Introduction

The second of the two major native philosophies is Taoism, the school of the Dào. It takes its name from the same word ‘Dào’ (道) that the Confucians used talk about ‘The Way,’ meaning the world view or practices proper to a Gentleman. ‘Dào’ for the Taoists also began by meaning something along those lines; but Taoism contains a variety of strands, all appealing to The Dào, for which that simple notion is not always a possible interpretation.

In fact Taoism is so diverse that it’s normal to make a distinction between a ‘Philosophical Taoism’ (道家, Dàojiā) and a ‘Taoist Religion’ (道教, Dàojiāo) which is associated with magical practices and the search for immortality. And there are other varieties too, such as the form of Taoism that became the basis of Chinese science. We’ll be concerned only with the philosophical version, and only with a small part even of that. We’ll largely ignore its metaphysical and mystical aspects, and we’ll limit ourselves to getting an understanding of just the ethical teachings of the theory. Even so, Taoism has complexities that make it difficult to analyse. In particular its original teachings are a mash of different points of view that somehow became associated with each other – probably through simple accidents of history, and not necessarily because they all held together logically. What you’ll be hearing in this presentation is a fairly orthodox interpretation of what the Taoists of the time believed – and that’s still a good guide to understanding much of the original writing – but if you read around on the topic you will find interpretations that seem to have nothing at all to do with what you’ll learn here. Don’t worry about that. The ambiguity of the original texts means that people have a great deal of liberty in interpretation.

As an ethical system Taoism is a natural complement to Confucianism. Confucius was concerned almost entirely with ethics as a system by which social goods could be produced. Although, as we’ve seen, he does not think that consequences should be considered by the Gentleman in determining his actions, especially not the possibility of personal advantage, yet the justification for the system itself which he proposes is fundamentally the happiness of the small man in the harmonious social group. By contrast, as we will see, Taoism developed from ideas about simple self-preservation and the happiness of the individual. Individual goods, not social goods, are at the heart of the Taoist system, though the particular nature of those goods changed as the Taoist system took its classical form.  

First Stage of Taoism

The first stage of Taoism is associated with the name of Yáng Zhū (楊朱/杨朱.) Again, it is worth thinking about the history that these thinkers were living through. Yáng Zhū’s dates are uncertain but he probably lived about 350 BC, which would put him in the so-called Warring States period (戰國時代, Zhànguó Shídài.) That is, in the even more unpleasant period that followed the Spring and Autumn period during which Confucius had formed his ideas. At this time the wars between the competing states became more widespread and bloody, and the stakes got much higher. The small states were gradually being eliminated and the few remaining great states were fighting for ultimate control of China . As you can imagine, it was an unpleasant and dangerous time.

As a response to this danger, there were those who retired from society and hid themselves away in remote areas. Some of those who did so felt the need to justify their actions, and the original form of Taoism seems to have been derived from these justifications. Yáng Zhū was one of those who put forward such justifications, and his ideas gained great popularity. It was said, by Mencius – the great disciple of Confucius – that  “the ideas of Mo Ti and Yang Chu fill the whole world.” It’s unfortunate that we don’t have a detailed reliable record of his ideas and we have to rely upon the mentions that are made of his philosophy by others – mostly by his critics. Of course people who proposed running away from trouble were not much admired by those who saw it as their duty to engage with society and to improve it. Mencius claimed that

The principle of the philosopher Yang was – “Each one for himself.” Though he might have benefited the whole kingdom by plucking out a single hair, he would not have done it.[1]

This seems to be a charge of extreme egoism – the idea that one has no obligations other than to oneself – but it’s likely that his ideas were a bit more subtle than this. In another place we find a similar statement.

Even for the great profit of the whole world, he would not exchange one hair of his leg. ... he is one who despises things and values life [2]

And again

Preserving life and maintaining what is genuine in it, not allowing things to entangle one’s person: this is what Yang Chu established.[3]

So it looks as if Yang’s idea is not about the worthlessness of giving benefits to the world but about the worthlessness of getting the whole world as a profit. The idea is that one should consider one’s own life as being fundamentally important and that all other worldly things that might distract one from preserving it should be valued at nothing. Surely there is some plausibility to this. If one doesn’t have one’s life one has nothing at all. If you have infinite value (to yourself) then the smallest part of you – such as a hair on your leg – will also have infinite value. This point is made in a book that claims to record his teachings:

