Edward Slingerland – Trying Not to Try: Book Review & Audio Summary

Book Info

• Book name: Trying Not to Try: The Counterintuitive Path to Living a Good Life
• Author: Edward Slingerland
• Genre: Social Sciences & Humanities (Psychology, Philosophy, Sociology), Self-Help & Personal Development
• Pages: 416
• Published Year: 2014
• Publisher: Pantheon Books
• Language: English
• Awards: Winner of the 2015 Nautilus Book Award in the category of Eastern Spirituality

Audio Summary

Synopsis

In “Trying Not to Try,” Edward Slingerland explores the ancient Chinese concept of wu-wei—effortless action—and its relevance to our stress-filled modern lives. Drawing from classical Chinese philosophy and contemporary neuroscience, Slingerland examines how thinkers like Confucius, Laozi, and Zhuangzi approached the paradox of spontaneity: how can we be natural when trying to be natural is inherently artificial? Through engaging stories and scientific research, he reveals how achieving a state of effortless flow can transform our work, relationships, and overall happiness. This fascinating blend of East and West offers practical wisdom for anyone seeking authenticity, charisma, and purpose in an increasingly complicated world.

Key Takeaways

• Wu-wei, or effortless action, represents a state where mind and body unite, allowing us to act with intelligent spontaneity rather than forced effort
• Different Chinese philosophical schools—Taoism and Confucianism—offer contrasting yet complementary paths to achieving spontaneity and authenticity
• Modern neuroscience validates ancient wisdom, showing how our unconscious mind can guide us toward more effective and genuine behavior
• Cultivating de (charisma and virtue) through wu-wei makes us naturally attractive and influential without manipulation or pretense
• The paradox of trying not to try reveals why our culture’s emphasis on constant striving often backfires, leaving us stressed and disconnected

My Summary

The Paradox That’s Been Hiding in Plain Sight

I’ll be honest—when I first picked up Edward Slingerland’s “Trying Not to Try,” I thought I was in for another dry academic treatise on Eastern philosophy. Boy, was I wrong. This book tackles something we’ve all experienced but rarely articulate: that frustrating moment when trying harder makes things worse. You know what I’m talking about—forcing yourself to relax before a big presentation, trying to be charming at a networking event, or willing yourself to fall asleep when insomnia strikes.

Slingerland, a professor of Asian studies at the University of British Columbia, has done something remarkable here. He’s taken concepts from ancient Chinese philosophy that are over two thousand years old and shown how they speak directly to our modern struggles with authenticity, burnout, and the constant pressure to perform. What makes this book special isn’t just the philosophy—it’s how he bridges it with contemporary cognitive science and psychology to show us why these ancient insights actually work.

What Wu-Wei Really Means (And Why You’ve Probably Experienced It)

The central concept of the book is wu-wei, which Slingerland translates as “effortless action” or “trying not to try.” It’s that magical state where you’re completely absorbed in what you’re doing—when a writer loses track of time while the words flow effortlessly, when an athlete performs at their peak without overthinking, or when a conversation with a friend feels natural and unforced.

What struck me most about Slingerland’s explanation is how he describes wu-wei as the union of mind and body. We typically think of our rational mind as separate from our instinctive, bodily self. The mind plans and thinks; the body acts and feels. But wu-wei dissolves this boundary. When you’re in this state, you’re not thinking about what you’re doing—you’re simply doing it, guided by a kind of intelligent spontaneity.

The book includes a beautiful story from the Zhuangzi, a foundational Taoist text, about a woodcarver who creates ornate bell stands. Before beginning his work, he fasts for seven days until his mind becomes so still that he forgets his body exists. Then he enters the forest and finds the one tree that already contains the bell stand—he just needs to reveal it. This isn’t about magical thinking; it’s about reaching a state where your conscious interference steps aside and allows your deeper wisdom to guide you.

I found myself thinking about my own experiences with writing. There are days when every sentence feels like pulling teeth—I’m hyper-aware of my word choices, second-guessing every paragraph, and the result is stilted and artificial. But then there are those rare, precious sessions when I sit down and the words just come. Hours pass in what feels like minutes, and when I read it back, it’s often my best work. That’s wu-wei in action.

The Power of De: Why Some People Just Have “It”

Closely connected to wu-wei is the concept of de, which Slingerland describes as a combination of power, virtue, and charisma. This is fascinating stuff. People who have achieved wu-wei naturally develop de—they become magnetic without trying to be. We’ve all met people like this: they walk into a room and everyone notices, not because they’re loud or showy, but because they have an authentic presence that draws people in.

What I love about Slingerland’s treatment of de is that he explains why we’re attracted to it. It’s not manipulation or learned techniques—it’s the opposite. We trust people with de because they’re acting from their unconscious mind, from genuine instinct rather than calculated strategy. There’s no hidden agenda, no performance, just authentic being.

