Verse 5: Using Nothing-ness
Introduction
This verse has several phrases that are layered with complex meanings and difficult to convey in verse English. The three trickiest terms are:
- 不仁 meaning “not benevolent; inhumane”
- 刍狗 meaning “straw dog”
- 守中 meaning “preserve the center”
Mixed in is a metaphor about emanation being like the bellows, reminiscent of the last verse’s opening lines:
“The Dao flows from a bottomless vessel. Throughout eternity, it cannot be depleted.”
Overall, this verse is very evocative in contemplating peaceful well-being amid ever-changing conditions. The Dao expresses itself as eternal change, yet constant renewal fuels it. It reminds me of a fizzy drink. Watching the bubbles float to the surface and beyond then pop can certainly be entertaining. So is the way they feel on our noses and in our mouths. Yet, the liquid – the passive element, not the active one – quenches our thirst.
A similarly related Daoist concept is The Utility of Uselessness. Coined by the eminent Daoist Zhuang Zi, this phrase points to the “passive” value in something as a counter to our incessant longing after something’s “active” value. For example, a large, beautiful tree has a passive value to humans. It provides shade and beauty, filters our air, and contributes to the local ecosystem. However, this does “nothing” for us. When we chop it down, we can use its lumber to build structures and furniture, fashion weapons, fuel our fires, and so forth. These uses are all “active.” The argument isn’t that active uses are bad, simply that we must remember the power of passive utility as well.
Translation
Nature is not benevolent;
all things serve their purpose and are destroyed.
The Wise are not benevolent;
people serve their purpose and are destroyed.
The relationship between the spiritual and the material.
Isn’t it just like a bellows?!
Empty yet never depleted,
pumped and even more comes out.
Excessive seeking hurries destitution,
it’s better to preserve your center.
Commentary
Nature is not benevolent,
all things serve their purpose and are destroyed.The Wise are not benevolent,
people serve their purpose and are destroyed.
These two lines are parallel, with just a few keywords swapped out. Due to their structure, we can see that certain things are being compared. “Nature” and “the Wise” are marked as similar, and so are “all things” and “people.” Here is an example of using the fractal nature of the universe to draw out cosmic principles. “Nature” and “all things” are at the macro level. “The Wise” and “people” are at the micro level. “The Wise” accord with “Nature” and so must understand and apply its laws. Remember that, in the worldview of the Weaving Way, humans are a small part of Nature, not separate from it as in the common Western definition.
These opening verses have two of the phrases I mentioned in the introduction, “not benevolent” and “straw dog.” While “not benevolent” is a bit jarring to read and requires some commentary, “straw dog” just doesn’t make sense to us. So I replaced it with what it means in equally frank English to mirror the BAM one gets in the Chinese version.
The idea of “not benevolent” expressed here can be difficult to wrap our minds around. We like to think that the Universe, or our God, is altruistic. We love the idea of love and value the notion of compassion. However, when we really start to think about it, the Big “L” Love of the Universe isn’t such a close parallel to what we typically think of as benevolence. Benevolence sets things apart; one side has the ability to help, and one side requires help. Further, benevolence has a sticky, outcome-based, judgmental quality to it that doesn’t align with how things work. Things don’t die out of universal cruelty, nor are they born out of cosmic kindness. Nothing is singled out for special treatment, and everything has its role to play. The arising, duration, and destruction of everything is simply how it works. To be a benefactor exercising benevolence is to elevate some things over others, believing that we know what kind of “help” everyone and everything needs.
This point is emphasized by comparing “all things” and “people” to straw dogs. Straw dogs are ceremonial, sacrificial objects of straw twisted in the shape of dogs for ritual services. They are lovingly created, prepared, and stored with ritual sanctity. After the service, they are destroyed and treated as garbage; they have served their purpose.
