When the people lack a proper sense of awe then
some awful visitation will descend upon them.
Do not constrict their living space; do not
press down on their means of livelihood.
It is because you do not press down on them that they will not weary of
the burden.
Hence the sage knows himself but does not
display himself,
Loves himself but does not exalt himself.
Therefore he discards the one and takes the
other.
Awe in our world has mostly been diminished to
technology (the new, the bright, the virtual, the fast) and humanity (its flesh
and flexing: the beautiful, the powerful,
the fast). Though we may watch Planet Earth, we may go on a
whale-sighting tour, we may camp in Algonquin for a week, we may love our cats,
a proper sense of awe is not primarily virtual, abstracted from our lives,
requiring damage to other species and the planet, legitimizing one aspect of
nature over another, dependent on indirect or cognitive knowledge, but directed
to what christians call god, daoists
call dao, philosophers call being — the diverse contextualized unity
of all things.
The shift in the twentieth century from utopian
to dystopian fantasies (in art, in individual and collective psyches) reflects
our growing knowledge (a spiritual knowledge, deeper than that pumped out from
our academies and medias, difficult for us to acknowledge—that is, push into
our behaviors—other than through art, our dreams and nightmares, our
unconscious) that we may be bringing an awful visitation upon ourselves through
our inability to orient ourselves to a proper sense of awe, to a proper sense
of our place (our insignificance and significance, equal to the insignificance
and significance of all things) in an endlessly vibrating empty-full universe.
Dao favors laissez faire, low regulatory,
minimal bureaucratic-litigious, individually (but not systemic) anarchic government—both
within the external state of society and the internal state of the self … one
in which the best leader is shadowy and indistinct: the opposite of what our improperly-awed
society favors (the imaged and conspicuous, the named and reproduced).
So the sage is not particularly impressed with
humanity or herself, does not need to build visible permanent structures,
external to herself, to prove to herself or anyone that she exists and is
following, like all, the arc from womb to grave, from earth to earth.
So she throws out what most people keep and
cherish—the accoutrements of society:
its hard and feeble proofs—and takes what most people discard: the still and the heavy, the supple and weak. These are the procedures of awe, the policies
of freedom, and the way of a long, animate and ethical life.
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