During the summer, on the pool grass, while the morning coffee is steaming, during the evening of beer and fresh breeze, it is time to pick up those old and important books that demand a slow and deep reading. In my case, the chosen work has been the Daodejing and fragments of the Taoist Zhuangzi. They are writings that should be read like a poem: pausing at each word, while letting yourself be carried away by the spirit of the whole. Taoist mysticism is, at once, seductively distant and surprisingly applicable to the current world. It speaks to us of a China from thousands of years ago, where a materialistic, accelerated, utilitarian, hypocritical, and warlike world prevailed. And of how to get out of this harmful and absurd cycle. Authors like Tolstoy, Heidegger, Borges, or Le Guin have been profound readers of Taoist literature.
China is often spoken of as a Confucian nation. It is true that, for centuries, Confucianism has been the official ideology of the empire. But there have been other philosophies that have played an important role. Right now, Marxism has more influence on Chinese leaders than Confucius. Another less known philosophical branch, Han Fei's legalism, has served to legitimize a Machiavellian and Hobbesian view, where authoritarianism and violence are the great tools for governing the empire. Taoism, as an underground, dark, fluid, and constant current, has always been present, sometimes leading the country's best minds to retire as hermits in the mountains and, on other occasions, sparking revolutionary, millenarian, and popular movements that have overthrown dynasties.
The vital impulse of Confucianism has always been active and political life: self-cultivation to grow ethically, the life of a scholar to positively influence the empire. It is a philosophy oriented towards action. Taoism, on the other hand, trusts in the natural resolution of things, in not forcing any situation. The world moves in infinite vital circles: life and death, war and peace, fortune and misfortune. No situation is permanent. There are silent and organic forces that we would do well to listen to and follow. Confucianism observes the world like an engineer, seeking to solve problems to build a harmonious social balance. Taoism, on the other hand, looks at the world more like an old farmer, who has an intuition honed by years of experience, adapting to rains, winds, and droughts that are beyond human control.
Advice for the Chinese government
What would a Taoist sage tell the current Chinese government? That confronting the United States is the path to defeat: empires rise and fall on their own; one only needs to wait patiently. That the best government is one that goes unnoticed: that it lets the people grow naturally, that innovation and economic success have flourished when the Party has not sought to control and direct everything. That governing through laws, impositions, and moral exhortations is counterproductive, leading to hypocrisy: in the long term, the only solid personal strength is character building.
If a Taoist sage said this, the government would probably not listen. The sage would retreat, smiling and silent. And would continue whispering eternally in the soul of the great intellectuals, of the great Chinese popular masses, as it has done for centuries.
