Why did Vilgefortz use half-elves for tests?

In the maelstrom of moral quandaries and magical mayhem that paints the third season of "The Witcher," one of the most intriguing and ethically complex questions that surfaces pertains to Vilgefortz's experimentation on half-elves. The question emerges as follows: What does Vilgefortz plan on achieving by using half-elves as test subjects? To explore this provocative dilemma, I'd like to invoke the ancient wisdom of Taoism. Just as the yin and yang seamlessly merge in the Taoist symbol, the harmony of opposites can illuminate Vilgefortz's motivations and actions in unexpected ways.

Taoism, one of the most influential philosophical schools in Chinese thought, is centered on concepts of balance and natural harmony. At its core, it embraces the intrinsic duality in all things and the fluidity between opposites - concepts that resonate deeply within the ethereal realms of The Witcher. Let's set sail on the Taoist waters and navigate the complexity of Vilgefortz's actions.

In the Taoist universe, one is encouraged to act according to the Tao, the universal flow, which exists beyond human notions of good and evil. Therefore, we might surmise that Vilgefortz's decision to use half-elves as test subjects comes from a place beyond typical moral constraints. Perhaps, in his mind, he is operating in alignment with a greater good, one that justifies his actions and overlooks the immediate suffering of his subjects. The end, as it were, justifies the means.

There's a saying in Taoism, "The Tao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to all things." In this regard, Vilgefortz might see the half-elves as the "Two" in this equation - a bridge between the "One" (pure elves or humans) and the "Three" (a new race or magical entity). They are his conduit to create a novel entity that might reshape the world. By exploiting their duality - neither wholly human nor elf - he hopes to give birth to the unimaginable, the "all things."

This worldview, however, conveniently dismisses the individual pain of the half-elves, which is where Taoism offers a rebuttal. Although it recognizes the flow of universal forces, Taoism also stresses the importance of "wu wei," or non-action, a principle of least resistance and harm. Vilgefortz's actions violate this principle, creating a dissonance with the Taoist way.

Vilgefortz seems to mirror the character of Zhuangzi's butcher in the famous Taoist parable, who effortlessly carves up an ox without dulling his blade, as he operates in harmony with the Tao. The butcher understands the creature, the natural paths of his blade, and there's no resistance, no harm - the ox virtually falls apart by itself. Contrastingly, Vilgefortz's experimentation seems more of a violent hacking, devoid of understanding and respect for the natural order.

Just as the Yin-Yang symbol depicts, there is light in the dark and dark in the light; perhaps Vilgefortz’s actions, while deplorable, might result in unforeseen benefits for the world of The Witcher. Or, the consequences of his deeds might echo the dark seed within the light, leading to disaster. As viewers, we can only observe, ponder, and wait for the story to unfold.

So, through the Taoist prism, Vilgefortz's motivations become a dance of dualities - an ambition for a greater good that spirals into a vortex of individual suffering, a disregard for the principle of non-action while attempting to align with the flow of the Tao. A striking reminder that even in a fantastical realm, the quest for power can sway even the most formidable minds off the path of balance and harmony.

Stay tuned to "The Witcher," where every character is a riddle wrapped in an enigma, each action a ripple in the cosmic Tao, each episode a step deeper into the labyrinth of moral complexity. And remember, in the world of The Witcher, as in life, the dance of dualities never ceases to spin.