, but something which is all of them at once and at all times. Usage may incline the full meaning now a little more to one side, now to another, according to the point of view, but through all cases the poet is free to deal with it richly and concretely, as does nature. — Ernest Fenollosa

The value of the pitcher is in our relation to its substance,
— Possibility

This would make sense to me if it said that we handle, move, carry, own, have the pitcher through its substance. I just don't know what it means when we say "value." Can you give some examples of the value of the pitcher.

Actually - I like that. We possess the pitcher, but we use the emptiness. Or - We hold the pitcher, but we use the emptiness. I like that a lot. — T Clark

Yes. Your second example - “If I put it on a shelf, my house will be more attractive” - is to behold value in the substance of the pitcher, and derive benefit from that (for the house). The other three derive usefulness from the potential that exists in the pitcher’s lack or removal of substance. If the pitcher is no longer in my possession, for its removal I will have money, gratitude or appreciation.

I don't understand this. Where is the assumption that our position is fixed ? — Amity

Not sure if I understand this either. However, I do note their sparse code-like nature compared to the longer and extravagant English translations.
Where does the logical relationship lie in between the characters or ideas. In the space ?
I don't see the logical aspect here. — Amity

The basic structure of English is subject-prominent, and conceals evidence of an overall subjective position. The phrase “I think/feel/believe that...” is excluded from most statements that we make. In philosophical discussions, most of us charitably add this phrase to the beginning of statements (unless we’re discussing logic), but this adds a dimensional layer of complexity that doesn’t parse easily.

As an example, in English when we say “the cone is round”, we don’t mean that these ideas of ‘cone’ and ‘round’ are equal - we’re referring to a fixed perspective in relation to the cone. We’re saying that the cone appears round in shape from a certain perspective, but this is not clear just by looking at the words or understanding the sentence structure. We need to roughly understand the author’s relation to the ideas in the statement, in order to understand the meaning of the statement. That’s easy enough when we’re steeped in the conceptual system, but it may prove difficult for, say, a computer to interpret.

The Chinese characters for ‘cone’ specifically describe a round, tapered form anyway, so a direct translation of this statement as such would be tautological. But if they did make this statement, they would specify that round is describing a shape in relation to the cone, and in doing so, the variability of perspective is implied. The literal translation would be ‘round tapered form (cone) is round in shape’. So once we relate to these ideas, the Chinese text relies on far less contextual information to understand how they fit together to form one complex idea. I don’t need to understand the author’s relation to these ideas in order to understand the meaning. Form refers to a 3D structure, and shape refers to a 2D structure, so there’s a clear logical relationship here between the cone and its roundness that was not obvious in the English statement.

...

Incidentally, I’ve noticed there are at least nine ways to describe a connection of ‘being’ in Chinese. Wei means ‘to act as’ or in the capacity of, implying an indirect relation of ‘being’ between the structures of action and intention/potential. I think wu wei refers to the idea in which this kind of indirect relation would be obscured or undetermined, or appear to be missing.

What struck me was the use of the word 'evil' in the 3.
In Ivanhoe, it is 'wantonly produce misfortune'.
I eventually found the relevant Chinese characters which matched up.
They don't seem to talk of 'evil' as such but of 'terrible, fearful..' — Amity

Chinese characters don’t seem to presume a particular affect, only a particular quality. There is no sense of whether it is pleasant/unpleasant, nor any sense of energy or arousal inherent in the meaning of the characters. They simply present the idea in a particular logical relation to other ideas, and the reader then brings their own subjective relation (including affect) to that structure.

The characters on their own, as per the website anyway, present as a simple code. There is no meaning. They have to mean more than the 'click tip' suggests otherwise how could translators even begin to interpret.

It is not clear to me how helpful it is to click on the symbols to reach an understanding. Even someone whose first language is Chinese won't understand the text simply by knowing the language. Just as a native German speaker will not understand Hegel.

Anyway, as someone who loves languages and is intrigued by the various translations and interpretations, I have been following your explorations and approach with interest.
Sorry, I didn't give that feedback before. I am simply overwhelmed by all of this.

Looking forward to more discussion. — Amity

The meaning of the characters is in our relation to their context. The idea is to always be aware of our own fluid position in relation to the text, within an overall logical structure of the language. English, on the other hand, assumes that our position in relation to the language is fixed, even though we know that’s not true.

