The Forgotten Taoist Way of Living

Eight essays to experience the path of becoming spiritually sovereign in a world that never stops trying to define you.

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Reading Lao Tzu (Laozi 老子) and Taoism invites you into the mystery of mysteries.

On a surface level, when it comes to Lao Tzu the person, we know that he was the alleged author of the Tao Te Ching (Dao-de Jing). But like this book, we know little of his background.

Historical records say that he once served as the director of the Imperial Archive of the Zhou 周 dynasty (c. 11th cent. -256 BC) for decades.

This post allowed him to access ancient teachings and exclusive documents, and to gain a deeper, clearer sense of the state of affairs in the realm. And it is said that he eventually left the country and went westward, with no one knowing his trajectory thereafter.

Despite the mystery surrounding the person, Lao Tzu has been generally considered as one of the founders of early Taoism in the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BC), with a distinct legacy crystallized as the school of Lao Tzu in traditional intellectual history.

And his short book, with only about five thousand Chinese characters, has exerted an enduring influence on Chinese culture and society over the next two thousand years.

Until today, the Tao Te Ching continues to spark interest and enthusiasm across cultures.

What is the secret of its long-lasting influence? Are there some hidden messages encoded in those old pages?

Although it’s almost impossible to have a comprehensive sketch of the person, we can still catch a glimpse, perhaps a crucial one, of his thinking and style from existing records about him.

From these old pages, we can extract some essential ideas and lessons that still speak to us living in the modern world.

Proven principles that the ancient Taoists lived by

Lao Tzu’s philosophy of life is known for its emphasis on simplicity, stillness, the value of softness,1 long-term and holistic thinking.

And most of his lines point to the essential ideas of wu-wei 無為 and ziran 自然. Even though generations of scholars over the centuries have said that the book is a hard read because it contains so many abstruse messages open to varied interpretations.

Yet Lao Tzu said that his words are easy to understand and put to use. He emphasized that the best student of Tao would practice the teachings assiduously, while the worst ones would only laugh out loud at them.

Because the character, Tao 道, literally means the path, or the way. It is inseparable from actual, concrete living.

So the question naturally becomes: how is one walking the path if one accepts that there is no escape from it?

And the answer is also tacit knowledge, as Lao Tzu said that those who know themselves are truly clear-sighted.

That means only you can know what your path actually is, and more importantly, how it aligns with your wu-wei and ziran.

Once you have that inner lucidity, you are in your natural flow.

All this denotes a range of possibilities for self-realization and self-determination. This is the state when your innate virtue (de 德) is revealed in a spontaneous and natural way of being.

And you are simply following the Tao, your own way.

This partly explains why reading Taoism feels like a voyage into the unknown.

Because you are constantly cultivating an intuitive awareness within, becoming conscious of how your inner self interacts with the external world and with the forces of conditioning that trap us in a loop of rigid formalities, credentials, and prevailing conventions.

It is also a dangerous journey because what is familiar can become unfamiliar and remote, and what is once rejected can be embraced.

Lao Tzu said that the Tao functions in reversion. Experience tells us that the impermanence of things in life is real. Following the Tao is to see our attachments, be it wealth, power, fame, relationships, social expectations, or even our own health, stripped away from us with quiet acceptance rather than spiritual paralysis, because that is the way things are.

Yet when all external things depart, what is most authentic, natural, and important will reveal itself to us.

The Taoist way of inner peace is obtained in such moments of seeing through the vicissitudes of fortune.

And there is no following the natural course or seeing things from a holistic level if we are still attached to the limits of the ego, operated by external opinions and ideas, or resistant to change.

What Lao Tzu, or Taoism in general, teaches is this awakened awareness. With it, you are liberated from within. And nothing in this world can harm you.

As you move through life, your perspectives and understanding of yourself and the world change. You’ve internalized the lesson that ups and downs, gains and losses, successes and failures, are all parts of the stream of life.

In other words, there really is no alternative but to be in it.

This means you have the innate power to pick yourself up after falling. And you do not overextend yourself when reaching the prime, just like the moon waxes only to wane.

You see things with clarity because you are aligned with your spiritual sovereignty. You embrace the spiritual power of the yin and the yang, the light and the shadow, within you.

You follow the Tao in your own path of being shapeless, undefinable, and mysterious, such that you are no longer captured by anything external.

This series opens the mystery of Lao Tzu through stories about him written in the Chuang Tzu (the text).

What to expect in this mini-series

Since the very beginning, Taoism has been both philosophical and experiential. In other words, it is the unity of contemplation and action. So you will find reflections and explanations on some of the important ideas and stories.

In general, “Stories of Lao Tzu” is a series of eight explorations into the forgotten Taoist way of unlearning. To rephrase Lao Tzu’s words, it is a guide to carrying the “jade within” while the world only sees “coarse cloth.”

To make the whole reading journey easy to navigate, this series is designed with a three-part roadmap:

Stage 1: The Inner Work (Essay 1-3)

• This is where you get to look within and see how society (or your external self) has been doing to your natural self. With the encounter of inward liberation and non-attachment, you can start preserving your “uncarved block” within

Simplicity as Inner Sovereignty

Guarding the “Uncarved Block” Within

Loving without Clinging

Stage 2: The Lucid Lens (Essay 4-5)

• The discovery here is about seeing the world as it is, not veiled by personal and social constructs. You will acquire Lau Tzu’s methods to re-engage with the world, your immediate reality, without escape, without overreach

Knowing the White While Keeping to the Black

Seeing the Way Things Are

Stage 3: Spiritual Sovereignty (Essay 6-8)

• How would a Taoist like Lao Tzu navigate the complex systems — cultural and political dynamics of modern society? Or, is it indeed possible to preserve spiritual autonomy in a complicated world? You’ll find your own answers as you move about the signposts in this section

Freedom by Unlearning

Awareness

Individual, Politics, and Self-Preservation

There is no escape from the complexity of living in today’s world. Yet we can choose how to make it simple.

We are conditioned by external, artificial forces, programmed by cultural and political trends, and shackled by expectations. Yet we can choose how we live with all this, rather than being passively controlled by them.

This is the reason this series exists. You can open it when your situation demands it.

Begin your journey now.

Read the full series

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The Living Wisdom of Early Taoism

Ancient parables and counterintuitive lessons from Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, and other Taoist thinkers—decoded for modern life, so you can move with clarity and find your natural way.

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This series is about Taoist life philosophy, a spiritual journey alongside Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu, as well as other influential Taoist thinkers and practitioners.

As we delve into this collected wisdom together, you’ll find ways to apply ancient insights to your own life.

Chuang Tzu and Lao Tzu on life

Despite being representatives of Taoism, Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu differ in many ways.

Lao Tzu wrote pithy epigrams. Chuang Tzu wrote long, discursive essays.

Lao Tzu’s teaching was full of contrarian wisdom and unconventional thoughts on everyday things. Chuang Tzu’s sayings were deeply colored by his devastating humor, shattering insights, breathtaking beauty, and bittersweet ironies on life.

Lao Tzu’s system of thought found its way into the minds and lives of sages, strategists, thinkers, Taoist practitioners, leaders, and statesmen throughout the ages. It is the secret weapon for the weak, the powerless, and the gentle, enabling them to thrive in life with gentle persistence.

Chuang Tzu’s more expansive, ethereal, and profound world became the fountainhead of endless inspirations for the artists, poets, painters, calligraphers, spiritual seekers, philosophers, technicians, and artisans. It is the lifeblood for the vulnerable, the lost, and the imaginative, who are deeply troubled by making sense of life’s meaning, to find their natural paths in life.

While Lao Tzu advised those who were willing to listen to follow the Tao to make things happen in the world and then retreat after the work was done, Chuang Tzu was primarily concerned with discovering the self within, reshaping one’s relationship with the world, and achieving constant self-transcendence.

With the distilled wisdom of these masters, you will be seeing your immediate reality in a refreshed way.

And more importantly, you will notice how you can internalize those ancient teachings to inspire and empower you throughout your journey of self-transformation in this life.

Eventually, you will realize that you have what is within you to craft and build your life the way you want it to be, the way it can naturally be.

A shared journey

As I write and introduce the Taoist ideas from these early thinkers, I’m also undergoing a process of transformation.

As I evolve, the thoughts and reflections shared in this series will also change over time. In this sense, this series will be an unfinished, unfolding journey.

The beauty of Taoist philosophy is that many of its ideas are open to personal experience and interpretation, and they taste differently at different stages of a person’s life.

So this series is also an invitation to collective writing, rewriting, interpretation, and reinterpretation along the way.

What you can expect to encounter:

• Practical and spiritual insights from early Taoist thinkers

• Core Taoist ideas, such as wu-wei 無為 and ziran 自然(spontaneity), and how to apply them in everyday life

• Taoist strategies for self-establishment

• Philosophical ideas and spiritual practices for cultivating self-awareness and self-knowledge

• Timeless stories, parables, and allegories that provide inspiration, amusement, comfort, and deeper insights into life

• Your own transformed self, in the midst of living, with its limitless possibilities and whatever lies beyond…

You’ll see all the posts in this ongoing series by clicking the button below:

Taoist Life Philosophy

Each post will offer you glimpses, inspiration, and guidance, but they are only doorways rather than ready-made answers. It is up to you to decide how to build your life system and write your own life stories.

Lao Tzu’s wisdom lies in his ability to see things in paradoxes. There is always an element of a contrarian view in looking at the most ordinary things in the world.

The Tao that can be said is not the real Tao. Yet, he wrote about 5,000 words. Instead of telling the world what the Tao is, he chose to say what it was not.

He said that one should know the white, but keep to the black. It seems that there is a great mystery behind the mysterious outlook on the realities of this phenomenal and material world.

In other words, being able to entertain various perspectives, or parallel systems, allows him to rise above a limited understanding of things.

From the angle of the infinite Tao, the so-called objectivity does not exist, as human judgment and viewpoints are subjective. And all subjective views and opinions are partial and relative. Truth and reality in the phenomenal world, no matter how robust and convincing, can turn out to be derided as illusions and appearances.

To view things from the perspective of the Tao is like looking at the natural world from a plane. High and above in the sky, one sees the myriad things becoming a patchwork composed of numerous and infinitesimal particles.

Everything is interrelated and interpenetrative, as illustrated in the Yin and Yang symbol or the Eight Trigrams (Bagua 八卦圖). Underlying the superficial appearances, there is an inherent transformation of things.

The distinctions of this and that, right and wrong, good and evil, and high and low, are just the human mind being shackled to a dualistic and discriminative approach to interact with external phenomena. And phenomena are fleeting, dispersed, and pieces of reflections of what might be considered the fundamental reality.

Any philosophical, theoretical, religious, or ideological construction, at its best, can only capture a tiny part of this fundamental reality. This applies to the system of Taoism. Chuang Tzu’s approach is reflecting everything without reacting, going through everything but forgetting them in the state of non-being or nothingness. And the experience of associating with Taoism, as a view and way of life, should also be forgotten.

The Taoist outlook on life has been occasionally characterized as negative or pessimistic. Yet, this view itself is colored by such a habit of making distinctions. Joy and sorrow, good and bad, fortune and misfortune are just pairs of opposite, yet interconnected sides of the same thing. Isn’t human life a sort of comic-tragedy if we view it from a higher plane?

A proper depiction of the Taoist attitude toward life, therefore, can perhaps be summarized as a serenity of mind achieved through the overcoming of emotions.

Such a state of being is realized after seeing through the fundamental nature of things, which is possible only by transcending the limits of the ego and truly perceiving the natural patterns of things in the realm of the infinite Tao.

Softness as true strength

Conventional wisdom equates hardness with strength, or superficial strength as true power. Lao Tzu sees that softness and gentleness represent the essence of durable strength.

He illustrates this with this simple observation,

When a man is born, he is tender and weak;

at death, he is hard and stiff.

…softness and gentleness are the companions of life.

Thus, when an army is headstrong, it will lose in battle.

When a tree is hard, it will be cut down.1

In the natural world, rigidity can result in death, while flexibility signifies life and resilience. Thus, Lao Tzu informs us that real strength lies not in forcefulness, but in adaptability and gentle persistence.

In other words, softness or resilience are the essential qualities critical for long-term thinking. You are not being dictated by the transitory external environment to demonstrate who you are or overextend yourself. You are aware of (re)building the foundations of your life in silence, without seeking external approval.

Taoist life philosophy values spiritual autonomy, that is to say, remaining calm and composed in the midst of external storms is within your control.

Seeking outward recognition and allowing the ego to be satisfied, to some extent, is still catering to a subtle desire to be liked or recognized. And no one likes to be deemed weak, inferior, and soft. But choosing to be in that weak position, carefree from external judgment, is residing in the realm of the yin, a place to conserve your energy just to be yourself.

Gentleness and mellowness are not a passive and defeatist attitude toward life. Such a mindset is cultivated through going through the ups and downs of life without internal breakdown. This is the source of inner strength.

The quiet power of water

Water is a favored symbol for Lao Tzu to illustrate the wonder of nature. But more importantly, water inspires us to improve the quality of existence.

Self-establishment takes time. Great talent requires persistent practice and forging.

All this requires patience. And patience is a rare quality, even more so in today’s world. Lao Tzu reminds us, "There is nothing weaker than water, but none is superior to it in overcoming the hard."

The way of water is exemplified in choosing the lowly places with detachment. It simply does what it does in its spontaneous state of being.

We will always be misunderstood, judged, and misrepresented when navigating the complex social relationships. Instead of being disturbed and troubled by external criticisms, it’s better just to let go. Your time and life are just too precious to be wasted on unnecessary entanglements.

What matters is staying focused on discovering and embracing your natural path, and growing with patience and forbearance.

From a Taoist perspective, every person possesses a hidden power within. That which is manifested naturally is your virtue (de 德). To discover and connect with your virtue, you’ll need to walk the natural path of your own way, following your Tao.

You will have to go through some of the most painful moments in life with a leap of faith. It’s a solitary voyage into unknown lands. It’s the path of finding the spiritual warrior within you.

Embrace life’s natural cycles

At some point in your journey, you will come to realize that life is not static. It has moments of delight and joy, but is also deeply colored by sadness and sorrow.

In other words, life has its own unique waves, unexpected encounters, and precious moments of discovery. Yet, it is amid the bump and swirl that you begin to develop a fuller picture of life itself, hence, your own self in the face of the multiple facets of life.

So much of our inner disturbance, worries, fear, and sense of insecurity is derived from the desire or wish to cling to something fixed, stable, and certain. Yet, this is us being attached to our illusions about how life should be, rather than feeling and seeing how it is.

Just like the natural sequence of the four seasons, the turns of day and night, the growth and decay in the natural world, human life has its inherent rhythm and tempo. We can call all these changes, crises, or wake-ups in life as our big and small waves.

The key to going through these waves of chaos lies in seeing through them by not being subdued. Naturally, you will feel dejected, as if being pinned down by the fists of life.

You may feel it is embarrassing or humiliating to face some insurmountable failures and setbacks. And, inevitably, you will have to go through the pains of loss when someone important has left your world.

Such things are inescapable. Seeing through these unavoidable things gives you equanimity with a fatalistic acquiescence.

Indeed, joy and sadness belong to the same thing, the same source. To go through the stages of being vulnerable, lying low, and suffering with patience is ultimately restoring light and harmony into your life. It is not easy. But that’s an admirable thing, and you will discover a new self when the time comes.

This is the inner strength of gentle power. Lao Tzu says, “Gentleness overcomes strength.” You do not fight life’s natural rhythms. You do not resist against circumstances pointlessly. You accept and adapt to all changes with ease and a broad-minded approach.

Resilience, patience, and tolerance become your greatest strength in navigating all these twists and turns. “Reversion is the action of Tao, and gentleness is the function of Tao.” Life is a constant flux. Finding your own pace while flowing with changes is what truly matters.

