Tao Te Ching

  The point of holding fast to the submissive is to avoid the fall should one become hard, for in a fall, whether from wealth or from power, one tends - at least in the turbulent times of the Warring States period - to lose one’s life into the bargain.

  This is the reason for advocating that one should both ‘know contentment’ and ‘know when to stop’.

  Know contentment

  And you will suffer no disgrace;

  Know when to stop

  And you will meet with no danger.

  You can then endure, (XLIV, 100)

  Again, in chapter XXXIII,

  He who knows contentment is rich. (75)

  This point is even more forcefully put in chapter XLVI:

  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. (105)

  Although development is an uphill climb which needs deliberate effort to sustain it at every step, the impulse to such effort is great and universally present in man. Man is egged on by desire and covetousness to be ever wanting greater gratification, so it is necessary to counter his natural tendencies by the lessons of ‘knowing contentment’ and ‘knowing when to stop’. Only when a man realizes that he has enough can he learn not to aim. at winning greater wealth and more exalted rank, the ceaseless pursuit of which will end only in disaster.

  There is still the victory of the submissive and the weak over the hard and the strong to be explained in a way consistent with the precept of holding fast to the submissive. The explanation lies in the fact that, in achieving victory over the hard and the strong, the submissive and the weak do not become their opposites. In order to understand this, we must bear in mind the fact that in the Lao tzu a term is often used in two senses, the ordinary and the Taoist. ‘Victory’ is such a term. In the ordinary sense of the word, it is the strong that gains ‘victory’ over the weak. In this sense, victory cannot be guaranteed indefinitely, as however strong a thing is, it is inevitable that one day it will meet with more than its match. The Taoist sense of the word ‘victory’, in contrast, is rather paradoxical. The weak does not contend, and so no one in the world can pick a quarrel with it. If one never contends, this at least ensures that one never suffers defeat. One may even wear down the resistance of one’s stronger opponent by this passive weapon of non-contention, or at least wait for him to meet with defeat at the hands of someone stronger. It is in this sense that the submissive and the weak gain ‘victory’ over the hard and the strong.

  To hold fast to the submissive is called strength, (LII, 119)

  ‘The virtue of non-contention’ enables a man to ‘defeat his enemy without joining issue’ (LXVIII, 166 and 166a). There are many passages in praise of this ‘virtue of non-contention’.

  It is because he docs not contend that no one in the empire is in a position to contend with him. (XXII, 50c; also LXVI, 162)

  It is because it does not contend that it is never at fault, (VIII, 22)

  As we have seen, the value of the Taoist precept of holding fast to the submissive lies in its usefulness as a means to survival. This being the case, we may feel that the Lao tzu attaches an undue importance to survival. This feeling shows that we have not succeeded in understanding the environment that produced the hopes and fears which were crystallized into such a precept. The centuries in which the Lao tzu was produced were certainly turbulent times. China was divided into a number of states, to all intents and purposes autonomous, constantly engaged in wars of increasing scope and ferocity with one another. For the common man survival was a real and pressing problem. It was to the solution of this problem of survival that much of the wisdom of the Lao tzu was directed. To the Taoist,

  He who lives out his days has had a long life, (XXXIII, 75)

  Unless one can feel some sympathy for the aspirations of men who could never be sure from one day to another whether they would manage to stay alive, the precept will strike one as singularly negative and pessimistic.

  There are a number of pacifist passages in the Lao tzu where one can detect a passionate concern for the lot of the common man in times of war.

  Arms are instruments of ill-omen… When great numbers of people are killed, one should weep over them with sorrow. When victorious in war, one should observe the rites of mourning. (XXXI, 71)

  Again,

  Where troops have encamped

  There will brambles grow;

  In the wake of a mighty army

  Bad harvests follow without fail, (XXX, 69a)

  The use of arms is a desperate remedy, and one should resort to it ‘only when there is no choice’ (XXX; 69b), and ‘of two sides raising arms against each other, it is the one that, is sorrow-stricken that wins’ (LXIX, 169).

  There is also a solemn warning to the rulers that if the people are relentlessly oppressed there comes a point when they might not even wish to survive. When that happens the ruler will find himself robbed of the only effective tool of oppression.