I agree with what you're saying, but the type of non-being you describe seems different to me than the non-being described elsewhere in the TTC. In those cases, such as Chen's alternative translation of Verse 1 which I showed in a previous post to Wayfarer, non-being is a property of the Tao. That non-being is the source of everything. The seem like entirely different things. Entirely different not-things. — T Clark

It isn’t ‘non-being’ that Lao Tzu is referring to, though: it’s lack. What is translated as ‘non-being’ relates to this idea of lack, and so does this lack of substance described in verse 11. It is the relation between this idea of lack and the idea of existence that is the source of everything - that is the Tao.

I don't understand the distinction you're making. Let's break this down. What is the use of a pitcher? I can use it to hold water because of it's enclosed emptiness, its non-being. Ok. Then what is the value of the pitcher? The benefit? How does it make my life better?

It will increase my water storage capacity.
If I put it on a shelf, my house will be more attractive.
If I give it as a gift I can earn gratitude and appreciation
If I sell it, I will have more money.

So, is it a have my cake and eat it thing? — T Clark

You’re referring to different aspects of the pitcher’s potentiality, but all of these except the second one are uses: they can only be realised by action that has not yet happened, but more importantly cannot be realised in the substance of the pitcher itself - only in its lack.

The value of the pitcher is in our relation to its substance, the use of the pitcher is in our relation to its lack. Interestingly, if you put it on a shelf, would any value it has be attributed to your house, or to the pitcher?

Thirty spokes share one hub to make a wheel.
Through its non-being (wu),
There is (yu) the use (yung) of the carriage.
Mold clay into a vessel (ch'i).
Through its non-being (wu),
There is (yu) the use (yung) of the vessel.
Cut out doors and windows to make a house.
Through its non-being (wu),
There is (yu) the use (yung) of the house.
Therefore in the being (yu-chih) of a thing,
There lies the benefit (li).
In the non-being (wu-chih) of a thing,
There lies its use (yun). — T Clark

I’ve never liked this verse. It doesn’t make sense to me. It seems like it’s changing the meaning of being and non-being. In the wheel, pot, or house, the non-being is created by being. In other uses we’ve seen, non-being creates being. Is this just a metaphor? A pun on “emptiness”. Saying the emptiness of a pot is similar to the emptiness of the Tao. The Tao is not nothing, it is no-thing. — T Clark

Wu refers to the idea of lack - its meaning hasn’t changed, only the level of relation to these ideas. Here, rather than a figurative or active lack of being, it is a tangible lack in relation to certain objects and their potential substance. Wu is a vital aspect of the Tao - what we ignore, isolate or exclude in our relation to the world, what is missing or removed, is an integral part of how we relate to the world on all levels of awareness. In Western thinking, we conceal this aspect at each level and focus only on the tangible substance, as if this lack doesn’t matter. But lack exists as a necessary aspect of even the most concrete or fully-formed reality.

I think Lao Tzu is making a distinction here between substantial value (benefit) and immaterial potentiality. Value is the capacity or ability that exists in what is; potentiality is the capacity or ability that exists in what is not - but can be, was before, or might have been. It is this relational structure to the world, between substance and its lack, that all action, dynamic, movement, change, creation and destruction derives from.

What does a hammer basically need to enable it to function or realise its purpose ?
'A hammer is a tool consisting of a weighted "head" fixed to a long handle that is swung to deliver an impact to a small area of an object.'
So, pretty much, simple substance. — Amity

Not really - a hammer can’t swing itself. It’s a vital piece of what makes the hammer a hammer that is missing from its existence. This aspect of its definition - ‘that is swung to deliver an impact’ - refers to wu: the lack that pertains to the hammer’s potentiality.

My understanding of the TTC and yours are so different, I don't think they have much in common. Maybe when I read the book you referenced I'll understand. — T Clark

It was just another way to look at it. That’s all. There are so many different translations of the TTC into English because of the relational and structural differences between alphanumerical and pictorial languages.

In pictorial languages, like Chinese characters, each stroke and each character has a flow or pattern of qualities, while the language system itself has a rigid, logical structure. In alphanumeric languages, like English, each stroke, each character and even each language employing those characters assumes its own logical structure, and each language system allows for flow or qualities only within OR between each structure. They’re two very different ways of thinking about the world.