Don’t be afraid of things going into unexpected directions. That’s a good signal for adjusting your position. Don’t easily dismiss those days without light, for they are a timely reminder that all life’s storms come and go.

Most importantly, it is up to you to develop and forge a transcendent attitude toward life. When you can remain calm and clear while allowing disturbances to pass naturally, you will know you have found your own inner power and resilience. You can stay centered amid chaos.

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“The way never acts yet nothing is left undone.” This famous line from the Tao Te Ching describes Lao Tzu’s vision of the Tao and its relation to the myriad things in the world.

It arises from observing the silent workings of nature —the Tao follows what is natural (dao fa ziran 道法自然).

Here lies Lao Tzu’s humanist concern: the innate potential for each person to discover what is natural within oneself.

On the metaphysical level, the Taoist thinking is that all things in the universe evolve and operate by themselves. This is the essence of ziran, naturalness, self-so, or by itself. There is an inherent and voluntary will in it without external meddling and intervention.

In this sense, wu-wei is the state of mind that allows naturalness to unfold.

It embodies a subtle wisdom — moving with the current, seeing through the appearance of things, acting gently yet firmly, with awareness and detachment.

Such a perception is counterintuitive to our conventional actions. We assume that efforts (often overexertion) can bring about results as we anticipate. We believe that enthusiasm, passion, and excessive exertion are the key ingredients needed to make things happen.

Yet accomplishments arise only when subjective efforts meet objective conditions. When either is absent, outcomes can elude us.

All too often, we chase without pause and forget our original purpose. Thus, Lao Tzu advises the ambitious and adventurous: Be careful of what you are seeking.

Your name or your person,

Which is dearer?

Your person or your goods,

Which is worth more?

…

Know contentment and you will suffer no disgrace;

Know when to stop and you will meet with no danger.

You can then endure.1 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 44)

Contentment, therefore, is accepting the unfathomable and often uncontrollable external conditions. With this acceptance comes awareness: an understanding of where we stand and what can, or cannot, be done.

Disenchantment, simplicity, and clarity 

Wu-wei signals a way of being not misled by impulses— avoiding unnecessary entanglements, refraining from contention with adverse conditions, and aligning action with spontaneity.

In other words, proper actions demand dropping enchantment, whether it concerns our past actions, a specific viewpoint we are attached to, or a familiar way of doing things. The right timing is short-lived; it never waits for us to act.

Thus, wu-wei suggests peeling off the multiple layers of meaning we have imposed on our existence, whether intentionally or unwittingly. These layers — habits, attachments, and narratives — become veils that cloud perception and understanding.

Disenchantment is directly facing the self within, seeing desires, attachments, expectations, and ambitions without the filter of justification. It is a spiritual process of cutting straight to the essence of being.

Through disenchantment, we arrive at simplicity. With simplicity, we cultivate clarity on things.

The teeming creatures

All return to their separate roots.

Returning to one's roots is known as stillness.

This is what is meant by returning to one's destiny.

Returning to one's destiny is known as the constant.

Knowledge of the constant is known as discernment.2 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 16)

In a sense, the wu-wei mindset asks us: Do we have clarity about how we are supposed to live?

Thoughts shape our actions, habits, and behaviors. Our thinking patterns can largely impact our interactions with realities. Therefore, the idea of wu-wei is concerned with the extent to which we are aware of our specific courses of action, as disruptive and unexamined impulses can lead us astray.

Guided by wu-wei, we see that clarity is not just about living a simple, concrete life but constantly refreshing our modes of thinking and managing our interactions with the outside world.

There is an inherent message in Lao Tzu’s saying,

Offer good things to eat

And the wayfarer stays.

But Tao is mild to the taste.

Looked at, it cannot be seen;

Listened to, it cannot be heard;

Applied, its supply never fails.3 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 35.)

Lao Tzu suggests that to follow the Tao and to practice wu-wei is the path of the few. It is easier to be driven by passions, desires, and emotions than to confront what comes into the mind with awareness.

Yet, at the same time, we have pursuits and ideals that are based on our strategic thinking and planning. Their realization requires continuous and precise execution.

Therefore, the constant struggle between these two drives — emotions and self-awareness, the disruptive and the discerning, shapes the trajectory of a life.

The application of wu-wei in this context, as a source of spiritual power, is to remind oneself to be aware of emotional waves and to step out of forced reactions to situations.

An intuitive grasp of the state of mind in a situation, a glimpse before reaction, can save us from a possible disaster.

Self-observation as spiritual practice

Living in society, we cannot really escape everyday entanglements. We develop attachments toward things. And these emotional attachments constitute evidence of our state of being, making us feel a sense of earth-bound reality.

Yet, if we cling to something excessively, to the extent of losing sensible judgment, we end up being controlled by that external thing.

Being overly attached to a specific narrative, a framework, or a way of doing things, on an existential level, leads to a loss of flexibility. Therefore, such a rigid state shackles us from seeing things from multiple angles and understanding the many possibilities and facets of reality.

In this sense, learning concrete knowledge and spiritual training are different pursuits, as Lao Tzu said,

In the pursuit of learning one knows more every day;

in the pursuit of the way one does less every day (wei dao ri sun 為道日損).

One does less and less until one does nothing at all,

and when one does nothing at all there is nothing that is undone.4 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 48)

The character 損 (sun) can be interpreted as a process of subtracting, reducing, dissolving, or disidentifying.

The essential task of spiritual growth is to confront what is familiar to us, reexamine it, and reevaluate it without being driven by preconceived notions.

This acknowledges that our decisions in life are often made based on misinterpretation and miscalculation of situations. Such misjudgment leads us toward arbitrary actions that are often driven by emotional turmoil and insufficient understanding.

Therefore, in “the pursuit of the way,” or following the Tao, one is going through a spiritual journey of practicing wu-wei.

The first step in acquiring the wu-wei mindset is becoming aware of one’s state of mind. In life’s various moments, we should remind ourselves to observe, watch, and feel the emergence of thoughts, emotions, impulses, and various reactions to external surroundings.

This suggests that when we lose that critical sense of awareness, we can be captured by a specific stream of thought or emotion. The Taoists understood that ideas and inspirations come to us when the heart-mind is clean and empty.

So, the key is to be aware of receiving, dissecting, understanding, and forgetting that specific idea or perspective.

Since wu-wei is about rising above arbitrary and impulsive actions, we need to understand where these disturbing thoughts, emotional waves, anxieties, expectations, and desires come from. A better understanding of the root causes helps us gain a clearer perception of things. The quality of our perception, therefore, affects the direction of our actions.

This step is critical in our time. For we have entered an era in which it is not the lack of information but rather the oversupply of it that has presented the challenge of making sound judgment and developing clarity on things.

This is to acknowledge the power of narratives and prevailing perspectives in influencing people’s minds and actions. The wu-wei mindset, in this context, is to understand popular perspectives but not necessarily identify with them.

Thus, with the practice of awareness and understanding, it becomes possible to dissolve one’s obsessions and form a sense of detachment from external things.

At this stage, we realize that the human world exists as an intersection of multiple layers of meaning. We create meanings and purposes to survive. To prioritize the survival of the human race and civilization, we cling to artificial meanings and values as sources of legitimation of our existence while extracting emotional and spiritual support.

In this sense, wu-wei is to see through the multiple modes of existence, with their underlying modes of thinking and fundamental purposes. It finally reaches the stage where one can rise above the state of being conditioned because one has been stripped of the pull of ego-centric and human-centered inclinations and behaviors.

In other words, to get untethered from being programmed is to reach the state of no self.

This is the state where one can follow along with the natural course while interacting with external circumstances with self-awareness and understanding.

Whether it is an artistic activity or navigating a concrete situation, the subjective and the objective have, therefore, been unified in a state of harmony. There is no tension and struggle, exertion and contending, only lasting peace and being at ease with the present. Like playing Tai Chi, the person’s body and spirit are synchronized in fluid moves, merged with the surroundings, and immersed in the flow of time.

More on the idea of wu-wei:

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A common misconception regarding Taoism, particularly Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu’s philosophies, is its passive gesture toward life. Such a view usually picks some Taoist ideas to arrive at assumptions, while overlooking Taoism as a holistic system.

Lao Tzu’s wu-wei, therefore, is interpreted as “doing nothing” or “non-action” in a general (literal) sense. When it comes to its practical application, wu-wei is often referred to as non-intervention, not meddling, or an absence of arbitrary action.

It then becomes easy to categorize Lao Tzu’s thought into the camp that advocates a laissez-faire approach to managing things and living. Consequently, those who practice such a principle are inclined to adopt outlandish, unorthodox, and rebellious social behaviors. Someone drawn to the appeal of distinction can find that the contrarian principles and ideas in Tao Te Ching or Chuang Tzu speak to their interests and tastes.

Similarly, since Lao Tzu advises rulers to refrain from their arbitrary actions and regards tyrannical leaders as thieves and brigands, his political thought has often been associated with rejecting political authority. Following this logic, Taoist political thinking can be taken as the anarchist school.

Yet, such readings of Taoism are far from the original Taoist spirit. Taoism is a philosophy primarily concerned with harmony. The Taoist ideal of life allows one to commune with nature and, accordingly, to be at ease with life.

Living in harmony does not necessarily mean a retreat from mingling with others in society. This is the way of the ancient hermits, who were able to find peace of mind in their reclusive ways of life. This fact makes it different from the Taoist conception of living.

In essence, the Taoist way is concerned with the individual’s multidimensional existence. This suggests harmony with the self, social harmony, and a state of harmonious coexistence with the political order. In this sense, Taoism’s close connection with nature is primarily focused on gaining inspiration from nature to improve the quality of existence.

How is all this related to the idea of wu-wei?

The starting point of Taoist philosophy, when it comes to humanity’s relationship with the natural world, is to consider heaven, earth, and man as a holistic and organic system.

From the perspective of human beings, we can manage survival and evolution because we have the intelligence to learn and adapt to changes in the natural world. Therefore, if we can extract useful messages and inspirations from the rhythm of changing nature, we can hold onto the key to better transforming ourselves.

Man models himself on earth,

Earth on heaven,

Heaven on the way,

And the way on that which is naturally so.1 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 25)

On a fundamental level, Lao Tzu, or Taoist thinking, regards humanity as part of the natural order in the cosmos. The essence of Taoism’s humanist concern is that an individual has the innate potential for self-awakening and self-transformation in this rather expansive and unfathomable universe.

The natural patterns

Wu-wei, as a state of mind and an attitude, is a response to the observations of the workings of the natural world. Such responses arise from recognizing the regularities and patterns in human affairs. When things move in accordance with patterns and trends, some general observations can be made under specific circumstances.

Therefore, wu-wei is about becoming aware of what the circumstances are transforming into instead of being driven by one’s subjective preferences and inclinations.

To act by identifying and following along with these changing circumstances is the application of wu-wei. That’s spontaneous actions, not arbitrary actions, and not adopting a defeatist and careless approach to life’s critical moments.

Spontaneous actions contribute to the efforts to steer one’s positioning in changing situations with self-awareness.

The Tao never does,

Yet through it everything is done.

If princes and dukes can keep the Tao,

The world will of its own accord be reformed.2 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 37)

This is the essence of Lao Tzu’s wu-wei. It can be summarized as follows: by following the natural course of action instead of forcing, positive outcomes will naturally come along the way.

Another critical question comes into play: how can we tell what a natural or unnatural course is?

From Lao Tzu’s thinking, there exists inherent regularities in the evolution of things, which can be manifested in this manner: things reverting to their opposite sides in particular conditions.

Growth and decay, rise and decline, are just like the evolution of seasons and the cycles of events. Although they may not necessarily move in the same process of reversion, the myriad things and phenomena are always in motion.

If you would have a thing shrink,

You must first stretch it;

If you would have a thing weakened,

You must first strengthen it;

If you would have a thing laid aside,

You must first set it up;

If you would take from a thing,

You must first give to it.

This is called subtle discernment.3 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 36)

The notion of “subtle discernment” indicates an intelligent way of looking at things, of being aware of proceeding with care and caution. From observing the symptoms, it is possible to know how to act by following the trend.

The period of prime involves the element of decline. But if one is riding with the proper trend, one does not need to exert oneself to expect outcomes. Seeing this connection is the key to embracing changes.

Following the Tao, therefore, means transcending one’s immediate realities, not being disturbed by emotions and anxieties, and detaching oneself from arbitrary and self-destructive actions.

Beyond relative opposites 

Therefore, we can see that wu-wei is a particular state of mind that involves self-observation, watching how we interact with the external environment.

We live in a cultural context that incorporates intricate webs of meaning, value systems, and social structures. They facilitate the operation of human society, while at the same time shaping the variety of human actions.

Terrorism is bad. Patriotism is good. Democracy is desirable. Autocracy is unacceptable. What about comprehensive yet subtle state oppression as another (larger) form of terrorism, yet being intentionally portrayed and propagandized as something good? What about militant and aggressive populist rule, shrouded with a democratic surface decorated with procedures and rituals that make political lies look legitimate?

It’s often the case that people almost never change their perspectives and opinions on things, particularly if there is a strong emotional attachment to those viewpoints and beliefs. But, what if one specific perspective is actually artificially manufactured and popularized with intentions? In that case, the one who subscribes to such a perspective is controlled by others.

This is contrary to wu-wei. If we understand it as non-arbitrary actions, then following what is popular and conventional can prove to be disastrous. For clarity is about self-awareness, and when we become unaware of the circumstances, we are lost in confusion.

This is the situation dealing with specific values and ideas. Lao Tzu saw the power of ideas and the abuse of intellect for political (often narrow and parochial interests) gains. He was aware of the fact that the average individual could not even preserve their life in the face of an aggressive government and predatory social order.

Under such an environment, what is true and false is not easily observable. In a sense, they become pliable and subject to artificial influences.

The whole world recognizes the beautiful as the beautiful,

yet this is only the ugly;

the whole world recognizes the good as the good, yet this is only the bad.4 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 2)

These famous lines in the Tao Te Ching reveal the common perceptions we have become used to adopting. There are two layers of meaning to these words. On the one hand, we tend to make easy distinctions between black and white, round and square, or right and wrong. Yet, things in reality can be far more complicated than such simple contrasts.

At the same time, things on the surface may not necessarily turn out to be what they truly are. If we allow ourselves to be conditioned by the relative opposites of the material world—the phenomena we see, listen to, experience, and feel—we risk being shackled by what is presented to us.

In the face of such a plethora of relative opposites, the wu-wei mindset is about watching them dissolve, not identifying with any one of them.

The alignment of mind and action 

Most often, the troubles and struggles we encounter are caused by our own actions. We deviate from what is most natural and intuitive to ourselves, and, accordingly, choose to do things arbitrarily, out of a whim, or as a forced reaction to our immediate realities.

When we are caught up in emotional turmoil, we cannot see things clearly. Thus, we act without really knowing where we are going, without bearing in mind the consequences.

In such a state of confusion, choosing not to react and instead, a simple observation is the obvious answer. The more precise the perception of reality, the more accurate our responses can be. This is the way that leads to following along with the natural course.

Ideas and thoughts, when put into concrete circumstances, can become a part of reality. They shape our actions and determine the trajectories of our life paths. In essence, wu-wei is about the management of how the mind works.

When the mind becomes tarnished, warped, and stained, it stops reflecting the accurate details of our situations. So we hear Lao Tzu saying:

Can you polish your mysterious mirror

And leave no blemish?5 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 10)

Unavoidably, we encounter entanglements in life that demand our attention and response, sometimes making us react to cues with limited and “blemished” perceptions. Yet, it’s important to note that some situations can resolve themselves without our involvement.

Wu-wei is, in this sense, not putting yourself in a state of constant reactions. Therefore, you need to improve your mental awareness.

