It represents the Four Symbols (四象) converging at the center. The four Taiji show the balance and rotation of Yin and Yang from the four directions/seasons (子午卯酉), being gathered back into the Lower Dantian (the central cauldron). The fire below is the Mingmen fire (True Fire) used to refine the essence (Jing) that is being collected here.

I understand it does not mean life is *literally* a dream. I just barely heard about Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream and the concept interested me. I like how it doesn’t concern itself with the idea of life being a dream, but rather what life being a dream actually means for us. It’s very pragmatic in that sense, I guess.

But I’m having some trouble understanding what it means for us. How does the idea of life being a dream translate to flowing with the current and not holding your own breath? What *does* life being a dream mean for us?

Thank you!

I was flipping through the BaoPuZi today and I rediscovered a short passage which I think about quite often, so I thought I might share:

Zhuang Zhou said that thieves have the five elements for the Way of the Sage. With stealthy awareness they know where people hide things, this is Illumination. The first who enters lacks indecision - this is Bravery. The last to leave lacks apprehension - this is Righteousness. They know what is appropriate and what is inappropriate - this is Knowledge. They divide the wealth evenly amongst themselves - this is Fellowship. It has never been the case that someone who did not attain this Way became a great thief in the world.

I like this passage because it is a nice reminder that, no matter what you happen to be doing, there is always a path of virtue within that activity. While stealing may not seem "virtuous" we cannot deny that if one wanted to be a thief, there are good ways and bad ways of going about it.

A good thief is savvy and aware of the natural cycle of people coming and going and can sense the pattern of where they put their things. A good thief enters with bravery. They know that to hesitate is to lose the day. They do not get nerves and are not afraid to be the last to leave, because they have entered at the right time and thus know that they will leave at the right time. This is righteous because they have aligned their mission to the reality of the situation, and thus their actions are "right" as opposed to "wrong". They have the knowledge to never make the wrong choice of which house to enter. They divide the spoils fairly because they know comradery strengthens the group and to greedily take a bigger share would be ruinous. This is practical generosity.

In this way a great thief is a sage, and a sage could be a great thief. For that matter the sage could be a bureaucrat, or a performer, or a craftsman, or a bouncer or a vagabond. Each of these has a way of virtue and a way of ill-virtue. And to be great at something, you must both be a master at that craft, and a sage. Is there a difference?

*This same idea is also elaborated on the ZhuangZi chapter 10 - "Breaking into Chests" the dialogue with Robber Zhi.

I just finished a 10 day vipassana meditation retreat which is all about observing the body as it is instead of manipulating the body via intention to cultivate higher levels of consciousness/energy (which is pretty much Neidan & Neigong). I've been cultivating for sometime and the Vipassana meditation has given me a completely different way of cultivating which is based on Wu-wei (Non governance) whereas It seems to me that Internal Alchemy is more of You-Wei (Self-Governance). I personally feel like Internal Alchemy gives one the power (especially used for martial arts) which Buddhism lacks because it's a non violent religion. What do you think?

Does anyone know anything about these? Sigils/charms/???

Was told they were to do with ''The Dao'' and were protective, I'm curious to know if true and more about it!

Thanks everyone

I know this sub tends to look down on or scoff at the religious side of Taoism but I'm hoping some who know more about or give more credit to the religious aspects can help me out. I'm from a small, rural town in the US with not a single Taoist temple in my state that I could find. We have several Buddhist temples (still several hours away from me and all very small) but no Taoist temples or anything close. In lieu of this I am forced to rely mainly on the internet and what few books I can find that aren't written with a purely philosophical and/or western viewpoint.

The books I've been recommended so far include: - Taoism: An Essential Guide by Eva Wong - The Taoist Manual by Brock Silvers (which thankfully includes much about the deities, altars, meditation, etc) - The Taoist Experience: An Anthology by Livia Kohn

Are there any other books or maybe sites that would be beneficial for someone like myself who is interested in learning more about this often neglected side of Taoism? Especially from a layperson's point of view and practice? Or maybe online services that have English subtitles or descriptions so one could follow them without knowing the language?

Since discovering Taoism, I am noticing how much the people around me anchor their lives around "importance." I work at a university, so a lot of my colleagues are engaged in researching issues in our world. They are having conversations about the (in)humanity of AI, the ethics of environmental sustainability, political debates, etc. These things are deemed "important" and give people purpose.

