Foremost among my intellectual goals for the new year is completing a 12-book philosophy reading list. The list was recommended by a friend of mine with similar interests. As I complete these books, I plan to review their content and write down my impressions. I hope this will help me digest what I read while leaving some valuable thoughts for anyone considering these books. January's read is Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, the ancient Chinese scripture foundational to Taoism. It only took me about two hours to read through, but my translation did not include much commentary, and I probably did not reflect on the words as deeply or as long as I should have.

Tao Te Ching is full of blunt proverbs, succinctly written, and bereft of any exposition. Most ideas are expressed semi-poetically, though with an enjoyable balance between abstract philosophy and practical living principles. Since the book was so short, I supplemented it with an episode from the podcast What's This Tao All About? I would not usually recommend a podcast about Taoism for regular listening, but it answered most of my questions from the reading and clarified some of the more abstract prose.
First Impressions
Central to Tao Te Ching (of course) is the concept of the Tao, which, in a popular Taoist idiom, translates roughly into 'The Way' or 'The Road.' Learning The Way is supposedly the key to a more fulfilled life and a happier disposition. This is the book's entire message; Lao Tzu has compiled many proverbs from the ancient masters of The Way and written them out for us to learn from. While he cannot perfectly express in words what The Way is ("The Tao that can be named is not the eternal Tao"), we can roughly understand the meaning of the Tao by learning what it looks like to live in the Tao.
Lao Tzu's proverbs fall into three categories. The most accessible proverbs deal with an individual's life and how they should live, think, and behave. Other proverbs discuss leadership, especially in civic and governmental roles, since the Tao Te Ching is believed to have been written for a magistrate. The most abstract proverbs seem to concern the Tao itself; I found these the hardest to comprehend because they are driven by circumlocution and allegory.
A book's first impression can be a good measure of its depth. This book impressed upon me the danger of passion, which does not refer to the romantic or professional kind but rather the passion of emotion. Lao Tzu sees emotional passion as something that must be overcome to learn how to see things through the Tao. By setting aside our emotional passions (dying to ourselves, in other words), we can see and think clearly and act with detachment. Thus, passion is the enemy of Taoism since impassioned decision-making clouds a man's mind and chains him to the baser things of this world.
Secondary to these were Lao Tzu's writings on the importance of balance. Balance for an individual means being unbothered by their circumstances and learning to float along with the wind, which is necessary for a fulfilling life. The topic of balance was discussed further on the podcast: A person who feels content only during the warm seasons or only the cold seasons of life will spend most of their time and mental energies seeking to restore themselves to the conditions in which they are comfortable. A person who knows how to be content during all seasons of life has eliminated the struggle for comfort in their minds, freeing them for more extraordinary undertakings. Being content in times of abundance and scarcity is a virtue on the path of the Tao. This applies to material wealth, too. In The West, some people try to live a life of minimalism, while others hoard wealth and possessions. In Tao, there is no concern about how much we have but how we use it. Lao Tzu is careful to point out that only when we stop chasing after wealth or positions of authority will we have the patience and discipline to achieve these and use them well.
In this regard, I draw a parallel between Taoism and Greek Stoicism. These two seem to agree on the discipline of contentment in the face of any circumstances. Taoism seems more psychologically feminine, a mindfulness- and leadership-oriented variant of Stoic philosophy. While Taoism is technically considered a religion, it barely scratches the itch for meaning within our souls. I found Tao Te Ching lacking in real substance. The book of Proverbs, for example, contains several times more writing in verse alone, and its wisdom is of a far more practical application. And while Proverbs contains less philosophical material than Tao Te Ching, it is not considered a self-contained work. I believe the volumes speak for themselves when you include the rest of Christian scripture and philosophy.