But I won’t explore this approach further - there doesn’t seem to be much interest in it here...

I see this differently than you do. To me this looks like a list of requirements for being a sage. Almost a checklist: — T Clark

I think this is a Western interpretation of the text. We find in the text what we’re looking for, I suppose. But I’m intrigued by the interpretations here that attribute relations of affect, value and morality where it doesn’t seem to exist in the traditional Chinese concepts themselves.

I found this site, which presents three different translations of the text, and also presents the original Chinese, with a literal character-by-character translation in highlighting them individually. It’s eye opening. Written Chinese is a such a logically structured language. It has five basic grammar rules that are satisfyingly rational and rigid, like BIMDAS in mathematics. And the concepts are structured as atemporal thoughts, progressing from attended instances of experience towards a relation to the Tao.

In loving the people and governing the state,
Can you practice non-action? — T Clark

I’ll take a pedantic look at this couplet in particular, because this notion of wu wei is so central to the TTC. The first four characters are ‘to love/care for’ followed by ‘the nation/state’, and ‘to govern’ followed by ‘the people/citizens’. This describes the topic at hand. It’s followed by ‘the ability/energy/capacity’, ‘also/yet’, and then ‘not’, followed by wei - which is not really ‘action’ but ‘to act in that capacity’, and has a distinctly passive voice. As mentioned before, the couplet ends with hu, which denotes questioning, doubt or astonishment at the overall thought.

The liberties taken with altering the structure of this thought in translation are a fascinating look at how affect impacts on thought. To work backwards from the Tao, our affect tends to evaluate doubt or uncertainty as unpleasant, and so we straight away dissociate ourselves from this relation to the Tao by framing it as a question. The next aspect, that of acting in a certain capacity, is an exclusion by this particular thought as modified by the negation that precedes it. The conjunction then combines this focus - a question of not acting in a particular capacity - to the notion of ability or capability itself. This combination then interacts with the notion of the people (modified by the notion of governing) of the state (modified by the notion of loving or caring for).

So it reads more like this:

In caring for the state and governing its people, understanding our capabilities without acting in that capacity is uncertain - such is our relation to the Tao. How does this affect us? Does it hold us back from making decisions? Do we focus on attributing any apparent capability only to ourselves? Are we capable of governing without certainty in this regard?

In bringing your spiritual (ying) and bodily (p'o) souls to embrace the One,
Can (neng) you never depart (li) from it? — T Clark

This is an interesting verse. I love how Chinese characters refer more clearly to ideas than to things. The interaction between ying (echo, answer, response) and pò (broken, expose the truth of) as internal aspects of our relation to the Tao, to me reflects Feldman Barrett’s proposed interaction between a constructed conceptual (‘spiritual’) reality and a constructed interocepted (‘bodily’) reality in an ongoing dialectic that manifests and refines consciousness. This is my initial reading, anyway, FWIW.

In concentrating your breath to attain softness,
Can you be like an infant (ying erh)?

In cleansing your mirror (lan) of the dark (hsüan),
Can you make it spotless? — T Clark

I’m going to try a different tack with this verse, mainly because so little of these translations make any clear sense to me. I’m not all that familiar with Chinese, but I’ve seen a number of side-by-side translations of verse 11 that don’t phrase these couplets as questions at all. Neng may be interpreted as ‘can’, but one thing I do know about Chinese grammar is that it always puts the thing the sentence is about first. Neng also refers to the idea of energy or capability, and its title is also written as neng wei, which can be translated as the capability of potential. The classical final particle hu at the end of each couplet here also implies a question, but it can be translated simply as an expression of doubt or astonishment.

So, the first couplet can be understood to question the mind-body problem, and our desire to separate these aspects from each other, when they are one in the Tao. Neng wu li hu can be translated simply as ‘inseparable’, with a question mark.

I think the second couplet talks about focusing qi on an appearance of yielding or flexibility, doubting whether it really does make us weak and helpless, like a baby.

The third couplet talks about cleansing ourselves from - excluding and refusing to look at - the unknown, doubting whether this really does render us without defect.

And the fourth couplet talks about caring for the nation and governing its people, and doubts whether this requires a capacity to act.

