Since the popularisation of existentialism by Albert Camus (1913-1960) and Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980), philosophy has focused on the human condition. Thousands of volumes have been written on what it means to be human, the stress derived from self-consciousness, the difficulties in achieving happiness and how to make the best of one’s life.

Strangely enough, existentialists have given “humanism” a new definition, one that has little to do with the definition used by Cicero (106-43 BC), Desiderius Erasmus (1468-1536), and Juan Luis Vives (1493-1540).

Before the twentieth century, humanism meant the elevation of the human spirit by means of education. Learned individuals like Erasmus made a living by teaching others the subtleties of the Latin language and the insights gained by Ancient Roman authors such as Cicero.

In any case, when referring to the philosophy of Yang-Tzu, Lao-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu, I can resolutely affirm that Taoism is not a form of humanism. Erasmus’ linguistic sophistication and Cicero’s high educational ideals are totally absent from the Tao Te Ching.

Taoism’s primary concern

Humanist themes were never meant to infuse Taoism and it is a mistake to attempt to argue so. How can I be so sure of this point? Because the Tao Te Ching contains zero promises of happiness, success and prosperity.

Its main concern is the truth and making correct decisions, not feelings. In contrast to the Bible, Taoism does not promise rewards in heaven nor punishments in hell. It simply states that natural law governs the world, and that we should take it into account.

Taoists aim at aligning their actions with natural law, that is, in a positive way. They only want to perform actions that lead to a beneficial outcome. If the outcome is unclear, they would rather refrain from doing anything until they figure it out.

While other philosophies claim ethical certainty, Taoists are prepared to advance little by little until the circumstances point in the right direction. Their primary concern is to make good choices from the beginning, so that those automatically lead to a good outcome.

For this reason, Taoists won’t readily accept directions from their parties who pretend to possess esoteric knowledge; if they cannot see the consequences for themselves, they won’t borrow someone else’s vision.

Lao-Tzu’s daily steps

Chapter 48 of the Tao Te Ching sums up the Taoist process of personal growth. Each day, we learn something and improve ourselves in some way or other. At the same time, we must let go each day of some habit or idea that has been proven false or ineffective.

I don’t categorize Taoism as a form of humanism because of its focus on reality and learning; for Lao-Tzu, love and success are automatic consequences of natural law provided that we do the right thing at the beginning.

Taoists devote their intellectual and physical efforts to doing what needs to be done, irrespective of other people’s opinions. They strive to adhere hundred percent to the truth, no matter how annoying other people might find it.

Humanists, at least in the modern meaning of the term, are willing to devote immense efforts to personal development. They chase happiness as hunters chase a rabbit, devotedly and sternly, but more often than not, the chase will prove fruitless.

In contrast, Taoists will show little concern for happiness or unhappiness. From Lao-Tzu, they have learned to steer away from trouble; from Yang-Tzu, that one’s life is priceless; and from Chuang-Tzu, that alertness is a prerequisite for harmony.

Compared to existentialist writers such as Camus or Sartre, Taoists are remarkably indifferent to human suffering. They’ll refrain from expressing their empathy and compassion at every step, and react with surprise if someone reproaches them for their insensitivity.

What’s the reason for such insensitivity? It has everything to do with the Taoist reliance on natural law. Since Taoists expect the Tao to give shape to individual and societal destiny, they’ll show little understanding for people who demand exceptions to the rule.

If someone has performed detrimental actions, how can he reasonably expect a beneficial outcome? Similarly, if someone has refrained from taking action when it was badly needed, it’s hard to feel pity when dire consequences ensue.

Emphasis on natural law

Chapter 55 of the Tao Te Ching categorizes the workings of natural law as harmonious and enlightening; we want to be like newborns that look at the world with wonderment, expecting a good action to lead to a beneficial outcome, and a bad action to do the opposite. Is that not the way that things are supposed to be?

Humanism, in its modern understanding, demands crying or lamentations when things fall apart. It demands empathy and compassion when catastrophes occur, even if they have been largely predictable. It also calls for donations or support when losses accumulate as a result of poor investments.

I can only wonder if those troubles could have been avoided by applying Lao-Tzu’s recommendations. What if the culprits had put Lao-Tzu’s words into practice? I’m referring especially to Chapter 48 of the Tao Te Ching, which exhorts its readers to learn and improve every day, and let go of what doesn’t work.

Chuang-Tzu once recounted a story about a bird that flew a long stretch, visited foreign countries, gained new experiences, and then returned to its starting point. The bird had gained lots of wisdom and improved its life considerably.

After returning, the bird told everybody about its long travel and all the wonders it had seen. The bird spoke about the new friends it had made and all the great things it had learned along the way.

However, the locals looked at the bird incredulously and did not believe anything they heard. Those things couldn’t possibly be true because they were so different from their experience at home.

At one point, one of the local listeners, an insect, raised its voice to attack the bird. “That’s all impossible,” the insect said emphatically. Then the insect looked around and was pleased to see everybody nod. It was obvious that the bird must have made up all those wonderful stories.

The humanist criticism of Taoism somewhat resembles the incredulity of the local listeners in Chuang-Tzu’s story, which I have adapted to modern literary standards. The bird could not convince anyone that a better life was possible because its tale did not match the existing expectations.

By focusing their efforts upstream, Taoists aim at avoiding trouble and getting things done. Success and happiness should happen automatically downstream without need of extra work. They should ensue in the normal course of events, without our having to devote vast efforts to chasing happiness.

If you are interested in putting effective strategies into practice in all sorts of situations, I recommend my book “The Philosophy of Builders.”