Being kissed by a paradox-flavored consciousness, however, is not for everybody. More than 2,000 years ago, a master of paradox named Lao Tzu wrote, “My teachings are very easy to understand and very easy to practice, but no one can understand them and no one can practice them.”
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In a similar spirit, the Friedrich Nietzsche masterpiece
Thus Spoke Zarathustra
is subtitled “A Book for All and None.” What these sly old foxes were trying to tell us, in their typical tongue-in-cheek style, is that the deepest secrets of life are theoretically accessible to everyone, but most people will never be able to grasp them since they are hopelessly addicted to a dualistic mentality. And this leaves them ill equipped to be able to embrace the paradoxical nature of the universe.
Being too afraid of ambiguity and disorder, and too confused by a messy, constantly changing reality, the majority of human
beings find solace in breaking things down into neatly divided, easily understood categories: God or the Devil, reason or faith, earthly or heavenly, feminine or masculine, good or evil, physical or spiritual, mind or matter, natural or man-made. These binary opposites comfort them and help them make order out of chaos. They simplify existence and make it predictable. Too bad the result is not simple as much as simplistic. The natural order of things is infinitely more intricate, more dynamic, and more alive than some people would like to think. It can't be made to fit into a black-and-white theoretical model.
As Gregory Bateson indicated, the combination of powerful technologies and the dependence on a dualistic worldview is a recipe for disaster.
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The inflexible lines we draw between binary opposites reinforce a way of thinking built on separation. Trusting the reassuring lies of dualism, we end up truly believing our souls to be at war with our bodies, or strength to be incompatible with flexibility and tenderness. Worse yet, we forget how everything is interconnected; and this illusion to exist apart from nature leads to the destruction of the very things that make life possible. From quantum physics to ecology, modern sciences are showing us with increasing clarity how dangerously misguided the illusion of separation is. Many of the problems we face today find their roots here.
Paradox, then, is not just a rebellious act of provocation, or a middle finger raised toward common sense. Rather, our little ninja is the philosophical stance most in tune with the process of life itself. It moves to the beat of the universe. It's the key to the deepest and most advanced form of consciousness. Paradox is the perfect antidote against the artificial, “common sense” categories of a world where everything is segregated. This is why I wield paradox as a weapon, administer it as medicine, and place it at the center of my own
religion. It is a way to free us from the shackles of dualism and awaken us to more enlightened modes of perception.
No symbol captures the spirit of paradox as well as the Taoist Yin-Yang. Every time I look at it, I gain new insight into how this seemingly silly circle applies to everything that exists, and I never fail to be amazed by the genius of the Chinese man or woman—whose name is now lost in history—who first came up with it.
At first, the stark contrast between the black and white halves of the circle may make us think we are staring at a dualistic image. Like many other religions and philosophies, it seems to divide the world in warring camps between cosmically opposing forces: mutually incompatible energies fighting for supremacy. This would actually be true if the circle were divided by a straight line, forcing Yin and Yang to stare at each other across a symbolic Berlin Wall. But rather than standing on opposite sides of a battle line, Yin and Yang get to make out thanks to the soft, sensual curve marking their very flexible borders. By substituting the straight line with a curve, Yin and Yang see encounters and possibilities where others see potential conflict—interconnectedness rather than separation. To further underscore this idea, a dot of white plays in the black field, and a dot of black enjoys similar hospitality in the white field.
Life, Yin and Yang are trying to tell us, is just a lot more fun when we give opposite energies a chance to dance together. This may sound scandalous and counterintuitive to a rigid, linear logic, but paradox
is not so stiff. “Do you want this
or
that?” linear logic asks us, trying to blackmail us into picking between mutually exclusive choices. “Both,” answers paradox. “The answer is always both.”
The either/or approach restricts our options and forces us to stick to a fixed formula. The both approach reveals that so-called mutually exclusive choices are not so exclusive after all, but rather they complement each other. As my father writes, once we substitute “or” with “and” our mental horizons will widen, and nothing will ever be the same.
