Tao Te Ching – Chapter Eighteen
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
When the great Tao is forgotten,
goodness and piety appear.
When the body’s intelligence declines,
cleverness and knowledge step forth.
When there is no peace in the family,
filial piety begins.
When the country falls into chaos,
patriotism is born.
How I Read This Chapter
When the Way is lost,
we try to replace it
with appearances of virtue.
We become clever,
instead of wise.
Loud,
instead of loving.
Proud,
instead of present.
True harmony needs no decoration.
It flows naturally,
when we remember the source.
But when that connection is broken,
we cling to ideals,
because we’ve forgotten the essence.
What This Means To Me
This chapter reminds me of the time before I got sober—when I was constantly trying to appear okay, even while I was falling apart inside. I had lost connection with the deeper truth of who I was, and so I filled the void with performance. I tried to be “good,” to be smart, to say the right things. But it was all surface. Deep down, I was lost.
“When the great Tao is forgotten, goodness and piety appear.” That rings so true. When I forgot the Way—when I disconnected from spirit, from truth, from the part of me that longs to live in harmony—I didn’t become evil. I became performative. I said what I thought people wanted to hear. I acted “good” while doing harm behind the scenes. It wasn’t evil intent—it was disconnection.
This is what addiction did to me. It severed me from the source, from the Tao, from the quiet knowing inside. And once that was gone, I tried to live by rules and appearances instead. I got clever. I got defensive. I clung to moral ideas while breaking them in secret. I became a master of image—and a stranger to myself.
“When the body’s intelligence declines, cleverness and knowledge step forth.” In active addiction, I didn’t trust my body, my intuition, or my heart. I lived entirely in my head, trying to out-think, over-think, my pain. But recovery has taught me to reconnect with something deeper—an inner wisdom that doesn’t shout, but gently guides. When I return to the source, I no longer need to “figure it all out.” I just need to be honest, to stay close, to follow the next right action.
“When there is no peace in the family, filial piety begins.” This line reminds me of how dysfunction often hides behind formality. We use polite language to cover old wounds. We say the “right” thing instead of the real thing. But real peace doesn’t come from performance—it comes from presence, from truth, from forgiveness. Recovery has helped me begin repairing the relationships I once tried to fix with empty gestures. Now I try to bring honesty instead of obligation, love instead of duty.
And finally: “When the country falls into chaos, patriotism is born.” I think of how, in crisis, people often cling to symbols rather than solutions. I did the same in addiction. I clung to ideas of who I was supposed to be instead of accepting who I actually was. I wore masks, performed roles, and lost myself in the process. But recovery showed me another way—one that isn’t about performance, but about presence. Not about ideals, but about integrity.
This chapter reminds me to live from the inside out. To seek substance over style. To return to the Way—to that quiet, loving source—and let it guide my words, my actions, my relationships.
Because when I am connected to that source, I don’t need to look good— I just need to be real.