[Meng-Sun Yan said]‘Supposing by tearing off a piece of your skin, you were to get ten thousand pieces of gold, would you do it?’ Ch’in Tzu said: ‘I would.’ Meng-Sun Yang continued: Suppoing by cutting off one of your limbs, you were able to get a whole kingdom, would you do it?’ For a while Ch’in Tzu was silent. Then Meng-Sun Yan said: ‘A hair is unimportant compared with the skin. A piece of the skin is unimportant compared with a limb. But many hairs put together are as important as a piece of skin. Many pieces of skin put together are as important as a limb. A single hair is one of the ten thousand parts of the body. How can you disregard it?’[4]  

It follows that to sacrifice even the smallest part of yourself for some profit in the world, no matter how great, would be to sacrifice something of infinite value for something of finite value. This would be bad business; so it is said:

Our life is our own possession, and its benefit to us is very great. Regarding its dignity, even the honor of being emperor could not compare with it. Regarding its importance, even the wealth of possessing the whole world would not be exchanged for it. Regarding its safety, were we to lose it for one morning, we could never again bring it back. These three are points on which those who have understanding are careful.[5]

The evidence, therefore, is that Yang and ‘those who have understanding’ may be said to have discovered the significance of the individual, recognising his importance as more than just an element of society. This is not an insignificant discovery – it is one that few cultures manage.

Second Stage of Taoism

We can trace these ideas into the second stage of Taoism, which is associated with the name of Lǎozǐ (老子), the traditional author of the Dàodéjīng (道德經). I say ‘traditional’ because there’s no good evidence that there ever was any such person as Lǎozǐ (the name just means ‘Old Master,’) and there’s every sign that the Dàodéjīng, like most of these ancient books, is also a compilation of texts by many different authors over a long period, though most of it does seem to have been written during the Warring States period. Nevertheless, it’s the Dàodéjīng that is supposed to give us the fundamental teachings of this stage of Taoism.

It’s at this time that the teaching of the Dào becomes explicitly central to the school, and the Dào becomes something more than just a ‘Way of thought or action’ as the other schools taught it. The teachings in this book centre on these new conceptions of the Dào. Unfortunately, it’s very hard to extract a comprehensible overall picture of what it is supposed to be. In some places it is clearly the recommended way of the sage, in other places it is the observed way of the world, or it is a principle, or it is an entity in its own right, or it is Nothing at all (which is still, apparently, Something.)

There is a way way to understand what is going on here, but the explanation has to come in several steps.

The First Step to the Dào

In the first step we see that certain claims are made about the way the world actually is, and those claims are then used to make further claims about the way the wise man should be. Consider the claim that:

Turning back is how the Way moves.

Weakness is the means the Way employs.[1]

These lines record two fundamental observations about the universe. The first is that the only constant in the world is change; and the second is that the way that change occurs in the world is according to an unchanging principle that – as we would phrase it – entropy always increases.

The idea of ‘turning back’ being how the Way works is not mysterious: it simply refers to the way that in the process of change qualities return to a neutral state from some extreme that they have reached. For example, the quality of ‘solidity’ in something solid ‘turns back’ and that thing no longer is a solid thing, and so a block of ice melts into a puddle of water. The quality of fluidity in something fluid ‘turns back’, and so a puddle of water evaporates into the air. The Dàodéjīng is full of statements about how things change.

The idea of ‘weakness’ being the means that the Way employs is a bit less obvious. It refers to the way that Nature always takes the easy way to do anything. There is no effort required, no work needed, nothing has to be done to make a block of ice melt or a puddle evaporate. That is just the easy way that the universe works. Not by effort and strength and but by acceptance and weakness. This is the way of the world. 

In applying these observations to the human world, the Taoist position is that if change is universal and inevitable, then Man should accept change. One’s circumstances are never to be thought of as permanent. This conclusion is drawn explicitly: it is said that

A gusty wind cannot last all morning, and a sudden downpour cannot last all day. Who is it that produces these? Heaven and Earth. If even Heaven and Earth cannot go on forever, much less can man. That is why one follows the Way.[2]

One follows the Way because one has little choice. It is useless to fight the processes of Nature. It is thus claimed that the wise man adopts the means that the Way employs. Weakness, lack of effort, acceptance, and so on. By adopting the Way one can gain whatever success is to be had in the world.

                Therefore the sage puts his person last and it comes first,

                Treats it as extraneous to himself and is preserved.