To grow yet not to lord over – To grow as in to grow a plant? Don’t overwater? — T Clark

To sustain, but not treat as livestock (ie. expendable commodities).

This is called the dark virtue – “Dark” gets used a lot. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes not. This is worth looking in to more. — T Clark

Xuan is translated as ‘black, mysterious’ - the unknown - the good or bad of which constitutes the influence of affect. ‘This is named the “unknown” of the Tao’. These are answers we do not have any certainty of, and cannot be proven definitively. The verse in its entirety seems to outline the uncertainty in our relation to the Tao.

There's a lot of stuff that seems contradictory in the TTC. — T Clark

Granted - it’s deliberately so. But I’ve found that when we adjust for affect, that contradiction achieves a dynamic balance, like yin and yang. I don’t see that in this case, hence my skepticism.

I agree that we can achieve a sense of oneness with the Tao through meditative practices that effectively ‘disconnect’ the mental processes from our actions - allowing us to get out of our own way. This usually requires submitting to a teacher and/or enforced process, which is where Western philosophers struggle with trust issues, and Taoism and Zen Buddhism can unfortunately be prone to corruption or misinterpretation.

I have a rather ambitious theory that this forced ‘disconnect’ is unnecessary - that we can strive to understand the mental processes in relation to our actions and vice versa, and develop a scientifically sound methodology that enables us to consciously align our conceptual and sensory realities, rendering oneness with the Tao an effortlessly intellect-driven process. For me, the key to that is affect.

As we've discussed before, I think this is a misleading interpretation of wu wei. To me, it doesn't have much to do with avoiding fame and fortune, only with not taking those factors into account when you act. This is from Chen's translation of Verse 63 - "The Master never reaches for the great; thus she achieves greatness." — T Clark

I think you might be misinterpreting me here - I’m not saying to practise wu wei is to avoid fame and fortune - I’m saying in a modern, Western context ‘greatness’ suggests fame and fortune, but I think this aspect of greatness is more likely to elude those who practise wu wei particularly in a modern, Western setting.

You said yourself that Lao Tzu’s audience were scholars and bureaucrats - I’m not sure that fame and fortune were their idea of achieving ‘greatness’ - at least not in the sense we experience it now, as separate from achievement. I understand greatness here to be more associated with an internal sense of mastery and control, not an external appearance of autonomy and influence such as fame and fortune - especially in a feudal system, where the Master is commonly born into fame and fortune, and need not seek it out.

What you've written above sounds to me like we wei is the same as going with your gut feeling. It's not that at all. And, yes, clearly, we are just as responsible for our actions as we are with our more familiar way of acting. Wu wei is not irrational, it's non-rational. Most of the day to day things we do we do without reflection. That doesn't mean those actions are somehow less reliable or that they don't take what we know about a situation into account. — T Clark

Well, I don’t see it as gut feeling - that still implies conscious intention, and I think you’ve been clear about its absence here in your interpretation. I agree that non-rational is more accurate than irrational, and I also agree that action without reflection still takes what we know into account. I don’t think I suggested otherwise with what I wrote.

It is, however, action determined by affect - without reflection, there is no opportunity to explore the situation free from affect at any point. This runs counter to earlier verses in the TTC that suggest a clearer understanding of the Tao is achieved when we are free from desire (affect). Why would Lao Tzu encourage action that can never be determined free from desire?

It's beginning to sound like that Kenny Rogers song, The Gambler

You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away

This is too deliberate but you may know what I'm saying... — Tom Storm

:lol: something like that!

What do you mean here - 'more so' in what sense? — Tom Storm

@T Clark talks in particular about feeling ‘more me’ when he writes freely without conscious deliberation. There is a sense that he is more in touch with his notion of ‘self’ in these moments. From this perspective, it seems that we can detach the ‘self’ from logical processing more easily than from sub-conscious action. It does depend on how one perceives the ‘self’, though.

Do you mean that things change and you can assume credit for that change by being present (assuming the change is in the service the cause)? Riding the energies of Que Sera, Sera. I've gone from Kenny Rogers to Doris Day... sorry. — Tom Storm

No - although I’m intrigued by this interpretation. Someone well-versed in being seen to act may carefully orchestrate an association between visible action and visible outcome, like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or a high profile may attract over-inflated attention for an individual meagre effort within the larger momentum of a cause. Wu wei is to put in effort without fanfare, often while others are celebrated as activists and catalysts for change, or an event is seen as a natural or inevitable progression, unrelated to our efforts, or we’re criticised for not doing enough. If we’re not okay with this lack of recognition, wu wei doesn’t happen. If we are okay with it, wu wei is invisible. Therein lies the difficulty.

