The Way (Tao)

The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name.

The Tao that can be followed is not the eternal, unchanging Tao. The name that can be spoken is not the eternal, unchanging name.

(Conceived of as) having no name, it is the Originator of heaven and earth; (conceived of as) having a name, it is the Mother of all things.

Seen as having no name, it is the source of heaven and earth. Seen as having a name, it is the Mother of all things.

Under these two aspects, it is really the same; but as development takes place, it receives the different names. Together we call them the Mystery. Where the Mystery is the deepest is the gate of all that is subtle and wonderful.

These two aspects are really the same, but as they develop, they take on different names. Together we call them the Mystery. The deepest part of the Mystery is the gateway to all that is subtle and wonderful.

All in the world know the beauty of the beautiful, and in doing this they have (the idea of) what ugliness is; they all know the skill of the skilful, and in doing this they have (the idea of) what the want of skill is.

Everyone in the world recognizes beauty, and by recognizing beauty, they also gain an idea of ugliness. Everyone recognizes skill, and by recognizing skill, they also gain an idea of what it means to lack skill.

So it is that existence and non-existence give birth the one to (the idea of) the other; that difficulty and ease produce the one (the idea of) the other; that length and shortness fashion out the one the figure of the other; that (the ideas of) height and lowness arise from the contrast of the one with the other; that the musical notes and tones become harmonious through the relation of one with another; and that being before and behind give the idea of one following another.

So existence and non-existence each give rise to the idea of the other. Difficulty and ease each create the idea of the other. Length and shortness each define the shape of the other. Height and lowness each become clear through contrast with the other. Musical notes and tones become harmonious through their relationships with one another. And being ahead and behind gives rise to the idea of one following another.

Therefore the sage manages affairs without doing anything, and conveys his instructions without the use of speech.

So the sage handles affairs without doing anything. He also teaches without speaking.

All things spring up, and there is not one which declines to show itself; they grow, and there is no claim made for their ownership; they go through their processes, and there is no expectation (of a reward for the results). The work is accomplished, and there is no resting in it (as an achievement).

All things arise, and not one fails to appear. They grow, and no one claims to own them. They follow their course, and no reward is expected for the results. The work is completed, and no one dwells on it as an achievement.

Not to value and employ men of superior ability is the way to keep the people from rivalry among themselves; not to prize articles which are difficult to procure is the way to keep them from becoming thieves; not to show them what is likely to excite their desires is the way to keep their minds from disorder.

Not valuing or employing highly capable people is the way to prevent rivalry among the people. Not prizing goods that are hard to obtain is the way to keep people from becoming thieves. Not showing people things likely to stir their desires is the way to keep their minds from becoming unsettled.

Therefore the sage, in the exercise of his government, empties their minds, fills their bellies, weakens their wills, and strengthens their bones.

So, when governing, the sage empties people's minds and fills their bellies. He weakens their wills and strengthens their bones.

He constantly (tries to) keep them without knowledge and without desire, and where there are those who have knowledge, to keep them from presuming to act (on it). When there is this abstinence from action, good order is universal.

He constantly tries to keep them free of knowledge and desire. And when some have knowledge, he tries to keep them from daring to act on it. When people hold back from action like this, good order prevails everywhere.

The Tao is (like) the emptiness of a vessel; and in our employment of it we must be on our guard against all fulness. How deep and unfathomable it is, as if it were the Honoured Ancestor of all things!

The Tao is like the emptiness of a vessel. When we use the Tao, we must guard against all fullness. How deep and unfathomable the Tao is, as if it were the Honoured Ancestor of all things!

We should blunt our sharp points, and unravel the complications of things; we should attemper our brightness, and bring ourselves into agreement with the obscurity of others. How pure and still the Tao is, as if it would ever so continue!

We should soften our sharp edges and untangle the complexities of things. We should tone down our brightness and blend in with the obscurity of others. How pure and still the Tao is, as if it would stay that way forever!

I do not know whose son it is. It might appear to have been before God.

I do not know whose son it is. It seems it may have existed before God.

Heaven and earth do not act from (the impulse of) any wish to be benevolent; they deal with all things as the dogs of grass are dealt with. The sages do not act from (any wish to be) benevolent; they deal with the people as the dogs of grass are dealt with.

