The Key to Longevity (Tao Te Ching 44)
44.
Which is more precious:
your name or your true self?
Which do you value more:
your true self or what you own?
Which is the real calamity:
winning or losing?
Lust for possessions is costly.
Hoard everything and
you will lose everything.
Learning to be content
avoids dishonor.
Knowing when to stop
averts disaster.
This is the key to longevity
in life’s endeavors.
Written Reflection
What’s the connection between honoring your true self and longevity? According to this chapter, by honoring our true selves we learn to be content with the joy of that authentic reality. By taking our true selves seriously, we can dispense with the need to adorn our contrived egos with money, power, or glory. We can, like the main character in Isaac Frazee’s fictional book Evolove, set aside the mad lust for efficiency, profit, and industrial growth. And when we do, there also happens to be concrete heath benefits.
Nonetheless, we need to be careful here not to make the mistake of some the ancient Taoists, who arguably over-emphasized physical longevity as their primary concern rather than see physical longevity the blessed byproduct of surfing the Tao. The Tao Te Ching is attractive to us because it is focused philosophical Taoism. It requires no initiation into esoteric teaching or special techniques of meditation. To be sure, sitting zazen with a Japanese Zen understanding of the practice does flow naturally from many of the themes in the Tao Te Ching, and there are indeed ways to improve zazen posture and practice that can make a big difference on its efficacy. But it isn’t some special magical formula. In this way, philosophical Taoism influences other approaches to Taoism, but remains distinct. Those other approaches include forms of talismanic magic, numerology, Tai Chi, accupuncture and Feng Shui. Another aspect of this rich Chinese tradition of mind-body medicine has been alchemy.
Mysticism or Magic?
Taoism is thus typically divided into the classical tradition of Tao chia (道家)—the mystical tradition with which Lao Tzu’s text is associated—and Tao chiao (道教) the popular magical tradition with which alchemy is associated. Whether we are talking about East or West, it’s important to keep a distinction clear in our minds about the difference between mysticism and magic. (For a detailed discussion of these concepts, I recommend Evelyn Underhill Mysticism [1911]) Mysticism is about awareness and reception of ultimate reality, understood by theists as the divine presence in, with, and under all things. It is receptive to grace rather than some formula for spiritual ascent. Magic, on the other hand, is about gaining power over the world through mastery of supernatural forces. While these terms often get used synonymously, or in similar context, they are in many ways quite opposite. Mysticism leads to contentedness with the world whereas magic seeks mastery over the word. If you’ve been reading the Tao Te Ching thus far, it should be clear by this point that Lao Tzu is mystical in that the concept of wu wei could be properly defined precisely as not trying to tinker with, dominate, and control the world.
INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL ALCHEMY
Within Tao chiao’s practices is the curious discipline of alchemy. Chinese alchemy is divided into two approaches: external alchemy or Weidan ( 外丹) and internal alchemy or Neidan (內丹术). Whereas Neidan focusses on elixirs of longevity that involve ingesting gold, fake gold, and unfortunately cinnabar, which contains the highly toxic mercury.
The popularity of the external alchemical tradition started in the Warring States period but eventually fell out of fashion since, by the time of the Tang Dynasty, at least five emperors had died in their search for the elixir of life. Obviously, this wasn’t the longevity Lao Tzu was talking about.
Those familiar with many practices associated with yoga in its Western incarnations will likely better understand the inner alchemy of Neidan, though it retains esoteric elements that modern westerners might describe as pseudoscientific. What it offers, however, does seem naturally to lead to better health and overall wellbeing, especially as it involves meditation and breath work that has clinical evidence to back it up.
MINDFULNESS, MEDITATION, AND LONGEVITY
Arguably the most exciting evidence for the value of meditation is research that has indicated that its ability to help us be resilient during periods of stress actually affects the deterioration and aging of our cells. Our bodies seem designed in such a way that when we are in a nurturing, safe place, they act as if growth, procreation, and regeneration are worthwhile. When we experience significant stress or an unhappy environment, however, this tends to dampen our libidos and literally cause our cells to die earlier. This is at least the results of a study by Epen, Daubenmier, et al., “Can meditation slow rate of cellular aging? Cognitive stress, mindfulness, and telomeres,” Ann N Y Acad Sci. 2009 Aug; 1172: 34–53. Here’s a key takeaway from their study:
“... certain types of meditation can increase awareness of present moment experience leading to positive cognitions, primarily by increasing meta-cognitive awareness of thought, a sense of control (and decreased need to control), and increased acceptance of emotional experience. These cognitive states and skills reduce cognitive stress and thus ability for more accurate appraisals, reducing exaggerated threat appraisals and rumination, and distress about distress. These positive states are thus stress-buffering. Increasing positive states and decreasing stress cognitions may in turn slow the rate of cellular aging.”