  When the people are not afraid of death, wherefore frighten them with death? (LXXIV, 180)

  Moreover, if the time ever comes when people no longer fear death, then something terrible will happen, and it will not be the people alone who will suffer. The ruler will perish with them:

  When the people lack a proper sense of awe, then some awful visitation will descend upon them, (LXXII, 174)

  In its concern for the common man, the Lao tzu shows some similarities to the works of Hobbes, who, in his own way, was equally preoccupied with the problem of survival, as can be seen from the opening remark in his autobiography that his mother gave birth to twins, himself and fear. But if the motive of fear is the same, the solution offered is totally different. In his Leviathan, Hobbes sets out to devise a political system that would offer security for the common man, while in the Lao tzu there are only precepts to help the common man to survive in the perilous situation in which he finds himself. Perhaps this is because, for the Taoist, the only hope of a world offering security to the common man lies in the conversion of some ruler to Taoism, and he is not over-sanguine about the chances of this being realized. At any rate, it may be a long time before ‘this can happen and it is necessary for the common man to have precepts to live by which will enable him to survive in the meantime. These precepts are based on the value of meekness to survival. That even meekness is not an infallible means was a lesson only to be found in parts of the Chuang tzu.

  Almost all .ancient Chinese thinkers were concerned with the way one should lead one’s life, and this was never confined to conduct in the personal sense, but covered the art of government as well. Politics and ethics, for the Chinese as for the ancient Greeks, were two aspects of the same thing, and this the Chinese thinkers called the too. One who has the too will, in the words of the T’ien hsia chapter of the Chuang tzu, be ‘inwardly a sage and outwardly a true king’. This was the general outlook of the period, and the Lao tzu was no exception. This can be seen even from one simple fact. The term ‘sage (sheng jen)’ occurs more than twenty times in the Lao tzu and, with only a few exceptions, refers always to a ruler who understands the tao.* Besides ‘the sage’, there are other terms as well that refer to rulers, like ‘the lord of men’ and ‘lords and princes’. This shows that the Lao tzu is, through and through, a work on the art of government.

  The sage is first and foremost a man who understands the tao, and if he happens also to be a ruler he can apply his understanding of the tao to government. The knowledge of the tao makes the sage a good ruler because the government of the people should be modelled on the way the myriad creatures in the universe are ruled by the tao.

  We have seen that the term ‘Nothing (wu)’ is sometimes used for the tao, because, if we must characterize the tao by one of a pair of opposite terms, the negative is preferable because it is less misleading. It follows that as ‘Nothing’ is preferable to ‘Something’ so are other negat
ive terms to their positive opposites. Two of these negative terms are central to the Taoist theory of the function of the ruler. The first is ‘wu wei’; the second is ‘wu ming’. Wu wei literally means ‘without action’, and wu ming ‘without name’. These terms came to be coined probably because they are phrases in which wu (‘not to have’ and so ‘nothing’) forms the first element. This does not mean that the connexion between wu wei and wu ming, on the one hand, and wu, on the other, is purely a linguistic one. They are, like wu, negative terms. What makes wu a suitable term for describing the tao makes these terms suitable as well. To say of the tao that it acts is to limit its effectiveness, because merely by doing some things, it must, by implication, leave other things undone. To say that it does not act at least leaves it untrammelled: no special relation exists between the tao and certain affairs to the exclusion of others.

  The way never acts yet nothing is left undone, (XXXVII, 81)

  This passage goes on to say that

  Should lords and princes be able to hold fast to it,

  The myriad creatures will be transformed of their own

  accord.

  This is a clear statement that the ruler should model himself on the too and follow the policy of resorting to no action. The reasons for this policy are never very clearly stated, but some indications are given.

  Whoever takes the empire and wishes to do anything to it I see will have no respite. The empire is a sacred vessel and nothing should be done to it. Whoever does anything to it will ruin it; whoever lays hold of it will lose it. (XXIX, 66)

  Again,

  Governing a large state is like boiling a small fish, (LX, 138)

  In both passages we see that the state or the empire is a delicate thing that can be ruined by the least handling, or a sacred vessel which must not be tampered with. The empire is as much a part of the natural order as the world of inanimate objects and, being pare of the natural order, will run smoothly so long as everyone follows his own nature. To think that one can improve on nature by one’s petty cleverness is profanity. The natural order is delicately balanced. The least interference on the part of the ruler will upset this balance and lead to disorder.

  The ideal state of the Taoist is one in which the people are innocent of knowledge and free from desire. By ‘desire’ here is not meant desire for basic necessities like food and clothing. For the Taoist, food is for satisfying hunger and clothes for warding off the cold. Anything going beyond these aims would be luxuries. Food is a basic need; delicacies are objects of desire. Clothes are a basic need; fineries are objects of desire. But we must not think that it is beauty alone that excites desire. Goodness, also, excites desire. Government necessarily involves the setting up of values. Certain modes of conduct are considered good and desirable, and merit, besides being desirable in itself, brings with it rewards which are coveted either for themselves or as emblems of privilege. These are all the results of the interfering acts of the ruler, and he must realize this and avoid such action.