Heaven and earth do not act out of a desire to be kind. They treat all things as people treat dogs made of straw. Sages do not act out of a desire to be kind. They treat the people as people treat dogs made of straw.

May not the space between heaven and earth be compared to a bellows?

Couldn’t the space between heaven and earth be compared to a bellows?

Heaven is long-enduring and earth continues long. The reason why heaven and earth are able to endure and continue thus long is because they do not live of, or for, themselves. This is how they are able to continue and endure.

Heaven endures, and earth lasts a long time. Heaven and earth last so long because they do not live by or for themselves. That is how heaven and earth are able to last and endure.

Therefore the sage puts his own person last, and yet it is found in the foremost place; he treats his person as if it were foreign to him, and yet that person is preserved. Is it not because he has no personal and private ends, that therefore such ends are realised?

So the sage puts himself last, yet ends up first. He treats himself as if he were a stranger, yet his life is preserved. Isn't it because he has no personal or private goals that those very goals are achieved?

The highest excellence is like (that of) water. The excellence of water appears in its benefiting all things, and in its occupying, without striving (to the contrary), the low place which all men dislike. Hence (its way) is near to (that of) the Tao.

The highest excellence is like water. Water’s excellence lies in benefiting all things and settling, without resistance, in the low places all people dislike. So water’s way is close to the Tao.

The excellence of a residence is in (the suitability of) the place; that of the mind is in abysmal stillness; that of associations is in their being with the virtuous; that of government is in its securing good order; that of (the conduct of) affairs is in its ability; and that of (the initiation of) any movement is in its timeliness.

A home’s excellence lies in a suitable location. A mind’s excellence lies in deep stillness. The excellence of relationships lies in being with virtuous people. A government’s excellence lies in maintaining good order. Excellence in handling affairs lies in skill. Excellence in starting any action lies in choosing the right time.

And when (one with the highest excellence) does not wrangle (about his low position), no one finds fault with him.

And when someone of the highest excellence does not argue about his low status, no one finds fault with him.

It is better to leave a vessel unfilled, than to attempt to carry it when it is full. If you keep feeling a point that has been sharpened, the point cannot long preserve its sharpness.

It is better to leave a container partly empty than to try carrying it when it is full. If you keep touching a sharpened point, the point cannot stay sharp for long.

When gold and jade fill the hall, their possessor cannot keep them safe. When wealth and honours lead to arrogancy, this brings its evil on itself. When the work is done, and one's name is becoming distinguished, to withdraw into obscurity is the way of Heaven.

When gold and jade fill the hall, their owner cannot keep them safe. When wealth and honors lead to arrogance, that arrogance brings trouble on itself. When your work is done and your name is gaining fame, retreating into obscurity is the way of Heaven.

When the intelligent and animal souls are held together in one embrace, they can be kept from separating. When one gives undivided attention to the (vital) breath, and brings it to the utmost degree of pliancy, he can become as a (tender) babe. When he has cleansed away the most mysterious sights (of his imagination), he can become without a flaw.

When the intelligent and animal souls are held in one embrace, they can be kept from separating. When someone focuses fully on his vital breath and makes it as supple as possible, he can become like a tender baby. When he clears away the most mysterious visions of his imagination, he can become free of flaws.

In loving the people and ruling the state, cannot he proceed without any (purpose of) action? In the opening and shutting of his gates of heaven, cannot he do so as a female bird? While his intelligence reaches in every direction, cannot he (appear to) be without knowledge?

In loving the people and ruling the state, can he not act without deliberate purpose? In opening and closing his gates of heaven, can he not be like a female bird? While his understanding reaches in every direction, can he not seem to have no knowledge?

(The Tao) produces (all things) and nourishes them; it produces them and does not claim them as its own; it does all, and yet does not boast of it; it presides over all, and yet does not control them. This is what is called 'The mysterious Quality' (of the Tao).

The Tao creates all things and nourishes them. It creates them but does not claim them as its own. The Tao does everything, yet does not boast about it. It watches over all things, yet does not control them. This is called 'The mysterious Quality' of the Tao.

The thirty spokes unite in the one nave; but it is on the empty space (for the axle), that the use of the wheel depends. Clay is fashioned into vessels; but it is on their empty hollowness, that their use depends. The door and windows are cut out (from the walls) to form an apartment; but it is on the empty space (within), that its use depends. Therefore, what has a (positive) existence serves for profitable adaptation, and what has not that for (actual) usefulness.