I am finding it a bit paradoxical how the Tao is the most important and least important thing. It's important because it is everything. It's not important because there's nothing to compare it to that deems it important.

So, since we are all part of the Tao, it seems these discussions my colleagues are having are similarly important and not important. They matter in this moment because they have real implications, effects, and consequences on our world. They don't matter because everything already is as it will be.

Before Taoism, I was the type who would take on a cause, join an effort, or share an opinion. Now I just watch it all float in front of me, like a butterfly moving from one flower to the next. I know that this moment is scary for some, exciting for others, and real for all of us. But it's also just another moment. And the moments will go on and on, with many before our time on this planet and many after we are gone.

Has anyone felt the same? How would you describe this feeling?

Has anyone done Mantak Chia’s Multi-orgasmic Man course?

I saw it in my Instagram feed and wondered if it was worth the money?

Or should I just get the book instead? (Or, indeed, a book by someone else?!)

Thanks.

Just as the title says. In my journey through life I still have little pockets of hateful feelings towards others I want to abolish.

I know to accept the universe as it is and not force my desires out into the world anymore. But controlling the internal thoughts is still a bit of a struggle.

Any good passages from the classic literature that might be a good one for lingering thoughts of vengeance and betrayal?

ziran

自然

"so of its own"; spontaneous, spontaneity

As an adjective, the term ziran means "spontaneous," "natural," "so of its own," "so of itself." As a noun, it denotes spontaneity, naturalness, the things as they are. It is a synonym of zizai (self-existent) and ziyou (self-produced), and is very close in meaning to zide (self-attaining) and ziwei (working by itself, doing spontaneously).

Ziran implies a free working; it is the positive side of the Dao, whose negative side is wu (no-thing). On the other hand, wu is the indeterminant and unknowable Dao, which is lost if it is given a name or an attribute: it is the Origin of life as it cannot be grasped and has no beginning. On the other hand, ziran is the Dao as producing life, its de (virtue), and is sometimes equated with the Original Pneuma (yuanqi). In this sense, ziran is like the water of a spring that never ceases to flow anew, and is a synonym of Origin (yuan) and Chaos (hundun). It is the permanence of the Dao and its de, the rule of Heaven and Earth that has no beginning and penetrates to the utmost of existence beyond the Void . Hence, ziran, as a quality ascribed to something, means "true" and "primal," and denotes transcendence.

On the cosmological level, ziran defines the way the world goes on by itself without anyone "doing" it, and expresses the faith in a world well-ordered and self-regulated in a natural way. Epistemologically, it means that we do not know what is producing life or how life is achieved. Ziran is then the ultimate word, not in the sense of an explication but as an expression of human ignorance and respect of the secret of life. As Daode jing 25 says, "The Dao models itself on ziran," which means that it "models itself on what is so of its own," which is a tautology. Ziran can therefore also be an expression of agnosticism, as in Guo Xiang's commentary to the Zhuangzi. Under Buddhist influence, ziran also took on the meaning of "non-substantial," "fundamentally having no nature of its own," as opposed to what has cause and effect. In this sense, it is a synonym of "real emptiness" (zhenkong).

In human beings, ziran means being free from dependence on some other thing or substance (wudai, as the Zhuangzi says), being natural (tian, the contrary of "made by man" or wei, which is the artificial in Zhuangzi's terms), and being creative. It means that each being has its own spring of life within itself. So to be ziran is to be natural in the highest sense, to nourish within oneself one's own nature that is one's own profound and true sprout of life.

To respect ziran one should not interfere (wuwei), and gently let life act and speak through oneself rather than acting and speaking individually. In that sense, ziran is the principle of handling affairs that guides the saint (shengren) or the sage king who respects the workings of the Dao in the world and in human affairs. To act spontaneously is to have no intention of one's own, to let the natural force that is within everything work freely. This is not the same as giving free rein to one's own fantasy (as the term has been misunderstood by some Xuanxue thinkers), because this fantasy is a only superficial desire to satisfy one's immediate wishes, and not the profound naturalness without desires that is ziran.

.

Source:

Encyclopedia of Taoism entry on ziran written by Isabelle Robinet

.

