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Appreciating the beauty and the limitations of human scale through the art of non-doing

More and more people are discovering the timeless wisdom curated by Laozi for survival within the mono-cult of busyness. The Chinese concept of Pu is a Daoist metaphor that points us towards earlier times, to the qualities of small scale societies that have survived on the margins of empires, in some cases for many millennia.

The ideological prison of busyness

It is time for those who still consider themselves to be “culturally well adjusted” to modern industrialised society to realise that they are inmates of an ideological prison in their own minds, living in a cult that imprisons and dehumanises all those who dare to break out of the ideological prison.

First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist

Everyone knows how these stories end. Modern teenagers have been reacting to the toxic cult in the limited ways available to them for generations, and Daoist philosophers have been telling the world about these stories for 2,500 years.

The industrialised machine of neoliberalism in 1986:

I suspect many people in Westernised countries will relate to this story from a neurosurgeon in the US. Parts of this particular story remind me of how I dropped out of corporate employment 22 years ago. The difference is that back then I thought I had a plan, still believing that there were ways of addressing institutional and technological problems from the outside.

Over the course of twenty years, via my work, by collaborating in a worker co-op, and by distilling patterns from all the positive and negative experiences I had in the social world, more and more layers of the onion of the cultural disease of the modern industrialised way of life revealed themselves as being actively hostile to thriving life. Along the way, I incrementally shed these layers of the ideological onion, replacing cognitive dissonance with elements that have found their way into the Ecologies of Care support model, which combines lived experiences from the margins of society as part of a process of omni-directional learning at human scale, and which is informed by the results of AutCollab participatory research:

The living planet is crying out for global intersectional solidarity beyond the human, for gentler and more compassionate ways of being. 

Dao de Jing

The Dao de Jing reflects the human predicament that all empire building attempts are confronted with.

Chapter I (Embodying the Dao)

The Dao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Dao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name. (Conceived of as) having no name, it is the Originator of heaven and earth; (conceived of as) having a name, it is the Mother of all things.

Always without desire we must be found,
If its deep mystery we would sound;
But if desire always within us be,
Its outer fringe is all that we shall see.

Under these two aspects, it is really the same; but as development takes place, it receives the different names. Together we call them the Mystery. Where the Mystery is the deepest is the gate of all that is subtle and wonderful.

Chapter II (The nourishment of the person)

All in the world know the beauty of the beautiful, and in doing this they have (the idea of) what ugliness is; they all know the skill of the skilful, and in doing this they have (the idea of) what the want of skill is. So it is that existence and non-existence give birth the one to (the idea of) the other; that difficulty and ease produce the one (the idea of) the other; that length and shortness fashion out the one the figure of the other; that (the ideas of) height and lowness arise from the contrast of the one with the other; that the musical notes and tones become harmonious through the relation of one with another; and that being before and behind give the idea of one following another. Therefore the sage manages affairs without doing anything, and conveys his instructions without the use of speech. All things spring up, and there is not one which declines to show itself; they grow, and there is no claim made for their ownership; they go through their processes, and there is no expectation (of a reward for the results). The work is accomplished, and there is no resting in it (as an achievement).

The work is done, but how no one can see;
‘Tis this that makes the power not cease to be.

Chapter X (Possibilities through the Dao)

When the intelligent and animal souls are held together in one embrace, they can be kept from separating. When one gives undivided attention to the (vital) breath, and brings it to the utmost degree of pliancy, he can become as a (tender) babe. When he has cleansed away the most mysterious sights (of his imagination), he can become without a flaw. In loving the people and ruling the state, cannot he proceed without any (purpose of) action? In the opening and shutting of his gates of heaven, cannot he do so as a female bird? While his intelligence reaches in every direction, cannot he (appear to) be without knowledge? (The Dao) produces (all things) and nourishes them; it produces them and does not claim them as its own; it does all, and yet does not boast of it; it presides over all, and yet does not control them. This is what is called ‘The mysterious Quality’ (of the Dao).