In ancient China, rulers with de didn’t need to threaten or coerce—people naturally wanted to follow them. For regular folks, having de meant people liked you, felt comfortable around you, and trusted you instinctively. Slingerland even mentions the belief that animals wouldn’t attack someone with de, which sounds mystical but actually points to something real: animals are incredibly sensitive to authentic versus threatening energy.

This connects to modern research on charisma and influence. Studies show that people who are comfortable in their own skin, who aren’t trying too hard to impress, are consistently rated as more trustworthy and likeable. The corporate world is full of people trying to “fake it till they make it,” but research suggests that genuine confidence (which comes from wu-wei) beats performed confidence every time.

Two Paths Up the Same Mountain: Taoism vs. Confucianism

One of the most enlightening aspects of “Trying Not to Try” is how Slingerland presents different Chinese philosophical approaches to achieving wu-wei. It’s not one-size-fits-all, and that’s refreshing.

The Taoist approach, associated with thinkers like Laozi and Zhuangzi, emphasizes naturalness and spontaneity. Taoists believed you achieve wu-wei by getting out of your own way—by reducing artificial constraints, simplifying your life, and aligning with the natural flow of the universe (the Tao). The woodcarver story I mentioned earlier is pure Taoism: empty your mind, trust your instincts, and let the work emerge naturally.

But Confucius had a completely different take, and honestly, his approach resonated with me more than I expected. Confucianism doesn’t trust raw naturalness. Instead, Confucius believed you achieve wu-wei through rigorous training, practice, and cultivation. It’s like learning to play piano—at first, you’re painfully conscious of every finger movement, but with enough practice, you eventually play complex pieces without thinking about it. The conscious effort transforms into unconscious mastery.

Confucian rituals were central to this approach. These weren’t empty ceremonies but carefully designed practices that trained people in proper behavior until it became second nature. A child who’s taught to ask about their parents’ health multiple times daily is learning care and attentiveness through repetition until it becomes genuine habit.

What’s brilliant about Slingerland’s presentation is that he doesn’t declare one approach superior. Some people might achieve wu-wei through the Taoist path of simplification and letting go. Others might need the Confucian path of dedicated practice and cultivation. And many of us probably need elements of both, depending on the situation.

When Modern Science Meets Ancient Wisdom

What elevates “Trying Not to Try” beyond a simple philosophy book is Slingerland’s integration of contemporary cognitive science and psychology. He’s not asking us to accept ancient wisdom on faith—he’s showing us how modern research validates and illuminates these concepts.

The book draws extensively on research about the conscious versus unconscious mind. Our conscious mind—the voice in our head that plans, analyzes, and worries—is actually quite limited. It can only process a tiny fraction of the information our brain handles at any given moment. Meanwhile, our unconscious mind is processing vast amounts of data, recognizing patterns, and guiding our behavior in ways we’re not even aware of.

Slingerland connects wu-wei to the concept of “flow” developed by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Flow is that state of complete absorption where you lose track of time and self-consciousness. Athletes call it “being in the zone.” It’s characterized by effortless concentration, a sense of control, and intrinsic enjoyment of the activity itself.

However, Slingerland points out an interesting difference between Csikszentmihalyi’s flow and the Chinese concept of wu-wei. In Csikszentmihalyi’s framework, you achieve flow by constantly challenging yourself at the edge of your abilities—there’s an element of difficulty and striving. But the Chinese tradition emphasizes ease and naturalness, suggesting you should move through life avoiding unnecessary difficulties that might disturb your spirit.

This distinction matters in our achievement-obsessed culture. We’re constantly told to push ourselves, to embrace discomfort, to hustle harder. But what if that’s actually preventing us from accessing our deeper capabilities? What if ease and naturalness, not constant struggle, are the path to our best work?

Making This Work in Your Actual Life

Reading philosophy is one thing; applying it is another. So how do we actually cultivate wu-wei in our stress-filled, deadline-driven modern lives?

First, recognize when you’re trying too hard. This was a game-changer for me. Notice those moments when you’re forcing things—when you’re overthinking a conversation, when you’re white-knuckling through a task, when you’re trying to will yourself into a particular emotional state. That self-awareness is the first step. You can’t stop trying too hard until you notice you’re doing it.

Second, experiment with both the Taoist and Confucian approaches. For some challenges, the Taoist path works better: simplify, let go, trust your instincts. When I’m stuck on a creative problem, I’ve learned that walking away and doing something completely unrelated often allows the solution to emerge naturally. That’s pure Taoism—getting out of my own way.

But for other challenges, the Confucian approach is more effective. Want to be more patient with your kids? You probably can’t just will yourself into patience, but you can practice specific techniques—like taking three deep breaths before responding, or using a particular phrase to buy yourself time—until they become automatic. That’s Confucian cultivation: conscious practice that eventually becomes unconscious virtue.

Third, create conditions that support wu-wei. This might mean establishing routines that minimize decision fatigue, designing your environment to reduce distractions, or scheduling time for activities that naturally induce flow states. For me, writing first thing in the morning before checking email or social media dramatically increases my chances of hitting that effortless zone.