Thirty spokes come together in one hub. But the wheel’s usefulness depends on the empty space for the axle. Clay is shaped into vessels. But the vessels’ usefulness depends on the empty space inside them. Doors and windows are cut into walls to form a room. But the room’s usefulness depends on the empty space within. So what exists brings advantage, while what does not exist makes things useful.

Therefore the sage seeks to satisfy (the craving of) the belly, and not the (insatiable longing of the) eyes. He puts from him the latter, and prefers to seek the former.

So the sage seeks to satisfy the belly’s hunger, not the eyes’ endless desires. He rejects those desires and prefers to satisfy his hunger.

Favour and disgrace would seem equally to be feared; honour and great calamity, to be regarded as personal conditions (of the same kind).

Favor and disgrace seem equally worth fearing. Honor and great misfortune seem to be personal experiences (of the same kind).

What is meant by speaking thus of favour and disgrace? Disgrace is being in a low position (after the enjoyment of favour). The getting that (favour) leads to the apprehension (of losing it), and the losing it leads to the fear of (still greater calamity):—this is what is meant by saying that favour and disgrace would seem equally to be feared.

What does it mean to speak this way about favour and disgrace? Disgrace means being in a low position after enjoying favour. Gaining favour brings anxiety about losing it. Losing favour brings fear of even greater trouble. This is what it means to say that favour and disgrace seem equally worth fearing.

And what is meant by saying that honour and great calamity are to be (similarly) regarded as personal conditions? What makes me liable to great calamity is my having the body (which I call myself); if I had not the body, what great calamity could come to me?

And what does it mean to say that honor and great disaster should be viewed alike as personal conditions? I am vulnerable to great disaster because I have a body (which I call myself). If I had no body, what great disaster could happen to me?

Therefore he who would administer the kingdom, honouring it as he honours his own person, may be employed to govern it, and he who would administer it with the love which he bears to his own person may be entrusted with it.

So a man who would govern the kingdom with the same respect he gives himself may be chosen to govern it. And a man who would govern the kingdom with the same love he gives himself may be entrusted with it.

We look at it, and we do not see it, and we name it 'the Equable.' We listen to it, and we do not hear it, and we name it 'the Inaudible.' We try to grasp it, and do not get hold of it, and we name it 'the Subtle.' With these three qualities, it cannot be made the subject of description; and hence we blend them together and obtain The One.

We look at it but cannot see it, and we call it 'the Equable.' We listen to it but cannot hear it, and we call it 'the Inaudible.' We try to grasp it but cannot hold it, and we call it 'the Subtle.' These three qualities cannot be described, so we blend them together and arrive at The One.

Its upper part is not bright, and its lower part is not obscure. Ceaseless in its action, it yet cannot be named, and then it again returns and becomes nothing. This is called the Form of the Formless, and the Semblance of the Invisible; this is called the Fleeting and Indeterminable.

Its upper part is not bright, and its lower part is not dark. It never stops acting, yet it cannot be named. Then it returns to nothing. This is called the Form of the Formless and the Semblance of the Invisible. It is called the Fleeting and Indeterminable.

We meet it and do not see its Front; we follow it, and do not see its Back. When we can lay hold of the Tao of old to direct the things of the present day, and are able to know it as it was of old in the beginning, this is called (unwinding) the clue of Tao.

We meet it but do not see its front. We follow it but do not see its back. When we can grasp the ancient Tao to guide today's affairs and understand the Tao as it was in the beginning, this is called (unwinding) the thread of Tao.

The skilful masters (of the Tao) in old times, with a subtle and exquisite penetration, comprehended its mysteries, and were deep (also) so as to elude men's knowledge. As they were thus beyond men's knowledge, I will make an effort to describe of what sort they appeared to be.

The skilled masters of the Tao in ancient times understood its mysteries with subtle, refined insight. Their depth, too, was beyond people's understanding. Because these masters were beyond people's understanding, I will try to describe what they seemed to be like.

Shrinking looked they like those who wade through a stream in winter; irresolute like those who are afraid of all around them; grave like a guest (in awe of his host); evanescent like ice that is melting away; unpretentious like wood that has not been fashioned into anything; vacant like a valley, and dull like muddy water.

