The Secret Chord (Tao Te Ching 41)

41.

When the wise learn of the Tao, 

they surf it throughout their lives. 

When most of us learn of the Tao,

we sometimes surf it, 

sometimes wipe out.

When fools learn of the Tao,

they laugh at it. 

And of course they do!

If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be the Tao. 

Therefore, the ancient wisdom says:

The illuminating Tao seems dim.

The Tao makes progress 

but seems to step back.

The Tao’s best route seems too rough.

Te’s summit seems like a low valley.

High honor seems disgraceful.

Abundant Te seems meager. 

Steadfast Te seems inconsistent. 

Genuine truth seems like relativism.

The ultimate geometry defies common sense.

Extraordinary talent matures slowly.

The Secret Chord is hard to discern.

The big picture is hard to perceive. 

The hidden Tao is nameless.

Yet the Tao alone can nurture the world 

from its birth to its fulfillment. 

Written Reflection

One thing we’ve learned during our attempts to surf the Tao is that it is easy to become crestfallen when we don’t have appropriate expectations about what surfing life’s waves looks like. Even for the “wise” and the “sages,” to expect that there are not “normal” times of embodied existence is mistaken. The most saintly men and women who’ve walked this earth have experienced moments of irritability, disappointment, anxiety, and doubt. What marks them out, however, is a life that habitually flows with the Tao rather than struggling against it. It involves mindfulness, even compassionate observation of our daily frustrations. 

Then there’s the category of “most of us.” We occupy the general population of folks who sometimes get into a groove where we are learning to surf the Tao for a time, but then find ourselves periodically caught up in unproductive eddies along the river of life. It is unhelpful for us to be hard on ourselves or focus on negative judgment. Here too, we do well to observe and discern with mindfulness even those unpleasant aspects of our emotions, actions, and thoughts. We get back up and try again, not out of hopeless drudgery, but because learning to surf the Tao is like anything else worthwhile: it takes practice. For this reason, we find that actual “practices” like hiking, music, and meditation are all helpful components to our lives. 

Finally, there’s the category of “fools.” These aren’t the holy fools who look like fools, but the unwise. Lao Tzu doesn’t call them fools out of contempt, but through compassionate confrontation with reality. The fools are fools not because they are naturally unintelligent but because they mock wisdom when they see it. Perhaps life’s traumas have made them lose heart to the extent that they’ve grown cynical about anything hopeful and positive.

Such people mock “most of us” when we seek wisdom. Nonetheless, the aspiring Tao surfer can sing an “Amen” after singing along with Nick Lowe’s song “what’s so funny about peace love and understanding.”

For our money, any religious community or teacher (or buddy for that matter) that mocks self-care, silent meditation, and an emphasis on unconditional love isn’t trustworthy. You might expend some of your emotional battery on seeking the healing of such people or groups, but it isn’t advisable to let their disdain for personal growth to sidetrack you on the Way. 

If you aren’t someone who’s been deep into American Christian circles, our comments here might seem strange. You might be thinking that almost all religious people are into spirituality and self-care. Nonetheless, we can attest that there are in fact many people and groups within these circles that actively oppose self-care. For instance, in the 80s and 90s we heard many prominent evangelicals disparage the field of psychology as a godless pseudo-science invented by the atheist Jew Sigmund Freud. Similarly, we’ve met several conservative and fundamentalist Christians who treat enneagrams with extreme contempt, perhaps because they don’t want to admit that there are different ways to see and engage the world. Moreover, some doctrinally focused Reformed and Lutheran Christians we know seem to despise emotion and spirituality within their weekly experience more than they dislike the ideas from other religions.  

Now, you might be so put off by “spiritual” or “meditative” or “contemplative practices” because of their association with religion in general—and your bad experience of religion in particular—that you really don’t want to go near anything of that sort. We get it, and it might be the right way to go in your case to entertain a sustained spiritual detox or fast. But if you find yourself drawn to learning how to surf the Tao in some way or another, and yet authorities in your life actively oppose it, that should be a red flag warning about your current authorities. 

But ask yourself: if others laugh at the prospect of peace upon peace, but you want peace, why would you trust their opinion in the first place?

 “Genuine truth seems like relativism.” This line is particularly resonant with our recent experience. When we encourage young adults to think what they think they should think, do what they believe they should do, and feel what they feel, this is frequently interpreted as a rejection of the unity of truth. This is not our meaning, however. Rather, we believe that there is only one truth, and that in one sense it is almost obvious, but that our chief human problem is that we have a hard time being courageous enough to admit the truth. This is why “the Secret Chord is hard to discern.” Our fears, imposed authorities, and cognitive biases hold us back from admitting what otherwise would seem common sensical. The secret chord is hard to discern because some of us willfully close our ears to the truth (Psalm 58:5) and thus do not have “ears to hear” (Matthew 11:15).