We are invited to understand that all things are part of a cosmic whole. Each particle in every molecule has its purpose and is not better or worse than any other. It is not our place to understand the purpose of everything; just to understand that everything has its purpose. When its purpose is fulfilled, then do not cling to it – allow it to be complete. This is reminiscent of the Buddhist teaching about using a raft to cross a river during a journey. It is a huge labor to fell the trees and lash them together. We invest heavily in the project. Yet, we all would recognize it as very foolish to carry the raft with us once the river crossing is complete. (Alagaddupama Sutta: MN22)
These two verses show that we must not be too attached to what we think is best. Instead, we must train ourselves to recognize the purpose of a situation, relationship, or experience, accept its mystery, and honor it for what it is.
The relationship between the spiritual and the material.
Isn’t it just like a bellows?!Empty yet never depleted,
pumped and even more comes out.
An interesting note here is that the term I often translate as Nature (天地 tiāndì) is treated in a way that requires the characters to be separated. Tiān (天) by itself is the sky, heaven, or god (impersonal) and generally refers to the spiritual. The other, Dì (地), refers to the earth beneath our feet and, by extension, the material. These two aspects, spiritual and material, are like the two plates on a bellows. Their dynamic interplay is what produces the movement of the Dao. The Dao itself is like the air that moves through the bellows – it seems like nothingness. In fact, precisely the vacuum created by separating the opposing sides of the bellows makes the whole process work. There can be no motion without space. This is another expression of the singularity operating through polarity as we have seen in verses 1 and 2, further connected to Without Origin’s (verse 4) statement “The Dao flows from a bottomless vessel, Throughout eternity, it cannot be depleted.”
This verse closes with the obvious truth of the reality it presents:
Excessive seeking hurries destitution,
it’s better to preserve your center.
The first line is a perennial truth. From notions of “Even if you win the rat race, you’re still a rat” to “Nor will they say, Behold here or there; for behold, the kingdom of God is inside (within, among) you (you is plural)” (Luke 17:21, LET Bible). Anyone familiar with Yoga, Buddhism, or Zen will similarly have heard this sentiment innumerable times.
The extra context presented further explains why this is true: infinity can never be completely explored. Looking for our peace and well-being in knowing or experiencing everything is a rat race. Endless acquisition of new objects, skills, experiences, friendships, etc., can never satisfy the human need to constantly improve our conditions. Activity without rest is simply exhaustion. In the meantime, we never stop to “smell the roses” and fully appreciate what is already here. Notice the quality is “excessive” seeking, not seeking in general.
This raises a critical question: How do we know if our seeking is excessive? In many ways, only we can know. However, there seem to be a few indicators we can watch out for:
- Did I get what I wanted and, shortly after, want something else?
- Did the change I thought was critical only help for a short period of time?
- Are people telling me that I never seem satisfied?
- Do I feel unsettled after a short time without “exciting things” happening?
In short, seeking lasting well-being amid the ever-changing “events out there” and in “acquisition” mode is futile. It just leaves us haggard and defeated at the end. The remedy is presented:
It’s better to preserve your center.
“Preserve your center” is an attempt to convey something rather complex, 守中 (shǒuzhōng). The first character carries many layers of meaning that apply to this phrase. They are:
- to keep; to maintain; to preserve
- to abide by; to follow; to comply with
- to defend; to protect; to keep watch
- to approach; to come closer; to draw near
In essence, shǒu (守) means abiding in proximity to something to care for it, with special attention to its unique needs. This refers to physical and material situations and psycho-spiritual, immaterial concepts. Zhōng (中), in this case, is one of the latter and is pointing us to our internal center: our sensing-feeling-thinking being. The ideas presented in “Cherishing People,” taken as guidance for ourselves, is a good representation of what it means to “preserve the center.”
Not seeing an object of desire
allows a person’s mental and emotional state to be at peace.
So the Wise support people by helping them:
Release their attachments,
Nourish their being,
Soften their opinions,
Strengthen their confidence.
Weaving the Way is none other than this ongoing process of maintaining holistic well-being and harmony within the ever-evolving Dao.
It can be difficult, even scary, to turn our focus away from “coping” and toward “curing,” away from the quick fix of “doing something” and into the truer cure of “effortless being.”
The promise of meditative living is that it’s worth it.