They were cautious, like people wading through a stream in winter. They were hesitant, like people afraid of everything around them. They were solemn, like a guest (in awe of his host). They were fading away, like melting ice. They were unassuming, like wood that had not been shaped into anything. They were empty, like a valley, and murky, like muddy water.

Who can (make) the muddy water (clear)? Let it be still, and it will gradually become clear. Who can secure the condition of rest? Let movement go on, and the condition of rest will gradually arise.

Who can make muddy water clear? Let the water stay still, and it will gradually clear. Who can bring about rest? Let movement continue, and rest will gradually arise.

They who preserve this method of the Tao do not wish to be full (of themselves). It is through their not being full of themselves that they can afford to seem worn and not appear new and complete.

Those who follow this way of the Tao do not wish to be full of themselves. Because they are not full of themselves, they can afford to seem worn rather than appear new and complete.

The (state of) vacancy should be brought to the utmost degree, and that of stillness guarded with unwearying vigour. All things alike go through their processes of activity, and (then) we see them return (to their original state). When things (in the vegetable world) have displayed their luxuriant growth, we see each of them return to its root. This returning to their root is what we call the state of stillness; and that stillness may be called a reporting that they have fulfilled their appointed end.

Emptiness should be carried as far as possible, and stillness maintained with tireless care. All things go through their cycles of activity, and then we see them return to their original state. After plants have grown lush and full, we see each return to its root. We call this return to the root stillness. This stillness may be called a sign that they have fulfilled their appointed purpose.

The report of that fulfilment is the regular, unchanging rule. To know that unchanging rule is to be intelligent; not to know it leads to wild movements and evil issues. The knowledge of that unchanging rule produces a (grand) capacity and forbearance, and that capacity and forbearance lead to a community (of feeling with all things). From this community of feeling comes a kingliness of character; and he who is king-like goes on to be heaven-like. In that likeness to heaven he possesses the Tao. Possessed of the Tao, he endures long; and to the end of his bodily life, is exempt from all danger of decay.

The account of that fulfillment is the constant, unchanging rule. Knowing this unchanging rule is wisdom. Not knowing it leads to reckless actions and harmful results. Knowledge of this rule brings great openness and patience. This openness and patience lead to a feeling of connection with all things. From this connection comes a kingly character. A person with a kingly character goes on to become like heaven. In becoming like heaven, he possesses the Tao. With the Tao, he endures for a long time. Until the end of his physical life, he is free from all danger of decay.

In the highest antiquity, (the people) did not know that there were (their rulers). In the next age they loved them and praised them. In the next they feared them; in the next they despised them. Thus it was that when faith (in the Tao) was deficient (in the rulers) a want of faith in them ensued (in the people).

In the earliest times, people did not know they had rulers. In the next age, people loved and praised their rulers. In the next, people feared their rulers. In the next, people despised their rulers. So when rulers lacked faith in the Tao, the people lost faith in their rulers.

How irresolute did those (earliest rulers) appear, showing (by their reticence) the importance which they set upon their words! Their work was done and their undertakings were successful, while the people all said, 'We are as we are, of ourselves!'

How hesitant those earliest rulers seemed! By speaking so little, they showed how much they valued their words. Their work was done and their plans succeeded, while the people all said, 'We are as we are, all on our own!'

When the Great Tao (Way or Method) ceased to be observed, benevolence and righteousness came into vogue. (Then) appeared wisdom and shrewdness, and there ensued great hypocrisy.

When people stopped following the Great Tao (Way or Method), kindness and righteousness became fashionable. Then wisdom and cleverness appeared, and great hypocrisy followed.

When harmony no longer prevailed throughout the six kinships, filial sons found their manifestation; when the states and clans fell into disorder, loyal ministers appeared.

When harmony no longer held across the six family relationships, sons devoted to their parents appeared. When states and clans fell into disorder, loyal ministers appeared.

If we could renounce our sageness and discard our wisdom, it would be better for the people a hundredfold. If we could renounce our benevolence and discard our righteousness, the people would again become filial and kindly. If we could renounce our artful contrivances and discard our (scheming for) gain, there would be no thieves nor robbers.

If we could give up our sagely insight and wisdom, people would be a hundred times better off. If we could give up our benevolence and righteousness, people would again respect their parents and be kind. If we could abandon our clever schemes and stop scheming for profit, there would be no thieves or robbers.

What all men fear is indeed to be feared; but how wide and without end is the range of questions (asking to be discussed)!