When I [Jeff] was in high school and attending a non-denominational church, an elder and father of one of our friends in the youth group took me aside for a moment of admonition. He said that even though he realized I was a swell guy, my long hair and freewheeling aesthetic was problematic enough for him to not want me hanging around his daughter. Mind you, I was active in the youth group, leading worship music, and preparing to go on to full-time church work one day. “The problem,” he explained, “is that some unchurched person might see you and my daughter driving down the road in your ’67 Mustang with your hessian hair flowing out the window and think, ‘I thought she was a Christian, but look who she hangs out with!’ For the sake of our evangelical witness, I can’t allow that.”

My argument, however, was a reversal of this logic. By being a kid who wasn’t a slavish devotee to the rat race of affluent suburban Southern California, I was testifying to a way of life that was in keeping with the true kingdom, an aesthetic witness to my rejection of the religion of Mammon. Whether he or I was right, one point remains: the true way seems like a false way to those who aren’t on the true way. 

Therefore, we should listen to advice, but we are unwise to abdicate our critical thinking and earnest discernment. This is especially true because, while the elder who opposed my look might have had good intentions, sometimes people are disingenuous and actually oppose our growth.

Why do people so often try to keep us from surfing the Tao. Sometimes, they honestly think they’ve tried it and found it to be a waste of time. Sometimes, they’ve learned to despair of it without ever actually trying. Sometimes, they don’t want us to get healthy because they fear we will leave them, or—worse—they fear we no longer can be manipulated by them. 

As you travel through the ups and downs of this life, remember the proverb passed on by Lao Tzu: “Extraordinary talent matures slowly.” So don’t lose heart, don’t grow impatient with yourself, expect some wipeouts but flow toward peace which we believe is your true inheritance.

A Selection From Jeff’s book SEXY about the Secret Chord

“So breathe, son or daughter of heaven. Rest for a moment. Quiet yourself. Listen to the secret chord that resonates through the cosmos, the chord God struck before the foundation of the world … When we finally get to protect space for silence, we come closer to understanding the secret chord. I realized this one evening at a resort stay a student gave to Stacie and me. The gift came at the end of a hectic semester. Our family was living on campus in a special living-learning community. In our section of student housing, we hosted international students alongside American students who were interested in global issues, international business, and related conversations. After staying there for a few years, it became obvious that the family needed to get some space away from work. After all, I was living, working, and going to church on Sunday with the same people. Our living unit was generous and comfortable, as far as student-housing units go, but we lived most of our existence within the bubble.

Seeing this, one particular student who had been with us since the beginning became concerned for us. The resort stay was intended to give us a break and to restore our energy. Nonetheless, it’s hard to force oneself to relax in a time of stress. Stacie and I set out for our stay knowing that finals week was around the corner, I had several small writing projects to complete before the year’s end, and we were fighting more than usual. At one point, I needed to go sit out on the balcony of our room. There, I was annoyed that we were so close to a freeway that the sound of trucks and cars speeding by detracted from the natural beauty of the area. I had a Bluetooth speaker on the table, and I sat back to take it all in.

After calming down a bit and praying, something changed about my perceptions of the place and the sounds I was hearing. The noises around me started to come into harmony. I perceived that the wheels on the road were creating various notes. Indeed, it soon became clear that I was hearing the secret chord. What I had thought was just a bunch of ugly noise was something greater. It was the sound of life. Where were people headed? There’s of course no way to know. But they were racing off somewhere: to live life. Interspersed with the notes played by automobile tires was the song of a bird. It struck me that most of the time when birds are singing, I know how to translatetranslate their meaning rather literally.

It’s like this: “I’m here, ready for sex. Chirp-chirp. Sex, please. Whip-whip. I’m available for sex. Hoo-whip. I’d make a good mate. I’m a hunk. I’m also a good singer with healthy lungs. And I’m crooning just for you, girl.” In other words, just as I heard the sound of life in the chords played by rubber on the highway, there was a call to procreation and to the instigation of new life; it was a sexy song, intoned from branches in the swaying tree outside my room. The final touch occurred when the song “Kyrie Eleison” (Lord Have Mercy) came on my Bluetooth speaker. The lyrics are in Greek and of ancient Christian origin. But behind it all was also a sort of Om. Tears flowed from my eyes as I finally heard the chord I was trying to understand. I started singing and humming in tune with the whole divine orchestra. What from a limited perspective seemed to be discordant, ugly, and annoying was, from the right perspective, a beautiful harmonious chord. I went back in to the room. Stacie and I danced. All was joyful again. A glimpse of infinity returned to our time-bound drama. I think the sound and fury of the whole stage play signifies something eternal. That is the secret chord. And it is sexy.