Embodying The Way (Tao Te Ching 43)
Stacie and our son Auggie snorkeling off the Florida Keys several years back.
43.
The softest things in the world
flow effortlessly past the hardest things.
Only the intangible can
penetrate the impenetrable.
This teaches me the value
of surfing the Tao.
It’s easier to get through to
men’s closed minds
by embodying the way
than with clever arguments.
Few on earth have mastered
this wisdom.
Written Reflection
Anyone who’s come this far with the Tao Te Ching will surely be familiar with the central concept of this chapter. Flowing subtly past obstacles, like water around a boulder, is a natural illustration of a greater principle. Water shows up as a classic example of one of the “softest things” since our ancestors all knew the power of water when it came to life and death. No water, no life. Too much water, we drown. Thus, the Ancient Israelites carried with them the story of Noah’s flood. But there are other flood narratives from ancient cultures, all around the world. The Mbuti “pygmies” of the Congo basin had an oral tradition of a great flood. In native North America, the Choctaw spoke of a great flood that covered the whole earth, and was survived by only a few who constructed a giant raft. The Aztec version told of all people getting wiped out, with the society having to arise de novo. In China, the famed legendary king Yu the Great’s very identity is one who controls the waters.
Surely, actual experience with a great deluge or deluges influenced these and the many other flood accounts around the globe. But there is likely something else going on with these narratives: the great waters remind us humans of the sublime. The sublime is that power that causes us to be awestruck. It takes our breath away. No arguments for divinity or transcendence are necessary. Simply by beholding the waters, a profound sense of grandeur arises in the human heart. No dogma can compare with this sort of experience, though the dogma and the experience may be compatible and complimentary.
The power of the sublime is evident when we visit Bowman Lake, accessible via a long washboard dirt road on the back side of Glacier National Park.
Photo of Bowman Lake, by Jeff Mallinson. When folks walk up to this spot their conversations stop, they stand with gaping mouths in silence as they behold the sublime.
The valley itself is carved out by the water that melts each year. This water puts the fear of God into folks, though in a way that is equal parts intimidating and reassuring, just like the flow of the Tao.
Note that, when we talk about “surfing the Tao” we do not mean to indicate that the word Tao (道) actually turns up in this chapter. Rather, this is how we usually render “action without acting” or wu wei (無爲). As we’ve noted before, this isn’t a cop out or an evasion of compassionate engagement with the world. Rather, it involves attention to the nature of reality and our place within its flow.
Sometimes we encounter this when we are snorkeling near the shore. Floating calmly amid orange Garibaldi fish, flowing kelp, and schools of silver minnows—back and forth with the movement of the sea—we realize that while we maintain our identity and involvement in that aquatic space, we also merge with it, flowing with all the organisms and inorganic matter in one beautiful dance. Embodying the way is like this; we do not lose our true selves but rather discover our true selves.
There’s a practical value in this when we turn to our flowing within the world of human culture. By realizing we cannot control the tides, we can become comfortable with our existence within humanity and its movements. By not panicking, not flailing, not desperately swimming against the flow, we can learn to evade hazards and even stay out of range of predators. We keep our wits about us but we do so calmly.
In cases when we seek to help other beings in such environments, talk is usually unhelpful. For instance, when we used to bring our kids into a snorkeling environment that involved a lot of movement near the shore, lectures on what to do seemed only to increase our kids’ anxiety. What helped instead was holding their hands, and demonstrating an assured but relaxed position within our aquatic wonderland. By breathing deep, Auggie and Aidan could learn to use their snorkels well, breathing deep and trusting in the flow. Soon, they too would become part of the dance.
In your life today, you may encounter folks who might appear to be trouble makers. If they pose a danger to you, calmly move out of their way as best as you can. But if you are in a position to help them heal and flow with the cosmos, there’s a good chance you can be helpful to them. As with snorkeling, there might be a few important things to say, but the most important thing to do will be to embody the way and then get out of the way. Demonstrate the joys of being in the flow rather than try and force them into the right position.
Is this easy? Yes and no. It’s easy to help others flow when you are in the flow. The problem of course is learning to trust in being long enough to get comfortable being in the flow in the first place. If you find this tough in your daily life, you are not alone. This has been the challenge for even the greatest sages throughout history. But if you have ever experienced the sublime and the joy of being in the flow, even for a moment, perhaps you’ll agree with us that cultivating a way of life that is conducive to embodying the way is definitely worth it.
By the way, this principle of embodying the way brings practical benefits not only at work or in relationships, it has a way of helping us understand our world in a scientific sense. This occurred to us when we watched the Netflix documentary My Octopus Teacher. In that astounding piece, the filmmaker takes off his scuba gear in order to free dive. This allowed him to become part of the kelp forest in which he observes—and ultimately “befriends”—an octopus. If you haven’t seen it, we highly recommend it as an excellent illustration of the practical value of what this chapter is talking about.