The Nature of Being

The Earthsea Cycle: The Farthest Shore

“When I was young, I had to choose between the life of being and the life of doing.  And I leapt at the latter like a trout to a fly.  But each deed you do, each act, binds you to itself and to its consequences, and makes you act again and yet again.  Then very seldom do you come upon a space, a time like this, between act and act, when you may stop and simply be.  Or wonder who, after all, you are.”

‘To be or not to be?’ really is the question, it would seem.  Thank goodness for that!  For I must confess, I do like to playfully potter my way through life.  I am not a workaholic.  I’m not a perfectionist.  I am not successful.  Yet, stuff gets done.  Songs are born.  Words are written.  Students learn things (sometimes).  And it generally feels quite good, drifting and dreaming, merrily merrily down the stream of consciousness. 

Unless… of course… I fight my nature, flee my natural habitats, or force myself upstream.  And in such unnatural states, of doing-not-being, striving-not-thriving, I am not so energised, fruitful and playful.  I am not so productive and prolific.  I am stressed-out, busy and bothered.  I spend more.  Consume more.  Sabotage more.  I am not operating from my natural springs within; from the integrity of who I am, or who I was made to be.

It’s possibly quite old-fashioned to speak of things having natures.  And I can see the appeal in the more Modern (and Post-Modern) perspective.  It feels empowering and liberating.  It appears enlightened and progressive to deconstruct and dismantle all the so-called-natural-laws (understandably so, especially considering the past’s horrifically damaging conclusions of what is natural:  justifying slavery, sexism, and homophobia).  There is something seductively purifying about starting from such a philosophical blank slate, free from any fundamental rules.  I have more than dabbled in this ideology.  I have even defended and promoted it.

But it doesn’t work.  Because there is such a thing as nature.  And accepting this fact, might help us with our identity crisis, health crisis, and environmental crisis.  We can’t Just Do It, as Nike insist; or Have It Your Way, as Burger King command; or Do What You Can’t (say Samsung); or Move The Way You Want, with Uber; or Belong Anywhere, at Airbnb…

I’m not sure we can just Pick ‘n’ Mix our way through the world, just doing, not being.  Acting as though there are very few natural constraints.  Although, I know we have the freedom to have a good go, and nature, of course, is always evolving.  Thank goodness.  Trial and error is definitely my way.  Live and learn.  I very rarely learn and live, sadly!  But, like all other natural organisms, such as plants, we can’t just disregard our natures, and uproot and re-plant anywhere we choose.  Of course, some plants are hardier than others, and could possibly survive, even thrive, in diverse conditions (and I know there are other creative-pursuits, careers and contexts I might thrive in – I have my eye on one or two for my older years, if I make it that long).  But some folk demand very particular soils and sunlight, and would undoubtedly die in certain fields of interest.  We can’t just put anything into our bodies, or push our bodies into anything (or our minds, for that matter). 

And so, I believe, it is time for our Teachers, Leaders and Healers to help us ‘Know Thyself’ more (one of the oldest philosophical maxims, inscribed upon The Temple of Apollo in the ancient Greek precinct of Delphi), rather than teach us the egotistical consumer fallacy that we can do as we choose:  The world is my oyster. 

I think it is interesting how this saying has mysteriously evolved from its original appearance in Shakespeare’s comedy, The Merry Wives of Windsor.  It’s slightly misquoted now, as is so often the case with Shakespeare references that become English idioms.  The actual quote is ‘The world’s mine oyster.’

Shakespeare re-introduces one of his most popular characters, Sir John Falstaff, as a con man, planning to con two Windsor women out of their money.  He has his usual disreputables around him, among them a man called Pistol who utters the immortal line ‘the world’s mine oyster’ during a conversation about money.  The conversation goes:

Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.

Pistol: Why then the world’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.

Falstaff: Not a penny. 

It’s clear that the original metaphor of the world being an oyster had violent connotations.  If you don’t give me money, I will have no alternative than to use violence to get it.  I will get what I want by robbery and murder.  There is also a veiled threat against Falstaff personally, from this thoroughly disreputable man, Pistol.

And, I think this violent, egotistical, consumer ideology is spreading across our world like the mysterious plague consuming Earthsea in Ursula Le Guin’s The Farthest Shore, my favourite book of The Earthsea Cycles:

The magic is disappearing; songs are being forgotten; people and animals are sickening or going mad; and folk are losing the skills and knowledge that make everyday life possible.  The young prince of Enlad, Arren, was tasked by his father to bring the issue to Ged (our hero of The Wizard of Earthsea, and liberator in The Tombs of Atuan), now middle-aged and the Archmage of Roke.  Together, they travel to the farthest isle and into the land of the dead to stop Cob, the mage responsible for the growing malaise.  Indeed, the plague was ultimately caused by Cob’s unnatural desire for immortality.  With Arren’s help, Ged restores the world, but at the cost of his powers that defined him as an adult.  And so, Ged, finished with doing, goes back home to Gont to walk amongst its trees.  To be. 

For me, Cob represents my egotistical desire to transcend nature.  And perhaps reveals the disconcerting truth that many of my plans, prayers and pursuits are actually unconscious attempts to achieve immortality itself.  And like with Cob, such a view of Salvation has had hugely damaging implications for how I treat nature, both my own, and the wider natural environment.  Indeed, a large part of my religious instruction and education has made a virtue of fighting against nature, seeing ourselves and our world as fallen, and something incidental compared to an eternal after-life.  I have been led and taught by many men who have fought their sexual natures, creative natures, questioning natures, sensitive natures, imaginative natures, solitary natures, romantic natures, introverted natures, intellectual natures, wild natures, and so on.  Praising others to do the same.  Indeed, so many heroes of my inherited faith tradition were hailed as saintly because they sacrificed nature.  We even killed the wizards and witches of our beautiful islands (those who lived well with the natural rhythms and rhymes) all in the name of Immortality.  Our Secular Consumer Religion is no better.  It also impels us to sacrifice our natures, and our natural environments, to meet the demands of market forces, cultural currents, and social-status-sensibilities. 

I want to be more like Ged as I navigate the malaise of middle-age.  For me, he represents my soul.  My true self.  Who I am when I surrender to being.  Surrender to nature.  Accept the gift of life, and therefore, death (you can’t have one without the other, after all).  And reject the fads and forces of our omnipotent markets, whether Online or in our falling Temples.

Ged is like a wise Taoist master.  Indeed, many of his reflections in The Farthest Shore remind me of the Taoist concept of Wu wei (non-doing / doing-nothing / effortless action), and Le Guin was certainly influenced by this rich Eastern philosophy. 

Fear not, productive folk of earth, Wu wei is not an invitation to apathy and laziness.  It is more a call to flow like water; to meander, fall, and bubble like our rivers, waterfalls, and streams; and to not assert our rigid wills, minds and bodies upon the natural rhythms of reality.  If we are too unyielding, we will break.  Mind, body, and spirit.  And yes, water may seem a little soft and soggy, but the truth is:  water cannot be surpassed for its power to navigate and erode the hardest of rocks and obstacles; finding all manner of loopholes, caveats and outlets.  It is the master of being.  Yes, it might sometimes appear like it’s rushing, but it is just going with the flow.

This all puts to mind a poem, Fluent, by John O’Donohue, who I had the privilege of seeing and hearing many years ago, and whose writing has had a huge impact on my life.  I think it is suitably short for a post about being, nature, and effortless action.  And it’s not a bad prayer for our weary minds, bodies, and Earth:

‘I would love to live

Like a river flows,

Carried by the surprise

Of its own unfolding’

Amen