Every time you are entangled in a situation, the question to ask is: who is responding? Is it the external self, the one controlled by emotions, senses, and feelings, the one conditioned by specific worldviews, or the spiritual one, the inner self, who can watch, observe, and see things with awareness and detachment?

Therefore, wu-wei is not about doing nothing, or an absence of actions.

Rather, it is the unity of the mind and spontaneous actions. In Lao Tzu’s text, he does not advise adopting a passive gesture toward life, instead, he encounrages following the Tao in its cycle of stillness and motion:

The Tao of Heaven

Blesses, but does not harm.

The Way of the Sage

Accomplishes, but does not contend.6 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 11)

With an understanding of the regularities and patterns in the natural world that have been shaping our existence, being guided by wu-wei is to follow the natural course with the least amount of effort.

As an intelligent and intuitive mindset, it empowers your life to be more attuned to the rhythm of your surroundings. In this sense, wu-wei is a way of living that allows you to be at ease with life while steering with self-awareness.

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One of the most daunting challenges of modern life is self-establishment in a harsh world. To take control of one’s time and live the life one wants it to be is very much a spiritual liberation.

Self-fulfillment is difficult because it requires individual efforts and the proper objective conditions. Most often, things may not necessarily evolve the way we anticipate. This means patience and a grasp of one’s immediate realities are essential.

At the same time, there is too much unknown and unpredictable, sometimes making us unable to see things clearly. As a result, we would have to search for answers without assurance and clear signals. In this sense, the path toward self-establishment is always accompanied by the question: to what extent can we handle a long period of solitude and uncertainty?

This is an important question because what we think and choose to act on determines the trajectory of our lives. There is no internal harmony and peace of mind when we are living in constant fear and anxiety, driven by external expectations, desires, and a lack of clarity. Instead of listening to and following our inner voice, we are inclined to act as our circumstances dictate.

In this sense, another challenge, more significant than self-establishment, can present itself to us, especially when we become complacent with ourselves. This challenge is manifested by a lack of seeing the inherent evolution of things.

In the Taoist perspective, rise and fall, growth and decay, and increase and decline are interconnected. In this sense, reaching the stage of self-establishment indicates that one should be prepared for the following period of decline, which means crisis management and a psychological acceptance of unpredictable things along the way.

This attitude gives rise to a broad-minded outlook on life through harmony with the self, for it is inevitable that things beyond our control will emerge somewhere in life.

A person on her or his way to improvement and growth will inescapably and accidentally attract disconcerting voices of disapproval, criticism, or even libel. Likewise, a business on its rise will most likely cause competition and even malicious attacks.

Therefore, in the face of these everyday occurrences, only those with clarity and a comprehensive understanding of things can be detached and not bothered. That’s the state of reaching harmony with the self.

This spiritual state allows one to see through the successes and failures of the world, to get disentangled from the fuss and disturbance of human relations, and to arrive at a balanced state between the world of senses and private spiritual life.

On a deeper level, the challenge of reaching harmony with oneself reveals a state of poverty of the mind, discord within, and a lack of self-awareness. When we get ourselves busy pursuing external things, we are inclined to lose the connection with the self within.

Harmony with the self is to recognize that spiritual power can be balanced with earth-bound reality, be at ease with what is within our control, and not be moved by allures.

Reflecting on this point, I found that Lao Tzu’s legendary departure offers us some valuable lessons about living.

Leaving the world behind

We know too little about Lao Tzu, the alleged author of the Tao Te Ching, or the founder of Taoist philosophy in pre-dynastic China (before 221 BC).

According to historical records1, he was from the state of Chu during the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BC). He spent most of his time serving as the Keeper of the Archives for the Zhou dynasty (1046-256 BC).

His life experiences were not thoroughly recorded. During his stay at the Archives, Confucius probably visited him a few times to consult about the Tao and rituals.

Throughout his life, he practiced his philosophy of keeping low and not seeking recognition and fame.

I can only speculate that his work at the Archives allowed him to access a vast range of source materials, including government documents, diplomatic correspondence, ancient records, and scholarly works.

This observation is derived from the fact that he touched upon so many topics in the Tao Te Ching, ranging from the idea of Tao, the origin of the universe, the organic, naturalist, and holistic view on things to practical applications of his philosophy on statecraft, self-cultivation and governing, military strategy, personal improvement, and spirituality.

In a nutshell, Lao Tzu’s thinking is very much interdisciplinary, which we see from his holistic perspective on the myriad things in the human world. Human society is complicated because human nature is sophisticated. It is because of the abuse and manipulation of the human intellect, causing the depravity and fall of humanity, that Lao Tzu suggests a philosophy of simplicity through wu-wei and naturalness.

His post at the Archives expanded his understanding of things and, more importantly, offered a rare opportunity to observe and experience current affairs in detail. After decades of staying there, he became disillusioned by the moral decay and political turmoil of the time. As a result, he decided to leave the Zhou.

The legend said that he journeyed westward and arrived at the western frontier, where he encountered the official Yin Xi 尹喜, the Guardian of the Pass. Yin Xi, sensing that Lao Tzu must be exceptional, requested that he impart his teachings before leaving.

In response, Lao Tzu composed the Tao Te Ching, about five thousand Chinese characters. Since then, no one knew his whereabouts.

The eternal reversion

Like many commentators and researchers, I’ve always doubted the truthfulness of Lao Tzu’s flight from the Zhou.

If he was indeed a wise and farsighted court historian and scholar, why not offer his counsel to the Zhou government long before its decline? Or perhaps he had already done so to prolong Zhou’s rule (which lasted almost 800 years despite having limited power and influence in the latter half of its reign)?

Yet, I’ve also realized that the meaning of his departure carries more weight than its veracity.

The fundamental reason is that his decision to leave is very much consistent with his philosophical outlook on life and the nature of things.

For he talks about the advantage of lying low, the attitude of non-contention, humility, and the strength of weakness.

Perhaps he has seen through the futile efforts of contending for power, status, and fame. Approaching the end of the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BC), it was a common theme for various fief lords to play the game of divide and conquer. Lao Tzu must have observed that what is gained through violence and machinations can end violently and abruptly.

In this sense, his emphasis on being like water in real life is very much about following along with the inscrutable and changing tide of things instead of contending against the circumstances.

But what is the foundation or source of this general outlook?

I think the answer lies in the idea of universal reversion. If life is in constant flux, then the phenomena of rise and fall, or beginning and ending, are like eternal cycles, spontaneously evolving in their natural rhythms.

Reversion is the action of Tao;

Weakness is the function of Tao.2 (Chapter 40)

The myriad creatures all rise together

And I watch their return.

The teeming creatures

All return to their separate roots.

Returning to one's roots is known as stillness.

This is what is meant by returning to one's destiny.

Returning to one's destiny is known as the constant.

Knowledge of the constant is known as discernment.3 (Chapter 16)

Through observation, Lao Tzu has achieved an understanding of the silent workings of the natural world and, therefore, a sense of respect for the unknown and mysterious that is beyond our imagination.

What is beyond our concrete experiences is, to some extent, mystical. But, as thoughts become a reality, there is a general trend before the manifestation of symptoms and images.

In the face of the constant and spontaneous evolution of things in the universe, there’s nothing we can do to stop it but adapt and flow with changes with self-awareness and better position ourselves.

In Lao Tzu’s context, learning from the workings of Tao means crisis awareness on a practical level. Political decay and social degeneration became the unavoidable fate of the once-great Zhou dynasty. On a personal level, his fame and status in the government were nothing but fleeting labels.

He was quite aware that not many would heed his words on simplicity, contentment, guarding against overreach, or not interfering and encroaching on people’s lives. While the whole country and the people were bathed in a collective euphoria about national glory, Lao Tzu decided to leave the scene.

Of course, he would be disliked, criticized, demonized, and chased after if he decided to live a non-conformist way of life in the capital of Zhou.

Sometimes, simple and truthful words are not welcome. Hitler’s political opponents in a democratic system could not prevent him from rising to power. How could the masses listen to the somewhat insipid teachings of Lao Tzu, a simple keeper of archives?

In times of great confusion, Lao Tzu’s flight was actually a can-not-help choice. The act of submerging in the world’s turmoil, retreating instead of being caught up by attachments, and following along with things allowed him to elevate his spiritual power on a transpersonal and transcendent level.

“Who receives unto himself the calumny of the world

Is the preserver of the state.

Who bears himself the sins of the world

Is the king of the world.”

Straight words seem crooked.4 (Chapter 78)

But “the way of Heaven is impartial;

It sides only with the good man.”5(Chapter 79)

I don’t think Lao Tzu would be dismayed or sad about leaving his country. On a spiritual level, his writings show that his spirit was already beyond this world. Instead of subjecting himself to the laws of the human world (in a specific political system and cultural context), he followed the way of heaven, the natural Tao.

As someone who could look at things in the human world from the perspective of Tao, he was already beyond the joy and sorrow, gains and losses, conventions and judgment of this mundane world.

In hindsight, the positive outcome of his departure is his Tao Te Ching, a key to unlocking the mysterious nature of the universe and its endless cycles and a guide for life.

In this sense, I’m inclined to think that his leaving, on a symbolic level, still teaches us about seeing things with refreshed eyes, for sometimes, in moments of departure, we can temporarily arrive at clarity on our state of existence.

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We often take it for granted that politics is remote and irrelevant. After all, moving about in everyday life is already quite a challenge for most of us.

It’s true that politics, in the narrow sense, involves the management of public affairs by the government and its institutions.

Even if we do not directly participate in running the political system, we are still affected by its operations. Policies, regulations, and the conduct of diplomatic relations shape various aspects of our lives. Whether it is tariffs, export and import controls, or taxation, we are inescapably bound by the actions of a political system.

On the other hand, a polity’s character is interconnected with the character of its people. We cannot expect an open and free society to flourish on a land where the vast majority of people do not care about individual liberty, toleration, or a pluralistic outlook on life. In other words, it requires consensus among its people to preserve this way of life.

I remember having a conversation with a friend about living in an authoritarian society. Our disagreement was focused on the tradeoff between economic benefits and political freedom. This distinction speaks to a deep-seated inclination within all of us to prefer stability and security over intangible political rights.

Yet, it seems to me that such an understanding of our relationship with the political order is very much transactional. In the face of short-term gains, we can forgo some abstract yet vital elements that define who we are. Individual liberty, partially represented by political freedom, is the foundation of individuality that allows us to freely exercise our talents and natural abilities. It is attuned to the rhythm and diversity of life itself.

I’ve also realized that our conversation revolves around the state-citizen relationship. If it does not have to be transactional, then what form can it take? Is it idealistic or naive to imagine a symbiotic relationship between the political order and the free development of the individual?

It is upon such reflections that I find Taoist political thinking can shed some light on the inherent tension between the state and individuals.

A Taoist sketch of rulership

Yang Ziju, a student of Lao Tzu, asked his master, “Here is a man, alert and vigorous, clear-sighted and intelligent, and untiring in learning Tao. Could he be accounted as a wise ruler?”1

“Compared with the sages,” said Lao Tzu, “such a one would be a mere servant or artisan, toiling with their muscles and wearing out their minds. The tiger and the leopard are hunted because of the beauty of their skins. The cleverness of the monkey, the sagacity of the dog, bring them both to the tether. Can such as these be compared with a wise ruler?”

Yang Ziju looked decomposed and said, “May I venture to ask about the government of the wise ruler?”

“In the government of the enlightened ruler,” said Lao Tzu, “his achievement is the greatest in the world, but it seems not to be his own. His influence reaches all things, but no one depends upon him. No one can give him a name, but every one enjoys one’s self.”

Political judgment and self-transformation

From this conversation alone, I can say that Yang Ziju is an excellent student, as his question prompted his master, Lao Tzu, to share his thoughts on two messages.

The first is about self-realization, specifically how one is supposed to position oneself in changing circumstances.

Yang Ziju is clearly oriented toward developing specialized skills, which he assumes would make him stand out. However, something is missing in his thinking.

Lao Tzu, therefore, reminds his student to be wary of this mindset, for it can trap him in a particular environment. Specialized skills and capacities, in this sense, become shackles. Once identified with this specific label, it becomes difficult to step outside it.

On an existential level, Lao Tzu is warning his student not to become an instrument, a tool, or an expendable thing in life.

In other words, having exceptional skills as one’s comparative advantage does not mean having the essential wisdom to navigate reality, which is far more complex and unpredictable.

In this sense, a different type of competence is critical. That’s self-knowledge and self-awareness.

During the Warring States period (475-221 BC), scholars were often courted by ambitious rulers to offer advice in their political adventures. If we think about it, there’s not much of a fundamental difference between a young professional exchanging her or his specialized skills and experience with an employer to make a living in the modern age.

Therefore, Lao Tzu suggests that his student not be overly used and exploited in life’s entanglements. This requires constantly reminding oneself: What is your purpose and meaning in this life? Do you have a solid foundation to support your vision?

Quite often, we are inclined to forget about such fundamental questions, especially when we find ourselves in a comfortable but also illusory state of living.

Society projects various specious values and ways of doing things on us, making us believe that conforming to popular opinions and conventions is the right thing to do. In this sense, employers, political leaders, and propagandists of all sorts are similar in that they make us believe we share common interests and values. That’s an illusion.

Only you can figure out your own life’s calling, the path through which you can be at ease with life. If you find that life has no meaning or that you have no dreams like your peers with ambitions, unique talents, and adventurous spirits, yet you are enthusiastic and optimistic about the moments of living, who can say you will not live a beautiful life?

Lao Tzu says, “the Sage wears a coarse cloth on top and carries jade within his bosom.”2 This is his way of strategic camouflage. It’s often the case that the people around you may not necessarily understand you. That means you must carry on by yourself.

Another key aspect of Lao Tzu’s message from the conversation is related to reading one’s political and social circumstances and seizing the right moment to act.

Lao Tzu approached this from the angle of political leadership. In his political thinking, a political order based on the natural order enables individuals to freely exercise their talents and be at ease with their natural and spontaneous exploration and development in life. But how is this possible in the real world?

Such a political arrangement is anchored to two pillars: the enlightened leadership and awakened individuals.

In other words, the government that embodies the principle of non-intervention and the individual’s taking control of their life go hand in hand.

In the Taoist spirit, such a government must be limited, assuming an assisting role in managing public affairs and contributing to the welfare of the average person.

In Lao Tzu’s own words:

The Tao never does,

Yet through it everything is done.

If princes and dukes can keep the Tao,

The world will of its own accord be reformed.3 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 37)

I take no action and the people are transformed of themselves.4 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 57)

From this view, a political order should serve the people instead of towering over them and becoming self-serving.

Lao Tzu was not naive. Given the circumstances he lived in, advising wu-wei (often arbitrarily interpreted by rulers as doing nothing) and warning rulers of his time not to encroach upon individuals’ lives is wishful thinking. Political leaders, under the circumstances of external threats and internal instability, would be committing suicide if they chose to do nothing.

The crux of the issue is whether the political machine can be switched off or tamed after being mobilized in times of emergency. Therefore, wu-wei can become a standard for assessing leadership quality.

Yet we all know that human nature can be inscrutable and unreliable, especially for those in control of immense power. After all, leaders like George Washington, who could resist the allure of power, are rare. Good governance can degenerate, and an empowering political order can become suffocating. So Lao Tzu has observed:

When the government is lazy and dull,

Its people are unspoiled;

When the government is efficient and smart,

Its people are discontented.

…

But the normal would (immediately) revert to the deceitful,

And the good revert to the sinister.5 (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 58)

In this sense, it is an individual’s responsibility to realize self-transformation. And that requires political judgment and the will for self-reliance.

Following Lao Tzu’s advice, “the Tao follows that which is natural (dao fa ziran 道法自然),”6 essentially means that we need to find and build an environment that is proper to our natural development.