The perfect existence possible is a singularity, which can never be anything but a self-contradiction. Any other form of existence is at least vaguely aware of lack.

I'm not sure I can even find a way to process this, it seems so... ineffable... I can only put it like this: I understand what it's not, but I don't understand what it is not, is...

Non-dualism is one thing... effortless action or not doing is something I need to apprehend in place to understand. I am not asking for a diagram or for someone to step it out, I guess I'm wanting to experience it.

In the case of Lincoln, I think of him as a strategic and super crafty political operator, so I am not sure Wu Wei fits my model of him. — Tom Storm

It IS ineffable - the first verse in the TTC does away with any illusion that the Tao is otherwise. The challenge is to be content with understanding without needing to make true statements about it, as justification or proof to others that you do understand.

FWIW, I agree that, from a certain perspective of his motivations, Lincoln is not an example of how to act without acting - quite the opposite. He is, however, still an example of the ambiguity or difficulty in providing such an example, as well as the problem that occurs when we do act without acting: activists, politicians and celebrities, all well versed in the art of being seen to be acting, assume credit for the progress achieved by wu wei. I think a significant aspect of ascribing to the practise of wu wei is to be okay with that.

I think @T Clark’s approach to wu wei is a little different to mine - he seems to be looking at it from a position of self-reflection, either during or after the act. When we act, it’s not always consciously intended, but we’re still responsible for those actions and their consequences, intended or not - sometimes more so than when we act in accordance with logical process or rational thought. While I think I follow where he’s coming form, my problem with this approach is that this type of action that bypasses thinking is, in my view, determined by affect, so I’m not convinced this reflects Lao Tzu’s understanding of wu wei.

Effortless action or not-doing is similar but not identical to wu wei, and I think T Clark and I agree more readily here. Not-doing I think corresponds to the phrase ‘let it be’. It’s about trusting the dynamic of existence, instead of trying to wrest control over everything that happens.

The way I see it, a masterful leader realises potential by structuring or facilitating collaborative achievement (wu wei), and also recognises his own limitations while trusting in the capacity of others to act (not-doing); rather than micro-managing his staff or issuing top-down directives for every action, and assuming all the credit.

As you say, wu wei is spontaneous and natural. But it's not random. There is no thought of avoiding recognition or credit, only of acting without consideration of them. Wu wei is something very simple. You're just doing things without trying to do them. — T Clark

I’m only saying that it is seen as spontaneous and natural. I agree that it’s not random to the one acting, but I think it can be viewed as random action by observers unaware of intention (or unwilling to attribute it). It’s more that actions are happening without anyone perceived as intending to do those actions specifically. I think that wu wei is about awareness of, connection to and collaboration with qualitative potentiality in the world beyond intentional acts, as a way of relating to the Tao.

As for the Tao being the same as the 10,000 things, if that's what you're saying, the TTC is pretty ambiguous about that. Which is how Lao Tzu does things. Is my family the same as my wife, children, siblings, nieces, step mother, and cousin? I say "no." But in at least one of the verses, I don't remember which verse or which translation, the TTC says the oneness of the Tao and the 10,000 things is the mystery. So I guess I say "yes." — T Clark

Well, I’m not saying they’re identical, but that it’s the naming that isolates each of the 10,000 things from the oneness of the Tao. Your relatives are still family, but an understanding of family is not equal to 10,000 named relatives, but to the qualitative relations between them, inclusive of the structure, of those potential relatives about whom you lack information to name or place within that structure, as well as your comparative relation to excluded non-family (ie. your methodology for exclusion).

I think the point is to recognise its potential in ourselves, and to reflect on whether our intention is to be seen to act or to effect change. I brought up Lincoln because he seems to embody the ambiguity and contradiction of it. But in trying to explain we can only speculate on the intentions of others, and recognise that we desire to justify our own.

My reading of Lincoln is that he was more motivated to hold the Union together.