Note

Entry on "Daoism" also written by Robinet

Isabelle Robinet on Daoism (Dao Jia) : taoism (reddit.com)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ziran

.

Context

Why are there so many "Wu" 無 (no, not, nothing) in Daoism - and beyond "Wu" : r/taoism

Key Terms of Daoist Philosophy : r/taoism

I’ve spent the past year looking into English-language books on Taoism and translations of Taoist texts, and I keep running into the same problems.🤔🤔🤔

A lot of what’s available is either full of mistakes or very superficial. Some texts don’t seem to have an English translation at all.

My plan is to write a series of introductory articles, then eventually collect them into books. I also want to use AI to help translate and annotate some Taoist texts.

The terminology is a big part of the problem. Many Taoist terms have very specific meanings, and translators without a background in Taoism often don’t have the knowledge to handle them properly. Given how quickly AI has improved this year, I think using several different AI agents to check each other’s work can get the translations up to an expert level of accuracy.

That’s how we tend to approach problems in China: first make sure something exists, then work on how good it is.

P.S:By the way, I agree that people shouldn’t use AI to write their posts or replies here. But I don’t think using it to translate your own words should be treated the same way.

In the first fourteen parts, I worked through a selection of passages and the ideas I find in them. From here, I want to try another approach: looking at how modern ways of thinking might help us bring those ideas into everyday life and work.

That does not mean modern science can explain everything in the Tao Te Ching, or that Lao Tzu was secretly writing a scientific theory. But it may give us a clearer way to think through something that otherwise remains abstract. I want to begin with the Tao itself, and the possibility that complex order can grow without anyone planning the whole thing.

If you enjoy this series, please upvote, leave a comment, and share it with others. Every interaction helps us keep making the series and helps more people find it.

Why Do We Keep Looking for a Designer?

Many creation stories describe human beings as something deliberately made. Nüwa shapes people from clay. In the biblical account, Adam is formed from dust, and Eve from his rib. In Greek mythology, Prometheus shapes human beings from earth, with Athena giving them life in one version of the story. The Egyptian god Khnum works at a potter's wheel, forming living beings from clay.

The details differ, but the image is familiar: someone stands outside the finished thing, knows what it should become, and makes it. When we see something intricate, we naturally reach for the same explanation. There must have been a mind holding the design before the object existed.

Yet some complex patterns arise in a different way. Nobody has to picture the finished result. Small interactions accumulate, influence one another, and eventually produce something that looks organized when viewed as a whole.

That is the possibility I want to explore through emergence. Rather than settling a religious question about the origin of the universe, it asks us to notice where our habit of looking for a designer may hide the actual process in front of us.

What the Game of Life Lets Us See

In Part 11, I used Conway's Game of Life as an example. It begins with cells on a grid and a small set of rules about which cells survive, disappear, or become active according to their neighbors. Once the starting arrangement is set, the rules are applied repeatedly.

From those simple conditions, surprisingly elaborate patterns can appear. Some disappear, some settle, and some move across the grid. Certain carefully constructed arrangements can even carry out computation. There is no instruction inside an individual cell telling it to become part of a moving pattern or a calculating machine.

Of course, someone designed the game and selected its starting conditions. The point is that the resulting patterns do not require someone to direct each cell at every step. The larger behavior comes from the repeated interactions of the smaller parts.

A computer model does not prove that the world works exactly the same way. But it gives us somewhere concrete to begin. Complexity does not always require a complete plan for the complex thing itself. The next step is to look beyond the screen.

How an Ant Colony Finds a Route

An ant colony can look as though it possesses a view of the whole situation. Its members divide tasks, build elaborate nests, and establish routes between the nest and food. Watching a line of ants, it is tempting to imagine that someone must know the map and be directing the others.

For the route example, a much simpler mechanism can explain a great deal. Consider ants that deposit pheromones as they move and are more likely to follow a stronger trail. The chemical signal fades with time, so it must be renewed by ants continuing to use the route.

Suppose ants initially explore different paths toward the same food source. On a shorter path, a round trip takes less time. Ants can return sooner and reinforce that trail more quickly. A stronger trail then attracts more ants, whose journeys add further reinforcement. Over repeated trips, more of the colony may converge on that route.