Since social conditions and trends are constantly changing, circumstances will always present themselves in various shapes. Thus, we must stay vigilant about the general evolution of the political and social climate.

Guo Xiang (252-312 AD), a representative of the neo-Taoist movement during the Wei-Jin period (220-589 AD), has summarized the Taoist view on political authority and the individual as follows:

If those in authority don’t practice wu-wei, actions taken by them will result in everyone conforming to them… Therefore, what is valued in the sage king is not his ability to put things in order but the fact that by practicing wu-wei, he allows people to behave spontaneously.7

I’ve often wondered how Lao Tzu would behave in the modern world. From my understanding of his thought, he would certainly be suspected and treated as a political dissident by an autocratic regime if any details of his behavior were perceived as critical of the regime and non-conformist. Perhaps that’s the reason he was so fond of the value of lying low, the strength of the softest, and knowing the white but keeping to the black.

If you have enjoyed the “Stories of Lao Tzu,” these following companion series offer deeper dives into Taoism.

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One of the mysteries of life is that we don’t know how a season will feel until it is past. When we are still in that past moment, we are entangled without realizing what impact it will have on us, until later we find that it has been imprinted on our memories.

Seasons change silently. Nature keeps shifting new colors, textures, and tones. Everything is subject to the forces of change, no matter how we try to cling to them. Childhood companions who shared our days eventually take separate paths.

Such is the mystery of life. We plan ahead, hoping that life can unfold according to our expectations and wishes, but there are always surprises and unexpected turns of events lying somewhere, waiting for us to be amazed and enlightened.

After we have ventured into the world, being tossed about by the pressures, struggles, and shackles of society, what could better warm our hearts when we reflect on the precious memories we’ve shared with our dear friends and when they pat on our shoulder to remind us they are always there?

Laughter, tears, silliness, adventure, and bittersweet turns — these soften our spirit and soul. They remind us we are loved and that we don’t want those we love to feel alone.

We may dedicate ourselves to something only to discover our passion lives elsewhere. Or what we once disliked becomes part of us.

Such are the joys and ironies of living.

Faced with the unfathomable, we also feel life’s evanescence. We cling to precious moments. Yet, an unspeakable sense of melancholy and sorrow encloses us as we see the fallen maple leaves on an autumn afternoon.

From a Taoist view, the hidden, ceaseless changes are the silent workings of the Tao. Everything is in a process of construction and destruction. Striving for certainty and constancy is often futile.

It makes us wonder, then, how can we arrange a life amid unpredictability?

Through the words of Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu tells us that life is simply a temporary episode in the Tao’s larger evolution. The key to living fully is to cherish all the important people and moments while not being shackled by the bondage of a mundane life.

The nature of life

Confucius asked Lao Tzu, “Today you seem to have a moment of leisure — may I ask about the perfect Tao?”1

Lao Tzu said, “You must fast and practice austerities, cleanse and purge your mind, wash and purify your inner spirit, destroy and do away with your knowledge. The Tao is abstruse and difficult to describe.

“Heaven cannot help but be high; earth cannot help but be broad; the sun and moon cannot help but revolve; the ten thousand things cannot help but flourish. Is this not the Tao?

…

“Look at a person from the perspective of the origin, when life begins for him or her, they are just a collection of breath. When they die, whether they are young or very old, these different destinies make little difference, and their life span is so short.

“Human life between Heaven and Earth is like a white colt glimpsed through a crack in the wall, quickly past. It pours forth, it overwhelms, yet there is nothing that does not emerge.

“It drifts, it swirls, yet there is nothing that does not return. Life is transformation, and death is also transformation. All living creatures are saddened, and all humanity mourns.

“However, it is simply the releasing of the Heavenly bowstring, or the emptying of the Heavenly satchel, a yielding and a changing which release the soul, as the body follows, back at long last to the great Returning.”

Living with passion and detachment 

Indeed, life is such a short experience. The moments of joy and sadness are fleeting. This makes us love life itself even more, knowing that every moment is to be tasted, felt, and lived, and every encounter is to be embraced and cherished.

From a Taoist perspective, life is simply an accidental episode in the constant cycle of life and death. The time before we were born and after we depart lies beyond our control.

In the face of such emptiness, a sense of powerlessness and urgency strikes us, making us long for more and deeper connections with this life. For we know this is the only concrete and solid reality we can resonate with.

With awareness, we cherish relationships and moments that matter. With the perception of the impermanent nature of things, everything in life will become simple.

A sense of clarity allows us to cut unnecessary entanglements. We keep close the ones who stand by us and the people and practices that nourish the spirit. Their presence makes our short stay into a worthy journey.

Certainly, an unavoidable part of living is to experience the moments of departures. Growing up means saying goodbye to our childhood and youth. To discover ourselves in the midst of life’s journey is to leave behind the elements that used to define us. This is the rhythm of life.

Similarly, social conditions are always in flux. New trends, phenomena, and circumstances will continuously refresh themselves. They evolve whether or not we insist on holding them still.

In the Taoist spirit, the sages understand these regularities and, therefore, flow with changes and the passage of time. Following along with change means refreshing one’s mode of thinking, adjusting one’s way of doing things, and never being held back by external shackles.

Knowledge is limited. And our perceptions can be narrow. No matter how much we accumulate empirical knowledge about the world, a systematic process of learning can still add to the reality of informed prejudices and insufficient understanding. For instance, who would’ve thought that smartphones could become mainstream back in the early 2000s?

On a personal level, grasping this spontaneous evolution of things and the evanescence of life allows us to develop a transcendent and detached attitude toward life’s entanglements. We are on a temporary trip in this world, so figuring out what matters the most is fundamental.

In times of change, finding and moving into an environment conducive to our natural development is vital. This is to follow the Tao:

A happy feeling is prior to smiling. A forced smile is not natural. Resting in the natural and going with the process of evolution, you will enter into the empty, the natural, and the One (Tao).2

With a hard-earned self-awareness and clarity on things, we can step outside of our personal troubles, plight, and sentiments, bringing consolation to the people we love and cherish.

For the act of cherishing this life is not just about how we can live an authentic life proper to our inborn nature. It’s also about how we return the love, care, and companionship to those we love during our shared, brief stay.

Next in this series:

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Our actions reveal how we see the world, reflecting our beliefs and values, often without our consciously noticing. Similarly, appreciation of aesthetic things reveals a person’s inner world. I suppose that partially explains why we are drawn to artistic works.

A great piece of art is like a mirror. It captures our sentiments, feelings, and thoughts without words. It touches the softest place in the heart. Sometimes, we resonate with the theme before we can even explain it.

I’ve long been fascinated by a painting by Su Dongpo (1036-1101 AD), the Song Dynasty poet. With plain brushwork, he depicts an odd rock and a withered tree.

Ugly and eccentric, the rock is quite distinct from other types, like jade, that have been traditionally valued. Yet, there is something unique about it. Similarly, the withered tree, seemingly near death, cannot compare with the pine, the cypress, the bamboo, or the willow in traditional painting.

Nevertheless, the two are kindred companions. Their pairing reflects a spiritual state of being at ease with themselves.

Despite lacking beauty, elegance, and usefulness —the qualities usually associated with their own kind —the withered tree and the strange rock give us a sense of nonchalance and detachment.

But if you come to think of it, such a spiritual state is usually attained through going about the world, seeing and experiencing the vicissitudes of fortune, and being tossed about by external changes.

It is the wayfarer’s weary but lucid outlook after realizing life is simply a temporary journey. And it is meaningless to contend for perfection when one is actually trying to escape the imperfections of life.

From seeing that it’s essential to be the way you are, there arises a sense of detachment. How much of what we do is shaped by the expectations of others? We are very much attached to the role of a performer, hardly noticing that we are feeding that perception.

With that in mind, I’ve captured some new thoughts on the Taoist perspective (primarily that of Lao Tzu) of self-conduct.

The burden of appearances

Yang Ziju, a student of Lao Tzu, made an appointment with his master. They were about to see each other in the suburb of Liang.1

When Lao Tzu saw Yang on the road, he turned his head to the sky and sighed, saying, “I thought you could be my disciple. Now I know you cannot.”

Yang did not reply. When they arrived at the inn, he fetched a basin of water and towels and left their shoes outside the door. Then, Yang went forward on his knees and said, “I was going to ask you something, Master, but you were occupied on the road, and I did not dare. Now you are free. May I ask what my fault is?”

“You have that haughty look. Who would want to be in the same room with you? Sheer white appears like tarnished; great character appears like insufficient.”

Yang’s face changed, and he said, “Thank you for your advice.”

When Yang first arrived at the inn, the people there came out to greet him. The innkeeper held the mat for him, and his wife held the comb and towels ready. The other people in the inn moved politely off their mats, and the cook left the stove to make way for him.

But when Yang returned (after seeing Lao Tzu), the people at the inn mingled freely with him on the mat.

Becoming one with the dust

The story conveys Lao Tzu’s philosophy of keeping low, a core tenet of self-conduct from this stream of Taoism.

Yang Ziju is still status-conscious, living under the shackles of external appearance and vanity.

From Lao Tzu’s perspective, his student is trying too hard to manage how the world receives him. Such attempts are unnatural. They create inner tension because he has not yet learned to blend with the world with self-awareness.

In the Taoist spirit, anything forced shows an act of being dictated by pressure and external influences. What is artificial departs from inborn nature. It lacks the intuitive power of going with the flow, swimming with the tide, or immersing in the surroundings.

Lao Tzu’s conception of a Taoist is one of an unassuming, unobtrusive person who freely reaches a state of harmony with the environment.

From this perspective, true character can never appear virtuous; it embodies virtue so naturally that it goes unnoticed.

Superior character appears like a hollow (valley).2

…

The man of superior character is not (conscious of his) character,

Hence he has character.3

This Taoist view of ethics is imprinted on leadership. Many want-to-be leaders are like Yang Ziju, contending to be respected by others and, therefore, doing things to exert their influence. Yet, truly great leaders often appear unremarkable because their impact is felt rather than displayed.

The best of all rulers is but a shadowy presence to his subjects.

Next comes the ruler they love and praise;

Next comes one they fear;

Next comes one with whom they take liberties.4

These leaders are naturally sought after because they help people freely make things happen for themselves. No one feels pressured or disrupted by this type of authority, and no one needs to feel grateful.

In personal conduct, “sheer white appears like tarnished” is a call to live with awareness. It’s a constant cultivation of self-knowledge, while carefully observing what’s happening between the self and the outside. Lao Tzu suggested, “Know the white, but keep to the role of the black.”5

It’s the will to shed your concern with perceptions, submerging yourself in the world’s turmoil. It’s the awareness that, despite being positioned in darkness, you can carry light into it, accepting that you may be dimmed in the process.

This view suggests not taking oneself too seriously: we are part of the natural world. As Chuang Tzu puts it: "Heaven and Earth and I came into existence together, and all things with me are one.”6

While hierarchies emerge naturally in life, one should not become attached to them or treat people or things with arrogance or contempt. Fortune and misfortune move in cycles; power and position are transitory.

I cannot help but think that these contrarian views of self-conduct reveal Lao Tzu’s and the early hermits’ concerns during the Spring and Autumn period (770–476 BC) with self-preservation in times of chaos and darkness.

But it is actually consistent with the workings of Tao. The world can be harsh and cruel; without unorthodox methods and strategies, there is no guarantee that we can go back to the noble ideal of spontaneous being, to keep to the essential self in the midst of life’s changes. So Lao Tzu has observed:

Reversion is the action of Tao,

Weakness (gentleness) is the function of Tao.7

Following the Tao means observing, adapting, and adjusting as circumstances shift.

The time will come when we feel vulnerable and powerless. And that is when to embrace the moment. To pick ourselves up in times of distress and misunderstanding, blemished and abandoned, is the path toward clarity, strength, and transcendence.

To accept being stained is a spiritual surrender through which inner strength and lucidity emerge, especially in a world that is not yet ready to see you as you are.

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It’s February 2, 2025, another Lunar New Year. In China, this is when people pause after a year’s labor and reunite with family.

Not everyone welcomes the Spring Festival, though.

A friend sent a message to me one day. From what he was trying to say, I sensed that he was bored by the occasions of facing relatives and exchanging scripted wishes with colleagues.

During family gatherings at this time of the year, it’s often the case that your aunt or uncle, an older cousin, or someone you barely remember will inquire about your personal life, work, studies, relationships, or marriage, even how much you made last year. Despite the good intentions, young people often feel intimidated and annoyed.

Times have changed, and perhaps we should adapt. Despite the small “horrors” of the season, I still believe this is a time to reconnect with tradition, reflect, and plan the new year. In the Taoist spirit, it’s crucial that we recognize the importance of time and change and adjust our positioning during such fluctuations.

Before real change manifests itself, we can feel the moves of its undercurrents. Something agitates us, and we can sense it intuitively.

In our conversation, my friend asked, “How strong do you think we should become to break away from the shackles of conventions and popular opinions?” I knew what troubled him from the fact that he works in the government and has to conform to the formalities of his circumstances and unwritten rules.

Beneath his question lies a deeper, inner disturbance: to what extent can we bear the encroachment and pressure imposed by these external forces, especially when it seems to reshape who we are?

We easily plunge into the muddy waters of living, comparing ourselves to others, contending for something beyond our capacity, and striving for things based on what society desires instead of what the soul longs for. In doing so we deviate from our inborn nature and forget who we are.

This reminds me of a conversation between Lao Tzu and Confucius about following the spontaneous nature of things and not being consumed by external entanglements.

The essence of spontaneous being

“Master, your character is comparable to the heaven and earth,” said Confucius, “and yet even you depend on words of wisdom to cultivate your heart. What ancient men could do without such (self-cultivation)?”

“You’re wrong there,” said Lao Tzu, “Look at the water coming out of a spring, it flows naturally of itself. The perfect man does not have to cultivate his character, and yet he never departs from the laws of nature. It is like the sky, which is high by nature, like the earth, which is solid by nature, and like the sun and the moon, which are bright by themselves. What do they do to cultivate themselves?”1

Lao Tzu’s point is that things operate and evolve spontaneously, and so do we. The essence of spontaneous living lies in being connected with one’s authentic or real self. One must live by one’s nature.

In this sense, there is no need to exert yourself. You do not push too hard and contend for specific outcomes, as you’ve realized that flowing with the changes in a favorable circumstance is a natural choice.

The trouble with Confucius’ understanding is that one has to acquire knowledge, experience, and life lessons from the outside to improve oneself. Such a view imposes a peculiar narrative on a person. That is to say, one has to attain this or that achievement, recognized by society and others’ opinions, to be deemed worthy. The danger of this perspective is that you could lose yourself while chasing social approval and living in conformity.

If we think about it, since a young age, we’ve been taught that we need to achieve this or that to live a fulfilled and happy life. In this way, one’s worth is invariably defined by others and measured by conventional standards. Unknowingly, we were playing someone else’s game.

From a Taoist perspective, the essence of living lies in shedding unnecessary attachments and letting go of entanglements that do not make sense to us.

In other words, to be spontaneous is to be liberated from imitating others in chasing worldly pursuits.

Thus, Lao Tzu has advised:

Embrace thy original nature,

Check thy selfishness,

Curtail thy desires. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 19)

I do not think Lao Tzu would suggest an ascetic or primitive way of life, as some commentators are inclined to believe. This sort of prescription is against human nature — the interdependence of the yin and yang, light and shadows.2 Instead, I’m more willing to see that Lao Tzu suggested adopting a healthy attitude of self-control.

There is no escape from the endless allure and distractions of the external world. But it is up to us to decide how involved we can be with it.

From Lao Tzu’s point of view, the original nature of a person is likened to an uncarved block.3 It represents simplicity, undecorated, or being untainted by the process of sophistication. If we use it to describe people, it describes the way we truly are.