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Anytime we are asked to choose between a healthy body or a healthy mind, creativity or logic, laughter or single-minded seriousness, happiness or success, the ability to see the big picture or specialized knowledge, our answer should always be “both.” The only thing we gain by picking one at the expense of the other is turning into a stereotype. This is what gives birth to the suicidal dichotomies we witness everyday: the trashy, spectacular pop vulgarity of reality shows pit against the gray, boring stuff that makes up “high” intellectual culture; spineless liberals against fascist conservatives; the paralyzing futility of relativism against the freedom-squashing power of dogma; Britney Spears against the Pope. Always two sides of the same sad coin.
The original meaning of the Sanskrit term “yoga” is “to join together,” and this is exactly what paradox invites us to do. The door to a richer, brighter world is opened by a talent for uniting what most people keep divided. Every page of this book is an arrow aimed at this target. The human being my religion wishes to cultivate is physical, spiritual, and intellectual at the same time. A child born from the union of heaven and earth, he or she is optimistic and realistic, visionary and pragmatic, scientific and mystical, sweet and tough. Imperturbable calmness goes hand in hand with adrenaline, delicate sensitivity with an iron will. Speaking of this human being,
Nietzsche wrote, “in him [or her] all opposites are fused together into a new unity.”
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And then again, “Sharp and mild, rough and fine, strange and familiar, impure and clean, a place where fool and sage convene: all this I am and wish to mean.”
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Once we finally kick the addiction to a worldview built on binary opposites, we are free to forge a richer, more complete personality. A healthy religion should constantly encourage us to develop the ability to embody talents that seemingly don't go together.
This is what I try to do in my own life. By nature, I'm extremely sensitive, nonconfrontational, relaxed, and somewhat nerdy. So when I first picked up martial arts, I was immediately attracted to styles emphasizing these qualities, such as Tai Chi or Aikido. But I quickly realized that dedicating myself to these arts would be overkill. They would only help me become more of what I already was. Training felt comfortable and familiar but didn't really push me to grow beyond my natural boundaries. What I needed was to add an edge to my personality. What I needed was to put it all on the line confronting fear and danger. What I needed was assertiveness and toughness. My Yin nature needed to be enriched with a Yang practice: less aesthetic beauty and philosophy, and more muscle and sweat. Accordingly, I traded gentle, soft, internal arts for the hyperaggressive, competitive, testosterone-laden world of combat sports—anything from boxing to wrestling, from submission grappling to mixed martial arts. All-out combat became my spiritual practice. Had I possessed these qualities to begin with, I would have followed the opposite path, and balanced natural toughness with styles teaching me to be flexible and yielding. No two people should follow the exact same formula. The only rule is to find whichever path can make
you
more complete and well-rounded.
Fairly often, I run into people I should theoretically feel a bond with—people who seem to share many of my ideas. Instead, my first instinct is to take off in the opposite direction, to run for my life. My reaction usually strikes me as being horribly unfair. After all, these are people who strive to be kind to others rather than kill them over ideological differences. They try to develop a healthy relationship with their bodies rather than eating crap all day long. They protect nature rather than destroying it. And for the most part, they wouldn't dream of restricting my freedom of choice. So, why do they bug me so much then? I'm afraid my taste for paradox is to blame.
Too often, plenty of people try far too hard to live up to an idealized image of what being “spiritual” is supposed to be about. When I listen to them speak, even when I agree with the content, I still smell too much effort in their words. Their actions and demeanor always strike me as a bit contrived. Rather than being something that they learned naturally along with how to wipe their ass and play in the mud, spirituality to them is a mystical discovery, a special, sacred state of consciousness entirely distinguished from everyday life. But as Gary Snyder says, “I don't know that I like the idea of distinguishing between the sacred and the non-sacred.”