  Not to honour men of worth will keep the people from contention; not to value goods which are hard to come by will keep them from theft; not to display what is desirable will keep them from being unsettled of mind, (III, 8)

  The opening phrase in this passage is a direct attack on the doctrine of ‘honouring men of worth’ which was a basic tenet in the Mohist theory of government but which was also advocated by later Confucianists.

  Desire in a sense is secondary to knowledge on which it is dependent. It is through the knowledge of what is desirable that desire is excited. It is also through knowledge that new objects of desire are devised. It is for this reason that knowledge and the clever come in for constant stricture. If the Taoist philosopher could have visited our society, there is no doubt that he would have considered popular education and mass advertising the twin banes of modern life. The one causes the people to fall from their original state of innocent ignorance; the other creates new desires for objects no one would have missed if they had not been invented.

  The task of the ruler, then, is to avoid doing anything, so that the people will not gain new knowledge and acquire fresh desires.

  Of old those who excelled in the pursuit of the way did not use it to enlighten the people but to hoodwink them. The reason why the people are difficult to govern is that they are too clever, (LXV, 157)

  Again,

  In governing the people, the sage empties their minds but fills their bellies, weakens their wills but strengthens their bones. He always keeps them innocent of knowledge and free from desire, and ensures that the clever never dare to act. (III, 9)

  Again,

  The sage in his attempt to distract the mind of the empire seeks urgently to muddle it. The people all have something to occupy their eyes and ears, and the sage treats them all like children, (XLIX, 112)

  The aim of the sage is to keep the people in a childlike state where there is no knowledge and so no desire beyond the immediate objects of the senses.

  In connexion with the freedom from desire, it is necessary to say something about the ‘uncarved block’. There may be other implications of this symbol, but there are two features which stand out prominently.

  Firstly, the uncarved block is in a state as yet untouched by the artificial interference of human ingenuity and so is a symbol for the original state of man before desire is produced in him by artificial means. By holding firmly to the principle of non-action exhibited by the tao, the ruler will be able to transform the people, but

  After they are transformed, should desire raise its head,

  I shall press it down with the weight of the nameless uncarved

  block.

  The nameless uncarved block

  Is but freedom from desire,

  And if I cease to desire and remain still,

  The empire will be at peace of its own accord, (XXXVII, 81)

  Again, the sage says

  I am free from desire and the people of themselves become simple like the uncarved block, (LVII, 133)

  Even after the people are transformed, the sage has to be constantly on the look-out in case ‘desire should raise its head’, and the way to keep the people in a simple state like the uncarved block is to be himself free from desire.

  Secondly, the uncarved block is also said to be ‘nameless’. This, as we have said, is one of the important attributes of the ruler. But the meaning of the term ‘nameless’ deserves careful examination, because it has a further meaning besides the obvious one of’not being known’.

  When the uncarved block shatters it becomes vessels. The sage makes use of these and becomes the lord over the officials, (XXVIII, 64)

  Now ‘vessel’ is a term used, from early times, to denote a specialist. In the Analects of Confucius, for instance, we find the saying, ‘A gentleman is no vessel’ (2. 12), meaning that the concern of the gentleman is the art of government and not the knowledge of a specialist. The nameless uncarved block is nameless because it has not shattered and become vessels. Hence it is the symbol of the ruler.

  Though the uncarved block is small

  No one in the world dare claim its allegiance, (XXXII, 72)

  We may recall that no name is adequate as a description for the tao because a name is always the name of a specific thing and so will limit the function of the tao. Similarly, the ruler is nameless because he is no specialist and only specialists can be named. It is in virtue of his knowledge of the tao that the ruler is able to rule over his officials who, being specialists, can only be entrusted with departmental duties.

  The obvious lesson the ruler can learn from the tao is this. Being nameless, it is self-effacing. In relation to the myriad creatures,

  It gives them life yet claims no possession;

  It benefits them yet exacts no gratitude;

  It is the steward yet exercises no authority, (LI, 116)

  The ruler must, likewise, be self-effacing in his relation to the people.

  The sage benefits them
yet exacts no gratitude,

  Accomplishes his task yet lays claim to no merit, (LXXVII, 185)

  In fact,

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

  and

  When his task is accomplished and his work done

  The people all say ‘It happened to us naturally.’ (XCII, 39, 41)

  In connexion with the subject of the art of government the Lao tzu is often charged with advocating the use of ‘scheming methods (yin mou)’. This is obviously based on the opening passage in chapter XXXVI:

  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 take from a thing,

  You must first give to it. (79)

  The interpretation of this passage is certainly not open to question, but it is another matter whether this can justifiably be extended to other passages, such as:

  The sage puts his own person last and it comes first,

  Treats it as extraneous to himself and it is preserved.

  Is it not because he is without thought of self that he is able to accomplish his private ends? (VII, 19, 19a)