Tao Te Ching’s Timeless Wisdom

In 1973, ancient Taoist manuscripts were found in southern China, including the earliest then-known text of Tao Te Ching, dating from the second century BC. There are many translations of Tao Te Ching (this is the English spelling that appears most frequently; a fairly accurate phonetic rendering is Daodejing). Indeed, it’s one of the most frequently translated books. This discovery greatly improved scholars’ understanding of the book and its origins. Twenty years later, an even older version, similar to the one found in 1973, was discovered in a tomb near the town of Guodian in the province of Hubei. This manuscript was dated to the fourth century BC.

Recent translations of Tao Te Ching put its chapters in the order found in these recently discovered versions, and also reveal new meanings in many passages. Experts now believe that the book began as a set of orally transmitted sayings, and that some of the text consists of additions and revisions introduced by the scribes who put it in writing. Nothing reliable is known of the supposed author Lao Tzu (a name that simply means “Old Master”); the book may be a compilation of ideas that originated with a scattered group of wandering sages rather than a single author.

None of this diminishes the usefulness of the insights in the text. Don’t be dazzled by appearances, the Old Master tells us. Don’t go to extremes. Live simply, and closely observe natural phenomena like forests and streams. From the Stephen Mitchell translation:

Knowing others is intelligence;

Knowing yourself is true wisdom.

Mastering others is strength;

Mastering yourself is true power.

If you realize that you have enough,

You are truly rich.

If you stay in the center

and embrace death with your whole heart,

you will live forever.

Understanding any ancient text requires some knowledge of its historical context. Early Chinese history is unfamiliar to most Westerners, so here’s the briefest of overviews. The Shang dynasty, which flourished in the second millennium BC, is the first dynasty of traditional Chinese history for which there is clear archaeological evidence. In 1045 BC, King Wu of Zhou overthrew the Shang dynasty, but his descendants slowly lost power. The former Shang lands were divided into hereditary fiefs, over which the king had dwindling control. At the same time, raids by nomadic tribes from the north intensified toward the end of what historians call the Western Zhou period. The subsequent Eastern Zhou period is divided into the Spring and Autumn period (770-481 BC) and the Warring States period (475-221 BC), and it’s these latter two periods that form the backdrop for the composition of Tao Te Ching. A powerful kingdom (the Shang dynasty and its remnant in the early Western Zhou period) was disintegrating through civil wars and invasions by neighboring tribes, requiring people at all social levels to rethink their relationships to one another, to government, and to nature.

Confucius (Kong Qiu) lived from about 550 to 480 BC, during the Spring and Autumn period. His profoundly influential philosophy centered on personal and governmental morality, justice, kindness, and veneration of ancestors; it also emphasized rulers’ duty to their subjects. Proclaiming himself a transmitter of earlier values, Confucius promoted a bureaucratic, hierarchical, and legalistic vision of the ideal society. Tao Te Ching may have been composed orally during Confucius’s lifetime and written down somewhat later, during the Warring States period. Taoism seems to have been, in part, a reaction to Confucianism—a response that emphasized spontaneity over etiquette, genuineness over duty, and the superiority of nature over humanly-imposed social and technological order.

In the Afterword to his translation of Tao Te Ching, sinologist Victor H. Mair makes a strong case that early Taoism was influenced by the Yogic tradition of southern Asia. Mair points out that both Yogic and Taoist spiritual practices centered on breathing exercises, postures, and meditation, which were claimed to yield superhuman abilities. Both Tao Te Ching and the Bhagavadgita (a key early Indic sacred text) taught that enlightenment could be achieved through non-attachment. Mair also shows significant linguistic parallels between these two texts and argues that it is much more likely that the earlier-documented Yogic tradition influenced China, rather than that Taoism traveled to India.

However, Taoism has its own unique flavor that differentiates it from Yoga. Taoism’s naturalistic trail of thought became most visible and tangible in its subsequent expressions in Japanese Zen gardening and architecture (Zen was Japan’s offshoot of the Chinese Chan Buddhist tradition, which was deeply influenced by Taoist teachings).

Beyond its interest for historians, Tao Te Ching has special significance for anyone trying to find a sane path in today’s world. We are in the very last stages of the greatest empire that ever has been, or likely ever will be. Fossil-fueled technology has driven humanity farther than ever from nature’s way. This did not happen because humans are inherently evil; we are expressions of nature. We are simply victims of our own success: social evolution led some societies to develop capitalism, which then made it possible for them to access and use fossil fuels (as I’ve explained at much greater length here). We’ve temporarily exceeded nature’s limits, in terms of our population size, our overall rates of energy and materials usage, and the amount of pollution we’re spewing. As a result, the impressive social, economic, and technological structures we’ve built in the past couple of centuries are set to come tumbling down. When they do, we may enter our own Warring States period.

Inevitably, the survivors will try to make sense of what has happened. In the wake of collapse, there may be neo-Confucianists who promise to Make Civilization Great Again through obedience to authority and worship of the past. And there may be wandering sages who teach their followers to learn from nature and embrace simplicity.

It’s worth noting that a philosophical bifurcation in the wake of imperial decline may have occurred in another important historical instance. Authors James Valliant and Warren Fahy argue in Creating Christ: How Roman Emperors Invented Christianity that Christianity began as a Roman imperial project to co-opt Jewish messianic, monotheistic radicalism while maintaining the organizational and ideological essence of the Empire — even as the Empire itself disintegrated. That project succeeded brilliantly, but alternative philosophies nevertheless survived or cropped up later. The Franciscans, who offered a nature- and peace-loving counter-philosophy, were co-opted back into the Catholic fold. Pagans and witches were persecuted or burned, while Indigenous peoples were converted, enslaved, or slaughtered. There is every reason to suppose that, as our current global industrial civilization crumbles, there will be similar splits between a dominant narrative (techno-civilization was great, but it was sabotaged and must be restored) and humbler alternatives (techno-civilization was a mistake; it’s nature that’s great). I’ll leave the last words to the Old Master, this time from the Bahm translation:

Whenever someone sets out to remold the world,

experience teaches that he is bound to fail.

For Nature is already as good as it can be.

It cannot be improved upon.

He who tries to redesign it, spoils it.

He who tries to redirect it, misleads it.

by Richard Heinberg from resilience.org