Amongst the three ancient Taoists masters, Lao-Tzu was the most poetic and the most cryptic. He deserves credit for having created a system of thought that does not resemble any earlier religion or philosophy, but also deserves condemnation for his scant explanations.
According to tradition, Lao-Tzu lived in the 6th century BC, but there is no solid proof for that chronological claim. It has been replicated through the centuries, but other than repetition, we have no evidence of its accuracy.
For the purpose of my explanations, I will not go along with the claim that Lao-Tzu had lived in the 6th century BC. His two major followers in ancient Taoism, Yang-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu, are said to have lived in the 4th and 3rd century respectively.
The differentiating factor
What makes Taoism so strikingly original as a philosophy? I would answer this question by pointing to Lao-Tzu’s strong reliance on natural law for steering away from trouble, leading a happy life, and maintaining harmonious relations with people in our environment.
Chapter 22 of the Tao Te Ching presents this unique aspect of Taoism by saying that “a wise person surrenders to the Tao.” It means accepting that the world is governed by natural law, and that we are responsible for aligning our actions with it.
Lao-Tzu does not employ the term “surrender” in a religious manner. He doesn’t mean that we should passively accept what divinities have decided for us, or that we should suffer quietly when the situation turns against us.
No, Lao-Tzu doesn’t conflate natural law and predestination as it is done by some theologians. Nor does he advocate harsh punishments for people who perform bad actions, knowing that those actions will likely lead to disaster.
For Taoists, natural law consists of patterns of causality, not of endless arrays of ethical prescriptions. For instance, natural law says that, if we adopt sound nutrition patterns, chances are that they will help us stay healthy. Conversely, if we decide to eat objectionable food, chances are that we will fall sick.
Lao-Tzu called for “surrendering to the Tao” in the sense of accepting the validity of natural law. It’s the same as stating the sequence of day and night. One inevitably follows the other. It doesn’t make sense to deny patterns we can directly perceive.
Chapter 22 then outlines the consequences of accepting the Tao, that is, accepting natural law. We learn to shape the future because we have understood causality. We also learn to attain large goals by employing few resources because we know how to deploy them optimally.
In contrast, if we failed to grasp natural law, we would grow confused and imperfect, says Lao-Tzu. We would be incapable of assessing situations and making good choices. Our mistakes would compound and eventually wipe us out.
Nevertheless, let us not be deceived by the use of the word “humility” in some modern translations of the Tao Te Ching. In Chapter 22, words such as “humility” or “surrender” just mean the acceptance of causality, not the abdication of our moral and legal autonomy.
The principle of non-action
In Western philosophy, it took centuries to equal Lao-Tzu’s understanding of natural law and individual responsibility. His reliance on individual thought and the rejection of the majority paradigm serves a precursor to authors such as Voltaire (1694-1778) in his short novels “Candide” and “The Huron.”
The genius of Lao-Tzu does not stop at the identification of the Tao as the mechanism that connects cause and effect. He also acknowledged that, in complex situations, we might find it impossible to identify the correct course of action.
Natural law works all the time, but it may prove invisible to the uninitiated. When circumstances push us out of our area of expertise, we might not even know which factors are relevant.
Ignorance is a form of temporary blindness, but does not need to prove lethal. If we dispel the clouds fast enough, the damage should be contained. As soon as we regain our visual acuity, we should understand the scope of the problem and find a suitable solution.
Unfortunately, there are many situations where the clouds will darken for a while, making our confusion deeper. Lao-Tzu was the first philosopher in history to recognize ignorance as a frequent cognitive and ethical status.
He did not blame hesitant persons for their inability to find the correct path, provided that they deploy their best efforts. If they cannot figure out whether action A will be more beneficial than action B or action C, Lao-Tzu advised them to do nothing.
Wu Wei, the Taoist principle of non-action, is so profoundly counter-intuitive that few Western philosophers have grasped it in its entirety. Chapter 43 of the Tao Te Ching enunciates Wu Wei by saying that, sometimes, stillness proves more beneficial than speech, and immobility more beneficial than expediency.
None of the major Western philosophers has given Wu Wei the attention it deserves. Even Schopenhauer (1788-1860) falls short in this respect. He affirmed that happiness requires action to counteract our worst impulses, but failed to realize that, on many occasions, the best course of action is to do nothing.
Yang-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu took the non-action principle to a higher level by expanding its scope of application. Yang-Tzu considered it out of the question to perform actions that harm the actor, and Chuang-Tzu advised against performing actions that entail harshness or friction.
Metaphor of the wooden block
Lao-Tzu started an intellectual trend that has yet to reach its pinnacle. Modern management techniques emphasise avoiding waste. It’s better to do nothing than produce waste; and it’s also better to stay idle than produce items that nobody wants to buy.
Similarly, modern personal development emphasises letting go of secondary projects and avoiding excessive commitments. It all revolves around doing less of what’s not producing value, and focusing our efforts on crucial activities.
The call for simplicity in Chapter 19 of the Tao Te Ching complements the aspects that I have just mentioned. Lao-Tzu recommends us to let go of artificiality, abandon the search for holiness, and drop all pretensions of sophistication. The path of the Tao is straightforward and unadorned, not over-elaborated.
In my view, the best metaphor in the Tao Te Ching is that of the raw material still to be processed or the wooden block that has yet to be carved by the artist. That’s an illustration of Taoist wisdom found in Chapter 15 of the Tao Te Ching.
Wise individuals view their lives as raw material for misery or for happiness. They regard themselves as a wooden block to be carved into a delicate figure, but the carving must take place according to natural law or not at all.
If the carving is hastened or done carelessly, the wood will break apart and the figure will be ruined. The artist, that is, the wise person, needs to figure out when to take action and when to let go, so that the raw materials are not damaged or wasted.
I acknowledge the difficulty of grasping Lao-Tzu’s insights at first. His poetic language may require re-reading, reflection, and analysis before the full meaning is apprehended, but I fail to see how we could grasp complex arguments otherwise.
If you are interested in putting effective insights into practice, I recommend my book “The 10 Principles of Rational Living.”