Every Friday afternoon for a few months, I've been logging onto Zoom to take a course in ancient Chinese philosophy. You know, Confucius, and Lao-Tse, and so forth. Guys whose aphorisms decorated posters and t-shirts in the '70's, and now appear in one guise or another on Instagram. Plus ça change…
Well, you know, when ideas stick around for thousands of years, there really has to be something there, no?
One of these aphorisms, a story really, is about Butcher Ding. He is called to slaughter a huge ox as part of a ritual (vegans: this is mostly symbolic!), and as a master butcher and swordsman,
"Ding’s body and blade move in such perfect harmony that a seemingly mundane task is turned into an artistic performance.”
(from the book “Trying Not to Try" by Edward Slingerland, 2014).
Butcher Ding’s dexterity and calm focus are manifestations of the concept of effortless action known as wu-wei in Chinese, which is of foremost importance to Daoist thought, written up by Zhuangzi (c. 396 BC - c. 286 BC) in the book of the same title.
The Butcher Ding story, wherein a huge ox is slaughtered without struggle or false move, reminded me instantly of a favorite musician friend, not coincidentally a Chinese violinist, XD. The effortless movements of his bow across the strings, all redundant movement eliminated, leave only immediacy and spontaneity of expression; the desire of his musical imagination connects directly to the sonic output of his violin.
The Butcher Ding story came relatively early on in the syllabus of the course. At that point, we five students (there was a larger cohort studying in-person, in New York) were fairly swimming in a sea of confusion, compounded (ironically) by our desire to understand everything immediately and by constant run-ins with paradox. Could someone please explain all this?
However, by the time we were nearing the end of the course, and our reading assignments had shifted from grittier texts about modern neuroscience (which aligns with the ancient Chinese thinkers) and the above-quoted book by Slingerland to the more-familiar “Zen in the Art of Archery” (Eugen Herrigel, 1948) and “The Tao of Pooh” (Benjamin Hoff, 1982), I realized I was in the presence of another “Butcher Ding”: the course teacher, Mary Padilla.
A “Butcher Ding” with two swords, no less! Week by week she presented each Chinese aphorism accompanied by one of her beautiful abstract calligraphies. Explaining their expressiveness—each week there were fifteen or twenty unique calligraphies—she told about their creation: brief but regular sessions with a calligraphist, entering the contemplative frame of mind, and executing a single calligraphy with non-thinking abandon (wu-wei). The calligraphy executes itself, you might say. In the lingo of neuroscience, “hot cognition”.
In this way, we proceeded to read the aphorisms and look at the beautiful “calligraphy”. Mary never tried to cram the knowledge into us. Many of the aphorisms left us perplexed—the ancient Chinese philosophers do love a good paradox—and we floundered collectively trying to figure them out. No matter: stay calm and carry on.
Eventually, we stopped trying so much, and that is when the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place, the ideas of each philosopher coming more clearly into focus. Something like the title of a Carl Nielsen piece: “The Fog is Lifting”. We gave up trying to see, and the fog lifted.
This is the non-end-gaining “way”, the path, the Dao: prepare the terrain, don’t force, let things grow in their own good time. Stated thusly, it seems like a perfectly natural method, yet, as anyone who lives in the 21st century knows, it is far from common! I am thinking of schools and governments and people: impatience to reach the stated goal reigns supreme! Butcher Ding, in contrast, before his work, prepared his mind and body (same thing) as long as was needed, and then let the right moves happen. The violinist X.D. prepares—as much as needed but no more—and then lets the music sound.
The wu-wei, Daoist, non-end-gaining way is a rare delight. Spoiled, I have had the pleasure of such teaching elsewhere (let’s call him Pedro), and I count myself a lucky person for it. I count that my “cup runneth over”, in fact.
To be like Butcher Ding, you must prepare thoroughly, for sure. And then you must wait patiently for the right conditions, both internal and external. The result will look—and be—effortless.
It is a marvel to behold; thank you, Mary. Next up: Jane Austen!