No individual ant needs to compare every available path or calculate which one is shortest. It responds to information close to it. Its response changes that information for the next ant, and the next ant's response changes it again.

This is a simplified account of one mechanism, not a claim that ants lack intelligence or always find the absolute shortest route. What matters here is that coordinated behavior at the colony level can arise without a single ant carrying a complete plan for the colony.

The feedback is part of the explanation. Behavior leaves a trace in the environment. That trace influences later behavior, which changes the environment further. A path gradually becomes established through the process of being used.

This gives me a way to approach the Tao as something other than a designer standing apart from the world. What looks like an arrangement imposed on many separate beings may grow through the relationships among those beings themselves.

A Traffic Jam with No Accident

The same kind of process can produce something much less helpful. Imagine driving to work on a road that is barely moving. You assume there must be a crash, roadworks, or something blocking a lane. Eventually the traffic clears, but you never pass an obstacle. There seems to have been nothing to explain the delay.

Even on a road without traffic lights, a jam can arise from the interactions between drivers. Start with a single lane. Each driver wants to keep a comfortable distance from the car ahead, slowing down when the gap becomes too small and speeding up when it opens.

One driver brakes slightly. The driver behind notices and reacts after a delay. To restore the gap, that driver may brake more sharply. The disturbance can grow as it passes through the line. In sufficiently dense traffic, cars farther back may have to stop, even though the original driver only slowed a little. The slowing and stopping can travel backward through the traffic while the cars themselves continue forward.

That is the basic idea of a phantom traffic jam. There is no fixed number of cars after which a light touch on the brakes must bring everyone to a halt. Traffic density, spacing, reaction times, and driving behavior matter. But the important point remains: a jam does not always need an accident or a physical bottleneck to produce it.

With several lanes, there is another interaction to consider. A driver sees the neighboring lane moving faster and changes lanes. The car behind in that lane now has a smaller gap and may brake. A move intended to escape the slowdown can introduce another disturbance into the traffic beside it.

Nobody needs to want the jam. Each person may simply be trying to get somewhere quickly and avoid a collision. Yet their reactions influence other people's reactions, and an outcome that nobody wanted begins to take shape.

The ants and the drivers make an important contrast. In one case, local interaction helps establish an efficient route. In the other, it can produce a queue of stationary cars. Emergence does not mean that whatever arises will be pleasant, wise, or good for everyone involved.

When the Boss's Hobby Becomes Everyone's Hobby

There is a version of this that may feel familiar at work. A leader likes playing cards, and soon many people in the organization seem to like playing cards. A leader loves books, and suddenly there is enthusiasm for reading everywhere.

It is easy to explain this entirely through flattery or favoritism. Perhaps people are trying to please the boss. Perhaps the boss is rewarding people who share the same interests. Those things can happen, but they are not necessary for the pattern to begin.

Imagine that a manager enjoys badminton. One employee happens to enjoy it too. They discover the shared interest through an ordinary conversation, talk about a match over lunch, and perhaps arrange to play together. People often find it easy to talk with someone who shares an interest. Nothing in that initial encounter requires a hidden scheme.

Other employees notice that the two have become more familiar with each other. The employee has not necessarily received a promotion, extra money, or special treatment. Even so, badminton now looks like a way to join a conversation and get to know the manager better. A few more people begin playing.

As the group grows, the situation changes for everyone else. Joining no longer means only sharing an activity with the boss. It also means spending time with colleagues. The game becomes a place where people talk and build familiarity, so participating becomes more attractive even to someone who was not particularly interested in badminton before.

Someone who does not play may begin to feel out of place. They might take part in another way, cheering from the side or bringing drinks when the others meet. Or they may gradually feel that this organization is not for them and look for somewhere else to work.

Eventually, the workplace can appear to be full of badminton enthusiasts. Yet no one ever issued an instruction that everyone must play. We do not even have to assume that the manager distributed unfair benefits or that every participant joined with a cynical motive. Familiarity, imitation, and the wish to belong can be enough to start the process.

That does not make the pressure on the people left out harmless. It means that finding a bad intention in one person is not always enough to explain what the group has become. The effect can extend much further than anyone's original preference.

The old saying about the king of Chu favoring slender waists, until people at court went hungry, gives a much harsher image of this dynamic. A preference at the top can become a pressure throughout the group. A small incentive, an approval signal, or the introduction of a performance target can begin a chain of adaptations that changes an entire organization.

