We can be sure that Lao-Tzu never had to face the problems of a highly complex society. I’m talking about macro-economic shifts, mass migration, inflation, unemployment, bank runs and credit ratings, just to mention a few.
Nor was Lao-Tzu ever confronted with bankruptcy, chain collisions on the highway, radio-magnetic pollution or the high costs of medical insurance. Compared to today’s world, ancient Taoists lived in a natural paradise. For this reason, it is fair to ask if Lao-Tzu’s views about simplicity are still workable.
Chapter 46 of the Tao Te Ching restates the call for a simple lifestyle by condemning the desire for additional possessions. Lao-Tzu was, in this respect, not unlike Jesus Christ (6 BC-30 AD), who also praised poverty, although for different reasons.
If we take Lao-Tzu’s exhortations literally, they seem hard to believe and impossible to fulfil. Compared to the 6th century BC, modern society requires a great deal of resources even for those who lead a modest lifestyle.
Lao-Tzu and the water buffalo
We cannot simply imitate Lao-Tzu, jump on a water buffalo and ride away. Today, even a minimalistic lifestyle requires us to hold a bank account, a payment card, a driving license and a smart phone. Even today’s least complex lifestyle is still far away from ancient Taoist simplicity.
Nonetheless, Taoist philosophy continues to be effective. It needs to be interpreted, of course, but its principles work today as well as they had worked in the times of Lao-Tzu, Yang-Tzu, and Chuang-Tzu.
How can I be sure of that? Because complexity is a relative term. Lao-Tzu did not face the macro-economic problems that confront us today, but he had to deal with threats against which ancient cultures were ill-equipped.
Lao-Tzu’s famous escape by riding a water buffalo seems a vastly inefficient, uncomfortable manner to travel; and before making the decision to leave, he had to assess the situation on the basis of his own perceptions, with little knowledge of what was going on in other countries.
In every area of life, ancient Taoist masters possessed fewer resources than an average person does today. Taoist insights are wonderful, but if Lao-Tzu was alive today, could he make good decisions without knowledge of geography, economics, law, nutrition, and science in general?
It is obvious that, if Lao-Tzu had lived today, he would not have chosen to ride a water buffalo in his escape. Similarly, if Lao-Tzu had enjoyed access to the internet, he would have planned his trip in minute detail, trying to minimise the risks as much as possible.
Chuang-Tzu and independence
Chuang-Tzu pitied royal employees because their lifestyle was constrained and their future dependent on the monarch’s whim. He had opted for a modest lifestyle because it offered freedom. In his view, all other factors play a secondary role.
I must also raise questions about the meaning of freedom in the Taoist tradition. Chuang-Tzu felt free scraping a living in the countryside, but was he not wasting his talents? In theory, Chuang-Tzu could choose where to go, but in practice, how far could he travel on foot and without money? Not very far.
Nor can I endorse the Taoist exacerbation of uncertainty to an extent that prevents people from undertaking large projects. Leading a simple life does not necessarily entail indecision that prevents people from pursuing an ambitious career.
Take for instance the Taoist story in which a farmer suffers a series of setbacks, but eventually, those prove beneficial. His horse runs away, but then returns bringing a second horse with it. Then the farmer’s son falls from the horse and breaks a leg, but war breaks out and the son is spared from military service.
Imperfect visibility of the future is not the same as zero visibility. The fact that we cannot foretell our future in detail should not prevent us from securing our horse and teaching our children how to ride it safely. Failing to do so would be foolish and irresponsible.
The Tao Te Ching and carved wood
When it comes to the Taoist principle of simplicity, we need to exert the same level of discernment. The fact that Lao-Tzu called for a simple lifestyle does not mean that we should live in poverty, discomfort and isolation.
Taoists reject rigid concepts because those will inevitably lead to distortions. Simplicity, ancient or modern, amounts to alignment with the Tao; the precise definition needs adaptation and interpretation according to individual circumstances.
Lao-Tzu confirms this point in Chapter 38 of the Tao Te Ching, which identifies alignment with the Tao as the supreme principle. Everything else, however desirable, must play a less important role. If we adopt a narrow view of righteousness and virtue, chances are that we will fall out of sync with the Tao.
Chapter 28 of the Tao Te Ching renders the picture sharper by comparing the Tao to a block of wood, out of which we can carve a sculpture. The problem is that the Tao will not provide precise instructions on how to carve the wood.
For better or for worse, each individual is going to carve the wood into a different shape. Simplicity and peace of mind will ensue if we keep our sculpture aligned with the Tao. If we fail to do so, we might drown in complexity and emotional stress.
In Chapter 19 of the Tao Te Ching, Lao-Tzu puts simplicity on a par with austerity and plainness. Yang-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu followed suit, elevating simplicity to a pillar of Taoism.
However, Taoists are not the only philosophers to consider simplicity as a major virtue: the French thinker Voltaire (1694-1778) came to the same conclusion in his most famous novel, “Candide,” which he wrote when he was in his early sixties.
Taoist simplicity and Voltaire’s “Candide”
In his youth, the protagonist had been taught by his teacher Pangloss that the world, despite its deficiencies, constitutes the best possible reality because, otherwise, God would have given it a different shape.
Candide, like an aspiring Taoist, wanted to believe Pangloss but was confronted with all sorts of abuse, iniquity and cruelty. He wanted to believe that everything is fine, but could not find any harmony or serenity in the world.
How can we attain happiness amidst chaos, unfairness, and randomness? Candide wanted to trust Pangloss’ theory that all is for the best, but when he examined the facts with his own eyes, he could not believe that all is for the best.
At the end of the novel, Candide returns home and decides to embrace a simple lifestyle. Voltaire ends the novel with the sentence: “we must cultivate our garden.” That’s the conclusion reached by Candide after travelling the world and enduring all sorts of misadventures.
Readers in eighteenth-century France grasped the meaning of “we must cultivate our garden.” I wonder if they would have understood Lao-Tzu’s advice to align themselves with the Tao.
In any case, Candide and Voltaire himself would have vastly benefited from Taoist simplicity. Living in eighteenth-century France was far more complex than living in ancient China, but Lao-Tzu’s insights can spare anyone lots of dire mistakes.
If you are interested in putting effective insights into daily practice, I recommend my book “The 10 Principles of Rational Living.”