The best expression to designate Wu-Wei is the one adopted by Evola of “acting without acting.”
By Roberto Assagioli, [i] Doc. #23562 – Rome, June 11, 1932, Assagioli Archives – Florence. Original Title: Introduzione alla traduzione del libro “Wu-Wei”. Translated and Edited With Notes by Jan Kuniholm.
Abstract: The text is an introduction to the book “Wu-Wei” by Roberto Assagioli. It clarifies the concept of Wu-Wei, which is often misunderstood as “inaction.” Wu-Wei actually means action performed without personal effort, but by inner drive. The author explains that paradoxical expressions and symbols are used in spiritual teachings to convey deeper meanings. The text also explores some of the phrases in the book that may seem contradictory or controversial, providing interpretations to help understand their true essence. It emphasizes that spiritual teachings do not make us separate from life but help us live more wisely and generously.
The delightful fantasy inspired by the philosophy of Lao-Tse[ii] by the distinguished Dutch Orientalist and writer Henri Borel,[iii] which we present to Italian readers, is written so simply and limpidly that it seems to require no comment. But the philosophy on which it is based is subtle and not always easy to grasp, and since misunderstandings can lead to unfair judgments and — what is worse — practical deductions and dangerous attitudes in life, we consider some clarifications and clarifications useful.
The most often and most grossly misunderstood concept of Lao-Tse is precisely that of Wu-Wei, due to its improper translation as “inaction.” Wu-Wei actually means: action performed without tense, violent, personal effort, but by inner drive, by spiritual impulse. The best expression to designate Wu-Wei is the one adopted by Evola[iv] of “acting without acting.” It is a paradoxical expression, an apparent nonsense: but this is precisely its value.
Precisely, because of the fact that the reader — who understands that the pairing of the contradictory terms cannot in this case be nonsense or a joke — is thus induced, indeed obliged, to reflect, to try to discover the deeper meaning of the apparent contradiction. Spiritual truths are of an order so radically different from that of the little empirical and human “truths” — they are so incommensurable with them that common language designed to designate the latter is wholly inadequate to indicate the former.
Therefore, all Spiritual Instructors in their efforts to express the ineffable, to designate the Boundless and Transcendent in concrete and human words, have tried to use two means: symbol and paradoxical expression. All spiritual and religious scriptures are full of paradoxes. In the Upanishads atman, the Supreme Self, is said to be “smaller than the small, yet greater than the great,” and in the Gospel we find, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whoever lives and believes in me, shall never die.” (John XI:25-26).
But in no scripture do paradoxes abound as much as in the Tao-Te-Ching of Lao-Tse. He is the artist, I would almost say the virtuoso, of paradox, aided in this also by the character of the Chinese language, which lends itself to it in a special way. Even his birth has been considered paradoxical; in fact, according to one legend, he was born white-haired and as wise as an old man, and therefore nicknamed Lao-Tse, meaning “old boy,” which well suggests the union of full spiritual maturity and youthful simplicity that characterize him.
As an aid to the right understanding of paradoxes, and particularly those of Lao-Tse, the following rules may serve: when contradictory expressions are found, such as “acting without acting,” take one of the terms in the spiritual, essential and inner sense, and the other in the human, contingent and external sense. Another way is to look for a higher principle, a higher spiritual level that resolves the opposite terms within itself, unifying them in a creative synthesis. For the “acting without acting,” such a principle would be pure spiritual activity and power, which has within itself elements and qualities of both ordinary action (effectiveness) and inaction (absence of effort, tension, or fatigue), but which transcends them both in its quality and effects.
But also one should not stop and get stuck, wanting to judge and critique an expression outside of its context, divorced from the work as a whole. The true meaning of each individual word or phrase results only from reading the whole piece of writing with an open mind, with alert intuition, with inner sympathy. Finally, whenever possible we must use the pragmatic criterion: that is, observe how paradoxical or apparently extreme principles are applied to life — by those who originally expressed them, or who understand them well.
Let us apply these criteria to Borel’s Fantasy inspired by Lao-Tse’s philosophy, examining some of the phrases that are most likely to amaze or mislead the hasty or unsympathetic reader, and “scandalize” the malicious one. When the old Sage says “Joy is not real, not pain either,”[v] one must remember the deep sense that Orientals are accustomed to give to the word “Real.” According to them, Real is only that which is permanent, stable, unchanging and eternal; that is, the spiritual substance of the world and souls.
From this point of view, joy and sorrow may well be called “unreal,” without in any way denying the subjective existence of human suffering, its psychological reality, and without thereby diminishing the compassion it inspires, or the impulse to alleviate it. It only recognizes that joy and pain are transient reactions, temporary relations of harmony or disharmony between the individual and the world; states of fulfillment or unfulfillment of the tendencies, needs and aspirations in life. And this recognition of the relative and contingent character of personal pleasure and pain is a great help in freeing oneself from the attachments that enslave us, and the fears that torment and paralyze us.
In the same broad and superior way we should understand what the old Sage says about Love. While he seems at first to deny it, in reality he reveals its intimate nature, its profound essence, and raises a hymn to Love that is “transhumanized” and transfigured to a truly Platonic height.
To some it may seem a bitter and biting irony to speak of the world as “a great sanctuary, well-devised and surely-maintained as a strong, well-ordered house,”[vi] while it appears to us full of conflict and confusion, involved in complex and agitated troubles. But that statement, so contradicted by the appearances of the moment, may contain a higher truth, indeed it may indicate the deeper meaning and justification of our present troubles, as a “crisis of growth” — as an unconscious impulse to overcome the present conditions, and as a start toward a better and more harmonious order of life. It is the apparent chaos, the fruitful confusion of the building site where the “Sanctuary,” the “strong, well-ordered house” of the new Humanity, is being laboriously constructed.
These interpretations are confirmed by the pragmatic criterion mentioned above. The demeanor of the Sage, as reflected in the narrative, shows that his soul is by no means hard, cold or insensitive. He not only willingly imparts his spiritual treasures to the young European, but gives him small attentions and almost maternal care. Far from trying to violently detach him from ordinary life, as a fanatical and intransigent instructor might have tried to do, he sends him back into the world to have the experiences he still needs, to complete his inner development. And he shows him his paternal affection by sweetening the pain of separation with the generous gift of the admirable work of art that was so dear to him…
Let us free ourselves once and for all from the false and harmful preconception that spiritual concepts make us inhuman and separate from life; instead, they reveal to us the true meaning of ourselves, of others and of the world, and help us to live more wisely, more nobly, more generously.
[i] Giulio Cesare Andrea Evola (1898-1974), Italian philosopher. —Ed.
[ii] Available in English as Wu Wei: A Phantasy Based on the Philosophy of Lao-Tse by Henri Borel. This book was originally published in Dutch and translated into English in 1903, and revised editions appeared later. Lao-Tse (a.k.a. Laozi or Lao Tzu, etc.) was a semi-legendary Chinese philosopher, author of the Tao Te Ching, the foundational text of Taoism. He may have lived in the 6th century BC. —Ed.
[iii] Henri Borel (1869-1933) was first a Dutch government official for Chinese affairs in the Dutch East Indies, later a journalist, author and poet who published numerous books on China and Chinese subjects. —Ed.
[iv] Giulio Cesare Andrea Evola (1898-1974), Italian philosopher. —Ed.
[v] Original English from Page 15, Third revised edition of Wu Wei, 1911, Theosophical Publishing House, New York. —Ed.
[vi] Ibid. p. 61. —Ed.
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