It’s not difficult to find real-life examples of how people experience dramatic changes after putting on additional layers of identities and labels. A taste of power at one’s hands, for instance, to alter other people’s decisions and behaviors, can automatically enlarge one’s ego and give rise to megalomaniac behaviors.

It can be said that one has, unfortunately, lost one’s essential self. For being genuine is fundamentally to be honest with yourself and aware of who you are, no matter what.

In this sense, a spontaneous life is one in which one takes life into one’s own hands while preserving the purity of the heart amid life’s changes. It’s derived from an understanding that our contentment in life will never come from attaining external things, such as fame, power, and possessions, but from living naturally and letting that touch all aspects of life.

Finding yourself

To live spontaneously is to live in accordance with your inborn nature. And that’s the source of inner freedom because you get to define your own life’s meaning and destiny and carve a path proper to its realization.

It takes a process of discovering what the soul wants, not the mind, because the mind can be programmed by what society desires. Chuang Tzu writes, “If a man’s lusts and desires are deep, his spring of nature is shallow.”4

Living according to the inborn nature enables us to embrace life wholeheartedly while freely practicing our skills and natural talent. That path leads to earth-bound reality and fulfillment.

Finding the essential self requires seeing through our attachments and rising above them. It’s the only way to be at ease with ourselves. It’s knowing that, after seeing and experiencing the multi-colored reality of life, we can still peacefully accept who we are and our life’s tasks.

From the Taoist perspective, you must identify and follow your inner voice to find your Tao. You will unavoidably have to embrace solitude and walk that path alone for some time. Look within, and you will find tranquility and strength.

The mind quiescent, and the vital force well managed.

The Way can then be made to stay.

…

Only after cultivating one’s mind and quieting one’s power of awareness,

May the Way be comprehended.5

In other words, only you can discover your inner self, your natural path, and what your heart truly aspires to. No one can guide you to that answer. And no one can give you a shortcut.

In this sense, Taoism and Ch‘an Buddhism share the same fundamental teachings on guarding your spirit in the journey of self-discovery. As a popular Buddhist poem says,

Buddha is not absent on the sacred mountain, do not seek him elsewhere.

The sacred mountain is right there in your heart.

Everyone has a pagoda of the sacred mountain within.

Cultivate yourself beneath it.6

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Confucian culture can benefit from scrutiny1. I say this with an appreciation of its original teachings, its core principles of human-heartedness and righteousness (ren yi 仁義), its emphasis on learning, respect for rituals and etiquette, passion, and sincerity. Despite being quite moralistic, its doctrine can bring about positive outcomes in society.

But systems are inclined to optimize what they value. A culture that prizes credentials and propriety can drift into hierarchy and signaling. When capability and reputation become a public performance, inauthenticity, sycophancy, and hypocrisy follow.

For instance, since its teaching emphasizes the importance of education and connects getting educated with reputable social standing and decent living, it has become an ingrained habit of Chinese parents over centuries to invest heavily in their children’s education.

Unfortunately, young kids become unwilling test cases for verifying this traditional theory. So, they are usually forced to study hard to live up to their parents’ expectations.

Then they work hard, too, investing their youth to earn a ‘good life,’ which becomes its own justification, another layer of deeper conditioning.

Perhaps in this grinding, they obtain some recognition, eventually making their parents proud and bringing honor to the family. Sadly, they are finished if they solely believe this is the only viable path.

So, young people have been living in this loop for generations. So many of them take domestication for respecting the accepted ways of doing things, regard conformity as a necessary condition of social approval, and justify docility and blind obedience as respect for tradition and order.

When I look at the birds flying about in a park, I sometimes even wonder if they may know better than we do about taking risks and trusting their instincts and intuition.

In our modern world, which is invariably hastened by the rapid development of the economy and technological progress, there is an element of hustling in almost every society. Perhaps America has the largest economy because it has the most intense type of hustler culture. Everything has to be executed with efficiency, speed, and a sense of urgency.

While we all get occupied with moving about, contending, and striving, we cannot slow down to think about what truly matters to us and how we are supposed to live, not what society says we should care about, but what truly speaks to us.

Schools are important in that they help impart knowledge and skills, to some extent, that we can fit into the mold of society. What is missing is that they do not teach us how to arrange our spiritual life or find a deeper connection with the world.

Similarly, the stuff that constitutes the core of the consumer culture is very much a social construct. Distractions and allure are everywhere. We are constantly positioned in the tension between reason and the subjugation of desires.

We labor and work hard to have some leisure time to relax and enjoy life. But we can actually start with living in simplicity.

For when we see through those social constructs, we become disenchanted, and we are free. In this sense, simplicity and detachment are not passive. They are an act of spiritual autonomy, which leads to serenity and peace of mind.

The source of inner joy

Simplicity is disenchantment with our attachments and fixations. It keeps our roles while reminding us to remove the imposed spell. It is a realization that there is no need to rely on something emotionally.

A simple way of life helps us make contact with reality, in which we slow down and start observing the world around us: the river flowing, the clouds moving, the breeze on the face, the trees growing and swaying, and the birds chirping and flying about.

Simplicity is a spiritual practice as it reminds us to see our entanglements in everyday life. So, we become detached from seeking external rewards and approval.

This does not mean abandoning the responsibilities associated with specific roles in society. Instead, it simply suggests becoming aware of how we respond to these inserted identities.

In this sense, simplicity is the secret of enjoying the pleasure of leading a non-conformist way of life, as you are not afraid of breaking away from social approval. And you do not fear not belonging.

When we are at ease with a simple way of life, we value inner joy more than seeking validation from the outside. There is no need to contend for outcomes to satisfy the desire to be recognized.

With simplicity comes inner serenity. With serenity comes clarity to make conscious choices in life. Then we can walk out of the mental cave that traps us. And this is the path leading to taking life into your own hands.

Seeing the unity of all things

Confucius went to see Lao Tzu, who had just come out of a bath. Amazed by Lao Tzu’s appearance, which looks like a corpse, Confucius asked, “Master, you looked like the dry stump of a tree, standing there alone, like a thing from which the spirit has departed.”2

“I was meditating on the origin of the universe.”

“What do you mean?” said Confucius.

“It is a problem that defies the mind and language. I’ll try to tell you what it is like approximately. The great yin is majestically silent; the great yang is impressively active. Majestic silence comes from heaven, and impressive activity comes from the earth. When the two meet and merge, all things are formed.

“Some can see the connection, but cannot see their form. Growth alternates with decay, fullness with exhaustion, darkness with light. Every day, things change, and every month, they are transformed. Without Tao, what can be the generative principle binding on all?”

“Can you speak more in detail?” asked Confucius.

Lao Tzu replied, “The vegetarian animals do not mind changing their feeding ground. Insects that live in water do not mind a change of water. That is because the changes are minor and do not affect their vital needs.

“Happiness and anger, joys and sorrows, should not enter one’s breast, for this universe represents the unity of all things. When one perceives this unity and is united with it, he regards his bodily form as dust of the earth, and the cycle of life and death but as the alternation of day and night.

“He cannot be disturbed by such accidents, much less by the occurrences of fortune and misfortune. He shakes off an official position as he shakes off dirt, knowing that his self is more precious than rank.

“His aim is to keep his self without allowing it to become lost in external changes. For the process of change going on in all things is continuous and endless. Why should one let one’s mind be troubled by it? One who knows Tao will understand this.”

Clarity from detachment

Much of our emotional disturbance comes from how we interact with external circumstances. Without paying attention to our mental state, we are easily driven by external stimuli.

Lao Tzu suggests looking at things on a holistic level. In other words, the way he explains to Confucius reveals his understanding that we can always learn from the workings of nature to improve the quality of our existence.

Misfortune and fortune, or even life and death, are separate parts that constitute the whole. When we are only fixated on a partial aspect of things, we become short-sighted and reactive because we are captured by our narrow perceptions of reality. This is a form of being programmed and being attached.

Seeing the unity of things helps loosen our grip on temporary gains and losses, fluctuations in life, and self-image.

Therefore, Lao Tzu suggests “keeping the self” or not to lose the self. What is the cause of losing the self? Enchantment and lack of clarity.

Is it possible to preserve the self amidst life’s entanglements? By understanding, becoming aware, and seeing the natural order of things. This is to suggest the act of arriving at more accurate perceptions of reality, for reality can be complex, inscrutable, and fluid.

With a better, more precise grasp of reality, detachment becomes a choice. And detachment from external entanglements delivers us to a state of spiritual tranquility and clarity.

In this sense, detachment is to dissolve illusions in the mind. This is to say that when you are in a position of power, status, or wealth, you are not attached to what they bring to you. You are not enchanted.

So, when you are deprived of what you used to possess, you are still at ease with the new reality because you know this is how things can turn out. Life is still the same before and after your identity change. You are very aware that these things are externally inserted into your life.

Therefore, as your circumstances change, you can flow with the fluctuations. You are constantly refreshing your understanding, gaining insight, and observing the subtle vibrations of things.

This, too, is practice: following the Tao by refusing forced motion. As you grow your understanding of things, you start seeing a sense of liberation within because you are no longer held back by the ideas, notions, and perspectives within your mind.

To practice Tao means to disentangle from the mode of reacting. So, you can take the seat of an observer to witness your interactions with your surroundings, what disturbs the mind, what brings distress to the heart, and how you respond to external changes.

This is the spiritual ideal of wu-wei — the inner self reminds you that you can watch, observe, and become aware of the mental state at a critical moment that requires spontaneous actions.

The Taoist way of life, as suggested by the practice of wu-wei, is not about abandoning the world or retreating into a distant mountain but arriving at spiritual tranquility while mingling with the turmoil of the world. This is one of the fundamental differences between Taoism and the religious aspect of Buddhism.

Lao Tzu has put it this way, “Soften its light, submerge its turmoil, this is the mystic unity (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 56).”

Chuang Tzu has described the Taoist approach to life in a similar spirit,

Follow anything; receive anything. For everything was in destruction, everything was in construction. This is called tranquillity in disturbance.”3

This is to suggest you detach and see through those identifications: emotional cues, external labels, approval and rejection, validation and criticism, and all the things that are temporary.

To adopt this practice of wu-wei is to become spiritual. And to become spiritual is to be the master of your mind. You could have all the labels, recognition, and rewards from a conventional perspective, yet you are no longer confined to the thinking that they define you.

From a different angle, you could still experience all those external things, but not be attached to them and not controlled by them. That’s the difference.

This is why Lao Tzu’s saying — “retire when your work is done, such is heaven’s way” (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 9) — has deeply impacted the Taoists in traditional China.

The act of “retiring” indicates both literal and symbolic meanings. One could stop promptly if one steps onto overreach, refrain from contending for rewards and credit, and one could detach, unlearn, and disengage on a spiritual level as one sees the unstoppable evolution of things.

And, wu-wei, as a spiritual practice, is not simply to be known as a concept. If you seek real change, you need to feel it, try it, and see the transformation it brings. Every time you overcome one of those identifications, you grow stronger spiritually.

This is a process of gradually dissolving and reducing all the emotional, intellectual, and habitual baggage and burdens in your heart-mind. And the practice of wu-wei leads to the ultimate state of simplicity:

Great form has no contour;

And Tao is hidden without a name. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 41)

You become shapeless, undefinable, and mysterious because how can something like worldly fame, quantifiable possessions, or people’s opinions capture someone who is disenchanted and detached?

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Rousseau once said, “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” We can rephrase this statement as we are born free, but conditioned when we live in society.

I remember the immense joy I had when I bought my first PlayStation 2 console years ago. I was still in high school. One day, I was strolling around in a somewhat shabby mini-mall in my home city, Xi’an. That marketplace was usually frequented by students, where you could find those small shops seated next to each other, some without a signboard. You could get all sorts of digital products from there, such as headphones, cassette players, VCD sets, sound systems, PC equipment, and so on.

I was attracted by a shop owner playing games with a controller. After a few minutes of exchange and trying the game myself, I decided to get one of these consoles.

So, after about less than 7 months of living frugally and saving as much as I could, I got myself the console. I cannot remember how many games I’ve purchased from that owner, yet I still can recall the vivid image of me pulling out all my saved changes from my schoolbag and giving them to him.

How is this experience relevant to cultural conditioning? Of course, it is related. That console was a source of joy for my friends and me back then. After some years of having it, every time I think of playing games or talking to people about consoles, the name PlayStation has become an auto-suggestion.

X-box? “No way, I’d stick to my PlayStation.”

“Nintendo Switch or Steamdeck? Different playing experience.”

”PlayStation is better.”

So, obviously, I’ve become conditioned. With this kind of conditioning, I’ve also become attached. Attachment is the sort of thing that makes you think you’d be satisfied and happy when you’re in possession of something. And that something doesn’t have to be physical.

My experience of being conditioned by PlayStation was a happy one. Yet still, the satisfaction and enjoyment from it make me programmed. And it isn’t a private thing. The experience of conditioning has been there throughout history.

How conditioning feels

Confucius was planning to give his books to the Zhou Imperial Archives. And his disciple, Zilu, said to him, “I have heard that there is a keeper of the archives at the capital. His name is Lao Tzu. He has retired and is living at his home. If you want to entrust your books for safe-keeping, why don’t you go and give them to him?”1

So Confucius went to see Lao Tzu, but Lao Tzu did not accept the books. Then, Confucius spread the classics before him and tried to explain them to Lao Tzu. Before he finished, Lao Tzu interrupted, “You are trying to cover too much material. Tell me the essence of your ideas.”

“The essence is in the teachings of humanity and justice,” said Confucius.

“May I ask, are humanity and justice a part of the nature of man?”

“Yes,” replied Confucius, “A gentleman’s character is not complete without the principle of humanity, and his life is not correct if he does not follow the principle of justice. Humanity and justice are truly a part of the nature of man. What else can they be?”

“May I ask what you mean by humanity and justice?” said Lao Tzu.

“To share the happiness with others and to love all mankind without partiality is the essence of humanity and justice,” said Confucius.

“You talk like the many prophets these days. Isn’t it abstruse to talk of love for all mankind? Impartiality implies the recognition of partiality. If you want the world to find its lost shepherd again, remember that there is already a constant law governing heaven and earth, the sun and the moon are shining in the sky, the constellations are in their proper places, and trees grow and prosper.

“Why don’t you just follow the natural bent of your character and the laws of Tao? Why do you create such a commotion, holding the banner of humanity and justice like one who has lost his son and is beating a drum to look for him? I am afraid you are disturbing the nature of man.”

Fasting of the heart as deconditioning

When Confucius gets occupied with absorbing the knowledge of government systems, the teachings of past kings, and the idea of rituals, he has been conditioned to believe that these knowledge systems can help him realize his political ambitions.

When he starts preaching about humanity and justice, he is working on a project of social programming. This programming can produce political and social effects on individuals in a society.

Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu, and Taoism in general, are critical of the Confucian ideas of humanity and justice (benevolence and righteousness). They do so not because of a lack of appreciation for these values but to offer caution about solely relying on ideas to navigate the human world.

When we depend on specific ideas and belief systems, even though they may be the applaudable and worthy intellectual labor of some great philosophers or religious teachers, we are getting ourselves conditioned.

If we live a life not according to our inborn nature and not by doing things naturally but in correspondence to the guidebook offered by those ideas, we are being programmed.

Ideas, concepts, and perspectives are only partial captures of reality itself. And the elements of reality are evolving and moving all the time. They can help us get close to reality, yet we’ve got to experience and touch it ourselves.

That is why Chuang Tzu talks about the “fasting of the heart-mind” (xinzhai 心齋)2 — a spiritual practice to empty the self, not harbor any subjective opinions, to rid of the influence of narratives, and to be aware of whatever comes into the mind. And most importantly, it’s a practice to challenge anything inside the mind.