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Actually, now that I think about it, Gary Snyder is too polite. Unlike his somewhat tentative answer, I am totally and completely turned off by the division between sacred and mundane. It seems unnatural and perverse. Real spirituality is not some esoteric state, high up in the clouds, removed from worldly concerns. Real spirituality is found in how you get up in the morning, how you walk, talk, breathe, smile, fight, and burp. Real spirituality doesn't require a special sacred lingo, and it most certainly doesn't need all this
self-importance. The real thing doesn't even bother considering itself “spiritual.” “Spiritual . . . as opposed to what?” it asks innocently. Paradox frowns on separating spirituality from every other aspect of life.
This division opens the door to a whole set of other problems. By cultivating soft, yielding, flexible, nurturing qualities while neglecting to feed fighting spirit, fearlessness, and an indomitable will, most of these people usually end up being too one-sided. Their energy is all Yin and no Yang. They are typically nice, gentle, good-natured individuals, and even though this is highly preferable to mean, rude, obnoxious jerks, it still lacks something. No fire burns in their eyes. Not enough intensity shaking them to the core. No overwhelming passion threatening to tear them apart if it doesn't find an outlet. This is why many women find bad boys more attractive than sweet, mellow ones. It's as if their peaceful disposition came at the price of losing strength and power. Their emotions are too tame for my taste—too domesticated. I simply can't quite relate to people who have never felt the need to drive their fist through a glass door (yeah, about that . . . I'm still sorry about your door, mom . . .). I would appreciate them a whole lot more if a raw, barbaric streak rounded out their spirituality. The day these delicate souls are able to talk about “positive energy” while singing an Eminem song is when I'll gain a new level of respect for them.
And so here we are, stuck with the inevitable dichotomy that's bound to happen wherever paradox is not welcome. Some of the nicest and most sensitive people around are too soft to manage our collective reality, too lost in their own inner world to have any meaningful impact, whereas typically the most effective and driven have the discipline and the lucidity to get things done, but little empathy
or vision. What we need instead is a paradoxical recipe mixing heart and muscle, sweetness and toughness, flexibility and strong values. Paradox is the magic potion necessary to heal ourselves and the world around us.
As an added bonus to its many practical advantages, paradox rescues us from a lifetime of staleness and dullness. Even the greatest qualities, in fact, become painfully boring if they are not spiced up with a touch of unpredictability. As much good press as it gets, perfection makes us yawn. You always know what to expect from it. No surprises, no mystery, no excitement. Paradox, on the other hand, keeps stirring the pot. No one can guess what it will come up with. Like Shiva, it has many arms so as to be able to touch all aspects of life. It is not perfect, but it's complete. It is not consistent, but it's whole. It is not the best in a single field of knowledge, but it can play in all fields. Drawing from the totality of experience, it balances within the same individual radically different qualities.
This balance I speak of is not some middle-of-the-road, moderate compromise between opposites. Too often, moderation turns out to be a fancy name for mediocrity. No, what we are talking about here is the ability to experience both extremes (and everything in between) without ever losing our balance. Have you ever watched a surfer riding the waves or an acrobat walking on a tightrope? If they always tried to stay in the middle, they would inevitably fall. Real balance is more dynamic than that. Surfers and acrobats are constantly off balance, in one direction or another, but they always know how to adjust with a move in the opposite direction. Knowing
the exact moment to make the adjustment is what separates a great surfer from someone who will scrape the bottom of the ocean and turn into food for the fish.
This ability to read the present situation and adapt accordingly is what can allow us to flow through the complexities of life without ever falling prey to dogma. Dogma, in fact, thrives on a rigid, inflexible commitment to a fixed formula. Fear of losing perspective and being unprepared when Destiny throws us a curveball makes the apparent solidity of dogma appealing. Paradox, instead, gives us no such reassurance, for it knows that no unchanging rule can prepare us to face a world that's constantly changing. But it does offer us the confidence to know that no matter how the universe will push us around, we can use the vast range of choices at our disposal to find a way to keep riding the wave. Whereas dogma can only be rigid, paradox is so flexible that it can even afford to be rigid at times, but only when the present situation calls for it. With no allegiance to any doctrine or method, paradox is free to tackle reality as it sees fit.