as a matter of course

if you decide that something is beautiful
then something else immediately becomes ugly
without you realizing it

if you enter a thought shape that dictates the parameters of what is a condition of health
then the parameters of a condition of unhealthy
come forward

you create death when you decide what constitutes life
you create difficulties when you create ease
you create long when you decide what is short
you create a low tone when you sing a high one

were you aware of the power of your own life force

when looking to the left
different tones create harmony

whether you are truly clever or merely awake
manage your affairs without actions
and rely on fluid thinking rather than stagnant thought

adapt to conditions that present themselves
and remember that specialization
is not the useful way

continuously create instead of acquiring
and enjoy what you create

you are important only if it is not important to you

—Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching; An authentic Taoist translation. translated by John Bright-Fey

In Chapter One the ground work was laid, and it is from that position that the second chapter and beyond must be interpreted. That is to say, “the tao source of life . . . is beyond the power of words and labels,” which in turn establishes the difference between the nameless “source” and the Tao that can be named—the thing itself versus our first-order impressions.

Thus Chapter Two begins, “as a matter of course,” to describe a process which occurs with or without conscious intention. It describes an inevitable consequence, but of what? Of forming a “thought shape.” Read as: an impression, a first-order abstraction, a label, a name—the identifying of a thing as what it is AND not something else! Emphasis is given here because this is no trifling detail to be ignored or misunderstood; for when one identifies an object, a place, a person, a concept, or anything which can be captured by language or symbols, one engages is the process of active exclusivity. This is an inevitability because the very act of naming a thing is to distinguish it from things that are not like it (and things that are somewhat like it, and even very much like it yet not identical in some fashion). To know or label a thing is to create conceptual borders—to exclude, and thereby construct different and opposing first-order abstractions: knowledge or labels, preferences or opinions. This is why ugliness springs forth in the presence of that which is beautiful, because that which contains less of what makes a thing beautiful becomes by degrees more similar to beauty’s opposite. When driven to the extreme, that thing which contains nothing of beauty—assuming beauty is, by definition, a thing preferable and valued—must be ugly, repugnant, revolting, or distasteful.

This is the nature of all things which exist within our perception. Likewise, it is the sole power which each individual holds over his experience. After all, the nameless “source” is by definition something beyond human understanding or perception. Our human experience, on the other hand, is just that—human. Where the universe seems to us cold, detached, random, and arbitrary, that is only because we have judged it to be so. What justifies this claim? Remember, when one says “the universe,” he always means “my impression of the universe.” He is always thinking and referring to the first-order abstraction and not the thing itself, the true nature of which is enigmatic to humanity. Therefore, if one gathered the strength of will to alter his desires and aversions from what they are to something else, bits and pieces of how he perceives the universe will change. This is the reality of the alchemists’ symbolic transmutation.

Armed with this wisdom, one can free himself from any prison and find contentment despite the suffering intrinsic to being. All one must do is allow his prior conceptions, opinions, desires, and aversions to dissolve—harder said than done, requiring practice, and never really perfected—but even when accomplished only poorly, at least some “stagnant thought” can again be made fluid, adaptive, and thereby rejuvenating. One can swim with the current, or one can exhaust oneself and drown in it. Even if one is a strong swimmer, he can’t be stronger than the river itself. Perhaps he arrives at his desired destination, but too late. That which he was struggling stubbornly for has already passed.

That is why one should find his value in himself and in the products of his labor, whatever that labor may be. Then, the treasure is never somewhere else, but ever-present in one’s daily routine—if only one can become strong enough to love his fate. If he can do this, then virtue, happiness, contentment, and meaning become things which he generates from mundane activity.

Lao-tzu. “Chapter 2”. Tao Te Ching; An Authentic Taoist Translation, translated by John Bright-Fey, Sweetwater Press, 2014. p.10