I agree that there are 'anonymous' people who work back of house to effect change, but usually by working very hard, by lobbying, organizing and with relentless energy. — Tom Storm

Fair enough - but if he was more motivated to hold the Union together, surely he would have abandoned all other intentions in order to not fail? The point is that the notion of ‘acting without acting’ makes sense to me in relation to Lincoln, as well as all those working back of house. Lincoln’s intentions and motivations aside, he is historically credited with effecting change. We say that he acted, even though in many situations and for whatever reasons he also chose not to act, even to act against his apparent intentions. Lobbyists are acting without being credited with the outcomes of the change they effect. They’ve foregone the public position of ‘activist’ to effect change without being seen to act - the recognition goes to the activists, politicians and celebrity endorsements, some of whom can be more a hindrance than a help, yet are still necessary to the overall process.

I think the idea of wu wei is to get past the need to be attributed with acting, to forget about establishing and consolidating cause and effect or giving credit where credit is due. When we act without acting, we forego any recognition for certain actions, and instead work collaboratively with the world. Action is then seen as spontaneous, random or a natural movement within a dynamic balance, and there is no sense of individual success, advancement or personal recognition.

The question of whether or not the Tao exists is one I have thought a lot about. To start, in English, being and existence mean the same thing. From the way Lao Tzu uses them, it seems like they do in ancient Chinese too. One way of looking at it is that calling the Tao "non-being" and the 10,000 things "being" is figurative, poetic. I believe that's correct, but in the TTC, two conflicting understandings can be correct at the same time.

For what it's worth, I have never convinced anyone that it makes sense to think that it doesn't exist. I've found that whenever I try to explain how I see it, I have a hard time. Someone asked me "When you're asleep, does the world disappear. My answer - yes of course...but. If I can't conceptualize or describe something, I can't think about it. I can't put it in my world. In that case, I think it makes sense to say it doesn't exist. — T Clark

I have to side with @Wayfarer on the synonymity of being and existing, although my approach is quite different. I think that the structure of language (subject-verb-object) collapses any distinction between them, but that we have the capacity to understand and relate qualitatively to a difference between being as a structure of potentiality and existence as a structure of possibility. I do understand the resistance to this - language is a naming process - it’s why we cannot tell anything directly about the Tao.

@T Clark I think you’re still trying to isolate 10,000 things from the Tao, but I don’t see that as Lao Tzu’s intention. It is the naming that is illusory - being is as much an aspect of the Tao as non-being, regardless of naming. And I don’t think you need to conceptualise and ‘put it [entirely] in your world’ for it to exist. That’s a rationalisation. If you can relate to the Tao from within your world (which we are doing here), and recognise that what you relate to extends beyond your world, then I think it makes sense to say it exists, possibly. Which is as much to say that it possibly doesn’t exist, also.

We need to continually (and humbly) acknowledge that ‘our world’ is limited - especially in relation to the Tao. And this is mainly because we construct it as such from affect. It’s only to the extent that we can hold both possibilities of existence in our mind simultaneously that we can relate to the possibility of the Tao free from affect. We achieve that from a position of the self as simultaneously being and non-being - which cannot be a purely intellectual position, but an integration of our entire being as fundamentally unnecessary. Meditation helps with this integration by getting out of our own way, and humility is required. My own approach is to work towards a more scientific method of integration with an understanding of affect that dissolves the mind-body problem.

I don't disagree but who are you thinking of by way of comparison? — Tom Storm

That’s the point - they’re effectively nameless. There’s no way to make a case for them, even if I could name them. In my mind I had Abraham Lincoln (and I have to admit here that my knowledge of American history is minimal), whose public position advanced the abolition of slavery and simultaneously hamstrung the potential for social and political equality of black people in the US. While he was emphatically anti-slavery, it’s impossible to view him as supportive of the current cause. Even in his time, many of his actions to preserve the Union were decidedly anti-abolitionist. To my mind, he was conscious of the climate in which he was operating, and that upholding the rights of slave owners in some circumstances but not others would ensure more gradual and less violent progress. He didn’t always get it right - and when he didn’t, one could argue that ‘desire’ (the way slavery affected him personally) seemed to have gotten the best of him.

