David Tizzard is a professor at Seoul Women’s University, holds a PhD in Korean Studies, and hosts the Korea Deconstructed podcast. He has lived and worked in Seoul for more than two decades. Reach him at datizzard@swu.ac.kr.
Daoist lessons for modern life
Courtesy of Eleonora Albasi
By David A. Tizzard
By David A. Tizzard
My niece is crying at the dinner table. This is not necessarily a bad thing but it has interrupted my drinking. She finished second in the race for class president and is upset that she didn't win: This was a world crumbling before her eyes. Buoyed by cold beer, I decided to test out a bit of Daoism.
The story of the poor farmer whose horse runs away is well known. Basically a melodramatic series of events unfold and at every turn the man's neighbors either congratulate or commiserate him. When the horse runs away, they console him; when it returns with 3 other horses they praise him; when one horse breaks his son's leg, they offer sympathy; and when the soldiers recruiting for war pass by his injured son, they extol his fortunes. But despite the neighbors' continuing rollercoaster of moods, the farmer greets every incident with a stoic remark: Is it good news or bad news? Who knows?
Sometimes things seem like the best or worst things in the world, but in the long run we don't really know how it will affect us or our lives. To see things with such certainty is foolish. That's the didacticism of Daoism. When things happen, take a step back. Take a moment to reflect and don't react as everyone else around you does.
There's something to that farmer's story. When properly embraced, it helps release us from the schizophrenic assault of a 24-hour news cycle where every emergent politician and public figure is either a savior or the devil incarnate; where every election holds the fate of the known world in its tenuous grip and thus demands both our attention and allegiance.
So can we learn more from this ancient worldview? You can't teach Daoism in the traditional sense. To try and explain it with words is like trying to teach blind children about colors ― you can use metaphor, simile, examples, and all other sorts of rhetorical devices but there is always something missing. And that's what the original Daoist texts are like: an esoteric paradox, stating a simple truth in cryptic form.
There's an expression attributed to Confucius that works well here: “If when I give the student one corner he cannot find the other three, I do not repeat the lesson.” And so it is in Lao Tzu's' book the “Dao De Ching”: A chapter will begin with three or four applications of a principle but then jump across an abyss of a non sequitur. If the reader can jump after him, he finds himself in an unexpected vantage point. From there he will be able to see the original idea from a new perspective.
But is that all it is? What can it be but a waste of time to study a book without an author, without a date, and with little meaning that those who study it can agree upon? Isn't it just post-modernism dressed up to the nines and given a little tutu to twirl in?
Consider the most widely discussed concept in Daoism: Wu-wei. This is sometimes translated as non-action ― doing nothing. But if you approach it from the perspective of the New Testament and understand it as merely turning the other cheek, you're really missing the point. Daoism is not about doing nothing; it's about realizing what you do can have the opposite effect. It's about cause and effect.
Take the story of the man from Song that wanted to grow flowers. He desperately wanted these things to grow and would give all he had to see this through, but he made a mistake. The man from Song so wanted his flowers to grow, to raise up and succeed, that he started pulling them up towards the sun. Trying to raise them, he killed them.
So wu-wei is not necessarily about doing nothing. It's about doing the opposite of aggression. Imagine, if you can, that you are a poor farmer waiting desperately for your plants to grow. What are your options? You want these things to reach high up into the sky but if you start tugging at them, you're going to kill them. You help them live by supporting them but essentially not doing anything to them.
The one thing I take from Daoism is that there's no need to spend your time telling people they're wrong. Or right. Yes, Twitter and other social media platforms actively encourage this but we should move beyond it. The world is not made better by actively pursuing virtue and telling others they are wrong, quite the opposite in fact. The world is made better by understanding that we don't always know what is right and wrong.
My niece has stopped crying now. I don't know whether this is a good thing or not.
Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.