Philosophy

Threads and Validity

by

Previously I’d written on ways people tried to claim spiritual authority – Ancient Tradition and/or Initiation – and the flaws of both. I’d mentioned a bit on how I validate spiritual teachings and advice, and wanted to share that next.

And considering I get into things like “did this 3000 year old sword hilt indicate breathing exercises” yeah, this kind of thing interests me. Well, I also like breathing exercises.

So as regular readers know, Taoism is a large part of my spiritual practice. Taoism has a convoluted history going back thousands of years, of which the famous Tao Te Ching is a major milestone, but not the only milestone. Taoism includes breath work, philosophy, psychological exercises, folk religion, I Ching commentaries, a sprawling collection of immortals, mystics, and weirdos, and more. It also includes what I call “Taoist Diss Tracks,” and trust me you have to see what kind of snark people who emphasize “doing by not doing” can get up to in order to appreciate it.

Note that Taoism isn’t particularly restrictive, and my spiritual practice includes many other elements. But I’ll just focus on Taoism for now.

The question is how I make sense from my Taoist readings and learn useful techniques and teachings? I mean there’s a lot so there has to be something there, but also there are also Taoists poetically accusing others of being weird perverts, so you gotta do some sorting.

The best way I’ve found to describe my methods are Threads and Validity.

When studying such a sprawling tradition, I look for Threads that endure throughout the various teachings. Is there something that persists between enough of the works I read and over a note able time period that represents A) a teaching with a history, and B) that is applicable and can be actioned.

Note that I say teaching with a history. This may mean a consistent practice, but also means a practice that you can see discussed, analyzed, and maybe even evolving. It may be argued about, it may be relatively unchanged, but you can look at it and say “yes, I can see what that is and why it is.”

Also, note it should be actionable. You can have some kind of consistent or evolved teaching but if you can’t do anything with it then it’s sort of hard to try out.

A few examples from my interest in Taoism:

  1. Breath exercises seem to go back very far in Taoism, predating the Tao Te Ching. Slow, even breath seemed to be a major part from the start.
  2. Post Tao Te Ching teachings that involve “spiritual alchemy” have some pretty consistent metaphors for mental elements and psychological effects of meditation – or at least the authors I have an interest in (which seem to come from the same school so not surprising).
  3. Political and social advice for Taoists seems pretty consistent, from avoidance of greed to a mistrust of intellectualism. There’s debates over implementing that, but the Tao Te Ching seemed to embody and promote some teachings that stayed relatively consistent for people who you know cared.

But all this aside, this history and ability to action things doesn’t matter if you can’t find some Validity in the spiritual works. You have to put them into action and see what happens.

And that’s where you have to get to work, try it out, and see if it works. Does the breath meditation seem to work for you? Do ethical teachings help you out (which requires a lot of self introspection)? Do you connect with this god or that?

Spiritual practices require you to actually dive in and try out what you’ve found. Which also requires you to ask what do you expect to happen, what are your goals? This is challenging, since the answer may be “to see what happens” – in fact in some meditative techniques that’s kind of half the goal. Sometimes having a goal actually messes things up, like forms of meditation, which makes it more a challenge.

Yes, I include ethical and social practices in this as well. Thinking about your ethical choices, how you act, and what happens really helps you grow. Even if sometimes it’s growing by confronting things about yourself and your society.

But it’s up to me to learn, to apply things, and see what happens. I take responsibility for what I’m doing so I can learn, put things into practice, and be better. My regular readers know there are some things I don’t comment on as I’m not sure I know enough to do so safely and effectively. You gotta dive in to learn.

So that’s how I validated spiritual teachings. I look for histories and consistencies that I can put into action then I give them a try. It also means putting in the work and taking the responsibility.

–Xenofact

A Different Kind of A-Hole

by

As regular readers know, I consider myself a Taoist, and am using reading some Taoist literature or other philosophical or artistic writing. Often I find myself fascinated at how much brilliant wisdom people had thousands of years ago – and how often they tried to get someone to listen to them.

Today, I try to imagine exposing certain people to the wisdom of, say, the Taoists. Would they pay attention to warnings about being overburdened with desires? Could advice on not wrecking the environment from fifteen hundred years ago still reach someone wrecking the environment now? Could people maybe not screw everything up for everyone?

I mean how many Business A-holes got The Art of War and tossed it as it wasn’t what they expected There’s a reason I see many copies at used book stores. So I kind of am of the opinion “lots of so-called leaders would ignore good advice.”

So as I contemplated the plight of the political Taoists and their like, something struck me. I was thinking about people who lived thousands of years before me, in vastly different environments. As I’ve written before, such people lived in different worlds, and they dealt with a different kind of A-hole.