Chapter XV (The exhibition of the qualities of the Dao)

The skilful masters (of the Dao) in old times, with a subtle and exquisite penetration, comprehended its mysteries, and were deep (also) so as to elude men’s knowledge. As they were thus beyond men’s knowledge, I will make an effort to describe of what sort they appeared to be. Shrinking looked they like those who wade through a stream in winter; irresolute like those who are afraid of all around them; grave like a guest (in awe of his host); evanescent like ice that is melting away; unpretentious like wood that has not been fashioned into anything; vacant like a valley, and dull like muddy water. Who can (make) the muddy water (clear)? Let it be still, and it will gradually become clear. Who can secure the condition of rest? Let movement go on, and the condition of rest will gradually arise. They who preserve this method of the Dao do not wish to be full (of themselves). It is through their not being full of themselves that they can afford to seem worn and not appear new and complete.

Chapter XVI (Returning to the root)

The (state of) vacancy should be brought to the utmost degree, and that of stillness guarded with unwearying vigour. All things alike go through their processes of activity, and (then) we see them return (to their original state). When things (in the vegetable world) have displayed their luxuriant growth, we see each of them return to its root. This returning to their root is what we call the state of stillness; and that stillness may be called a reporting that they have fulfilled their appointed end. The report of that fulfilment is the regular, unchanging rule. To know that unchanging rule is to be intelligent; not to know it leads to wild movements and evil issues. The knowledge of that unchanging rule produces a (grand) capacity and forbearance, and that capacity and forbearance lead to a community (of feeling with all things). From this community of feeling comes a kingliness of character; and he who is king-like goes on to be heaven-like. In that likeness to heaven he possesses the Dao. Possessed of the Dao, he endures long; and to the end of his bodily life, is exempt from all danger of decay.

Applying Daoist philosophy

The civilisation of modern empires is in an advanced stage of dying. The full implications still need to sink in. This will only be possible by understanding the history of all empires in terms of a history of cults, understanding social power hierarchies in terms of addictions, and extending compassion to the inmates.

The sensory overload produced by the continuous exposure to advertising and consumer culture is not to be underestimated. I remember an American friend in Wellington telling me more than 20 years ago that each time he returns to the US, his senses feel assaulted by the external pressure to consume. Today, via the Web and mobile connectivity, this pressure is everywhere. Addionally, the stress generated by hustle culture to make ends meet financially is toxic. We can reduce sensory overload from modern “civilisation” by limiting our exposure to the digital realm.

More and more people are discovering the timeless wisdom curated by Laozi for survival within the mono-cult of busyness.

As the financialised house of cards of capitalism comes crumbling down, which inevitably it will, all that remains are the ecological environments and trustworthy relationships we have co-created around us (or not!). 

De-powered human scale ecologies of care

The Chinese concept of Pu (“unworked wood; inherent quality; simple”) is a Daoist metaphor for the natural state of humanity. Pu points us towards earlier times in the more distant past, and to the qualities of small scale societies that have survived on the margins of empires, in some cases for many millennia.

The art of non-doing is not doing nothing, it is better understood in terms of active non-participation in empire building endeavors – deeply appreciating the beauty of a much more ecologically diverse, peaceful, and less stressful life at small human comprehensible scales.

The art of de-powered dialogue and deliberation in Open Space that enables omni-directional learning is beautifully illustrated in an excellent article titled The Ju/’hoansi protocol by anthropologist Vivek V Venkataraman, packed with important observations. I recommend reading all of it. If you are short of time, here is a slightly shorter extract:

For the vast majority of human history, people made group decisions through consensus. It is perhaps the most conspicuous feature of political life among recent hunter-gatherer societies, from the Ju/’hoansi to the Aboriginal peoples of Australia to the Indigenous societies of the early Americas.

Though the small-world life of hunter-gatherers may seem far removed from our own digitalised and global world, the problems of group life have remained fundamentally the same for hundreds of thousands of years. In the face of conflict and polarisation, ancient human groups needed processes that yielded good outcomes.

Human prehistory was littered with poor group decisions. Whether it was an ill-timed raid or the wrong choice of watering hole, some of our would-be hunter-gatherer ancestors vanished without a trace. We know this because, among hunter-gatherers today, group decisions are matters of existential importance.