What everyone fears is indeed something to fear. But how vast and endless is the range of questions calling for discussion!

The multitude of men look satisfied and pleased; as if enjoying a full banquet, as if mounted on a tower in spring. I alone seem listless and still, my desires having as yet given no indication of their presence. I am like an infant which has not yet smiled. I look dejected and forlorn, as if I had no home to go to. The multitude of men all have enough and to spare. I alone seem to have lost everything. My mind is that of a stupid man; I am in a state of chaos.

The crowds look content and happy, as if enjoying a grand feast or standing on a tower in spring. I alone seem listless and still. My desires have not yet shown any sign of life. I am like a baby who has not yet smiled. I look downcast and lonely, as if I had no home to go to. The crowds all have enough and more to spare. I alone seem to have lost everything. My mind is like a fool’s mind. I am in a state of confusion.

Ordinary men look bright and intelligent, while I alone seem to be benighted. They look full of discrimination, while I alone am dull and confused. I seem to be carried about as on the sea, drifting as if I had nowhere to rest. All men have their spheres of action, while I alone seem dull and incapable, like a rude borderer. (Thus) I alone am different from other men, but I value the nursing-mother (the Tao).

Ordinary men seem bright and intelligent, while I alone seem lost in darkness. They seem able to tell things apart, while I alone am dull and confused. I seem to be tossed about at sea, drifting as if I had nowhere to rest. All men have their own work to do, while I alone seem dull and incapable, like an uncultured outsider. (So) I alone am different from other men, but I value the mother who nourishes me (the Tao).

How know I that it is so with all the beauties of existing things? By this (nature of the Tao).

How do I know this is true of all the beauty in things that exist? Through this (the nature of the Tao).

The partial becomes complete; the crooked, straight; the empty, full; the worn out, new. He whose (desires) are few gets them; he whose (desires) are many goes astray.

What is incomplete becomes complete. What is crooked becomes straight. What is empty becomes full. What is worn out becomes new. Those with few desires get what they desire. Those with many desires lose their way.

Therefore the sage holds in his embrace the one thing (of humility), and manifests it to all the world. He is free from self-display, and therefore he shines; from self-assertion, and therefore he is distinguished; from self-boasting, and therefore his merit is acknowledged; from self-complacency, and therefore he acquires superiority. It is because he is thus free from striving that therefore no one in the world is able to strive with him.

Therefore, the sage embraces one thing (humility) and shows it to all the world. He does not show off, so he shines. He does not assert his own importance, so he stands out. He does not boast, so his achievements are recognized. He is not smug, so he rises above others. Because he does not compete, no one in the world can compete with him.

That saying of the ancients that 'the partial becomes complete' was not vainly spoken:—all real completion is comprehended under it.

The ancient saying that 'the incomplete becomes complete' was not spoken in vain. All true completion is captured in that saying.

Abstaining from speech marks him who is obeying the spontaneity of his nature. A violent wind does not last for a whole morning; a sudden rain does not last for the whole day. To whom is it that these (two) things are owing? To Heaven and Earth. If Heaven and Earth cannot make such (spasmodic) actings last long, how much less can man!

A person who follows the natural flow of his nature speaks little. A violent wind does not last all morning. A sudden rain does not last all day. What causes these two things? Heaven and Earth. If even Heaven and Earth cannot keep such bursts going for long, how much less can a person!

Therefore when one is making the Tao his business, those who are also pursuing it, agree with him in it, and those who are making the manifestation of its course their object agree with him in that; while even those who are failing in both these things agree with him where they fail.

So when someone devotes himself to the Tao, others pursuing the Tao agree with him in that pursuit. Those aiming to put the Tao's way into practice agree with him in that aim. And even those failing at both agree with him where they fail.

Hence, those with whom he agrees as to the Tao have the happiness of attaining to it; those with whom he agrees as to its manifestation have the happiness of attaining to it; and those with whom he agrees in their failure have also the happiness of attaining (to the Tao). (But) when there is not faith sufficient (on his part), a want of faith (in him) ensues (on the part of the others).

So those who agree with him about the Tao find happiness in attaining the Tao. Those who agree with him about its manifestation find happiness in attaining that manifestation. And those who share in his failure also find happiness in attaining the Tao. But when he lacks enough faith, others lose faith in him.