                Is it not because he is without thoughts of self that he is able to accomplish his private ends?[3]

The Second Step to the Dào

In the second step towards explaining the variety of the Taoist’s Dào, the philosophers noted that the actions promoted by other systems – and especially the Confucian system – depended upon rules that made their actions far from the natural inclinations. This seemed to them to be against the spirit of the Way, so they opposed those forms of rule-driven system. Man should be natural and unspoiled by society if success is to be assured. So we see statements such as this:

                Exterminate the sage, discard the wise,

                And the people will benefit a hundredfold;

                Exterminate benevolence, discard rectitude,

                And the people will again be filial;

                Exterminate ingenuity, discard profit,

                And there will be no more thieves and bandits.[4]

This point of view is the motivation for the many elements of the Dàodéjīng which speak highly of the merits of Simplicity, which is one translation of the word Pǔ/pú (樸) that can also be translated as ‘Uncarved Block.’ This is a common and important metaphor in the Dàodéjīng. In fact there is a well-known description of the Dào as an ‘Uncarved Block’ implicitly comparing it to something in its natural state before it is spoiled by action upon it, before it becomes ‘unnatural’, and before it leaves the path of the Dào.

                The nameless uncarved block

                Is but freedom from desire.

In particular, the Taoists think that desires beyond what comes naturally should be avoided. Effort to satisfy them is against the Dào. (The attitude is similar to some Classical Western philosphies that say that the way to be happy is to avoid disappointment, and the way to avoid disappointment is never to desire what you may not get.)

There is no crime greater than having too many desires;

There is no disaster greater than not being content;

There is no misfortune greater than being covetous.

Hence in being content one will always have enough.[5]

The kind of action recommended by the Taoists on these grounds was given the name Wúwéi (無為) which we can translate as ‘Not Action.’ If we think of ‘actions’ as by definition the result of deliberative thought; and if the characteristic of deliberate action is its conformity or concern with social and external rules of behaviour; and if we, by contrast, are recommending action that is naturally human and does not consider those rules, and therefore is not the result of that kind of rational deliberation; then we might describe what we propose as a kind of not-action. Hence the term wu wei. Thus we recommend taking as the rule for your behaviour the necessity of acting without such rules: (wéi wú wéi).

The Third Step to the Dào

In the third step to the Dào, the philosophers realised that their conclusions had a paradoxical nature. If action cannot profitably be guided by rules set by an external authority, then any attempt to describe how to act must be a failure. And yet, does not this whole philosophy consist in setting up such a guide to behaviour? It is as if we declared ‘Follow this rule: follow no rules.’ It reminds one of the classical Paradox of the Liar who says: ‘The next sentence is false. The previous sentence is true.’ No wonder the Taoists were perplexed. They proposed a rule, but it could only be followed if it was not followed. The rule that could be set down could not be the rule that was to be followed. It seemed to them, then, as the very first lines of the Dàodéjīng state, that

                The way that can be spoken of

                Is not the constant way;

                The name that can be named

                Is not the constant name.[6]

This appearance of paradox in applying the observed way to human behaviour, combined with the idea that the Way is an observed fact about the world, led to paradoxical-sounding statements about the descriptive Way. If the Dào is unnamable – as it is paradoxical – then it is not existent. And yet it is the basis of the way that the world works. It is Nothing and yet it produces Something.

But all these statements are really only relevant to the non-ethical parts of Taoism, and so we can ignore them here. We are left with a vision of the Tao which was simple enough: a way of ensuring one’s own survival and flourishing by keeping desires few and actions natural – but which found itself forced into paradoxical-sounding statements of the doctrine. As they said:

                Straightforward words seem paradoxical[7]

With the result that

                When the worst student hears about the Way, he laughs out loud.[8]

Third Stage of Taoism

The final stage of Classical Taoism is that put forward in the Zhuāngzǐ (莊子) (named for its traditional author, which was was not unusual.) It’s a collection of stories, poems, saying, and so on put together some time in the late 4^th century BC. Zhuāng Zhōu (莊周) himself, who probably wrote at least some of the book, is supposed to have lived between 370 and 300 BC. Much of the book presents ideas familiar from one or the other of the first two stages of Taoism, but chapters 1 to 7, traditionally known as the ‘Inner Chapters’ and supposed to have been written by  Zhuāngzǐ himself, present some new ideas.

Live According to Nature

In the first place Zhuāngzǐ accepts that the full development of one’s nature is what allows one to achieve happiness or success in this life; though he comes to that conclusion at a slightly different angle from Lǎozǐ. He points out that things naturally develop in a way that is their special way of developing, and to try to alter their development from the natural course would be to make a great mistake.