Fourth, pay attention to your body. Wu-wei isn’t just a mental state—it’s a mind-body unity. When you’re tense, anxious, or physically uncomfortable, wu-wei becomes nearly impossible. This might mean better sleep, regular exercise, or simply noticing and releasing physical tension throughout the day. I’ve started doing brief body scans before important meetings, and it’s remarkable how much more present and effective I am when I’m not carrying tension in my shoulders and jaw.

Finally, embrace the paradox. You can’t force spontaneity, but you can create conditions where it’s more likely to arise. You can’t try to have de, but you can work on the underlying qualities—authenticity, presence, skill—that naturally produce it. This is the central paradox of the book, and learning to live with it, rather than resolve it, might be the whole point.

Where the Book Falls Short

As much as I loved “Trying Not to Try,” it’s not without limitations. At 416 pages, it’s quite dense, and Slingerland sometimes gets bogged down in academic details that might lose general readers. There are sections where he dives deep into scholarly debates about translating ancient Chinese texts, and while this demonstrates his expertise, it can feel like a detour from the main insights.

Some readers have also noted that the book is stronger on explanation than application. Slingerland brilliantly describes what wu-wei is and why it matters, but he offers fewer concrete practices for cultivating it. If you’re looking for a step-by-step manual, this might feel frustrating. The book is more about understanding the concept deeply than following a specific program.

Additionally, while Slingerland does an admirable job bridging Eastern philosophy and Western science, he sometimes oversimplifies the Chinese philosophical traditions to make them accessible. Scholars of Chinese philosophy might find his interpretations somewhat reductive, though for a general audience, this accessibility is actually a strength.

How This Compares to Other Books on Flow and Spontaneity

If you’re familiar with Csikszentmihalyi’s “Flow,” you’ll find “Trying Not to Try” offers a complementary but distinct perspective. While Csikszentmihalyi focuses on the psychological conditions that produce flow experiences, Slingerland is more concerned with the broader life question of how to be authentic and spontaneous across all domains.

The book also pairs interestingly with Daniel Kahneman’s “Thinking, Fast and Slow,” which explores the relationship between our quick, intuitive thinking (System 1) and our slower, deliberate thinking (System 2). Wu-wei is essentially about training System 1 to be wise and effective, rather than relying exclusively on the limited bandwidth of System 2.

For readers interested in Eastern philosophy, “Trying Not to Try” is more accessible than direct translations of texts like the Tao Te Ching or the Analects, while still maintaining philosophical depth. It’s a bridge text—scholarly enough to respect the source material, but readable enough for someone with no background in Chinese philosophy.

Questions Worth Sitting With

Slingerland’s book left me with questions that I’m still pondering months after finishing it. Can our hyper-individualistic, achievement-oriented culture ever truly embrace wu-wei, or does it require a fundamental shift in values? Is the modern emphasis on authenticity and “being yourself” actually another form of trying too hard—a performance of spontaneity rather than the real thing?

And here’s a big one: In a world that rewards hustle and visible effort, how do we make space for effortlessness without being seen as lazy or uncommitted? How do we explain to a boss or colleague that sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to stop working on it?

I don’t have answers to these questions, but I think they’re worth wrestling with. The beauty of “Trying Not to Try” is that it doesn’t offer easy solutions—it offers a different lens for viewing perennial human challenges.

Why This Book Matters Now

We’re living through an epidemic of burnout, anxiety, and inauthenticity. We’re constantly performing—curating our social media presence, managing our personal brand, optimizing our productivity. We’re trying so hard to be successful, happy, and fulfilled that we’ve lost touch with the very spontaneity and ease that might actually get us there.

“Trying Not to Try” offers an alternative vision: what if the path to a good life isn’t through more effort, but through the right kind of effortlessness? What if authenticity can’t be achieved but only allowed? What if our culture’s obsession with willpower and self-control is actually making us less effective and less happy?

These aren’t just philosophical musings—they have practical implications for how we work, parent, create, and relate to others. In my own life, Slingerland’s book has given me permission to stop forcing things, to trust my instincts more, and to recognize that sometimes the most productive thing I can do is nothing at all.

Let’s Keep This Conversation Going

I’d love to hear your experiences with wu-wei, whether you call it that or not. When have you experienced that state of effortless action? What conditions made it possible? And what prevents you from accessing it more often?

For me, this book has been a reminder that ancient wisdom isn’t outdated—it’s often more relevant than ever. In a world that’s increasingly complex, fast-paced, and artificial, the Chinese philosophers’ insights about spontaneity, authenticity, and effortless action feel like exactly what we need.

Whether you’re drawn to the Taoist path of simplification or the Confucian path of cultivation (or some combination of both), “Trying Not to Try” offers a framework for thinking about how to live with more ease, authenticity, and joy. And in our stressed-out, overscheduled world, that’s a gift worth receiving.

So grab a copy, settle in with it (maybe with some tea, in the spirit of Chinese tradition), and prepare to think differently about effort, spontaneity, and what it means to live well. Just don’t try too hard to get it—that would kind of defeat the whole purpose.