The final culture does not have to resemble anything that one person consciously set out to create.

What These Examples Have in Common

Ant trails, traffic jams, and a workplace organized around badminton are very different things. But in each example, we can begin with relatively simple behavior at the level of an individual. The individual responds to nearby conditions, and that response changes the conditions encountered by someone else.

The changes accumulate. Following a trail reinforces it. Braking changes the gap for the next driver. Joining an activity makes it more central to the group's social life. The surrounding situation is being altered by the very behavior it encourages.

Looking only at the individual, we may miss the larger pattern. Looking only at the finished pattern, we may imagine that someone must have designed it. Emergence directs our attention to the interactions between those two levels.

This is the connection with the Tao that interests me. A world in which things generate patterns through their relationships is different from a world that must receive every arrangement from a separate commanding intelligence. Order can be something continually taking shape, rather than a finished scheme imposed from outside.

I would not equate the Tao with a single scientific term. Nor do these examples establish the origin of the universe, or prove that Lao Tzu anticipated complexity science. They offer a modern way to think alongside the text: perhaps part of what makes the Tao difficult to point to is that we keep searching for an object, a planner, or a single controlling cause, when the process involves the whole field of interactions.

Seen this way, what I find remarkable in the Tao Te Ching is not a ready answer to every problem. It is the opening it gives us to consider that much of the world's order may grow through things themselves, without anyone deciding in advance what the whole must become.

I plan to keep this series going, and you can find the other posts on my profile. I’m also building Verso, a tool rooted in traditional Taoist divination that aims to offer another perspective when people feel stuck or unsure. It’s under development; stay tuned.

AI disclosure: English isn’t my first language, so I used AI to translate and help edit the English.

Reading Index: The Taoist Worldview and Tao Te Ching 101

Practice originates from southern China and brought down to south east Asia of Chinese descents

Hi,

34 M: I have had depression and anxiety probably since childhood. Anxiety has a very negative effect on my life. I always tend to do something to get rid of it.

I feel that nothing really makes sense except some inner practices. For mild anxiety, I understand that it is good to bring my attention back to the lower dantian, and maybe also connect it with the upper dantian so that the fire can be nourished.

However, I always get discouraged when I read warnings that these practices can lead to psychotic states and other similar problems. This actually makes my anxiety even worse, so I see it as another obstacle.

For several years, I have practiced Zhan Zhuang (Standing Like a Tree) from time to time, together with visualizing the lower dantian as a small hot ball. But I do not think I have made any significant progress.

Recently, I came across Kan and Li, but the warnings there seem to be even stronger.

I feel stuck in a cycle of anxiety, and I do not know how to get out of it. :(

Over the past 13 months — and especially since turning 40 this past April — I’ve been going through a period of self‑discovery, or maybe re‑self‑discovery. I’m sharing this because I’m curious whether anyone else has walked a similar path, and how your experience helped you. I’m not looking for answers or advice, just resonance and perspective.

I got sober on 1/4/2022. My spiritual life since then has been a journey with a lot of twists.

My Background

I was raised Roman Catholic and attended parochial school until bullying and violence pushed me out. Even after switching to public school, I still felt like an outsider — especially with the pressure of being “the smart kid.” My earliest memory of God is standing in a dark church with my mother, staring at a massive crucifix of a bloodied Christ. I didn’t understand it, only that I felt fear, guilt, and the sense that stepping out of line meant punishment. That impression stayed with me for decades.

In my teens, my friends and I wandered into a metaphysical shop called Gypsy Moon. They were interested in Ouija boards; I was drawn to the owner, an older witch named Maria. She answered my questions and encouraged my curiosity. I returned almost daily, reading everything I could. My mother panicked, thinking I was “communing with the devil,” but for me it was the first time spirituality felt empowering, balanced, and connected to nature. The idea of the divine as both Goddess and God made intuitive sense. I practiced into my early twenties.

Then my father died by suicide, and we buried him the day I turned 21. My drinking escalated, and my spirituality disappeared. I drank daily for 15 years, damaging one marriage and nearly another.