For clarity can hardly be obtained through identifications with one or two specific value systems or ways of looking at the world. They are helpful but insufficient. Therefore, arriving at clarity is also the spiritual practice of deconditioning. All we need is conscious observation of what is happening inside and around us and a drive to understand.

You may say that’s impossible, and how can you live like that? It’s simple but can be challenging. Anytime you have a strong opinion about something, you can observe how you interact with that particular thought or idea. Are you in control of how you respond to it? Or are you being controlled by it?

This is where the practice of “fasting of the heart-mind” comes in.

It suggests that only when you are empty, like being in an empty room, can you truly see things, become flexible, and understand the many possibilities of reality itself. Then, you are truly free.

Cultural conditioning and political programming are occurring everywhere, all the time. Sometimes, we are unconsciously reacting to their forces. But more often than not, we are acquiescing to their impact because we fear not belonging. Unfortunately, the sense of belonging is another facet of conditioning.

Therefore, real contact with reality requires breaking the barrier imposed by the familiar self to see and understand. In my case, it reminds me to get detached from PlayStation. It allows me to experience the fun of Steamdeck. And it cautions me that an illusion could capture me if I’m not observing.

To be truly free is to learn to dis-identify, detach, unlearn, and de-familiarize with all the things that stand in the way of becoming liberated.

That is the use of wu-wei in spiritual cultivation. As Lao Tzu said,

The student of knowledge works on learning day by day;

The student of Tao practices dissolving day by day.

By continual dissolving

One reaches the state of wu-wei. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 48)

In a sense, practicing wu-wei also means forgetting and resolving our obsessions and attachments. That’s liberation.

Chuang Tzu has another way to put it, “The fish trap exists because of the fish; once you’ve gotten the fish, you can forget the trap… Words exist because of meaning; once you’ve gotten the meaning, you can forget the words.”3

To forget the familiar self is scary, but it is a necessary step to have real contact with the changing reality. From my experience, to be conditioned to something I do not resonate with, I am trapped in an illusion. And nothing compares with the inner joy of being able to detach and forget.

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Living in society is like playing a game. In a simulated game there are levels, retries, and fresh starts. We can experiment as many times as we want. Part of the thrill is watching our main character face hurdles and, through trial and error, unlock the next stage.

When we play a game, we are both actors and observers. We can detach from the storyline and view the character’s choices from a higher perspective.

In life, though, we are often consumed by what’s happening now. With so much at stake, anxiety, pressure, worry, and expectation pull us into pure participation.

When we make mistakes, fear and restlessness take over. Wanting to play it safe, we hesitate before the unknown and freeze.

We become passive actors, resisting and reacting, unable to observe our actions and innermost feelings.

When we cannot observe the inner self, we get lost. We identify with whatever is projected onto us: praise and criticism, success and failure, fame and labels — external forces that lure us into believing they can define us.

At that point, we are easily caught by social currents. Schools, governments, media, prevailing opinions, and conventions keep us in a loop through cultural programming.

Yet, we still feel a sense of unease deep within. The inner voice is still there, dim but persistent. We find ourselves in a predicament of existence.

What we need is a conscious choice to return to the observer’s seat. Without it, we risk constructing a borrowed identity —a derivative mode of existence that is monotonous and mechanical.

But is it possible to break away from pervasive external influences? Can we truly become the master of our own self?

Finding your Tao

Confucius, already fifty-one years old, had not yet heard of Tao. Then he went to see Lao Tzu, who said to him, “I hear you are a wise man from the north. Have you found the truth (Tao)?”1

“Not yet,” said Confucius.

“How did you go about searching for it?” Asked Lao Tzu.

“I looked for it in governmental systems and institutions for five years and without success.”

“And then?”

“I tried to find it in the principles of yin and yang for twelve years and again in vain.”

“You are right,” said Lao Tzu. “For if Tao could be given as a gift, everybody would have offered it as a tribute to his ruler. If Tao could be told about, everybody would have spoken to his brothers about it. If Tao could be inherited, everybody would have bequeathed it to his children and grandchildren. But no one could do it. Why? Because if you haven’t got it in you, you could not receive Tao. If the other person hasn’t got it, the truth would not penetrate him.

“What is felt in oneself cannot be received from the outside and the sage does not try to communicate it. Humanity and justice are but like roadside inns to the ancient kings, where one could stop overnight, but not stay permanently. The perfect men of ancient times traveled by the road of humanity, lodged for a night at the inn of justice, and then wandered in the wilds of freedom. Freedom means doing nothing contrived (wu-wei).

“Resentment, favor, give, take, censure, advice, life and death — these eight are means for correcting a man’s character, but only one who comprehends the great process of this fluid universe without being submerged in it knows how to handle them. Therefore, it is said, ‘Rectify what can be rectified.’ When a man’s heart cannot see this, the door of his divine intelligence is shut.”

The observer

The Tao cannot be transferred because one must awaken to it oneself. We pass along conventions and popular opinions without examining them. This is all a mechanical repetition.

When we are unaware of our entanglements with a specific environment, we are simply reacting to its cues. We are not observing. We are not seeing. We are identifying with the impermanent appearances.

Identification with appearances is the cause of suffering and confusion. Confucius takes humanity/justice as the only viable truth, but he does not notice that he is pursuing the attributes of truth, its surfaces. He is in pain when others don’t resonate, because each person sees truth in his or her own way.

The identification continues today. We fuse with slogans, political and religious beliefs, external identities, and doctrines, and then defend them. We end up controlled by them.

Taking the observer’s seat means being the gatekeeper of the inner room. It keeps us alert to what is happening in us. That is the spiritual state of living in wu-wei. So when we hear names or ideas about “humanity,” “justice,” or any label, we study and understand them without enchantment or judgment.

That freedom is the fruit of wu-wei. It allows us to be at ease with the spontaneous unfolding of life itself. We engage names and ideas without becoming them. Observing, we watch them come and go, without clinging.

This detached observer state leads us to see “the great process of this fluid universe,” the ever-transformation of things in the world. This is the fundamental spirit of Taoism: everything produces and operates spontaneously by itself in the universe. Intentional, willful actions cannot change that flow; forcing is usually driven by the desire to identify with the temporary and external.

“Reversion is the action of Tao. Gentleness is the function of Tao.”2 Everything is in flux: growth and decay, rise and fall, life and death, progress and regress, all in a process of transformation:

The ten thousand things are really one. We look on some as beautiful because they are rare or unearthly; we look on others as ugly because they are foul and rotten. But the foul and rotten may turn into the rare and unearthly, and the rare and unearthly may turn into the foul and rotten.3

What is right in one context becomes wrong in another. What is proper here becomes improper there. Joy can turn to pain. Sorrow can transform into understanding and inner peace.

When captured by the immediate reality, we lose the clarity to see possibilities within the natural order. When we stop observing and start aligning with a single facet of perceived reality, we become the unconscious participant again.

In this sense, adaptation becomes our viable path. To adapt, we assume the observer’s role, again and again. Amid the mysteries of living, no one can give us a magic formula. We must discover and see for ourselves.

Games can allow us to switch to free camera and restart. Life doesn’t. Taking the observer’s seat is to be with one continuous run. When we stop forcing and start seeing, we can follow along with the natural course.

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“Whoever takes the empire and wishes to do something to it I see will not succeed.
The empire is a sacred vessel; 
it is not to be acted upon.
Whoever acts upon it will ruin it; 
whoever grasps it will lose it.”

— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 29

It is common to try to convince others with our views and judgments. If we are honest, we see that it’s actually our intellectual ego that drives us: we assume that knowledge, experiences, and cleverness can make us better judges of reality.

Yet, seeing the essence of things does not necessarily come from acquiring knowledge. Knowledge does not always equal wisdom. Being competent in intellectual endeavors does not guarantee the resourcefulness and clarity to navigate life's tricky and complex situations. Often, the intellectual ego is not grounded in reality.

Confucius was learned in ritual systems and ancient history and conversed with Lao Tzu several times. From their interactions, we can gain insight into the difference between someone who has grasped the essence of things and the knowledgeable and cultured individual.

The puzzle

Confucius told Lao Tzu that he had studied the Six Classics1 for a long time and had become proficient. He had also traveled to seventy-two kingdoms to offer his counsel, hoping the rulers could listen to his suggestions on the principles of government practiced by the ancient kings. To his surprise, none did. He was dismayed, wondering why it was so difficult to convince others and for people to understand the truth.

Lao Tzu said, “You were fortunate not to meet one of those rulers determined to restore order in the world. The historical records you mentioned are but footprints of the ancient kings. A shoe leaves a footprint, but it is not the shoe itself. Every individual’s nature cannot be changed. Each one’s destiny cannot be altered. Time does not stop, and Tao cannot be blocked. If you follow the Tao, you can go wherever you like. Without it, you are lost wherever you go.”

Confucius returned home, and for three months, he did not go out. Then he revisited Lao Tzu and said, “Now I understand. The birds reproduce by laying eggs, the fish by blowing bubbles, and insects like bees by metamorphosis. For a long time, I have not immersed myself in the common humanity, and without entering the human world, how can I teach humanity?”

“Now you’ve got it,” said Lao Tzu.

The metaphor 

The Six Classics in the story, as a symbol, can refer to any object of enchantment: a school of thought, a belief, a social cause, an organization, or a charismatic individual. When we attach ourselves to such an object, we become spiritually paralyzed. Our ability to think and adapt weakens. And the spirit is shackled to that entity, making us unable to adjust to changing realities.

Captured by the object, we live in temporary bewilderment: Why don’t others see what I see? This is the truth. Our attachments, emotions, and enthusiasm become tied to appearances at a specific moment. The person, dream, possession, or goal — no matter how sound — can still divert us from seeing the real image of things. In other words, we can mistake the attributes of things for their substance:

“Since the possession of attributes is an illusion, Subhuti, and no possession of attributes is no illusion, by means of attributes that are no attributes the Tathagata can, indeed, be seen."2

The essence of things

In the story, Confucius intends to use the Six Classics, or the ritual order from the Zhou Dynasty (1046-256 BC), to reform the existing social and political order. From Lao Tzu’s thinking, any proposed change must be aligned with human nature and circumstances.

Changes to ways of life, norms, and habits can take root only when they fit social conditions, including people’s receptivity.

That is to say, forced changes rarely work. Policies should be timely responses to existing conditions; failing to consider essentials means going against the grain. When Confucius realized his advice must heed common human nature, he moved closer to seeing.

A historical analogy helps. When George Kennan wrote the “Long Telegram,” he did not propose the containment strategy out of whim or following the popular tide. Instead, it was the result of years of observation of the local way of life, its cultural traditions, particular customs, and values of the average Russian. Therefore, being “on good terms” with Stalin’s Russia was hardly pragmatic.

In a similar vein, hoping today’s China under the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) to democratize, though I do not doubt that it is a good thing for the country and its people, ignores current conditions. Democratization depends on a set of factors, institutions, incentives, and public sentiment.

First, the nature of the communist regime. A regime founded by a rebellious and radical group with the financial and personnel assistance of the Communist International, who hid in the mountainous northwestern city of Yan’an, Shaanxi Province, during the Sino-Japanese war (1937-1945), kept itself busy with growing its military strength while the National Government was occupied with defending the whole country against Japanese invasion, forged in years of fighting with government crackdowns, and went through a sequence of infighting among different factions within the party itself, the CCP has since shaped its defining character: to fight and dominate. Or it must face having its power taken without a struggle.

It did not want a two-party political system back then, when some social conditions were proper, with the Kuomintang government’s pressure, America’s diplomatic involvement, and the public’s appeal for peace and a democratic future. So, after decades of growing itself, how is it possible to usher in democratic change, which may equate to the reality of losing power?

A second critical factor to monitor is the general social atmosphere. What are the attitudes of the people toward liberal democracy? Do they value the liberty of thought, freedom of conscience, tolerance, and cultural pluralism? Can they understand what the CCP has done to their lives and the cultural fabric of the country (think about the Cultural Revolution)? Can they truly find peace, prosperity, and happiness in a system without private property? Can they stand firm by insisting that one plus one equals two when the regime tells them that the answer is three?

A democratic way of life means mutual adjustment of interests and shared understanding of things. Yet, the challenging task for people is to achieve that understanding in times of confusion. Can they find wisdom from the lost collective memory? A few simple examples will do.

When the Republic of China (ROC) was fighting for its survival, Americans aided China’s fight for sovereign independence and dignity (Claire Lee Chennault and the Republic of China Air Force American Volunteer Group is a case in point). In the 1970s, when Moscow considered a nuclear strike on Beijing, American deterrence helped prevent it. Such reminders suggest that regime interest and national welfare can diverge.

Therefore, expecting near-term democratic change under these conditions is unrealistic. As Lao Tzu’s exchange with Confucius implies, real change begins with grasping the essence of things. Without that, we are probably just trying to catch the moon by reaching for its reflection.

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Welcome back to The Wisdom of Lao Tzu.

This week, we are reading Chapter 81 of the Tao Te Ching.

As a sophisticated philosopher who has accumulated decades of experience, Lao Tzu has delivered much of his life wisdom in this small book of about 5,000 characters.

Is there any important message or parting thoughts in this final chapter?

Let’s find out.

**81**

信言不美，美言不信。

善者不辯，辯者不善。

知者不博，博者不知。

聖人不積，既以為人己愈有，既以與人己愈多。

天之道，利而不害；

人之道，為而不爭。

Border-crossing: English translations

#1 Lin Yutang’s version

True words are not fine-sounding;

Fine-sounding words are not true.

A good man does not argue;

He who argues is not a good man.

The wise one does not know many things;

He who knows many things is not wise.

The Sage does not accumulate (for himself);

He lives for other people.

And grows richer himself;

He gives to other people,

And has greater abundance.

The Tao of Heaven

Blesses, but does not harm.

The Way of the Sage

Accomplishes, but does not contend.

#2 Edmund Ryden’s version

Trusty speech is not embellished;

Embellished speech is not trusty.

The master of knowledge is not jack of all;

The jack of all does not master knowledge.

The good fellow does not have much;

The fellow with much is not good.

The Sage does not store:

Having done all for others, he has yet still more;

Having given all to others, he has yet made more.

Therefore,

The way of heaven profits and does not hurt.

The way of sages acts and does not compete.1

#3 D. C. Lau’s version

Truthful words are not beautify; beautiful words are not truthful.

Good words are not persuasive; persuasive words are not good.

He who knows has no wide learning; he who has wide learning does not know.

The sage does not hoard.

Having bestowed all he has on others, he has yet more;

Having given all he has to others, he is richer still.

They way of heaven benefits and does not harm;

the way of the sage is bountiful and does not contend.2

Deeper dive

Before wrapping up his thoughts, Lao Tzu left us a few reminders, which I believe are still quite valuable today.

The first reminder

Focus on cultivating our ability to listen.

Truthful words are simple but can be plain, provocative, and challenging.

Beautiful words sound appealing but can be packaged with ulterior motives.

He is telling us to be mindful of our entanglements in life’s various situations.

Sometimes, schemes and traps can be avoided by simply seeing through them. To grasp things with clarity, we need to know what to listen to and what not to listen to.

The second reminder 

Choose what battles to fight.

Most often, there is no need to get into arguments. People tend to defend what they already believe. You cannot reason with someone emotionally and psychologically attached to their beliefs.

In Lao Tzu’s time, the Warring States period (475-221 BC), philosophers from various schools debated against each other on many critical issues, such as the right solutions for political stability and good governance.

Yet, not one school can convince the other. And this should have some lessons on how to navigate social interactions.

The third reminder 

Know your limits.

From a technical perspective, becoming really good at something is essential.

This can be related to the debate on being a generalist or specialist in our age. Everyone can have their own opinions on this.

