Lao-tzu, A Study in Chinese Philosophy — A Closer Reading

Paradox as Argumentative Engine

Watters repeatedly highlights Lao-tzu's use of paradox, noting that the sage 'cites the saying of a godlike man' that bearing a kingdom's reproaches qualifies one to rule. Rather than dismissing such statements as mere rhetoric, Watters treats them as deliberate structural devices that force the reader to reconsider conventional power. He observes that Lao-tzu 'has a very high opinion of the position and dignity of the sovereign' yet simultaneously demands humility and non-action. This tension is not resolved but sustained, creating a dialectical rhythm that propels the argument forward.

In his commentary on political passages, Watters draws attention to the way Lao-tzu juxtaposes opposites—violence versus yielding, action versus stillness—without synthesizing them. The effect, Watters implies, is a philosophy that resists easy summary, requiring the reader to inhabit its contradictions.

The Shifting Register of the Shêng-jĕn

Watters devotes careful attention to the term Shêng-jĕn, which he translates as 'godlike man.' He notes that the figure appears in different contexts with subtly different connotations: sometimes as an ideal ruler, sometimes as a cosmic exemplar who 'rules ever and transforms the world.' The word's register shifts between political theory and metaphysical speculation, and Watters tracks these movements with precision.

He points out that Lao-tzu uses the Shêng-jĕn to bridge the gap between the natural order and human governance. When the text says such a person 'will not use violence to obtain the honour,' Watters reads this as both a practical political maxim and a statement about the nature of Tao itself. By refusing to fix a single meaning for the term, Watters preserves the open-ended quality of the original.

Pace and the Rhetoric of Governance

Watters' own prose accelerates when discussing Lao-tzu's political ideals, then slows for close analysis of individual maxims. He observes that the Tao-tê Ching 'inveighs nobly against military oppression' in passages that build rhetorical momentum through repetition and parallel structure. Yet immediately afterward, the text retreats into gnomic statements about 'the early days of innocence and simplicity.'

This alternation between urgency and stillness, Watters suggests, is not accidental but reflects Lao-tzu's core teaching: that effective rule arises from restraint. The prince who 'keeps himself from being absorbed in worldly interests' governs not through forceful decrees but through the quiet influence of example. Watters' commentary mirrors this rhythm, moving from impassioned summary to patient explication, inviting the reader to experience the text's own tempo.

Readers approaching Watters' study will find that his attention to language and structure rewards careful reading. He does not merely paraphrase the Tao-tê Ching but demonstrates how its peculiar voice—at once oracular and plain—shapes its philosophical claims. Pay particular attention to the way Watters handles the term Tao itself: he refuses to reduce it to a single English equivalent, preserving the word's semantic range and letting the reader sense its elusiveness.

Some evenings I think of Watters, bent over the Lao-tzu, tracing the quiet turn of paradox into governance. There is a similar patience in that old volume on Shakspere and Montaigne An Endeavour to Explain the Tendency of 'Hamlet' from Allusions in Contemporary Works — Background and Themes, both books listening for the echo of another voice beneath the text.