I think it's a misconception that acting without prior conscious intention is acting as a "passive bystander." When I write, words pour out of me without conscious control. Sometimes it feels like the words are writing themselves. Writing me. I sometimes feel the same with with other types of behavior. I feel the most there, the most me, when that happens. Do you ever have that kind of experience? It is not uncommon. That is my understanding of "wu wei." — T Clark

I guess I sometimes experience something similar when I speak, but not when I write. And I certainly don’t feel ‘most there’ when that happens - I feel like I’m playing catch-up. Writing is when I have the most conscious (even self-conscious) involvement. But I also recognise that my sense of awareness doesn’t operate in a conventional way - I think that I perceive the world differently to most people, so I wouldn’t take my exception as necessarily disproving a rule.

I think perhaps when we get to the verses about the self, we might gain some more clarity on our differences here. I get the sense that you have an essentialist view of the self - that we ‘discover’ the self rather than construct it?

There's a theme in the TTC about the danger of desiring and attaining status and prestige. There's also the theme of action without action. I think those are two separate factors. Wait. Do I really believe that?...Wu wei is not concerned with achievement or recognition, but action without concern for achievement is not necessarily wu wei. Am I nitpicking? ...Maybe. — T Clark

I don’t think it helps to try and separate these factors. I get that action without concern for achievement is not necessarily wu wei. But I do think that attempting to distill wu wei to a definition or essence is counterproductive. It’s going back to naming particular things, isn’t it?

Not to be pedantic, but I think it is very important to recognize that the Tao is not objective reality. In a sense, that difference is the difference between eastern and western ways of seeing the world. — T Clark

I’m with you there.

Do you think that all affect is desire? I remember reading about people who had damage to the part of the brain where emotions are centered. After the injury, they could no longer intend and act. They were perfectly capable of recognizing what was going, but were unable to do anything. Even action without action requires affect. — T Clark

No - I do, however, think that desire is essentially affect. FWIW, I disagree with the commonly held understanding that there is a “part of the brain where emotions are centred”. Emotions have more recently been demonstrated as a whole-brain process, but the interoceptive network appears to be the key to producing affect. I should point out that emotion is more than affect. Affect is how the brain translates all information (sensory as well as conceptual) into effort and attention and distributes it across the organism. Emotion is how we conceptualise this information. But I think we’re basically on the same page here.

I agree with your description here of not-doing, but I’m not sure if I quite agree with wu wei as spontaneous action. I think perhaps this has something to do with intentionality. It’s more about our insistence on being the one to act, which relates again to seeking personal recognition. We can intend an outcome and set up conditions for it to occur without being the one to perform any action that can be credited with the outcome. For me, wu wei is collaboration that resists localised attribution of success, advancement or recognition.
— Possibility

I try to pay attention to the experience that is going on inside me when I think, feel, and act. There is a visual and aural image that represents how that feels to me. I picture a spring bubbling gently up from underground, making a little pool around itself. I can hear the gentle gurgle and, if I want to, I can reach down and touch the cool water. This represents my experience of where motivation, intention come from when things are working right. That non-intention can go directly into action without reflection. That's what I think of as wu wei. Intending without intending leading to acting without acting — T Clark

Well, I think we disagree markedly on our interpretation of wu wei. It seems to me that you see it as acting subconsciously, as if there is an aspect of our thinking, feeling and acting that renders our experience of it as a passive bystander. I’m not convinced that either of us is correct, but if your interpretation is the case, then I wonder what benefit this ‘non-intending’ ‘action without reflection’ serves for the Tao?

My issue with this is how do you apply this approach to creating social change? In relation to progress created by activists in women's suffrage, race equality, gay rights, etc - should they just have waited? Or is there a different nuance to acting without acting? — Tom Storm

For me, there’s a different nuance. Wu wei, to act without acting, is to effect change without necessarily gaining credit for it. There are thousands of quietly progressive thinkers, leaders and change-makers throughout history who were never credited with being agents for change. There were also many who were criticised for doing nothing or not enough to effect change, yet who possibly had a hand in achieving more for race equality, gay rights, etc than those who earned public recognition as ‘activists’. Wu wei is when effective change cannot be traced back to you as action.

Not-doing is about knowing when to conserve your energy and trust in the natural course or the actions of others as just as effective or more so than your own. It means that achieving is not about being seen to be active. Sometimes effecting change is about recognising your limitations and simply stepping out of the way.