Benjamin Hoff wasn’t the first writer to try to popularize Taoism in the U.S., but he was one of the most popular. When he started writing in the early 1980s, consumerism had reached unprecedented levels, new technologies had started transforming the economy, and a political consensus had long since formed to protect American capitalism. But Hoff rejected these trends, which he viewed as evidence of Western culture’s moral corruption. In The Tao of Pooh, he argues that American culture is built on a dangerous obsession with conquering, owning, and changing the world. But he believes that Eastern wisdom—in the form of Taoism—can save it. Hoff argues that Taoism can teach Westerners to start prioritizing “wisdom and contentment” over knowledge and power by showing them the beauty in the world that they have long been trying to destroy.
Hoff suggests that people in industrialized Western countries like the U.S. live unnatural lives because they pursue happiness by doing, achieving, and consuming more and more—instead of less and less. Hoff calls these people Bisy Backsons, after a note that Christopher Robin leaves on his door in the Winnie-the-Pooh books. (Christopher writes “BISY / BACKSON” instead of “BUSY / BACK SOON.”) Because of their distorted mindset, Hoff argues, Bisy Backsons lead “almost desperately active” lives. They try to see, do, and change as much as they possibly can—and they become stressed, rootless, and miserable as a result. For example, Hoff argues that Americans care so much about efficiency that they spend all their time working to buy appliances and technologies that are supposed to save them time. Paradoxically, Bisy Backsons become miserable by endlessly pursuing things they think will make them happy. In fact, they’re locked in a pointless fight against nature—including both the natural world and human nature. Because they are always trying to achieve some important goal, they never slow down to appreciate the world or reflect on what truly makes them happy. This is a problem because, according to Taoist thinkers like Chuang-tse, people are happiest when they live lives of quiet reflection in harmony with nature. Chuang-tse tells a parable about a man who dies trying to run away from his shadow, and Hoff compares this to the way Bisy Backsons run around working, exercising, and fighting against nature. This mindset breeds unhappiness, but it’s more and more common in the modern world.
Hoff blames American culture for turning people into Bisy Backsons, but he thinks that Taoism can correct it. Specifically, he argues that contemporary Western societies falsely promise people a “Great Reward” for their work. In the U.S., people often justify their hard work in the name of a bigger paycheck, better house, or some other kind of future success “around the next corner.” Americans think that this kind of success will make them happy, Hoff explains, but it’s not possible to “buy Happiness and Importance.” Instead, Taoists know that true happiness comes from understanding the way of the universe (or Tao) and acting in harmony with it. This is within everyone’s reach, if only they’re willing to reevaluate their priorities. But in the modern world, few people are. However, this doesn’t mean that the Bisy Backson mindset is new. In fact, it has a long history. Hoff points out how Americans have made the same mistakes as the Bisy Backson throughout U.S. history: they have tried to conquer nature and earn a profit, instead of embracing nature and earning happiness. First, “The Miserable Puritan” settled the New World, killed its inhabitants, and tried to conquer it through ill-suited agricultural techniques. (Ironically, Hoff points out, most of the Puritans died of hunger, while their Native American counterparts grew plenty of food by farming in harmony with the land.) Later, “The Restless Pioneer” and “The Lonely Cowboy” repeated this same formula: hoping to become rich and powerful, they stole others’ land and manipulated it in unnatural ways. Today, the Bisy Backsons who work in downtown office buildings and run around in city parks are doing a version of the same thing: desperately trying to maximize their success by earning, owning, and influencing as much as they possibly can. To Hoff, this deeply-rooted Bisy Backson mindset is the opposite of the Taoist mindset. Bisy Backsons look for happiness by owning and controlling nature, while Taoists actually find happiness by respecting and cooperating with nature. This is why Hoff thinks Taoism can turn Bisy Backsons into enlightened sages. He believes that, as Taoists learn to respect both human nature and the natural world, they can teach others to do the same. Over time, Hoff hopes, they can reorient American culture towards the values that truly make people happy.
Hoff certainly wants to help individual people better understand and connect with the world, and the changes he proposes largely start with individuals. However, he also emphasizes that the problems with modern Western culture are collective, and he firmly believes that Taoism can be a collective solution to these problems if enough people follow it. After all, as he points out in his introduction, there are already plenty of Western Taoists out there—including Pooh Bear. The Bisy Backsons just need to know where to look.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Western Culture and Eastern Wisdom ThemeTracker
Western Culture and Eastern Wisdom Quotes in The Tao of Pooh
“What’s that?” the Unbeliever asked.
“Wisdom from a Western Taoist,” I said.
“It sounds like something from Winnie-the-Pooh,” he said.
“It is,” I said.
“That’s not about Taoism,” he said.
“Oh, yes it is,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” he said.
“What do you think it’s about?” I said.