Some of Lao Tzu's proverbs did not sit well with me; perhaps I am indoctrinated with Western thinking, but none of us is a blank slate. For example, another pillar of Taoism is "non-action," although it should be called effortless action instead. This means that your actions should proceed from you as effortlessly as breathing or blinking. While this theory is interesting and valuable to practice, I do not find it religiously satisfying. Other proverbs involve the prevalent Eastern doctrine of dualism, i.e., Yin and Yang. The Tao Te Ching calls for balance in thinking and disposition, "Know the male, yet keep to the female," "Know the white, yet keep to the black," and "Know the personal, yet keep to the impersonal." In these, the suggestion follows that we should be aware of the stronger mental frameworks (masculine energy, piety, personal interest) but strive to set ourselves free from them (feminine energy, humility, the interest of others.) Once again, I agree that this is a valuable practice in mindfulness, but I am dissatisfied with the spiritual depth.
I would reread this book because the proverbs are psychologically profound, especially considering their age. However, I do not find Lao Tzu's philosophy compelling enough to place it alongside even the early works of Greece. This may be because the Tao Te Ching uses circumlocution instead of syllogism and does not explore absolute philosophical depths.
Response
The problem with Tao Te Ching parallels that of broader Taoism, which is why the number of Taoist adherents is so low. In the previously mentioned podcast, the host mentions that he was brought up Methodist before discovering Taoism in college. Both the host and the guest observed that when contrasted with other religions (they implied Christianity here), Taoism does not use carrots and strings. Taoists are not afraid of consequences in the afterlife and are not motivated by the future but choose to live in the present and devote themselves to awareness of the present. Taoists are motivated by the desire to become better and happier. Much of their philosophy effectively counters the worst neuroses of Western life, but this alone does not make a religion.
Sixteenth-century philosopher Edward Herbert identified five articles that established the commonalities between his time's known religions. These include the existence of a supreme deity who should be worshipped. The most important part of religious practice is the cultivation of virtue, that one should seek repentance for wrong-doing and that one is rewarded or punished in this life and the next.
My contention with the Tao Te Ching is that it is self-defeating. While it offers elegant, almost poetic wisdom, it falters because it lacks the structure, moral imperatives, and teleology necessary to sustain belief over generations. Circumlocution is insufficient to establish velocity in religion; we are rational beings who can comprehend more than loose allegories. Christ is called the Logos for a reason.
In the podcast, the host admired how Taoism does not employ incentives or consequences like most religious traditions. They beamed about how it does not demand obedience through promises of paradise or threats of hell, that it does not present a deity who commands worship, and that it doesn't place a strong emphasis on sin and redemption. However, a philosophy of being does not sufficiently appeal to those who struggle with spiritual longing; Greek stoicism has never transitioned into a major religion. The disciplines of theology and self-help do share some overlap, but they are not concomitant.
Edward Herbert's five articles on religion illustrate this point. Without a moral lawgiver, there can be no explicit demand for virtue beyond natural harmony. It is no wonder that the Wikipedia list of Taoist temples in the United States includes only eight entries, and all of them are located in California. Individuals already trapped in a life of self-serving material consumerism can rely on Taoism as a cheap sublimation of the soul's yearning into a self-help program. This may check off the religion box, but only because they are already worshipping materialism, and Taoism, in this case, is only a smokescreen.
Taoism may promise peace but does not compel commitment like a real religion would. Even Buddhism, which similarly seeks detachment and enlightenment, offers a structured system of ethics, reincarnation, and karmic consequences that fuel faithful practice.
Religion, as history demonstrates, is not sustained by tranquility alone. It must offer something higher than mere serenity—it must inspire duty, sacrifice, and the sense of a transcendent moral order. Thus, the Abrahamic faiths endure: they call their followers to something beyond themselves. That is why Christianity remains the largest religion on earth. Christ did not merely speak in circles around our suffering; he sanctified it and us by giving it meaning.
The Tao Te Ching is a work of some wisdom, but wisdom is not enough. A religion must move people, and movement requires more than passive acceptance of the present. It requires a call to action, a doctrine that does not merely ease suffering but gives it purpose. Taoism may offer peace to the individual, but it does not speak to the soul or build civilizations.
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