He who stands on his tiptoes does not stand firm; he who stretches his legs does not walk (easily). (So), he who displays himself does not shine; he who asserts his own views is not distinguished; he who vaunts himself does not find his merit acknowledged; he who is self-conceited has no superiority allowed to him. Such conditions, viewed from the standpoint of the Tao, are like remnants of food, or a tumour on the body, which all dislike. Hence those who pursue (the course) of the Tao do not adopt and allow them.

Anyone who stands on tiptoe is unsteady. Anyone who takes overly long strides cannot walk easily. So anyone who shows off does not shine. Anyone who insists on their own views does not stand out. Anyone who boasts receives no recognition for their achievements. Anyone who thinks too highly of themselves is not recognized as superior. From the standpoint of the Tao, these behaviors are like leftover food or a tumor on the body. All dislike such things. So those who follow the Tao neither practice nor accept these behaviors.

There was something undefined and complete, coming into existence before Heaven and Earth. How still it was and formless, standing alone, and undergoing no change, reaching everywhere and in no danger (of being exhausted)! It may be regarded as the Mother of all things.

Something undefined and complete came into being before Heaven and Earth. How still and formless it was! It stood alone and never changed, reaching everywhere without any danger of being used up. It may be seen as the Mother of all things.

I do not know its name, and I give it the designation of the Tao (the Way or Course). Making an effort (further) to give it a name I call it The Great.

I do not know its name, so I call it the Tao (the Way or Course). Trying to give it a further name, I call it The Great.

Great, it passes on (in constant flow). Passing on, it becomes remote. Having become remote, it returns. Therefore the Tao is great; Heaven is great; Earth is great; and the (sage) king is also great. In the universe there are four that are great, and the (sage) king is one of them.

Great, it flows onward constantly. As it flows onward, it becomes distant. Once distant, it returns. So the Tao is great. Heaven is great. Earth is great. And the sage king is also great. There are four great things in the universe, and the sage king is one of them.

Man takes his law from the Earth; the Earth takes its law from Heaven; Heaven takes its law from the Tao. The law of the Tao is its being what it is.

People follow the laws of the Earth. The Earth follows the laws of Heaven. Heaven follows the laws of the Tao. The Tao’s law is to be what it is.

Gravity is the root of lightness; stillness, the ruler of movement.

Heaviness is the foundation of lightness. Stillness governs movement.

Therefore a wise prince, marching the whole day, does not go far from his baggage waggons. Although he may have brilliant prospects to look at, he quietly remains (in his proper place), indifferent to them. How should the lord of a myriad chariots carry himself lightly before the kingdom? If he do act lightly, he has lost his root (of gravity); if he proceed to active movement, he will lose his throne.

So a wise prince, even when marching all day, stays close to his baggage wagons. Although he may see splendid sights, he stays quietly in his proper place, indifferent to those sights. How could the ruler of ten thousand chariots behave lightly before his kingdom? If he acts lightly, he loses his grounding. If he rushes into action, he will lose his throne.

The skilful traveller leaves no traces of his wheels or footsteps; the skilful speaker says nothing that can be found fault with or blamed; the skilful reckoner uses no tallies; the skilful closer needs no bolts or bars, while to open what he has shut will be impossible; the skilful binder uses no strings or knots, while to unloose what he has bound will be impossible. In the same way the sage is always skilful at saving men, and so he does not cast away any man; he is always skilful at saving things, and so he does not cast away anything. This is called 'Hiding the light of his procedure.'

A skilled traveler leaves no wheel tracks or footprints. A skilled speaker says nothing anyone can fault or blame. A skilled calculator needs no tally marks. A skilled closer needs no bolts or bars, yet no one can open what he has closed. A skilled binder uses no strings or knots, yet no one can undo what he has bound. In the same way, the sage is always skilled at saving people, so he casts no one aside. He is always skilled at saving things, so he throws nothing away. This is called 'Hiding the light of his method.'

Therefore the man of skill is a master (to be looked up to) by him who has not the skill; and he who has not the skill is the helper of (the reputation of) him who has the skill. If the one did not honour his master, and the other did not rejoice in his helper, an (observer), though intelligent, might greatly err about them. This is called 'The utmost degree of mystery.'

