Are Books Valuable as Interlocutors?
in·ter·loc·u·tor ˌin-tər-ˈlä-kyə-tər. 1. : one who takes part in dialogue or conversation — Merriam Webster
In one’s quest for wisdom and understanding, books have long served as companions to humanity, not merely as vessels of knowledge but as living, breathing interlocutors.
Throughout their pages, the voices of authors and characters reach out across time, offering conversations that provoke, challenge, and transform us. To engage with a book is to step into a dialogue, an intimate exchange that transcends the mere consumption of words.
What, then, would the ancient sages of the East—Lao Tzu, Mozi, and Zhuangzi—say about the value of having an interlocutor in our lives, and how might books serve this vital role?
Lao Tzu: The Silent Interlocutor
Lao Tzu, the venerable author of the “Tao Te Ching,” might remind us that true wisdom often lies in silence and simplicity. He would likely see books not as verbose instructors but as guides that help us embrace the paradox of knowing by not knowing.
For Lao Tzu, the ideal interlocutor is one who invites us to empty our minds, to enter the “valley of humility” where true insight can arise. He might suggest that the best books are those that leave space for reflection, those that do not impose rigid answers but instead, like the Tao itself, flow and adapt to the reader’s own path.
Books that I read, in this light, become like the Tao—unspoken guides that nudge us toward inner clarity. They allow us to listen deeply, not just to the words on the page, but to the silent space between them.
Lao Tzu might ask: What does it mean to converse with an interlocutor who does not speak directly? He would encourage us to see that such a dialogue is not a debate or a lecture but a dance of meaning that unfolds slowly, revealing the depths of our own inner landscape.
Here, the book serves as a mirror to our own journey, reflecting back to us the silent wisdom we carry within.
Mozi: The Pragmatic Interlocutor
Mozi, the founder of Mohism and a proponent of utilitarian ethics, would approach the concept of books as interlocutors from a more practical perspective. He would see books as tools for moral cultivation and societal improvement.
For Mozi, the value of an interlocutor lies in their ability to challenge us to become better, more effective members of society. A book, then, is not just a passive source of knowledge; it is an active participant in our ethical development.
Books that serve as interlocutors, in Mozi's view, would be those that engage us in moral reasoning and dialogue, questioning our assumptions and pushing us to consider the broader impact of our actions.
Through the characters and dilemmas presented in literature, we are invited to weigh the consequences of choices and to reflect on our own ethical beliefs. Mozi would argue that books help us cultivate “jian ai”—impartial love and concern for all.
The authors and characters become interlocutors who confront us with the complexities of human existence, urging us to think critically and act justly.
For Mozi, a book is valuable if it prompts action toward the greater good. Therefore, books as interlocutors are those that do not just inform but transform, that provoke us to leave the comfort of passive reading and engage in the active work of building a more equitable world.
Zhuangzi: The Playful Interlocutor
In contrast, Zhuangzi, the great Taoist sage known for his whimsical and paradoxical style, would offer a different perspective.
Zhuangzi would celebrate books as wild and unpredictable interlocutors that free us from the rigidity of fixed thought. To converse with Zhuangzi’s writings is to be led into a world of spontaneity, where logic bends, reality blurs, and the boundaries between author and reader dissolve.
Zhuangzi might argue that the value of an interlocutor lies in their ability to disrupt our habitual patterns of thinking, to surprise us into new ways of seeing.
Books, when approached with a Zhuangzian mindset, become more than texts; they become dynamic beings that provoke laughter, bewilderment, and awe. Through their stories and metaphors, they invite us to dance in the realm of the unknown, to embrace ambiguity, and to recognize the limits of our knowledge.
For Zhuangzi, books are best when they serve as playful provocateurs, when they tease us out of our comfort zones and into the vast, flowing river of the Tao. In this dance, the reader becomes both the student and the master, the seeker and the found.
The characters in Zhuangzi's stories—be it the butterfly dreaming of being a man or the fish joyfully swimming in a river—serve as metaphysical interlocutors who invite us to reconsider the nature of reality itself.
The Value of Interlocutors in Our Lives
What unites these three sages is a recognition of the profound value of having an interlocutor—a conversational partner who challenges, questions, and broadens our understanding. Whether it is through silence, pragmatism, or play, interlocutors draw out of us what we may not see alone. They help us to navigate the complexities of life, to refine our thinking, and to confront our own inner contradictions.
Books, in their essence, embody this role. They provide us with a diverse range of voices, from ancient philosophers to contemporary thinkers, from fictional characters to real-life figures, each offering a unique perspective.
Through dialogue with these voices, we are not merely absorbing information; we are engaging in a process of self-discovery and growth. Books, as interlocutors, become catalysts for our inner transformation, encouraging us to ask questions, to explore new ideas, and to challenge the boundaries of our understanding.
Books as Living Interlocutors
The true power of books as interlocutors lies in their ability to meet us where we are and take us where we need to go. They are not static texts but living entities that interact with our minds and hearts, changing as we change, growing as we grow.
They offer conversations that never truly end, dialogues that extend beyond the confines of the physical page and into the realm of our lived experience.
Lao Tzu, Mozi, and Zhuangzi might each see this in their own way, but all would agree that the value of a book lies not in the words themselves but in the dynamic interplay between the reader and the text.
Books, like true interlocutors, are not there to provide answers but to help us ask better questions, to guide us gently—or sometimes forcefully—into deeper communion with ourselves and the world around us.
In a world that often feels fragmented and disconnected, the voices of books offer us an ever-present opportunity for dialogue and reflection, a chance to sit in conversation with the great minds of the past and the imagined ones of the future. And in that dialogue, we may find not only answers but a more profound sense of being, of connection, and of becoming.
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great share. love the word. thank you.