Modern libertarian political theory is usually presented as a distinctly Western inheritance—emerging from medieval natural law, sharpened by early modern liberalism, and culminating in the radical critiques of state power advanced by thinkers such as Murray Rothbard. And, while to a large extent accurate, hostility to governance, skepticism toward authority, and confidence in spontaneous social order are not uniquely Western phenomena. Long before Locke or Aquinas, classical Daoist (Taoist) thinkers articulated a political philosophy that rejected administration, moralized rule, and social engineering with remarkable consistency. While Daoism never developed a doctrine of natural rights or property in the classical liberal sense, it nonetheless represents a form of pre-modern ethical anarchism, grounded in epistemic humility and a profound distrust of rule itself.
Examining Daoism through a Rothbardian lens clarifies both its affinities with libertarian thought and its limits. Daoism aligns strikingly with Rothbard’s critique of the state as a coercive institution driven by hubris, ignorance, and moral pretense. At the same time, Daoism’s quietism and lack of juridical theory prevent it from supplying a positive foundation for liberty. Appreciating both dimensions avoids romanticizing Daoism while recognizing its genuine anti-statist force.
At the heart of Daoist political philosophy lies the concept of wu wei—often translated as “non-action,” but better understood as non-interference. The Daoist ruler is not a reformer, planner, or moral instructor. He governs best by refraining from governance. Classical Daoist texts repeatedly insist that political disorder arises not from insufficient rule, but from excessive attempts to impose order.
The Tao Te Ching states bluntly that the proliferation of laws produces poverty, disorder, and criminality. This is not merely a moral critique of harsh rule; it is an epistemological one. Daoist thinkers deny that rulers possess the knowledge required to improve society. Attempts to regulate economic activity, enforce moral conformity, or “improve” human behavior distort natural social processes and generate unintended consequences.
This epistemic skepticism closely parallels Rothbard’s critique of state planning. In Man, Economy, and State, Rothbard emphasizes that centralized authority lacks the dispersed knowledge necessary to allocate resources or direct human action without distortion. While Rothbard grounds this insight in Austrian economics rather than metaphysics, the underlying intuition is similar: insufficient knowledge.
Daoism thus rejects political authority, not because rulers are evil a priori, but because rule itself presupposes an impossible epistemic vantage point. This places Daoism far closer to libertarian critiques of technocracy than to classical Chinese Confucian-infused Legalism.
Daoism also departs sharply from Confucianism in its rejection of moralized rule. Confucian political thought treats governance as a pedagogical enterprise: the ruler cultivates virtue in himself and thereby models proper conduct for the people. Daoism regards this entire project as perverse. The moment rulers attempt to teach virtue, they produce hypocrisy, ambition, and social decay.
This hostility toward moral governance aligns with Rothbard’s sustained critique of the “public interest” tradition. In The Ethics of Liberty, Rothbard argues that moral rhetoric is among the state’s most effective tools for legitimizing coercion. Appeals to virtue, order, and social harmony disguise violence and transform obedience into a moral obligation.
Daoist texts anticipate this critique by centuries. They portray moral reformers as dangerous meddlers whose efforts create the very vices they claim to oppose. The Daoist ruler does not instruct, uplift, or correct. He leaves people alone.
Daoism assumes that social order emerges naturally when interference recedes. Families, customs, and local practices regulate behavior more effectively than decrees. Harmony is not designed; it arises. This assumption closely resembles the spontaneous-order tradition later articulated by classical liberals and Austrians.
Rothbard himself emphasized spontaneous order while rejecting attempts to smuggle state authority back into the concept. In Power and Market, he argues that voluntary interaction produces coordination without centralized control, and that state intervention invariably disrupts social cooperation.
Daoism arrives at a similar conclusion without a theory of prices or exchange. Its vision of spontaneous order is ethical and metaphysical rather than economic, but the political implication is the same: rule is unnecessary, and usually destructive.
If the Tao Te Ching offers minimalist governance, the writings attributed to Daoist philosopher Zhuangzi go further, approaching outright anarchism. Zhuangzi mocks rulers, ridicules political ambition, and treats service to the state as morally deforming. Office-seeking scholars are portrayed as vain and corrupted, and withdrawal from political life is praised as a form of integrity.
This posture resonates strongly with Rothbard’s view of the state as a predatory institution that attracts those willing to wield coercion. In essays such as “Anatomy of the State,” Rothbard emphasizes that political power distorts incentives and rewards domination rather than service. Zhuangzi’s refusal to dignify political authority mirrors Rothbard’s insistence that the state deserves not reform, but delegitimation.
Unfortunately, despite these affinities, Daoism cannot be assimilated into libertarianism without distortion. Most importantly, it lacks a theory of natural rights. Daoism offers no account of self-ownership, property, or justice. It condemns interference but does not specify which actions are illegitimate or how disputes should be resolved.
For Rothbard, this omission is decisive. Libertarianism is not merely anti-statist; it is a theory of justice grounded in self-ownership and property norms (The Ethics of Liberty). Daoism provides a powerful critique of rule but no framework for adjudication or resistance. Its response to power is withdrawal rather than confrontation.
This quietism marks another divergence. Rothbard insisted on moral resistance to the state, viewing taxation, conscription, and regulation as forms of aggression that must be named as such. Daoism often counsels indifference or retreat instead. It undermines authority culturally, but does not articulate a right to oppose it.
The most accurate characterization of Daoist political philosophy is therefore not “proto-libertarianism,” but ethical anarchism, grounded in epistemic humility. Daoism rejects rule because it cannot work, not because it violates rights. Its anarchism is negative rather than juridical: it dissolves authority by denying its competence and moral necessity.
Rothbard would have recognized both the value and the insufficiency of this approach. Daoism exposes the pretensions of power with extraordinary clarity, but it does not replace them with a theory of liberty. It erodes the legitimacy of the state without erecting institutional alternatives.
Daoism occupies a distinctive place in the history of political thought. It represents one of the most sustained pre-modern rejections of governance as such—rooted not in chaos or nihilism, but in humility about what rulers can know and do. Read through a Rothbardian framework, Daoism emerges as a philosophical ally in the critique of state power, even as it remains incompatible with rights-based libertarianism.
Recognizing Daoism as ethical anarchism rather than liberalism avoids anachronism while expanding our understanding of anti-statist traditions beyond the Western canon. It also underscores a crucial lesson Rothbard emphasized repeatedly: the most dangerous governments are not those that rule harshly, but those that rule with confidence in their own wisdom.