So a skilled man is a teacher whom an unskilled man should look up to. The unskilled man, in turn, helps build the skilled man's reputation. If the unskilled man did not honor his teacher, and the skilled man did not delight in his helper, even an intelligent observer might seriously misunderstand them. This is called 'The deepest mystery.'

The unwrought material, when divided and distributed, forms vessels. The sage, when employed, becomes the Head of all the Officers (of government); and in his greatest regulations he employs no violent measures.

Raw material, when divided and distributed, becomes vessels. The sage, when given a government role, becomes the head of all government officials. And in his most important rules, he uses no violent measures.

If any one should wish to get the kingdom for himself, and to effect this by what he does, I see that he will not succeed. The kingdom is a spirit-like thing, and cannot be got by active doing. He who would so win it destroys it; he who would hold it in his grasp loses it.

If anyone tries to take the kingdom for himself through his own actions, I see that he will not succeed. The kingdom is like a spirit and cannot be gained through action. Whoever tries to win the kingdom this way destroys it. Whoever tries to hold the kingdom in his grasp loses it.

Hence the sage puts away excessive effort, extravagance, and easy indulgence.

So the wise person avoids excessive effort, extravagance, and easy self-indulgence.

He who would assist a lord of men in harmony with the Tao will not assert his mastery in the kingdom by force of arms. Such a course is sure to meet with its proper return.

Anyone helping a ruler in harmony with the Tao will not dominate the kingdom through military force. Using force is sure to bring a matching response.

Wherever a host is stationed, briars and thorns spring up. In the sequence of great armies there are sure to be bad years.

Wherever an army camps, briars and thorns spring up. Bad years are sure to follow in the wake of great armies.

A skilful (commander) strikes a decisive blow, and stops. He does not dare (by continuing his operations) to assert and complete his mastery. He will strike the blow, but will be on his guard against being vain or boastful or arrogant in consequence of it. He strikes it as a matter of necessity; he strikes it, but not from a wish for mastery.

A skilled commander strikes a decisive blow and stops. He does not dare keep fighting to establish complete control. He strikes the blow, but guards against becoming vain, boastful, or arrogant because of it. He strikes because he must, not because he wants to dominate.

When things have attained their strong maturity they become old. This may be said to be not in accordance with the Tao: and what is not in accordance with it soon comes to an end.

When things reach their full strength and maturity, they grow old. This aging may be said to go against the Tao. And whatever goes against the Tao soon comes to an end.

Now arms, however beautiful, are instruments of evil omen, hateful, it may be said, to all creatures. Therefore they who have the Tao do not like to employ them.

Weapons, however beautiful, are instruments of misfortune. It may be said that all creatures hate weapons. So those who follow the Tao do not like to use weapons.

The superior man ordinarily considers the left hand the most honourable place, but in time of war the right hand. Those sharp weapons are instruments of evil omen, and not the instruments of the superior man;—he uses them only on the compulsion of necessity. Calm and repose are what he prizes; victory (by force of arms) is to him undesirable. To consider this desirable would be to delight in the slaughter of men; and he who delights in the slaughter of men cannot get his will in the kingdom.

The noble man usually sees the left-hand position as the place of greatest honor, but in war, the right. Sharp weapons are signs of misfortune, not tools for the noble man. He uses them only when necessity forces him to. He values calm and peace, and does not welcome victory (by force of arms). To welcome such victory would be to take pleasure in killing people. And anyone who takes pleasure in killing people cannot have his way in the kingdom.

On occasions of festivity to be on the left hand is the prized position; on occasions of mourning, the right hand. The second in command of the army has his place on the left; the general commanding in chief has his on the right;—his place, that is, is assigned to him as in the rites of mourning. He who has killed multitudes of men should weep for them with the bitterest grief; and the victor in battle has his place (rightly) according to those rites.

At celebrations, the place of honor is on the left. In mourning, it is on the right. The army’s second-in-command takes his place on the left. The commanding general takes his place on the right, as in mourning rituals. Anyone who has killed multitudes should weep for them with the deepest grief. And the victor in battle rightly takes his place according to those same mourning rituals.

The Tao, considered as unchanging, has no name.

The Tao, when viewed as unchanging, has no name.

Though in its primordial simplicity it may be small, the whole world dares not deal with (one embodying) it as a minister. If a feudal prince or the king could guard and hold it, all would spontaneously submit themselves to him.