Sobriety and Rediscovery

When I got sober and worked the steps with my first sponsor, I prayed to a vague “spirit of the universe.” As I stayed sober, I dove headfirst back into Catholicism — retreats, Cursillo, parish council, all of it. But over time, between my daughter coming out, financial struggles in the parish, and the darker side of church politics, I began questioning everything. The fear-based foundation of my childhood didn’t fit anymore.

I felt myself being called back to the craft after twenty years away. I studied Taoism, Buddhism, and even parts of Christianity that still resonate — the golden rule, the Sermon on the Mount — but not the dogma. Last Lughnasadh (2025), I performed a rededication ritual to the Lady and Lord, and my life shifted. The connection I felt as a teenager returned, but now with the perspective of a 40-year-old man who’s been through hell and come out sober.

I’ve also noticed something interesting: the more I drank, the more rigid and right‑leaning my worldview became. Sobriety has softened that. I see nuance now — left, right, center, upside down. I avoid political discussions because they’re so volatile here in the States.

Where I Am Now

This past year has been rewarding as I walk the path again, but I’ve struggled to find others in AA who share similar beliefs. I’m a solitary practitioner, private by nature, and community has been hard to find.

I feel like my spirituality is a synthesis of Taoism, Buddhism, and Paganism. Not a hodgepodge — more like threads that all point toward balance, compassion, nature, and personal responsibility. But I’m used to having a name for my path, and now I’m realizing it may not have one. I’m not looking for structure, and I know that defining it only limits it. Still, I wonder if anyone else has lived in this unnamed space.

Laozi 19

見素抱樸，少私寡欲。絕學無憂

Observe su 素 [simple, plain, white] and embrace pu 朴 [simple, plain, unadorned, uncarved wood],

be less concerned with yourself and minimize your desires.

Abandon learning and be without you 忧 [worry, sorrow]

(the Annotated Critical Laozi)

.

Manifest plainness and embrace the genuine;
Lessen self-interest and make few your desires;
Eliminate learning and have no undue concern.

(Henricks)

.

[go to Plan B:]
Be simple. Be real.
Do your work as best you can.
Don't think about what you get for it.
Stay focused. Get rid of all your crap.

Don't spend too much time thinking about stupid shit.

(Hogan)

.

Zhuangzi 12 Heaven and Earth

夫明白入素，無為復朴，體性抱神，以遊世俗之間者，汝將固驚邪？且渾沌氏之術，予與汝何足以識之哉

If you were to meet someone who understands great plainness,

who subscribes to nonaction and returns to the simplicity of the unhewn log,

who embodies his nature and embraces his spirit,

so as to wander through the common world,

you would really be surprised!

(Mair)

.

Comments by Reddit users on "pu" 樸 / 朴:

"The uncarved block of wood represents untapped potential. It can be carved as a boat or made into a door. It can be split into boards and used in a fence. Once its in a fence it can no longer be carved into a boat. It has lost its potential. The same can be said of the spirit. At birth you have potential. You could be a doctor or an activist. A parent or a killer. When we die all the carving that has been done to our spirit is stripped away and we return to the uncarved state. The Master attains this state while alive, therefore he loses nothing at death."

(deleted)

"樸 pǔ or "uncarved block" a Chinese metaphor for your original authentic unified simplicity, devoid of complexities of the intellect and the ego and its desires and aversions. "

by u/Selderij

Note:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pu_(Taoism))

Key Terms of Daoist Philosophy : r/taoism

This is a Shangui huaqian (Mountain Ghost charm coin), used for blessings and protection, and to ward off evil.

The coin is inscribed with Daoist talismanic script. Because the script’s shape resembles the two characters “山鬼” (Shangui, “Mountain Ghost”), it is commonly known as a “Shangui huaqian” (Mountain Ghost charm coin). The original meaning of the talismanic script is actually “slay ghosts” (杀鬼, Shagui). The pattern above symbolizes “three thunder pellets placed on a ghost’s head, with the pellets producing flames,” conveying the meaning of thunder striking the ghost and killing it.