It can also be interpreted as finding that particular thing one is good at, which makes one feel natural to pursue as a life’s task.

The way of the sage

After the three reminders, Lao Tzu speaks about the sage’s way of operating in the world. When writing the book, Lao Tzu was most likely targeting social elites, primarily scholars, officials, and rulers.

There’s enough evidence in the text, such as his warning on rulers not to interfere and meddle with people’s livelihood, his anti-war stance, or his warning of the damage of excessive taxation policies.

So, what is the way of the sage, from Lao Tzu’s perspective?

Following the way of heaven, the sage has a serving spirit when doing good deeds in the world, yet without the intention of possession or control.

Wang Bi’s (226-249 AD) comment on “The sage does not hoard” captures this insight. He said, “Without selfishness, one is self-sufficient, associating with goodness and letting things freely be.”3

“The Way of the Sage accomplishes, but does not contend.”

This last statement is a key message that says the Taoist sage should engage with the world. It’s never an absence of action, as some would interpret wu-wei as “doing nothing” or retreating from everyday life.

Instead, Lao Tzu advises that one should find out what is necessary to do, follow what is natural, and not exert oneself. In this way, it is possible to harmonize human actions with nature’s way.

There’s nothing to contend. There’s only the flow with changing tide.

What is left in the core of action is to serve and contribute, fully immersed in creative endeavors and serving spirit.

Spiritual Taoism

Taoism takes change seriously and recognizes the importance of time.

Everything is in flux and transforms with its own rhythm. All we can do is recognize our positioning in the tide of transformation and adapt to it.

Yet, accepting change is challenging because it brings us a sequence of emotions and thoughts. Fear, regrets, anxiety, anticipation, restlessness, and hopes, like a never-ending wave, flowing into the mind and arousing the heart.

Like a tree going through four seasons with its cycle, life has its own pace of transition.

But human life is such a fragile thing, so easily shaped by external forces. Unpredictable. Floating. Wandering.

How would I know that a fortune cannot turn into a disaster? How can I tell in advance a misfortune can become something good?

How do I know I would not weep in the morning after drinking wine the night before?

One fights in a dream, feeling deeply lost in life’s confusion but goes to a party the next day. What is real? What has changed in one’s spirit?

Like a stream of qi (氣, vital energy), flowing everywhere between heaven and earth.

Like being on a boat without a paddle, looking at the moon in the night sky, floating in a river going nowhere.

Everything we do, every thought we have, and every encounter is part of the great flow.

Life’s too short to be wasted on unnecessary entanglements.

The things we do in this world are like winds, a gentle breeze, or a gusty storm, all of which go back to the sky.

All things in the external that used to make us cling to no longer matter.

What we have lost in the process of detaching, unlearning, and forgetting, we have regained the strength and courage to create, give, serve, and love.

Like the stream of muddy qi that has been pulled to the earth, we felt the unbearable weight of living, enduring, and suffering.

There’s a world beyond that calls upon us. All we need to do is transcend, rising above the previous “me.”

When looking back, someday in the future, we’d have peace within, perhaps with a sense of inner joy, knowing that we contributed to the everlasting flow of the universe. We did our part.

Looking into the light above, the dusty qi becomes clean, flowing back to the sky again. The spirit is refreshed and elevated.

We see the goodness of things in life. We cannot help but go along with the wind, flying into the flow.

Thanks for reading!

All my best,

Yuxuan

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Welcome back to The Wisdom of Lao Tzu.

This week, we are reading Chapter 80 of the Tao Te Ching, where Lao Tzu shares his ideal human society.

Lao Tzu imagines that it is possible to establish a small utopia where people are at ease with their everyday lives and without political and social chaos.

Such is his wish for a better world, but also a reflection of his disappointment toward his time.

If the idea of a utopia or perfect society is an illusion, how do we manage to cope with realities?

Let’s see if we can find out some answers.

**80**

小國寡民。

使有什伯之器而不用；

使民重死而不遠徙。

雖有舟輿，無所乘之；

雖有甲兵，無所陳之。

使民復結繩而用之。

甘其食，美其服，安其居，樂其俗。

鄰國相望，雞犬之聲相聞，民至老死，不相往來。

Border-crossing: English translations

#1 Lin Yutang’s version

Let there be a small country with a small population,

Where the supply of goods are tenfold or hundredfold, more than they can use.

Let the people value their lives and not migrate far.

Though there be boats and carriages

None be there to ride them.

Though there be armor and weapons,

No occasion to display them.

Let the people again tie ropes for reckoning.

Let them enjoy their food,

Beautify their clothing,

Be satisfied with their homes,

Delight in their customs.

The neighboring settlements overlook one another

So that they can hear the barking of dogs and crowing of cocks of their neighbors,

And the people till the end of their days shall never have been outside their country.

#2 Edmund Ryden’s version

Let the state be small and people few;

Let weapons of platoons and brigades be unused;

Let the people respect death and renounce travel.

Though there be boats and carriages, yet none do ride therein;

Though there be armour and weapons, yet none do take them out.

Let it be that people go back to the days of knots in ropes and use them.

They relish their food,

Embellish their dress.

They cherish their ways,

Establish their home.

Neighbouring states view each other.

They hear the cries of chicken and dog,

Yet people reach old age without meeting each other.1

#3 D. C. Lau’s version

Reduce the size and population of the state.

Ensure that even though the people have tools of war for a troop or a battalion they will not use them;

and also that they will be reluctant to move to distant places because they look on death as no light matter.

Even when they have ships and carts, they will have no use for them;

and even when they have armour and weapons, they will have no occasion to make a show of them.

Bring it about that the people will return to the use of the knotted rope.

Will find relish in their food

And beauty in their clothes.

Will be content in their abode

And happy in the way they live.

Though adjoining states are within sight of one another, and the sound of dogs barking and cocks crowing in one state can be heard in another, yet the people of one state will grow old and die without having had any dealings with those of another.2

Deeper dive

Lao Tzu did not use the word harmony in this chapter. But we can get a sense from his descriptions of the small utopia — an ideal society many would love to live in. It is where people value their ways of life, are content with simplicity, and find peace and joy in their own life.

Because it is not an enforced order, people do not need to worry about political meddling. They are at ease with their life, enjoying the relatively simple delight of everyday activities.

They are not burdened with complex social relations. So, mental health is not an acute issue for most of them.

People in this society can focus on their business without inquiring about others. This state of harmonious existence is what Lao Tzu envisioned as a sort of ideal human society.

He Shanggong’s (approximately 200 BC - ?) insights on the statement, “Let the people value their lives and not migrate far,” reveal Lao Tzu’s humanist concern with people happily managing their own lives. He said, “When policies are not meddlesome and disturbing, people can peacefully focus on their lives. They do not need to migrate far or even leave their homeland.”3

Indeed, Lao Tzu’s conception of such a peaceful and small society is based on the reality of an agricultural civilization. Yet, the essence of the social and political arrangements — harmony, peace, mutual assurance, and self-reliance, have implications for us living in the modern age.

The restlessness of the modern soul

Approaching the end of 2022, Shanghai was experiencing something unusual.

Upon lifting the COVID lockdown policy, a wave of migration swept the whole city. On a domestic level, people trapped in Shanghai due to the city’s 2-month extreme lockdown left for home or other cities.

For some locals and foreign nationals, it was a moment of awakening. It was time to reconsider their life plans. It was the moment of decision to leave the place, once and for all.

Compared to the COVID virus or any other sort of natural calamity, it’s the humanitarian disasters caused by blind following of orders and inhuman restrictive policies without being flexible that are mostly chilling.

Leaving was final and a closure. The people have shown to the authority that incompetency should never be rewarded with unquestioning loyalty and obedience.

In Hong Kong, the story of the exodus goes far back to 1997. However, the most recent event, the mass demonstrations in 2019, became the turning point.

A confrontation between the general public and political authority centered on the extradition law ignited the fire of resistance among the hearts of Hong Kongers.

No more tolerance, no more silence, no more concessions.

When the local people finally awaken to the reality that you cannot negotiate with a predatory regime with extremely masterful capabilities of playing the political game, propaganda, and social control, disenchantment with familiar ways of doing things becomes necessary.

Fight and flight has become a defining experience.

History has witnessed the great exodus of Hong Kongers since then.

In a rather tragic sense, Lao Tzu’s political ideal of a small utopia is not even possible to realize.

As long as the ones in control of political power are convinced that they can trample on human dignity with impunity, and as long as we do not believe in the vision that harmony is possible in a society where wise political practices and individuals’ self-transformation reach a balance, then the human condition is still trapped in unchartered waters.

What kind of political system and social and cultural conditions can contribute to this vision? Democracy? A mixed government as Aristotle envisioned? Or a constitutional monarchy?

We still do not know. And political experiments will continue in the human world.

In explaining Lao Tzu’s motivation for writing this chapter, the Song Dynasty (960-1279) scholar and poet Su Zhe 蘇轍 (1039-1112) wrote, “Lao Tzu was born in the Zhou Dynasty undergoing a period of decay, external ornamentations have corrupted the social norms. He wanted to use the idea of wu-wei to save the world. So, at the end of the book, he described his ideal, hoping to apply his principles in a small country with a limited population to experiment. Yet, he could not accomplish this.”4

Spiritual Taoism

To some extent, Lao Tzu’s conception of the small utopia suggests a particular way of finding inner peace and contentment in the immediate circumstances.

He seems to be saying there is no need to intentionally look for adventures, as the path toward peace and awakening lies in the present moment.

His wisdom is the kind that calls for cultivating stillness and calm, which he considers crucial to navigating the complexity of life.

Such an attitude toward life is different from Chuang Tzu’s.

Lao Tzu talks about emptying the mind and lying low, but Chuang Tzu says one should find peace in life’s entanglements. Lao Tzu sees the strategic value of camouflage, while Chuang Tzu speaks about spiritual autonomy. Lao Tzu regards contemplation as the philosopher’s way of seeing Tao. Chuang Tzu suggests wandering the world and mingling with nature because Tao is everywhere in the natural world.

It’s hard for us living in the modern world to spend our entire life in one place. This is to say that migration and movability have become a common theme in our age.

But, you may ask, where is home?

“Home,” for the people destined to move, wander, and search, means the journey of the heart.

It’s to witness your transformation with changes while remaining true to your inner self.

It’s about accepting that there are some dark realities one cannot reconcile with.

To stay on your natural course, you must find your own ways to adapt to the circumstances and let the heart roam without restraining it.

No one can tell you where you are going and what you should be searching for.

Through trial and error and truly living, we can find serenity in disturbance.

It’s in this journey of spiritual wandering that we get to find the haven for the soul.

About one thousand years ago, the poet Su Dongpo 蘇東坡 (1037-1101) wrote the following poem5 to his friend whose normal life was interrupted by an exile due to political persecution,

I often admire my friend

who shines with beauty and brain, and

also blessed with a charming wife by his side.

She has the softest voice of a legend singer,

Like a cool breeze on the snow field,

Soothing a heart in a scorching summer.

Their life at Hainan should be just as hard,

yet the hardship failed to make a mark.

She’s back with a younger smile and a sweet scent,

A faint fragrance from the island’s plum blossoms.

How could it be? She answered at ease:

“My home is where my heart can find peace.”

My home is where my heart can find peace 此心安處是吾鄉. May we all find that shelter for the heart in this world.

Thanks for reading!

All the best,

Yuxuan

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Welcome back to The Wisdom of Lao Tzu.

This week, we are reading Chapter 79 of the Tao Te Ching, where Lao Tzu compares two different ways of managing social relations.

Some believe that resentment or hatred can be resolved between two parties. Lao Tzu thinks this is not good.

He suggests that social intelligence can be found within. Why is it so?

Let’s dive into it.

**79**

和大怨，必有餘怨；

安可以為善？

是以聖人執左契，而不責於人。

有德司契，無德司徹。

天道無親，常與善人。

Border-crossing: English translations

#1 Lin Yutang’s version

Patching up a great hatred is sure to leave some hatred behind.

How can this be regarded as satisfactory?

Therefore the Sage holds the left tally,

And does not put the guilt on the other party.

The virtuous man is for patching up;

The vicious is for fixing guilt.

But “the way of Heaven is impartial;

It sides only with the good man.”

#2 Edmund Ryden’s version

In the reconciliation of great resentment,

Surely some resentment shall remain.

So how may this do good?

For this reason,

The Sage, though holding the right tally, does not use it to enforce on others.

Therefore,

One with virtue is Minister of Contracts;

One lacking virtue Minister of Tithes.

Now,

The way of heaven has no family of her own;

She is, though, always related to every good fellow.1

#3 D. C. Lau’s version

When peace is made between great empires,

Some enmity is bound to remain undispelled.

How can this be considered perfect?

Therefore the sage takes the left-hand tally, but exacts no payment from the people.

The man of virtue takes charge of the tally;

The man of no virtue takes charge of exaction.

It is the way of heaven to show no favoritism.

It is for ever on the side of the good man.2

Deeper dive

Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching covers many topics, such as the Tao, wu-wei, naturalness, statecraft, military strategies, life wisdom, and spirituality.

Some topics are related, and others are like stand-alone chapters on specific issues.

I tend to think that this one is about managing social relations. Well, Lao Tzu might be amused by my (over)interpretation. Who knows?

Mindful presence

I see that Lao Tzu talks about two principles of managing social relations.

First, he believes that, compared to settling a hatred, it’s better not to sow the seeds of enmity in the beginning.

Then, he uses the example of holding a tally to illustrate the point of not imposing pressure on others.

The implication of his message is to be mindful of our actions. This is actually aligned with the spirit of wu-wei — not to exert ourselves in situations.

In Lao Tzu’s thinking, if the ruler can understand this point and not become an intrusive presence, his government should be aware of the practice of excessive policies. Too much pressure on the people will cause dissatisfaction.

If a team manager in an organization becomes too meddlesome to micromanage, others will feel the shrinking space to move about. Distrust and animosity are natural results.

In interpersonal relations, it’s also always about understanding one’s obligations toward others instead of having expectations. Being mindful in this context would suggest setting and respecting boundaries, not overstepping and overreach. Sometimes, too much can be counterproductive.

“Stretch (a bow) to the very full,

And you will wish you had stopped in time.” (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 9)

Why does the sage, according to Lao Tzu, not exercise the rights even if they have the tally (reason) to do so?

This may indicate different ways of living with others.

In the face of problems, one can complain, get angry with others, or blame circumstances.

Yet, the sage tries to understand the circumstances and others’ situations and search for solutions to solve problems themselves.

We don’t know what kind of hardships people are experiencing. All we can do is try to understand and be empathetic.

And sometimes, it’s also about leaving things alone and letting the muddy water clear itself.

Spiritual Taoism

The last statement from this chapter — “It is the way of heaven to show no favoritism. It is for ever on the side of the good man,” is still a popular quote in the contemporary Chinese context.

Due to the succinct and poetic writing style of the Tao Te Ching, and the often elusive nature of traditional Chinese text, one Chinese character or a phrase can be open to varied interpretations.

In this sense, the last statement can be understood differently, not necessarily to indicate that the way of heaven will often accompany the good person. This is against the spirit of Tao, which is always impartial and does not play favorites.

The spirit of serving

Instead, it can be understood as an encouragement to someone who is genuinely willing to listen and practice the Tao, someone who understands the spirit of wu-wei and uses it in life.

Following the Tao, in this sense, becomes a way of life — understanding the way things are, doing what must be done, and leaving the rest, the uncontrollable, to the force of nature.

It’s a devoted spirit to contribute to the natural order of things.

There are those who need our help and assistance. If we’ve experienced suffering, we know some have suffered much worse conditions. So, we reach out to help and protect and do whatever is within our power to support and contribute.

This interpretation, I believe, is also consistent with Lao Tzu’s understanding of Tao — we get inspired by it to shift and adjust our actions and, therefore, elevate the quality of our existence.