The Ju/’hoansi are careful not to entrust key decisions to single individuals or small sub-groups. Leadership is temporary and knowledge-based, shifting even within a single conversation. Leaders refrain from stating their opinions early in the conversation, which could bias the opinions of others who have yet to speak. The role of a leader in group decisions is to guide deliberation, state the group’s mood, and help finalise a decision. Leaders are respected, but they cannot coerce others.

With the goal of consensus, the group itself is the decision-maker. Decisions typically start as grassroots affairs between neighbours and friends. Only later does the community gather together for a formal meeting. During deliberation, everyone – man or woman, old or young – is encouraged to state their opinion about important matters. In the egalitarian culture of the Ju/’hoansi, people do their own thing and therefore have their own unique experiences and ways of representing problems that may be relevant to a group decision.

The Ju/’hoansi are not culturally diverse, but their permissiveness of individual differences means their groups are functionally diverse. The social norm of widespread participation ensures the free and open exchange of information, reducing the likelihood of an information cascade. Biesele documented a principle that, if each person’s opinion was not heard, trouble would follow. Repressed opinions, it was said, could cause sickness.

‘It often happens that the suggestion finally adopted is one which was initially voiced by somebody who has taken no further part in the proceedings, leaving it to others to take up, and “push” his or her proposal.’

Deliberation also means disagreement. Claims are sceptically evaluated based on evidence, according to the anthropologists Melvin Konner and Nicholas Blurton Jones, who investigated Ju/’hoansi knowledge of animal behaviour in the 1970s. The Ju/’hoansi are careful to distinguish between first-hand knowledge and hearsay or speculation. There was a norm that discouraged rampant speculation: when someone said that children could be killed by fires, an old man said that people should only speak when they have seen things happen. One man was laughed at for his gullibility when he said that he had heard that elephants would bury their babies up to their necks.

‘Trackers’ conversations are fully cooperative and open to both new ideas and to corrections by other trackers, specifically to ensure the best-reasoned outcomes. So democracy and science are closely allied in the people’s minds, and closely govern how decisions are made.’

The Ju/’hoansi keep their cool, recognising that anger and heated feelings can lead to impulsive decisions and misunderstandings. According to Silberbauer, ‘the band is reluctant to come to decision under the sway of strong feelings: if discussion becomes too angry or excited, debate is temporarily adjourned by the withdrawal of the attention to the calmer participants until things cool down.’ Confrontation is avoided through a variety of subtle stratagems: pretending to cook, or urgently attending to a thorn in one’s foot. When things get too heated, people disengage, signalling a lack of sympathy for the outburst. The fate of the Ju/’hoansi contrarian is neither exile nor execution. It is to be ignored.

This isn’t to say that debate never occurs. Silberbauer observed ‘a bit of cut and thrust between orators’, however he found that point-scoring ultimately played little role in the ultimate decision. In a highly interdependent band, this makes sense because one’s fate is largely tied to that of other bandmates. As a result, unlike in modern politics, group decisions are not something to be won or lost. Attentive of this, the Ju/’hoansi avoid the mistake of equating rhetorical flourish with truth. The idea of sparring orators dealing knockout blows would be anathema to the Ju/’hoansi. A knockout blow is self-defeating, like punching oneself in the face.

When it comes to finalising a course of action, the Ju/’hoansi are sceptical of voting. In small groups, Biesele has found, the Ju/’hoansi see the act of voting as polarising.

Instead, discussion continues until a consensus is reached. Everyone has to agree on the course of action because it legitimates the decision as belonging to the group. It is not merely the actual result of the decision that counts, but the process itself. Everyone must attend to what Silberbauer calls the social balance-sheet. The social balance-sheet is no less than the promise of future cooperation, perhaps the most important thing in the life of a hunter-gatherer.

Consensus is also about the creation of shared meaning. The Ju/’hoansi, according to Silberbauer, are not only exchanging facts about reality but also values, objectives and ‘logical and causal relationships between items of information’. To decide well, the band must think together.