“It’s about this dumpy little bear that wanders around asking silly questions, making up songs, and going through all kinds of adventures, without ever accumulating any amount of intellectual knowledge or losing his simpleminded sort of happiness. That’s what it’s about,” he said.
“Same thing,” I said.
The essence of the principle of the Uncarved Block is that things in their original simplicity contain their own natural power, power that is easily spoiled and lost when that simplicity is changed.
There was a man who disliked seeing his footprints and his shadow. He decided to escape from them, and began to run. But as he ran along, more footprints appeared, while his shadow easily kept up with him. Thinking he was going too slowly, he ran faster and faster without stopping, until he finally collapsed from exhaustion and died.
If he had stood still, there would have been no footprints. If he had rested in the shade, his shadow would have disappeared.
Let’s put it this way: if you want to be healthy, relaxed, and contented, just watch what a Bisy Backson does and then do the opposite. There’s one now, pacing back and forth, jingling the loose coins in his pocket, nervously glancing at his watch. He makes you feel tired just looking at him. The chronic Backson always seems to have to be going somewhere, at least on a superficial, physical level. He doesn’t go out for a walk, though; he doesn’t have time.
Our Bisy Backson religions, sciences, and business ethics have tried their hardest to convince us that there is a Great Reward waiting for us somewhere, and that what we have to do is spend our lives working like lunatics to catch up with it. Whether it’s up in the sky, behind the next molecule, or in the executive suite, it’s somehow always farther along than we are—just down the road, on the other side of the world, past the moon, beyond the stars…
“I was having an awful dream,” [Pooh] said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’d found a jar of honey…,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s awful about that?” I asked.
“It kept moving,” said Pooh. “They’re not supposed to do that. They’re supposed to sit still.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But whenever I reached for it, this jar of honey would sort of go someplace else.”
“A nightmare,” I said.
“Lots of people have dreams like that,” I added reassuringly.
“Oh,” said Pooh. “About Unreachable jars of honey?”
“About the same sort of thing,” I said. “That’s not unusual. The odd thing, though, is that some people live like that.”
“Why?” asked Pooh.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose because it gives them Something to Do.”
“It doesn’t sound like much fun to me,” said Pooh.
No, it doesn’t.
From the Miserable Puritan came the Restless Pioneer, and from him, the Lonely Cowboy, always riding off into the sunset, looking for something just down the trail. From this rootless, dissatisfied ancestry has come the Bisy Backson, who, like his forefathers, has never really felt at home, at peace, with this Friendly Land.
[…]
The Backson thinks of progress in terms of fighting and overcoming. One of his little idiosyncrasies, you might say. Of course, real progress involves growing and developing, which involves changing inside, but that’s something the inflexible Backson is unwilling to do. The urge to grow and develop, present in all forms of life, becomes perverted in the Bisy Backson’s mind into a constant struggle to change everything (the Bulldozer Backson) and everyone (the Bigoted Backson) else but himself, and interfere with things he has no business interfering with, including practically every form of life on earth.
The goal has to be right for us, and it has to be beneficial, in order to ensure a beneficial process. But aside from that, it’s really the process that’s important. Enjoyment of the process is the secret that erases the myths of the Great Reward and Saving Time. Perhaps this can help to explain the everyday significance of the word Tao, the Way.
What could we call that moment before we begin to eat the honey? Some would call it anticipation, but we think it’s more than that. We would call it awareness. It’s when we become happy and realize it, if only for an instant. By Enjoying the Process, we can stretch that awareness out so that it’s no longer only a moment, but covers the whole thing. Then we can have a lot of fun. Just like Pooh.
The end of the cycle is that of the independent, clear-minded, all-seeing Child. That is the level known as wisdom. When the Tao Te Ching and other wise books say things like, “Return to the beginning; become a child again,” that’s what they’re referring to. Why do the enlightened seem filled with light and happiness, like children? Why do they sometimes even look and talk like children? Because they are. The wise are Children Who Know.
The one chance we have to avoid certain disaster is to change our approach, and to learn to value wisdom and contentment. These are the things that are being searched for anyway, through Knowledge and Cleverness, but they do not come from Knowledge and Cleverness. They never have, and they never will. We can no longer afford to look so desperately hard for something in the wrong way and in the wrong place. If Knowledge and Cleverness are allowed to go on wrecking things, they will before much longer destroy all life on earth as we know it, and what little may temporarily survive will not be worth looking at, even if it would somehow be possible for us to do so.
Within each of us there is an Owl, a Rabbit, an Eeyore, and a Pooh. For too long, we have chosen the way of Owl and Rabbit. Now, like Eeyore, we complain about the results. But that accomplishes nothing. If we are smart, we will choose the way of Pooh. As if from far away, it calls to us with the voice of a child’s mind. It may be hard to hear at times, but it is important just the same, because without it, we will never find our way through the Forest.
