Introduction by Lin Yutang

Laotse, The Book of Tao

If there is one book in the whole oriental literature which one should read above all the others, it is, in my opinion, Laotse's Book of Tao. If there is one book that can claim to interpret for us the spirit of the Orient, or that is necessary to the understanding of characteristic Chinese behavior, including literally "the ways that are dark," it is the Book of Tao. For Laotse's book contains the first enunciated philosophy of camouflage in the world; it teaches the wisdom of appearing foolish, the success of appearing to fail, the strength of weakness and the advantage of lying low, the benefit of yielding to your adversary and the futility of contention for power. It accounts in fact for any mellowness that may be seen in Chinese social and individual behaviour. If one reads enough of this Book, one acquires the habits and ways of the Chinese. I would go further and say that if I were asked what antidote could be found in oriental literature and philosophy to cure this contentious modern world of its inveterate belief in force and struggle for power, I would name this book of "5,000 words" written some 2,400 years ago. For Laotse (born about 750 B.C.) has the knack of making Hitler and other dreams of world mastery appear foolish and ridiculous. The chaos of the modern world, I believe, is due to the total lack of philosophy of the rhythm of life such as we find in Laotse and his brilliant disciple Chuangtse, or anything remotely resembling it. And furthermore, if there is one book advising against the multifarious activities and futile business of the modern man, I would again say it is Laotse's Book of Tao. It is one of the profoundest books in the world's philosophy.

The message of the book is simple and its dozen ideas are repeated in epigrammatic form again and again. Briefly the ideas are: the rhythm of life, the unity of all world an human phenomena, the importance of keeping the original simplicity of human nature, the danger of over-government and interference with the simple life of people, the doctrine of wu-wei or "inaction," which is better interpreted as "non-interference" and is the exact equivalent of laissez-fare, the pervading influence of the spirit, the lessons of humility, quietude and calm, and the folly of force, of pride, and of self-assertion. All these will be understood if one understands the rhythm of life. It is profound and clear, mystic and practical.

Some of the greatest paradoxes in this book are: "Never be the first in the world (LXVIII)." "The greatest cleverness appears as stupidity; the greatest eloquence seems like stuttering (XLV)." "The further one pursues knowledge the less one knows (XLVII)." "When two equally matched armies meet, it is the man of sorrow who wins LXIX)." "Even in victory, there is no beauty, and he who calls it beautiful delights in slaughter (XXXI)." " A victory should be celebrated with the funeral rite (XXXI)." "For love is victorious in attack and invulnerable in deference. Heaven arms with love those he would not see destroyed (LXVII)." "He gives to other people , and has greater abundance (LXXXI)." "Requite hatred with virtue (LXIII)." "The honest ones I believe; The liars I also believe (XLVIII)." " He who knows does not speak, and he who speaks does non know (LVI.) (On Laisse-faire): "Rule a big country as you would fry a small fish (LX)." In fact, the whole book consists of such paradoxes.

The book has been traditionally divided into two parts, since Hoshang Kung in the second century B.C. Actually, the original collection consists of various epigrams, and if one reads the developments and connections between the different chapters, one sees even the chapter divisions were not original. (Some late editions of this book have appeared without chapter divisions.) On the whole one can make some rough divisions. Ch. I-X describe the general character of the doctrine. Ch. XI-XX develop the doctrine of inaction. Ch. XXI-XXIII speak of the "models of Tao," and are more mystic. Ch. XXIX-XXXI contain forceful warnings against the use of force. Ch. XXXII-XXXVII speak of the rhythm of life. In Book Two, Ch. XXXVII-XLIX again emphasize the use of gentleness, simplicity and quietude. Ch. L-LVI have to do with the preservation of life. From Ch. LVII on, the themes become more concrete. Ch. LVII-LXVII give definite advice on government and management of human affairs. Ch.LXVIII-LXIX again touch upon war and camouflage. Ch-LXXIII-LXXV contain Laotse's great sayings on crime and punishment. The last six chapters, LXXVI-LXXXI again give some advice on the strength of weakness, with some very appropriate advice on peace settlements on Ch. LXXIX. If fact, if the chapters on war and peace could be made required reading for the delegate to the Peace Conference, we would have a totally different world. "The virtuous man is for patching up, the vicious for fixing guilt, etc." The advice for big and small countries (Ch. LXI) also seems perfect.