The duck’s legs are short, but if we try to lengthen them, the duck will feel pain. The crane’s legs are long, but if we try to shorten them, the crane will feel grief. Therefore we are not to amputate what is by nature long, nor to lengthen what is by nature short.[1]

And amongst the things that deform our natural development are the rules of human society.

I think that moralities and etiquette are inhuman. Just think how much distress the man who practises them endures.[2]

So Zhuāngzǐ declares that it is proper not to follow these, just as did Lǎozǐ. (You will note that Zhuāngzǐ, like Lǎozǐ, moves quickly from an observation about how the world is to a declaration about how we ought to act.) By not following the rules we can be assured of success in life.

But is that believable? Surely there are dangers that can confront even the sage who scrupulously follows the natural path? And note that this is an objection that could have been raised in both the first and second stages of Taoism. Neither of them addressed it, but Zhuāngzǐ has at least two responses.

1.                    Accept the Necessity of Change

In the first place, it is admitted that most people  see injury, disease, old age, and death as evils – and if they were truly evils that the sage could suffer then he would be less content than he would like to be. But in fact, says Zhuāngzǐ, these only appear to be evils if we fail to see their real relationship to the rest of the world. These goods and evils are just inevitable parts of the world, and we’ve seen for the second stage of Taoism that the sage simply accepts them. By understanding them the sage detaches himself from a commitment to any one of the changing aspects of the world. Zhuāngzǐ thought along those lines on the occasion of his wife’s death:

When she had just died, I could not help being affected. Soon, however, I examined the matter from the very beginning. At the very beginning, she was not living, having no form, nor even substance. But somehow or other there was then her substance, then her form, and then her life. Now by a further change she has died. The whole process is like the sequence of the four seasons, spring, summer, autumn, and winter. While she is thus lying in the great mansion of the universe, for me to go about weeping and wailing would be to proclaim myself ignorant of the natural laws. Therefore I stop.[3]

For these reasons also, the sage is said to have control of his emotions. If what is to happen must happen, then sorrow is inappropriate. And the same is true for despair, hope, joy, relief, etc. All that is left for the sage is a general contentment at his understanding of the world. This is happiness of a different kind from the happiness that would be felt by someone who is not a sage but whose life is going well for the moment. There are two kinds of happiness, and the latter is the preferred (permanent) kind.

2.                    Overcome Limited Judgments

In the second place, it is admitted that from a certain point of view it is possible to see injury, disease, old age, and death as evils; but this point of view is a limited and subjective one, formed according to the limited and subjective experiences that we have had. According to Zhuāngzǐ, the limited point of view is like a frog in a well who can only see a small part of the sky above.

There is a story to illustrate this idea. (Unfortunately, I can’t find it in the text so I give it by memory.)

In the story, there is a farmer who buys a mare, and it is useful for his farming work. His friends say, it was a good day when you bought that horse. He says, Perhaps. One day the horse ran away and he couldn’t do his work any more. His friends say. It was a bad day when you bought that horse. He says, Maybe. Some time later the horse returns bringing with her a fine stallion. His friends are impressed and say, What luck when you bought that mare. He says, Could be. His son took to riding the stallion, but fell off and lamed himself. Now the farmer has less help on the farm. His friends say. What a pity you ever saw that mare. He says, I don’t know about that. Not long after, the king declares war on some distant enemies and all the healthy young men in the area are taken away to fight and die in the war. Luckily his son is not taken away. And all his friends say, that horse was really a blessing to you, don’t you think? And he says, We shall see. And so the story continues.

Zhuāngzǐ’s conclusion is that knowing that a thing can be good, then bad, then good, and so on, means that good and bad in the larger view cannot be distinguished. (And the same holds for all other judgements.)

Everything is something and is good for something. There is nothing which is not something or is not good for something. Thus it is that there are roof slats and pillars, ugliness and beauty, the peculiar and the extraordinary. All these by means of the Dào are united and become one.[4]

Conclusion

From all of this it would seem that Taoism never lost its original character of rationalising an escape from the complications of the world, although, over time, the nature of the escape became less physical and more intellectual. Certainly it is in stark contrast to the Confucian engagement with society. The Taoists, in this original form, are in essence  individualists and anarchists, who see society as only a source of trouble. Perhaps something like this is required in a society to provide an outlet for individuality in a society which would otherwise seem to deny the importance of the individual. And on the other hand, no society could exist where the obligations of society are denied and mans nature as a social animal is not recognised – as it does not seem to be in Taoism. The two philosophies combined may allow one to reach a happy and healthy balance.