I thought about the political Taoists and others like the Confucians attempting to convince some feudal lord of the rightness of their teachings (and the personal benefits). Such a person might be royalty, but because their father or grandfather overthrew the last guy. They still have relatives who may be in the fields or the military or in the mercantile professions. This imaginary feudal lord may hear, see, and smell everyday life in their province – which might be as small as the real-estate of a small city. Droughts, harvests, weather, floods affect them as well as the people under them and they get to fear assassination or conquest.

Oh they may be a-holes. They may be violent, they may not be nice, they may have a strong hand in rulership. But they exist as human a-holes, they have human contact, human feelings. As abstract as royalty may be, there’s a chance they’re still as human as others, even if not nice humans.

There’s a chance such people might listen to your ideas, after all even if they’re a-holes.

Now today, how many leaders exist in bubbles that feudal lords of China and ancient kings could ever imagine? How many people with power exists inside a media echo-sphere worse than any group of sycophantic ministers? We have leaders and supposed rulers who never worry of hunger or pollution, who can’t see, hear, or smell the everyday lives of people.

Such folks seem much harder to convince because they’re not just abstract from people but abstract from humanity. There’s a point where insulation becomes inhumanity or at least mental illness. No wonder some supposed elites suck down psychedelics trying to feel something.

This does not decrease my enthusiasm for the wisdom of the Taoists and those like them. It’s just a reminder that much advice requires you to reach someone’s humanity.

The problem is you have to know how to find that humanity first, and that can be a challenge. Worse, it may not be there.

– Xenofact

Win One For Confucians

by

Win One For Confucians

Last column I talked about how Taoists irritated with detail-obsessed Confucians reminded me of how people got annoyed with conspiracy theorists. It was a strange revelation, and one I’ll probably analyze for awhile to understand underlying human behavior. But let’s talk about something I learned from my (limited) reading of Confucian thought.

First, I want to be open about my opinions – and limits on my knowledge – of Confucianism. I took an interest in it due to A) Taoists arguing with them and B) an interest Chinese history, usually communications. I’ve read a few texts, a few historical documents, and a larger amount of Taoist mockery or fellow-feeling depending on when said texts were written. I’m no expert.

I would sum it up as “anal-retentive humanism about cultivating morality.” Confucius himself seems to have been a thoughtful, witty, pleasant, but at times anxious or neurotic person who didn’t seem to really intend to found a religion. In practice it has often served power and patriarchal culture, but through it run elements of counter-culturalism and principle. My limited experience have been more “WTF” than I expected.

But in my limited readings, a story stood out – one that, years later, taught me a lesson. So let’s give the Confucians a win.

In my readings there are often stories about the importance of mourning one’s parents when they pass. It’s important to recognize their sacrifice, the duration of mourning, and so on. There’s enough dead parents in a casual reading Confucian literature to make you worry you stepped into a Disney film. Yes I get filial piety and all that, but still.

Once or twice I’d encounter a story of an king who’s father (who had stepped down) passed away. This meant big public ceremonies and so on because, hey, dead king. What stood out to me is people being impressed at how sad the living king was, how he wept and mourned so aggressively. At first I thought the stories were annoying, performative – I mean, you know, let’s not make a show of it, be honest.

Years later, as I contemplated politics in America in the 2020s I thought about all the transgressive politicians. The ones that were basically online Influencers, the ones acting like they were Shock Jocks. The ones who were supposedly both the best of us and hideous assholes and in no way role models.

They were being performatively against what we supposedly valued.

. . . and suddenly I got the king and his Big Mourning.

I don’t want leaders who violate our principles, I want them to embody them. I want the continuity and stability of society, not its fracturing. Wanting leaders that violate everything you say you care about means you’re both an asshole and destructive – and stupid. Even if a leader is, dare I say it, a bit performative, it’s saying there’s an agreement on what matters, even if things might get a tad fuzzy around things in the “best face forward” way.

Moral performances of certain kinds – what people might call “virtue signaling” – are ways of communicating and reinforcing values. They are reflections of the agreement that hold society together. It may be a janky agreement, it may have edge cases that aren’t on the edge, but unless a society is totally screwed, it matters.

Then I got it. These kings were virtue signaling, but about stuff important to the community, the love of parents, the proper activities. King and peasant were bonded together in “when we lose our parents, we respect those that created us.” A weeping king was, at that moment no different than a farmer who lost his mother and father.

So know what? Chalk one up for the early Confucian writers. Some moral and ethical continuity, via ritual, is important. Yeah it might not be 100% true or honest all the time, but if it’s enough for society to grow and function, then it’s important. It might not seem like a ritual, but there is a time to say “we are on the same side” and act on it.

Because we’ve damn well seen what happens when destroying everything is lauded, and violating what actually works is worshiped.

-Xenofact