Transcription
What refuses to push back conquers even the toughest materials. What refuses to push back can slip through spaces where none seem to exist. Only a few people on earth can grasp a teaching that uses no words or recognize the power that lies in non-action.
Lao Tzu. We have no evidence he was a real person. But if he lived, it would have been sometime during the fifth or 6th century BC, placing him in the same era as Confucius. Despite this uncertainty, the Chinese thinker Lao Tzu produced a masterwork known as the Tao Te Ching, which stands as a central scripture in Taoism.
One well-known idea that comes from Taoist thought is wu wei, which translates to non-action, effortless action, or the contradictory action of non-action. From a practical standpoint, wu wei resembles what we call the state of flow, commonly referred to as "the zone" among athletes. When athletes are in "the zone," they perform actions without forcing them and glide through time and space with remarkable ease. No extremes exist, no concerns arise, no overthinking occurs. Everything appears to unfold in its natural rhythm. As a way into the profound tradition of Taoism, I want to share with you the philosophy of flow.
The Tao Te Ching stands as an enigmatic piece of literature beyond the uncertainty of its writing date. The reality of its creator remains a subject of debate. Yet, one fact stands undisputed: the depth of this text has influenced humanity from its time until today. It's worth noting that the Tao Te Ching ranks as the second most translated book in human history, surpassed only by the Bible.
The core of Taoist thought involves existing in sync with the Tao, which is also known as "the Way." But what exactly is the Tao? This question has no real answer. An attempt to answer proves pointless. How much we can understand about the Tao stops where our ability to perceive stops. What the Tao truly is and how it appears, feels, smells, or sounds continues to be unknown. Furthermore, the Tao we discuss isn't a literal towel. As Lao Tzu explains, this is why the celebrated first lines of the Tao Te Ching state the following: "The Tao that you can put into words is not the lasting Tao. The name that you can express is not the lasting name."
Then what can we actually know about the Tao? Taoist thinkers stress again and again that the authentic Tao represents an infinite force. It exists beyond what we can understand, and our senses cannot detect it. Though we'll never fully comprehend the true Tao, our aim is to exist in accordance with it. This bears remarkable similarity to how Stoics relate to nature.
But how do we achieve harmony with the Way? Taoist texts don't provide a single concrete technique for reaching the state. Yet, we discover numerous hints pointing toward cultivating a quiet mind, restraining our senses, maintaining humility, and stopping our constant striving so we can become receptive to how the universe operates. This mental quietness doesn't require us to sit still in one spot with closed eyes. Taoists recognize that quietness can coexist with movement. When we exist fully in this present moment, our movements become smooth, encounter no resistance, and come with intensely sharp concentration. The experience becomes nearly euphoric.
Former professional basketball star Bill Russell describes this phenomenon in his life story: "It felt as though we moved in slow motion. In those moments, I could nearly predict how the following play would unfold."
The Taoist text tells a tale about a butcher named Ting who performs his craft while experiencing a flow state. This captured the interest of Lord Wenhui, who found himself astonished by the grace with which the butcher carved up cattle. After praising his ability, Cook Ting put down his blade and shared a profound approach to the work: "My concern is the Way, which exists above mere skill. In my early days of butchering cattle, I could only perceive the animal as a whole. Three years passed, and I stopped seeing the complete ox. Now I work through intuition, and my eyes no longer guide me. My conscious perception has ceased, and my spirit directs itself freely. I follow the animal's natural structure, find the large cavities, move the blade through the wide spaces, and respect what's already there. This way, I never encounter even the thinnest connective tissue, let alone a major joint."
A crucial detail in this tale concerns the blade the butcher employs. He explained that skilled cooks replace their knives annually because they slice through meat. Average cooks replace their knives monthly because they chop and hack. Yet Cook Ting had been using his same knife for 19 years through skillful and delicate use.
This narrative links to another fundamental Taoist teaching about the strength found in being gentle. Through force and struggle, we may accomplish what we set out to do. However, in the process, we exhaust far more energy than required and potentially create unnecessary damage along the way. Conversely, a person in a flow state handles tasks with wisdom, understanding the right moment to move and when to remain still. They discover equilibrium between doing and not doing. It's about avoiding extremes. It represents the middle way between worry and disinterest.
The concept of non-action contradicts the Western philosophy of pushing harder and working with more intensity to achieve outcomes. Society tells us to be driven, seize control, and push forward. Yet, countless individuals struggle with depression, anxiety conditions, and problem sleeping. Could we be exhausting ourselves? We view passivity negatively and frequently confuse it with being lazy. These are separate things, though. Observing the natural world, doing nothing actually makes considerably more sense than we typically believe. Our outcomes don't match the energy we expend. Outcomes emerge from a sequence of actions. What's interesting is that numerous actions occur spontaneously, and situations rarely require more human interference than needed to guide them properly. Don't many difficulties resolve on their own?
Taoism uses a river as a metaphor for existence. Rivers possess their own paths or multiple paths. When we enter that river, we face choices: fight against a flow, grab onto a branch, or release our grip and move with the current. Throughout most of life, we resist a current without awareness. Our thinking convinces us that we can and must dominate our surroundings to stay alive. This perspective shows ego because the overwhelming majority of processes happening inside and outside us lie beyond our influence. We must acknowledge reality. We can't direct our internal functions like digestion, circulation, or how injuries heal. We can't control others. We can't control what's coming. We can't even control our romantic attractions or who draws our interest. Everything beyond our direct abilities simply moves in certain directions, occasionally guided by conscious thought but usually following natural patterns.
Flowing with the current means we synchronize ourselves with these natural patterns. This represents the route of minimal friction. It allows nature to express itself without our interference. Therefore, the Taoist approach involves steering through the river rather than attempting to dominate it, an impossible task.
Another element of the river metaphor that defines Taoism is water itself. Water's qualities of gentleness and modesty essentially represent Taoist ideals. The Tao Te Ching offers this passage: "The highest form of good resembles water, which serves all living things without attempting to rival them. It collects in the lowest spots." In this way, it mirrors the Tao. Though water appears gentle, it conquers hardness, as we observe in how water erodes stone. Water not only gravitates downward, it also carries no agenda, no objective, no particular want. Still, it sustains all things it encounters. It functions as a remarkable force of life that performs divine work without any striving. Water represents the gentlest and most flexible element. Still, nothing surpasses water when it comes to wearing down what's hard and stiff, as nothing else can match its power.
Anyone who has entered a flow state knows one element that vanishes, returning only when analytical thinking regains dominance. That element is concern about outcomes instead of engagement with the present task. This echoes the Stoic principle of *amor fati*, which suggests welcoming whatever results appear. Rather than stressing about what's ahead, concentrate on the current moment. Whether you're deeply engaged in athletics, creating, playing, or moving to music. During flow, outcomes fade away along with external demands, future worries, and past mistakes. Only you and your current task exist. You inhabit the present completely.
Achieving this state requires one thing: release. Release means ending your fight against the current, loosening your grip on stability. It means abandoning what's behind, releasing what's ahead. Direct all attention to this instant, and simply experience it without holding back.
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