I wish I could rate Lao-Tzu as a perfect philosopher, but we have centuries of experience which shows mixed results. I will not contest the great achievements of the ancient Taoists, but I cannot close my eyes to their mistakes. Newcomers to Taoism should be made aware of those errors and how to amend them.
What are Lao-Tzu’s mistakes? I am referring to the habit of speaking with both sides of his mouth. For instance, by saying that A is problematic, but that its opposite is also problematic. I acknowledge that paradox can be thought provoking, but Lao-Tzu really went overboard and created unnecessary confusion.
Chapter 24 of the Tao Te Ching constitutes an archetypical example. It condemns individuals who shine their own light, as well as those who seek power, those who rush ahead, and those who do not stand with both feet on the ground.
Unnecessary confusion
Lao-Tzu’s text is intriguing, but what is he recommending exactly? Should we stand with both feet on the ground, avoid shining our own light, walk slowly, and refuse any position of power?
I fail to see the logical thread in those prescriptions. They’re dishevelled and disconnected, good for entertainment value but poor in philosophical density; those prescriptions just make me wonder if the translation is accurate, but when I look at other translations, they come up with similar wordings.
I regard that kind of vague, paradoxical language as deeply inefficient when it comes to conveying philosophical insights. It demands too much effort from readers, and gives them little in terms of philosophical enlightenment.
To their credit, Yang-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu resorted far less frequently to paradoxes. They occasionally affirmed that A was insufficient and that the opposite of A was also insufficient, but in the grand scheme of things, they did not muddle the waters any further.
Nonetheless, I should reproach them for not having clarified the double-speak proffered by Lao-Tzu. If they had done so, a lot of confusion would have been avoided down the road. For modern Taoists, it’s not possible to negate Lao-Tzu’s paradoxes but, at the same time, it’s also impossible to explain them fully.
A historical explanation
I have mentioned Chapter 24 as an example of the “do not do A, but do not B either, and also do not do C or D.” The last words of Chapter 24 state that, if we want to align our actions with the Tao, we should just get things done and step aside.
There is no logical connection between stepping aside and standing with both feet on the ground, avoiding rushing ahead and not shining our own light. No, it does not make any sense.
When I read Chapter 24 of the Tao Te Ching, I get a strong feeling that the text has been messed up through the centuries. Or maybe the Chapter had once consisted of isolated sentences that someone mistakenly collated, making them unintelligible.
Lao-Tzu’s recommendation to get things done and then step aside is philosophically sound, but does not follow the line of thought in the previous sentences. As a result, Chapter 24 lacks an overall logic.
When we are faced with a paradox, contradiction or cop-out of questionable value, I find it unconscionable to maintain that they are so profound that only few people can grasp them. The attempt to intimidate readers denotes philosophical weakness.
How can we address those errors in Lao-Tzu’s text? I favour the fragmentation approach, that is, simply breaking down the text into sentences and considering each of them separately. If they make sense, and they normally do, we should assume that they were meant to be studied in isolation, not collated to each other.
Chuang-Tzu’s consistency
In the writings of Yang-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu, we don’t find those mistakes because, thanks to the narrative coherence, the text has automatically cleared the contradictions. Chuang-Tzu’s stories show strong philosophical consistency, even if their language can prove repetitive.
Chuang-Tzu’s story about a farmer and his horse keeps the reader interested without employing paradoxes, contradictions or cop-outs. When the farmer learns that his horse has escaped, he is upset but only to a certain limit.
I would have found it puzzling if the farmer had stated that “all is for the best,” but thankfully, Chuang-Tzu did not go that far. Conversely, Lao-Tzu would not have hesitated to state that all is for the best, only to reverse his statement in the next line.
Chuang-Tzu’s farmer will still change his mind three times. First, when he witnesses his horse return the next day, bringing along a second horse. Second, when his son rides the horse and falls down, breaking his leg. Third, when soldiers come to the farm to draft new recruits for the army, and end up sparing the farmer’s son because of his broken leg.
The message of the story remains consistent even when the plot oscillates between pain and joy. The fact that Chuang-Tzu lived two centuries after Lao-Tzu must have permitted him to draw inspiration from a wider pool of literary skills in China.
I have mentioned Chuang-Tzu’s stories as examples of how to straighten out the narrative. Their literary pattern provides a second solution for addressing any confusion in Lao-Tzu’s text. The confusion in Chapter 24 of the Tao Te Ching could have been removed, if we had begun to read at the end, that is, at the sentence that advises us to just get things done and step aside.
If we regard the conclusion correct, then we would have to go through the previous lines and remove all inconsistencies. I mean that Chapter 24 would make more sense if we rewrite it as “discard power, so that you can walk lightly, and keep your feet on the ground, so that you avoid delusions of grandeur.”
Exegesis of the Tao Te Ching is a demanding task, but if we want to get acquainted with Taoism, it is a necessary task. Let us exert the required effort because it will facilitate our steady practice of sound philosophical principles.
If you are interested in applying effective ideas to all sorts of situations, I recommend my book “Consistency: The key to permanent stress relief.”