Generally a chapter opens with some paradox and develops it with some parallel remarks, introduced with the word "Therefore." An explanation of the use of this word is important, for it will frequently be taken by the Western reader as misplaced and showing no real logical sequence. One should clearly understand, however, that Chinese logic is both indeterminate and synchronous, instead of determinate, exclusive and sequential as in Western logic. Hence cause may be an effect, and an affect may be part of the cause, which is often nearer the truth. Cause and effect in Chinese are not sequential, but are parallel aspects of the same truth. In Chinese, £therefore" is almost indistinguishable from "for." This is true of Laotse, Chuangtse and many Chinese writers. Isn't our distinction of cause and effect somewhat childish? Try to find out what is the cause of the present war, and one will discover many things about this logic of casuality.

There have been many useful criticism and emendations of the text of Laotse, especially the textual restorations of Yü Yüeh, Wang Niensun and others. On the other hand, there has been much useless contention over the shifting of phrases and passages and revisions of chapters by contemporary Chinese authors. These corrections and substitutions seem to derive from the schoolmaster's art of correcting pupils' compositions, cancelling a repetition here and shifting a sentence there where it seems to belong for better stylistic effect. It seems parallel construction must be put together in one paragraph and must never be allowed to appear in another place on the book. Any good writer can confirm the fact that a good essay never follows the schoolmaster's outline and that where the essay has a fundamental unity of thought, any editor can transpose a sentence and fit it to another passage to the editor's own satisfaction. Corrections of this kind have no place in textual restorations of ancient authors. I am a "conservative" in this respect.

I have therefore followed the conservative division into eighty-one chapters, recognizing that the division was not original. Another interesting fault of these critics is to assume that the divisions were original and then complain that the chapters lack "unity of composition." The text of Laotse exists to-day in a fairly satisfactory form, making such transpositions and redivisions unnecessary. I have non unhesitatingly followed even the most famous restoration of Wang Niensun, because it does not improve upon the paradox, but rather takes away from it. When the traditional text reads "Fine weapons are instruments of evil," Wang fairly well proved that the word "Fine" was a mistake for another word, like the English adverbial conjunction "now." But to ask how Laotse, the master of paradox, could say that "fine weapons are instruments of evil," because what is "fine" is not "evil," is sheer stupidity.

Laotse is the most translated of all the Chinese books because of its small volume. I have seen nine translations in German, including the good one by Alexander Ular (Inserverlag). There are the twelve English translations by E. H. Parker, John Chalmers, M. E. Reynolds, Paul Carus, Dwight Goddars and Wei-Tao, Lionel Giles, Isabella Mears, Hu Tse-lin, "editors" of the Shrine of Wisdom, Walter Gold old, Ch'u Ta-Kao, John C. H. Wu and Arthur Waley, of which the last two mentioned are the best. I have profited most from the translations of Waley and Mears in my rendering into English. I have, however, found it necessary to make a new translation. Laotse's style is epigrammatic and his language is terse and vigorous, and I have tried to preserve its terse, epigrammatic quality and its sentence rhythm, but I have not tried to reproduce the rhyme in its many passages. Translation is an art of seeking the exact word, and when the exact word is found, circomlocutions can be avoided, and the style preserved. Translation also requires a certain stupidity, and the best translation is the stupid one which does not go out of its way for "brilliant"interpretations. Laotse's advice to "be aware of the Male, but keep to the Female" has been my principle. For only the stupid man has fidelity. Many translators betray that undue and incorrect stress on individual words in regard to their etymology as beginners in a foreign language place undue stress on individual syllables, the one arising from lack of familiarity, the other from lack of fluency. I have given footnotes for the sole purpose of making the meaning of the text more exact and clearer, and have avoided all comments of opinion. The chapter titles are not original, but are supplied by myself for the convenience of the readers.

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