Is Lao Tzu’s Quiet Rebellion Speaking To You?
Some Breadcrumbs of Wisdom to Ponder
Lao Tzu is often imagined as a frail old man with a long beard, riding an ox, disappearing into the mountains as he pens his immortal Tao Te Ching. But to reduce him to a mythical, wise hermit is to miss his true essence.
From my readings, I find that he is no soft-spoken mystic. Rather, he is an iconoclastic radical who challenges everything society holds dear—erudition, wealth, complexity, and ego. He has a vision of the Tao that serves as a deliberate rebellion against the “glaring and noisy” distractions of human ambition.
In Andrew Beaulac’s Sitting With Lao Tzu, we are reminded of the quiet ferocity of Lao Tzu’s philosophy. “Lao Tzu sees erudition as a chief cause of restlessness and dissatisfaction,” Beaulac writes.
Our prevailing world worships credentials, intellect, and accumulation, this idea is practically sacrilege. Yet, Lao Tzu’s words resonate deeply, even as they chafe against everything we’ve been conditioned to value.
As someone who has spent decades navigating the labyrinth of career expectations, spiritual seeking, and the pursuit of knowledge, I find Lao Tzu’s disdain for erudition both unnerving and liberating.
When I first encountered the Taoist sage, I clung to my intellect like a shield, convinced that understanding the world through books and theories would grant me peace. But Lao Tzu warns that this very striving for understanding creates restlessness. The more we “know,” the more dissatisfied we become with the mysteries we can’t unravel.
The Rotting Leftovers of Accumulation
Lao Tzu’s disdain for excess—whether material or intellectual—is perhaps his most subversive teaching. Beaulac’s analogy of extravagance being as “undesirable as rotting leftovers” paints a visceral picture. In a consumerist culture, we hoard knowledge, possessions, and achievements like trophies, only to find they weigh us down.
I’ve lived this firsthand. At one point in my life, I was the poster child for “success.” My shelves groaned under the weight of books, my closet bulged with tailored suits, and my calendar was packed with high-stakes meetings and social commitments. Yet, I was perpetually restless.
I remember standing one day in my home office, surrounded by everything I had worked so hard to acquire, and feeling a sense of existential nausea. It was as if all my accomplishments had congealed into a heap of rotting leftovers, suffocating any sense of joy or purpose.
His wisdom cut through that haze like a blade: simplicity is freedom. But simplicity isn’t minimalism marketed as a lifestyle brand. It’s a return to what is real and uncontrived—a stripping away of artifice.
It’s here where Lao Tzu doesn’t ask us to renounce the world but to relate to it differently. He calls us to move from separation to reconnection, from contrivance to spontaneity.
Quiet Treasures: Compassion, Economy, and Humility
Lao Tzu’s treasures—compassion, economy of life, and humility—are as unfashionable today as they were in his time. Compassion is often dismissed as weakness, economy as lack of ambition, and humility as self-diminishment. Yet these values are antidotes to the restless striving that defines modern life.
For me, embracing humility meant letting go of the need to be seen as an expert or authority. It meant stepping off the treadmill of proving myself and daring to admit, “I don’t know.”
Humility is not self-abasement; it’s freedom from the tyranny of the ego. It’s a willingness to be shaped by life rather than trying to impose control over it.
Compassion, too, is not sentimental; it’s radical. To practice compassion is to see the world through the lens of interconnectedness.
It’s to realize that the line between self and others is an illusion. Lao Tzu teaches that when we align ourselves with the Tao, our actions flow naturally from a place of compassion—not because we “should” be kind, but because kindness becomes inevitable.
A Return to the Dim and Quiet
In our loud, hyperconnected world, Lao Tzu’s preference for the “dim and quiet” may seem quaint. But it’s revolutionary. The dim and quiet spaces are where life’s true essence reveals itself. These are the moments of silence when the mind stops churning, and we can finally hear the whisper of the Tao.
For me, these moments often come in the early hours of the morning, before the world wakes up. There’s a stillness that feels almost sacred—a reminder that life doesn’t need my constant meddling to unfold. Lao Tzu calls us to trust this natural unfolding, to stop chasing and simply be.
Takeaways for the Modern Soul
Lao Tzu’s wisdom is not about retreating into the wilderness or abandoning modern life. It’s about finding simplicity and authenticity within the chaos.
Here are three lessons I’ve drawn from his teachings:
💡 Let Go of the Need to Know: Knowledge is valuable, but obsession with understanding can be a trap. Accept the mystery of life. Not every question needs an answer.
💡 Simplify Your Intentions: Stop hoarding what doesn’t serve you—whether material goods, accolades, or ideas. Make space for what truly matters.
💡 Live from the Inside Out: True satisfaction doesn’t come from external achievements. Cultivate compassion, humility, and an economy of life that aligns with your inner nature.
Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching is not a manifesto; it’s a mirror. It reflects back to us the artifice of our lives and invites us to return to what is real. To walk the path of the Tao is not to follow Lao Tzu but to align ourselves with the rhythms of the universe. It’s a quiet, rebellious act of liberation.
In a world obsessed with more—more knowledge, more success, more possessions—Lao Tzu reminds us that true abundance lies in less. He invites us to step out of the glaring and noisy and into the dim and quiet, where life is simple, spontaneous, and profoundly satisfying.
For those brave enough to listen, his call is as urgent today as it was over two millennia ago.
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Diamond Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist
chocolatetaoist@proton.me
I spent 5 years as a nomadic traveler searching for meaning and a better balance in my life. I found that. But when I got off the road I was without purpose. What was I supposed to do with what I learned? I had no idea until I started reading your posts that it was preparation for these times we find ourselves in. I’m much more prepared to weather this than I knew. Thanks for helping me see the forest.
This is the second book in a row about Lao Tzu and the Tao Te Ching you've talked about that I now want to read.
As much as what I've read of the Tao Te Ching beautiful, I've found much of it hard to grasp, at least when I read it in my twenties. I don't remember who authored it. But I'm going to keep a lookout for this book and the one you reviewed in your last post.
Thanks, Diamond-Michael.