Hey! so i’ve been anti-AI for a while now, even started a page on social media to protest and raise awareness on its horrible psychological, ecological and environmental impacts. I never us it. But lately i’ve been reflecting on wether or not this is related to going against the flow of the Tao, because even tho i feel like it’s a natural reaction, a part of me tells me that what i’m doing is clinging onto my opinion and rejecting all of these new forms of tech, what do you think? And is what i’m doing affecting my alignment with the Tao/flow of life, or is it fine as long as i believe that i’m doing the right thing for our society and myself? Cheers☯️

I’ve been exposed to some many different religions since I was born and raised in family believing Buddhism, and studied, worked in cities. Eventually I found Daoism more fell into my nature. I am introvert and would like to purchase from internal world rather than outside.
So question as the title.

Hey all,

This question has been asked already in terms of translation. The consensus seems to favor Burton Watson.

But there seems to be two versions in that translation:

Zhuangzi: Basic Writings

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0231129599?lv=shuf&channelId=500&plpRedirect=mhFallback

The Complete Works of Zhuangzi

https://www.amazon.com.be/-/en/Complete-Zhuangzi-Professor-Burton-Watson/dp/0231164742

I feel inclined to read the former as I am not a scholar but I do not want to miss out on the good stuff either.

Which one would you prefer?

When we talk about a successful company, we usually picture something enormous. Apple, Amazon, or a company near the top of a global ranking. In the 2025 Fortune Global 500, which ranks companies by revenue, Walmart came first.

But being large and lasting a long time are different achievements. A ranking tells us about scale at a particular moment. It does not tell us whether a business can sustain what it is doing for generations.

That distinction helps me approach one of the most uncomfortable passages in the Tao Te Ching: Lao Tzu's image of a small country with few people.

If you enjoy this series, please upvote, leave a comment, and share it with others. Every interaction helps us keep making the series and helps more people find it.

What Does a Long Life Look Like for a Company?

Kongo Gumi, a Japanese construction business whose origins date to 578, offers a striking contrast to the companies that dominate today's headlines. Its work centers on building and repairing temples and shrines, carrying traditional carpentry skills across generations.

More than 1,400 years is an extraordinary history. Yet that history should not be mistaken for an unchanged company, a constant level of income, or uninterrupted independence.

Kongo Gumi also expanded beyond its traditional specialty and ran into serious financial trouble. Its debts threatened its survival, and in 2006 it became part of Takamatsu Construction Group. Its temple and shrine work continued under the new ownership.

So this is not a perfect story in which staying small made a business immune to failure. The crisis belongs in the story too. A very long history did not protect it from the risks of expansion.

What interests me is the difference between two ambitions: becoming the biggest, and being able to keep doing something well. We tend to recognize the first immediately. The second can look unimpressive beside it, even when it sustains useful work for generations.

What Is Lao Tzu Describing in Chapter 80?

Chapter 80 imagines a small country with few people. There are tools capable of doing the work of many people, yet they are not put to use. People value their lives and do not move far away. There are boats and carriages, but no occasion to ride them; weapons, but no occasion to display them.

The passage imagines a return to the simplicity of using knotted cords. People find their food satisfying, their clothing pleasing, their homes secure, and their customs enjoyable. Neighboring communities are close enough to see one another and hear one another's chickens and dogs, yet people grow old and die without traveling between them.

It is easy to see why readers object to this picture. The unused tools and absence of travel sound restrictive, especially to people who value discovery, exchange, and technological progress. I do not think those difficult details should simply be explained away.

But before dismissing the passage as hostility to progress, I want to look at what counts as progress within it.

The people are fed. They are comfortable in their homes. They enjoy the life around them. They do not need to organize everything around preparing for war or searching somewhere else for a life they can bear to live.

Lao Tzu is measuring something that a ranking of powerful states would barely notice.

What Changes When We Change the Standard of Success?

When we look back at the rival states of ancient China, it is easy to be impressed by the rulers who accumulated power, defeated their neighbors, and expanded their territory. The unification associated with Qin Shi Huang can become the grand achievement toward which the whole story seems to move.

That is one way of deciding what matters: who grew strongest, who conquered, who became impossible to ignore.

Chapter 80 gives our attention to ordinary people's food, clothing, homes, and daily lives. On that scale, a powerful state and a good place to live are not automatically the same thing.

This is why I read the passage as a challenge to our standard of success. If greatness means maximum strength, a small and quiet community looks like a failure. If it means people can live securely and contentedly over time, the same community begins to look very different.