Though it may be small in its original simplicity, no one in the world dares treat (someone who embodies it) as a subordinate. If a feudal prince or king could protect and hold on to it, all would willingly submit to him.

Heaven and Earth (under its guidance) unite together and send down the sweet dew, which, without the directions of men, reaches equally everywhere as of its own accord.

Under its guidance, Heaven and Earth come together and send down sweet dew. Without human direction, the dew reaches everywhere equally, as if on its own.

As soon as it proceeds to action, it has a name. When it once has that name, (men) can know to rest in it. When they know to rest in it, they can be free from all risk of failure and error.

As soon as it acts, it has a name. Once it has that name, people can learn to rest in it. When people know how to rest in it, they can be free from all risk of failure and error.

The relation of the Tao to all the world is like that of the great rivers and seas to the streams from the valleys.

The Tao relates to all the world as great rivers and seas relate to streams from the valleys.

He who knows other men is discerning; he who knows himself is intelligent. He who overcomes others is strong; he who overcomes himself is mighty. He who is satisfied with his lot is rich; he who goes on acting with energy has a (firm) will.

Someone who understands others is perceptive. Someone who understands himself is wise. Someone who overcomes others is strong. Someone who overcomes himself is mighty. Someone who is content with what he has is rich. Someone who keeps acting with energy has a (firm) will.

He who does not fail in the requirements of his position, continues long; he who dies and yet does not perish, has longevity.

One who fulfills the duties of his position lasts long. One who dies but does not perish has a long life.

All-pervading is the Great Tao! It may be found on the left hand and on the right.

The Great Tao is everywhere! It may be found on the left and on the right.

All things depend on it for their production, which it gives to them, not one refusing obedience to it. When its work is accomplished, it does not claim the name of having done it. It clothes all things as with a garment, and makes no assumption of being their lord;—it may be named in the smallest things. All things return (to their root and disappear), and do not know that it is it which presides over their doing so;—it may be named in the greatest things.

All things depend on it to come into being, and it brings them into being. Not one refuses to obey it. When its work is done, it takes no credit. It clothes all things as if with a garment, but does not claim to be their lord. It may be named among the smallest things. All things return (to their root and disappear), without knowing that it guides their return. It may be named among the greatest things.

Hence the sage is able (in the same way) to accomplish his great achievements. It is through his not making himself great that he can accomplish them.

So the sage can accomplish great things in the same way. He can achieve them because he does not try to make himself great.

To him who holds in his hands the Great Image (of the invisible Tao), the whole world repairs. Men resort to him, and receive no hurt, but (find) rest, peace, and the feeling of ease.

The whole world comes to the one who holds the Great Image of the invisible Tao in his hands. People come to him and suffer no harm, but find rest, peace, and ease.

Music and dainties will make the passing guest stop (for a time). But though the Tao as it comes from the mouth, seems insipid and has no flavour, though it seems not worth being looked at or listened to, the use of it is inexhaustible.

Music and fine food will make a passing guest stop (for a time). But although the Tao seems bland and flavorless when spoken aloud, its usefulness is endless. This is true even though the Tao seems unworthy of being looked at or listened to.

When one is about to take an inspiration, he is sure to make a (previous) expiration; when he is going to weaken another, he will first strengthen him; when he is going to overthrow another, he will first have raised him up; when he is going to despoil another, he will first have made gifts to him:—this is called 'Hiding the light (of his procedure).'

When someone is about to breathe in, he is sure to breathe out first. When he is going to weaken someone, he will first strengthen him. When he is going to overthrow someone, he will first have raised him up. When he is going to rob someone, he will first have given him gifts. This approach is called 'Hiding the light (of his method).'

The soft overcomes the hard; and the weak the strong.

The soft overcomes the hard, and the weak overcomes the strong.

Fishes should not be taken from the deep; instruments for the profit of a state should not be shown to the people.

Fish should not be taken from deep waters. The tools that benefit a state should not be shown to the people.

The Tao in its regular course does nothing (for the sake of doing it), and so there is nothing which it does not do.

In its natural course, the Tao does nothing just for the sake of doing something. So nothing is left undone.

If princes and kings were able to maintain it, all things would of themselves be transformed by them.

If princes and kings could uphold it, all things would change on their own through the rulers’ influence.

If this transformation became to me an object of desire, I would express the desire by the nameless simplicity.

If I came to desire this transformation, I would express that desire through nameless simplicity.