Perhaps the best illustration of this process of cognitive convergence comes from Kenneth Liberman, who worked among Aboriginal populations of the western Australian desert. Each day starts with the Morning Discourse, in which people take turns voicing concerns, thoughts, ideas. Each comment builds on the previous. The state of affairs of the group becomes publicly available. Nothing is directed toward individuals, only the group. ‘The favoured strategy here is to depersonalise one’s remarks and tone of voice as much as possible,’ wrote Liberman in 1985. ‘The effect is something like acting as if someone else is doing the talking.’ Rather than each person expressing views as an individual, it is almost as if the group is talking through each individual. The Morning Discourse shapes the consensus, when ‘all think in the same way with the same head, not in different ways.’ Sometimes hunter-gatherers don’t even bother to articulate the decision, so clear is the consensus and the subsequent course of action.

Understanding the Ju/’hoansi mode of communication from a modern perspective requires investigating the nature of dialogue. The word ‘dialogue’ is derived from the Greek ‘dia’ (through) and ‘logos’ (word or meaning), and is often translated as ‘a flow of meaning’. According to William Isaacs, who teaches workshops on dialogue-based approaches to communication, dialogue is ‘a shared inquiry, a way of thinking and reflecting together. It is not something you do to another person. It is something you do with people … Dialogue is a living experience of inquiry within and between people.’ Contrast this with debate, the root of which comes from the Old French word debatre – ‘to fight’.

Taken together, there is robust evidence that the Ju/’hoansi are able to avoid levels of polarisation like we see in our current political moment. This is achieved not necessarily through individual virtue but rather with cultural guardrails and prolonged deliberation. The Ju/’hoansi are well aware that their social norms around deliberation improve the quality of their decisions.

Many anthropologists and archaeologists believe that humans lived in nomadic egalitarian bands for much of our species’ history. If this is true, then the Ju/’hoansi and other hunter-gatherers tell us something important about what politics in the Palaeolithic might have looked like. Amid the crackle and pop of a Pleistocene campfire, under the anonymity of darkness, our ancestors began to think as one. In that moment, we became political animals, the first and only species in the history of the world to grasp how its own collective intelligence could be made and unmade.

Just like any hunter-gatherer today, our ancestors would have been self-conscious political actors. They would have realised the importance of the process to the result. And they would have actively maintained political structures that maximised their collective intelligence. Groups that failed to do so would have perished.

All of this calls into question our own preoccupation with debate as a form of truth-seeking. In the sphere of communication, prominent book titles include Win Every Argument: The Art of Debating, Persuading, and Public Speaking (2023), Good Arguments: How Debate Teaches Us to Listen and Be Heard (2022), How to Argue and Win Every Time (1995), and The Art of Being Right (1831).

Debate is a tool designed to convince, not to solve collective problems.

If we focus on communal health and wellbeing, if we appreciate the limits of human scale, and if we interpret cognitive dissonance as a guide for (as needed radical) environmental reengineering, then we’re doing everything we can, and we can be grateful for the gift of life.

Life is not about winning and losing!

Humans have always known this – until powered-up empires emerged.

Some minds are not capable of sustaining the cognitive dissonance of deceptive social power games that plaque all empires.

Such minds are not broken, rather they are an essential part of the cultural immune system of human societies, which provides exit paths for the inmates of empires, allowing the human species to survive and recover from the tyranny of empires.

We need commitment, we need community. We need to create spaces of trust. But for that, there’s tremendous work that we need to be doing. But I don’t think that any of that work will be possible, should we not have that commitment–that commitment that no matter how challenging and tremendously difficult it will be to reckon with these narratives and to dismantle these narratives. Because seeing the horror in the eye of all these narratives that we live by comes with tremendous understanding. It will leave us very fragile, very vulnerable, and most, of course, are not willing to do that, because we don’t feel safe. But if we are able to stand the heat and create these spaces, if we commit to do this kind of work for the benefit of the planet, then we may be able to learn that we can fly.

– Yuria Celidwen

Regular immersion in Open Space is a medicine that can help transform self-doubt and despair into purposeful collective action. When everyone knows that everyone knows that … – then the illusion of progress and the illusion of powered-up institutions “being in control” is exposed and weakened. The more often this happens, the more the social license of powered-up institutions is eroded. 

Join us! The invitation to Open Space is an invitation to possibilities that exist beyond the anthropocentric cutoff points of the bell curve. 

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