Here’s a chart from their work:
Model of Mindfulness Meditation Effects on Telomere Length through Positive and Stressful Cognitive States.
Despite the fascinating religious history and cutting edge science, I think we can understand Lao Tzu’s connection between surfing the Tao and longevity in a concrete, seemingly mundane way. As I write, Soleil Moon Frye’s documentary about life as a child actor (she played Punky Brewster) entitled Kid 90 drove the lesson of this chapter of the Tao Te Ching home.
THE BLESSINGS OF BEING A FAILED CHILD ACTOR
In the mid 1980s, I made a run at being a child actor. Despite thriving in my classes and starting to see some cash flow through commercial and print work, by 1989, I had flamed out of the game. I got edged out of contention for the teen series Saved by The Bell by Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and refused to go on a call back for the old version of Stephen King’s IT because I had had an evangelical conversion experience and decided I wouldn’t work with material that involved horror, promiscuity, or glorified drug use. That plan ended the run. At the time, I told myself I had bailed because of my high moral principles.
In actuality, I think I just had other priorities, such as my new Christian rock band and the church youth group, who had a nice space and sound equipment for our rehearsals. Plus, in high school, churches were the best place to play. Even after we were old enough to play in bars, we never had the 200 person audiences one could get at a big youth group function.
But there was one more thing that turned me off to the whole thing: an uncomfortable encounter with a male casting director who seemed to be coming on to me as a young teenager. Nothing happened during the audition besides a clear indication that, if I were to get a call back it might mean a bit more time alone with this dude. In retrospect, I think he was trying to see how resistant I might be to his gradual encroachment on my space.
At the time, I wrestled with whether this was just my own discomfort with the ethical values of Hollywood. Homosexuality was strongly condemned in my evangelical community. So, I thought I was struggling with whether I’d be in a world of sexual libertinism versus sticking with the purity culture of Southern California evangelicalism. It’s worth noting the problematic reality that I conflated this guy’s lack of boundaries in relating to a minor with gayness in general. That’s evangelical culture, though, in too many cases. Lust, masturbation, premarital sex, homosexuality and pederasty were all, in my world, sins of equal weight.
I mention this because Kid 90 helped me understand Lao Tzu’s question: Which is the greater calamity: winning or losing? In the case of my failed acting career, I’m convinced that winning would have been the greater calamity. Fortunately, despite a divorce, Mark-Paul Gosselaar seems to have done okay. But a lot of the other kids I sat next to at casting calls are not alive. They did not, in other words, experience longevity. Drugs, sexual abuse, and exploitation took away the quality of life for many of those who are still with us today. In other words, what all this tells me is that losing at the game of acting in L.A. saved my life. It’s not that all acting careers are bad for one’s health. Heck, I’d be open to roles today. But at that age, at that time, with so few protections, success in Hollywood could have been disasterous.
A BAD CASE OF THE GOUT
Before I close, and lest I seem to be boasting here about my own good choices, I should let you in on an embarrassing secret. This year, for Lent, as we mentioned on a previous podcast episode, Stacie and I decided to commit to a) all but eliminating alcohol from our diet, b) eating primarily plant-based foods, and c) setting aside at least 20 minutes a day for silent meditative practice.
Almost through the season, alas, I’ve a) been drinking beautiful but very rich IPAs each night, b) I’ve come to realize that processed meats are real handy in the nomadic life to keep protein around that doesn’t go bad too quickly, and c) I’ve been getting up at 6AM and crashing at 10AM, having over scheduled myself a tad.
Each of these factors contributed to me being unable to sleep last night because of my excruciating foot pain. Assuming I may have broken something since I had stubbed my toe pretty hard over the weekend, I went into the doctor to find that I had gout. I said “that’s embarrassing.” My doctor then asked, “Why?” I appreciate her professionalism and extraordinarily appropriate bedside manner.
But here’s why. I knew instantly that my body was suffering because I had failed to take the principles of this very chapter seriously. While reading it, I was staying up too late, IPA in hand, and having not sat in stillness for a week. I was failing my true self but giving priority to external needs that were in many cases non-essential.
Now, don’t worry about me. This loss was a blessing. My bodily pain woke me up to a bigger, problematic pattern I’d fallen into. I theoretically love fresh foods and don’t feel great after binging on charcuterie. It’s just that knowing when to stop or at least slow things down averts disaster. Let my swollen foot be a lesson to you friend. Take care of yourself, and don’t force your true self to suffer for the sake of your ego, whatever form it may take these days.
—JCM