The connection with Kongo Gumi is an analogy, not a claim that Lao Tzu was describing a business model. A company can do valuable work without becoming the largest company in the world. Its size alone does not tell us whether the lives supported by it are going well.

Once we change what we are measuring, we may change what we want to build.

How Does This Connect with Softness, Wu Wei, and Not Contending?

Across the earlier parts of this series, the same difficulty kept appearing. We obtain something, then tighten our grip on it. We become stronger, then depend on maintaining that strength. What began as a way to improve our lives gradually becomes something our lives must serve.

From that angle, the small country in Chapter 80 does not appear out of nowhere. I see it as a social image of the concerns we have already discussed: not forcing every situation, not making rivalry the center of life, and not pushing strength toward an extreme simply because further expansion is possible.

The aim is a way of living that can continue without constantly having to overpower something else.

This also brings me back to the Game of Life example from Part 11. Some patterns spread or collide and disappear. Others settle into small, stable arrangements. I find that a useful image for thinking about persistence, though a simple model cannot establish how a society should be governed.

Something does not have to keep occupying more space in order for its continued existence to matter.

When Does Growth Become Something We Cannot Stop?

I do not take the warning here to mean that becoming stronger is itself a mistake. The more troubling point is the moment when stopping no longer feels possible.

We reach a goal, but it becomes the starting requirement for the next one. We satisfy a desire, then find that our idea of enough has moved again. The promise was that the next achievement would let us settle down. Instead, it gives us another position to defend.

That is what makes the later part of Kongo Gumi's story relevant. A business with an exceptionally long tradition could still be drawn beyond what it could sustain. Its past did not remove the need to recognize limits in the present.

I think the same tension reaches beyond companies. Endless competition can make an otherwise decent life feel inadequate. There is always someone larger, faster, wealthier, or more admired. If those comparisons determine whether we are allowed to feel satisfied, satisfaction keeps receding.

Perhaps part of the exhaustion of modern life comes from this: we have not simply failed to succeed. We have learned to treat every success as permission to demand more.

There is a point of contact here with Buddhist concerns about craving and suffering. I would not collapse the two traditions into the same teaching; their frameworks and aims differ. But both give us a reason to question the assumption that satisfying one desire after another will eventually leave us at peace.

The problem is not that people need food, shelter, or a better life. It is that improvement can become a pursuit with no imaginable stopping point.

Does This Mean We Should Rebuild the Ancient Village?

I am not proposing that we divide the modern world into isolated settlements, stop traveling, or require every company to remain small. Nor do I think Kongo Gumi provides a model that every business should copy.

The conditions of our lives are different. Chapter 80 is not a ready-made institutional plan for the present.

What I want to keep is its challenge to the belief that expansion, competition, and growth are sufficient measures of a good society. A world can produce more and still leave people unable to rest. An organization can become more powerful while making the lives inside it harder to sustain.

The small country gives us another picture to hold beside the impressive one: people enjoying their food, feeling at home where they live, and not needing to win a larger contest before their lives can count as worthwhile.

I do not need to accept every detail of that picture literally to feel the force of it. It asks us to leave room for enough. If desire has no limit, even a life full of achievements may never feel like somewhere we can settle.

Where Does the Series Go from Here?

This brings the first stage of the series to a close. We have worked through a selection of passages and ideas, rather than every chapter of the book. In the remaining parts, I want to turn more directly toward how these patterns might be understood and used in everyday life.

Saying that grasping can lead to loss still leaves us with the difficulty of recognizing when persistence has become grasping. Saying that softness can overcome hardness does not tell us how far to yield in a particular situation. And noticing a reversal is different from knowing its timing or direction.

I want to explore those gaps through modern examples and ways of thinking, including emergence. The purpose is to see where they can illuminate what we have been discussing, not to claim that a model proves the Tao Te Ching right about everything.

Otherwise, it is too easy to replace one rigid rule with another: always yield, always withdraw, always stay small. We would have memorized a different set of instructions without learning how to read the situation in front of us.

I plan to keep this series going, and you can find the other posts on my profile. I’m also building Verso, a tool rooted in traditional Taoist divination that aims to offer another perspective when people feel stuck or unsure. It’s under development; stay tuned.

AI disclosure: English isn’t my first language, so I used AI to translate and help edit the English.

Reading Index: The Taoist Worldview and Tao Te Ching 101