As he says, “the sage always excels in saving people, and so abandons no one; always excels in saving things, and so abandons nothing.” (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 27)

The way of heaven has its own laws regulating the workings of things in the natural world. In a mystical sense, the natural world operates by its self-correcting mechanism.

So, by modeling the way of nature, we are actually bringing balance to the world.

It is the Way of Heaven to take away from those that have too much

And give to those that have not enough. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 77)

By constantly thinking and acting positively, we actualize good deeds without being attached to them.

As we practice being aware of the state of mind, we constantly approach the state of mindful presence. We find harmony with ourselves and the world as we continuously contribute and serve.

Thanks for reading!

All the best,

Yuxuan

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Welcome back to The Wisdom of Lao Tzu.

This week, we are reading Chapter 78 of the Tao Te Ching, where Lao Tzu offers his third piece of advice on dealing with difficult situations — master the water’s way.

In the previous two chapters, he taught us the power of gentle resilience and the importance of seeing the way things are. These are practical principles from his life experiences that can prove valuable in navigating tough times.

Do they still hold true for living in modern times?

Let’s find out.

**78**

天下莫柔弱於水，而功堅強者莫之能勝，以其無以易之。

弱之勝強，柔之勝剛，天下莫不知，莫能行。

是以聖人云：

「受國之垢，是謂社稷主； 受國不詳，是為天下王。」

正言若反。

Border-crossing: English translations

#1 Lin Yutang’s version

There is nothing weaker than water

But none is superior to it in overcoming the hard,

For which there is no substitute.

That weakness overcomes strength

And gentleness overcomes rigidity,

No one does not know;

No one can put into practice.

Therefore the Sage says:

“Who receives unto himself the calumny of the world

Is the preserver of the state.

Who bears himself the sins of the world

Is the king of the world.”

Straight words seem crooked.

#2 Edmund Ryden’s version

In the world nothing is softer or weaker than water,

Yet there is also nothing that can outdo her ability to attack the hard and firm,

For there is nothing that can substitute for her.

Water overcomes rock; soft overcomes firm.

No one in the world does not know this and yet none can practise it.

Therefore,

The Sage’s words say:

To accept shame for the state is said of the lord of the altars of earth and grain;

To accept misfortune for the state is said of the king of all under heaven.

Orthodox sayings are seemingly reversed.1

#3 D. C. Lau’s version

In the world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water.

Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it.

This is because there is nothing that can take its place.

That the weak overcomes the strong.

And the submissive overcomes the hard.

Everyone in the world knows yet no one can put this knowledge into practice.

Therefore the sage says,

One who takes on himself the humiliation of the state

Is called a ruler worthy of offering sacrifices to the gods of earth and millet.

One who takes on himself the calamity of the state

Is called a king worthy of dominion over the entire empire.

Straightforward words seem paradoxical.2

Deeper dive

Water is weak but actually powerful.

On a symbolic level, water washes away our impurity, cleanses the soul, and teaches inner resilience to adapt while staying low.

But why would Lao Tzu appreciate and advise learning the way of water? And why would he say that water is close to the Tao?

The way of water

From a technical perspective, Lao Tzu encourages us to follow the water’s way to navigate risks and self-preserve. This is indeed his life wisdom by observing the wonder of the natural world.

More importantly, Lao Tzu’s theory of Tao is based on the assumption that humanity can be inspired by learning how Tao operates — following wu-wei to move about gently and mindfully. On an existential level, it’s about changing our ways of doing things, understanding the world as it is, and adapting our perceptions of existence.

In this learning process, we can find our position naturally rather than contend against circumstances.

Yet, Lao Tzu could not specify his experience with the Tao. We only know from the text that he takes the Tao as an independent and mysterious existence. And one’s understanding of it is also a sort of mystical experience, such as dwelling in stillness to see and contemplate the order of things.

But still, embracing water’s way is a powerful indicator of spiritual strength.

To be struck by shame, being forced into a lowly position is shunned and detested by many. Yet, this is where water can find its place.

Highest good is like water.

Because water excels in benefiting the myriad creatures without contending with them and settles where none would like to be, it comes close to the way. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 8)

Likewise, misfortune and calamity, in the eyes of many, are like a plague that should be avoided.

Yet, being trapped in those situations can test a person’s character and the depth of soul.

Therefore, Lao Tzu has the view that those who can take the shame, humiliation, and calamity for the state can be entrusted with the responsibility of a protector.

He Shanggong (approximately 200 BC-?) added to the statement — One who takes on himself the calamity of the state is called a king worthy of dominion over the entire empire— by saying that “if a ruler could take the blame on himself, and suffer any misfortune so that people don’t have to, then he is a model for all.”3

From the Taoist perspective, being a leader means being able to endure experiences that are unbearable to most. One must pass the test of spiritual strength.

That means standing out when no one can or is willing to, even if it means going against the currents (it’s not forcing but accepting what seems unimaginable).

It’s the strength to take the world’s accusations to protect others, sacrifice silently without anyone knowing, and endure suffering so others don’t have to.

To some extent, Taoism is like the moon that lights up the path for people walking in the dark, or it can function as a balm that soothes the wounded soul and inspires inner strength in life’s journey.

Spiritual Taoism

We face challenges of all sorts in the world. One thing I’ve learned from Lao Tzu and personal experiences is that, even in times of stability and peace, something hidden can shift life’s balance.

In other words, a crisis or emergency does not erupt suddenly. It is always present without our notice.

Thus, it is too important not to learn to guard the spirit when we are living in peace and not driven by emotional turmoil.

In this sense, Lao Tzu’s teaching of paradoxes reminds us to adopt reverse thinking and a holistic perspective, as things are interconnected and always in flux.

Therefore, a fall is an opportunity to discover the inner self and to pick ourselves up without getting drowned in the past.

Lao Tzu lived through a chaotic time and environment, so his teachings carried the weight of truth.

In times of personal, social, and political upheaval, Lao Tzu gave us three powerful and practical principles: the power of gentleness (not contending), seeing things as they are (not wishful thinking), and embracing the way of water (growing spiritual strength).

Peacetime and wartime require different coping strategies and life philosophies.

Lao Tzu has summarized it all in a transcendent statement, “Govern the state by being straightforward; wage war by being crafty; but win the empire by not being meddlesome (wu-wei).” (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 57)

This applies to all aspects of life in the human world.

My learning of Taoism has allowed me to realize that it is possible to become a gentle breeze for those who cherish your presence, to be a source of strength when circumstances require it, and to maintain a cool-headed and transcendent attitude toward entanglements, suffering, and misfortune.

It’s the utmost unity of the mind and the heart.

Let’s look at a conversation in folklore in which Lao Tzu explains his principles.

Gentleness can overcome strength

Confucius was a man of history. He was famous for his passion for learning the ritual systems inherited from the past. It is recorded that Confucius had a few conversations with Lao Tzu.

In one of their meetings, Confucius told Lao Tzu, “I’ve come here because of you. Can I ask you about learning the Tao?”

Lao Tzu smiled and said, “I’ve also known about you for a long time. I guess you want to ask me if your method, using the ritual system, can save this world from disorder.”

Confucius nodded. Lao Tzu said, “I’m afraid imposing the ritual order in the current world will not work. You are up against the law of the jungle. The virtue of water is a better strategy.”

Confucius asked, “What kind of virtue does water have?”

Lao Tzu replied, “The highest good is like water. It accepts being in a lowly position. This is humility. In the world, none is weaker than water, but this is why it has no match in being powerful. Water’s gentleness can overcome strength.”

Confucius and his disciples did not speak for a few seconds. Lao Tzu then said, “What do you think of my teeth?”

They all felt puzzled as they saw only a few teeth left.

Then, Lao Tzu asked, “What about my tongue? Can you see it?”

Confucius understood Lao Tzu’s meaning, thanked him, and left the country.

After this visit, Confucius gradually dissolved his obsession with political change while advising rulers of his time. Instead, he devoted his life to education and working on the great books.

Before Confucius, education in the Zhou Dynasty (1046-256 BC) was a privilege of the elite and noble families. Educational practices were the exclusive right reserved for government officials.4 As the old political order and social conditions changed, so did the trend of education.

For the first time in ancient China, Confucius made the great teachings of classical education open to all, regardless of social class or family background. It is said that he had 3,000 students, of whom 72 became outstanding representatives of Confucianism.

Thanks for reading!

All the best,

Yuxuan

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Welcome back to The Wisdom of Lao Tzu.

This week, we are reading Chapter 77 of the Tao Te Ching, where Lao Tzu offers a subtle challenge.

Do you understand reality? Can you see the way things are instead of how you perceive them?

He also describes two models of order in the world, “the way of heaven” and “the way of man.” What does he intend to say?

Let’s find out.

**77**

天之道，其猶張弓與？

高者抑之，下者舉之；

有餘者損之，不足者補之。

天之道，損有餘以補不足。

人之道，則不然，損不足以奉有餘。

孰能有餘以奉天下，唯有道者。

是以聖人為而不恃，功成而不處，其不欲見賢。

Border-crossing: English translations

#1 Lin Yutang’s version

The Tao (way) of Heaven,

Is it not like the bending of a bow?

The top comes down and the bottom-end goes up,

The extra (length) is shortened, the insufficient (width) is expanded.

It is the Way of Heaven to take away from those that have too much

And give to those that have not enough.

Not so with man’s way:

He takes away from those that have not

And gives it as tribute to those that have too much.

Who can have enough and to spare to give to the entire world?

Only the man of Tao.

Therefore the Sage acts, but does not possess,

Accomplishes but lays claim to no credit,

Because he has no wish to seem superior.

#2 Edmund Ryden’s version

Is the way of heaven not unlike the stretching of a bow?

You bend down the top,

While pulling up the bottom;

You pull back the slack string,

To release it when taut.

Therefore,

The way of heaven takes from what has too much to provide for what does not have enough.

The way of people is, however, not like this: it takes from those who do not have enough to offer to those who have too much.

Now who can have too much and use it to offer up to heaven?

Only the Way-farer.

For this reason,

The Sage acts but requires no thanks, accomplishes his tasks but does not abide in them,

Inasmuch as he dislikes being considered worthier than others.1

#3 D. C. Lau’s version

Is not the way of heaven like the stretching of a bow?

The high it presses down,

The low it lifts up;

The excessive it takes from,

The deficient it gives to.

It is the way of heaven to take from what has in excess in

order to make good what is deficient.

The way of man is otherwise.

It takes from those who are in want in order to offer this to those who already have more than enough.

Who is there that can take what he himself has in excess and offer this to the empire?

Only he who has the way.

Therefore the sage benefits them yet exacts no gratitude,

Accomplishes his task yet lays claim to no merit.

Is this not because he does not wish to be considered a better man than others?2

Deeper dive

In the previous chapters, Lao Tzu warned tyrannical rulers. Yet he knew the rulers of his time would not listen to his advice.

With this grasp of reality, he has a message for the ordinary individual. He shares his contrarian yet pragmatic principles for navigating precarious situations in chaotic times.

As this chapter shows, he describes how the world works, which aligns with his emphasis on self-transformation and self-preservation.

Two ways of life

The idea of “the way of heaven” and “the way of man” represent two types of order in the natural world.

From Lao Tzu’s perspective, the natural order, or the way of heaven, has its innate laws regulating the balance of things in the world.

This line of thinking reveals a particular tendency to trust that nature has its peculiar way of self-organization, which does not require human intervention.

Therefore, following this logic, humans should learn from how things are in the natural world instead of attempting to dominate the natural order of things.

By adopting this way of interaction, humans can rise above the habits and ways of doing things in society to truly follow the natural order.

There exists a kind of mysticism in Lao Tzu’s trust in the natural order. How do we know that the way of heaven works in that particular direction to bring balance to the myriad things?

Lao Tzu says, “Tao follows that which is natural” (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 25).

The first implication from Lao Tzu’s theory of Tao is that it models after the principle of naturalness, so by itself, or it operates spontaneously. The thing that is natural is autonomous in nature without being subject to external mandate.

A further implication is that the myriad things in the natural order fall into perfect and harmonious arrangements without following external dictates and causing self-destruction among themselves.

With this background, Lao Tzu contrasts the human world, or “the way of man,” with the natural order.

We’ve become familiar with Lao Tzu’s idea of political wu-wei, which advises rulers to rein in their desire for meddling, intervention, and control. He obviously believes that the human world has deviated from natural law.

Justice and fairness have become rare goods in human society.

Vested interest groups always have the power and means to protect and entrench their advantageous positions while sharing spoils within their exclusive circles.

Social strata have become fortified to make mobility and social exchanges possible.

And, an ordinary individual’s fate, from the time of birth, has been very much determined by external forces beyond their control.

In a largely pessimistic tone, everything seems to have been predetermined for the ordinary individual.

Therefore, we hear Lao Tzu’s outcry,

The way of man is otherwise.

It takes from those who are in want in order to offer this to those who already have more than enough.

He Shanggong (approximately 200 BC- ?) added, “the people in the world tend to make the rich even richer by taking from the poor, and to make the strong even stronger by taking from the already vulnerable.”3

Fundamentally, Lao Tzu is pointing out a trend that has become so powerful and irreversible that the ordinary individual cannot make things happen without avoiding the traps and risks.

So, if the way of heaven, the ideal order, is beyond reach in the existing world, what are Lao Tzu’s pragmatic solutions?

The first solution is the way of the sage.

Someone with the skill, resources, and spirit can and should stand out to help the people and align things with the natural order.

Yet, it is vital that they do things silently (they must make sacrifices and endure—more details in the next chapter), not with the intention of gaining people’s gratitude or expecting rewards and merit.

This is Lao Tzu’s formula for encouraging great deeds by great individuals. He makes it clear that the sage must not claim credit, which is his security against power worship or personal cult.

What if such a sage is not there yet?

Then, it becomes everyone’s duty to wake up to reality and take responsibility for ourselves.

This is the only reliable way to self-preserve in times of chaos and darkness, when having expectations (often unrealistic) equals wishful thinking, plunging our heads into the sands, or entrusting our fate to external forces.

Spiritual Taoism

Lao Tzu’s words on seeing the world as it is and the principles for navigating it reveal his humanist concern with an individual’s self-preservation and avoiding danger (consider his contrarian ideas of keeping low, being submissive, and the way of water, etc.).

First, he suggests observing and following the way of heaven, aligning human actions with the Tao.

Obviously, people barely listen to such advice. Otherwise, we would not have seen endless wars, conflicts, domination, and destruction in history.

Then, he places hope on the sage.

Yet, throughout history, we have seen not only good leaders become tyrants, devoured by power and radicalism of all sorts, but also numerous usurpers and opportunists pretending to be good while eventually revealing their true colors by turning against everyone who stood in their way.

It seems all is lost, after one cycle after another of degeneration.

when the way was lost there was virtue;

when virtue was lost there was benevolence;

when benevolence was lost there was rectitude;

when rectitude was lost there were the rites. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 38)

If the way of heaven is not possible to be restored in the world, what can we do?

The hope is within you, every one of us.

The path toward salvation is through self-preservation, transformation, and transcendence.

But first, we need to wake up to feel, see, listen, and understand—to know how the human world has deviated from the way of heaven to the way of man. Without this first step, we risk following the footsteps of those before us who have made this world a terrible place.

What is the biggest threat to self-preservation?

It’s never about how powerful the external forces we are up against.

It’s self-sabotage. It’s living your life in a way that makes you not truly see the way things are. It’s being self-indulgent in manufactured reality that makes you not want to wake up.

So, only you can make the changes. Only you can be in control of defining how you are supposed to live. Only you can find and craft your unique purpose and meaning.

The way of heaven, or the way of man, is a simple choice you can truly make.

Thanks for reading!

All the best,

Yuxuan

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