The Book of the Way, Newly Translated from the Classical Chinese · First Edition (2026)
A way that can be told is not the lasting Way.
A name you can pin down is not the lasting name.
Nameless, it is the beginning of heaven and earth;
named, it is the mother of the ten thousand things.
So stay always without desire, and you see its hidden wonder;
stay always desiring, and you see only its outer edge.
These two rise from one source and differ in name.
Together, call them dark —
darkness within darkness,
the gate of every wonder.
When everyone in the world knows the beautiful as beautiful, ugliness is already there.
When everyone knows the good as good, the not-good is already there.
So being and non-being give birth to each other,
hard and easy complete each other,
long and short measure each other,
high and low lean on each other,
voice and echo answer each other,
before and after follow each other.
Therefore the sage settles into work that does not force,
and teaches without words.
The ten thousand things rise, and he does not refuse them;
he gives them life and does not possess them,
acts and does not presume on it,
finishes his work and does not stay in it.
And just because he does not stay in it,
it does not leave him.
Do not honor the talented, and the people will not compete.
Do not prize goods that are hard to come by, and the people will not steal.
Do not parade what is desirable, and the people's hearts will not be thrown into confusion.
Therefore the sage governs by emptying hearts and filling bellies,
weakening ambitions and strengthening bones.
He keeps the people always without cleverness and without craving,
and keeps the clever from daring to act.
Act without forcing, and nothing goes ungoverned.
The Way is empty, yet use it and it may never be filled.
Deep — like the ancestor of the ten thousand things.
It blunts the sharp edges,
unties the tangles,
softens the glare,
settles down into the dust.
Clear and still, as if barely there.
I do not know whose child it is.
It seems earlier than the Lord above.
Heaven and earth are not kind: they treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs.
The sage is not kind: he treats the people as straw dogs.
The space between heaven and earth — is it not like a bellows?
Empty, yet it never collapses;
work it, and more keeps coming out.
Many words are soon exhausted.
Better to keep to the center.
The valley spirit does not die: call it the dark female.
The gate of the dark female: call it the root of heaven and earth.
A fine unbroken thread, seeming barely to be there —
yet draw on it, and it never runs dry.
Heaven lasts; earth endures.
Heaven and earth can last and endure because they do not live for themselves;
that is why they can live so long.
So the sage puts himself last, and finds himself in front;
leaves himself out, and is kept safe.
Is it not because he is without self-interest
that his own interest is fulfilled?
The highest good is like water.
Water is good at benefiting the ten thousand things without competing,
and it settles in the places everyone else despises —
so it comes close to the Way.
In a dwelling, what is good is the ground;
in a mind, what is good is depth;
in giving, what is good is warmth;
in words, what is good is keeping them;
in governing, what is good is order;
in work, what is good is skill;
in action, what is good is timing.
Only because it does not compete
does it earn no blame.
To hold a vessel filled to the brim — better to have stopped in time.
Hammer a blade to its keenest point, and the edge cannot last.
Gold and jade may fill the hall, but no one can guard them.
Wealth and rank joined with pride hand down their own ruin.
When the work is done, withdraw:
that is the way of heaven.
Carrying body and soul and embracing the One — can you keep them from parting?
Gathering your breath until it is soft — can you be like a newborn?
Washing the dark mirror clean — can you leave no blemish?
Loving the state and governing the people — can you do it without cleverness?
As heaven's gate swings open and shut — can you keep to the female part?
Seeing plainly in all four directions — can you do it without forcing?
Give life to things, and rear them:
give life without possessing,
act without presuming,
raise without ruling.
This is called the dark power.
Thirty spokes share one hub:
where the hub is nothing, the cart is useful.
Clay is shaped into a vessel:
where the vessel is nothing, the vessel is useful.
Doors and windows are cut to make a room:
where the room is nothing, the room is useful.
So what is there provides the advantage;
what is not there does the work.
The five colors blind the eye.
The five notes deafen the ear.
The five flavors spoil the mouth.
Galloping and hunting drive the heart mad.
Goods hard to come by cripple a man's conduct.
Therefore the sage works for the belly and not for the eye:
he lets the one go and takes the other.
Favor and disgrace are both a kind of fright.
Honor is a great affliction, close as your own body.
What does it mean, that favor and disgrace are both a kind of fright?
Favor is the lower position: you are startled to get it and startled to lose it —
that is why favor and disgrace are both a kind of fright.
What does it mean, that honor is a great affliction, close as your own body?
The reason I have great afflictions is that I have a body;
if I had no body, what affliction could I have?
So to one who values the world as he values his own body,
the world can be handed over;
to one who loves the world as his own body,
the world can be entrusted.
Look for it, and it cannot be seen: its name is the invisible.
Listen for it, and it cannot be heard: its name is the inaudible.
Reach for it, and it cannot be grasped: its name is the intangible.
These three cannot be cross-examined,
so they blur into one.
Its upper side is not bright; its underside is not dim.
An endless unnameable thread,
it returns to where no thing is:
the shape without a shape,
the image of no thing —
call it the dim and the flickering.
Meet it, and you see no front;
follow it, and you see no back.
Hold to the Way of old to steer what is here now.
To be able to know the ancient beginning —
that is called the thread of the Way.
The masters of old were subtle, fine, dark, and far-reaching —
too deep to be known.
And since they cannot be known, I strain for a likeness:
careful, as if crossing a river in winter;
watchful, as if in fear of neighbors on every side;
grave, like a guest;
yielding, like ice on the point of breaking up;
plain, like uncarved wood;
open, like a valley;
murky, like muddied water.
Who can be murky, and by stillness slowly clear?
Who can be settled, and by long motion slowly come alive?
Whoever keeps this Way has no craving to be full;
and just because he is never full,
he can be worn threadbare and need nothing new made.
Reach emptiness to its limit; hold stillness to its depth.
The ten thousand things rise together,
and I watch their return.
Things in all their swarming
each go back to their root.
Going back to the root is called stillness;
stillness is called returning to your allotted life;
returning to your allotted life is called the lasting;
and knowing the lasting is called clear sight.
Not knowing the lasting, you act blindly — toward disaster.
Knowing the lasting, you have room for everything;
room makes you even-handed; even-handedness makes you kingly;
the kingly reaches heaven; heaven reaches the Way;
and the Way endures.
To the end of your days, nothing can endanger you.
The highest ruler: those below barely know he is there.
The next: they love him and praise him.
The next: they fear him.
The next: they despise him.
Where trust falls short, there is no trust.
Unhurried — how he weighs his rare words!
Yet the work is done, and the tasks are carried through,
and the people all say: it happened to us of itself.
When the great Way is abandoned, there is talk of humanity and duty.
When wisdom and cleverness step forward, there is great pretense.
When the six kinships fall out of harmony, there is talk of devoted children and kindly parents.
When the state is dark with disorder, there is talk of loyal ministers.
Cut off sageliness, throw away cleverness, and the people profit a hundred times over.
Cut off humanity, throw away duty, and the people go back to real kindness between parent and child.
Cut off craft, throw away profit, and there are no thieves or robbers.
But these three sayings are ornament, and not enough in themselves;
so give people something to hold on to:
see the plain and embrace the uncarved wood,
shrink self-interest and thin out desire.
Cut off learning, and there is nothing left to worry about.
Between a respectful yes and a careless yes — how much distance is there?
Between good and evil — how much distance is there?
Still, what others fear, one cannot help fearing.
How desolate — it has no end!
The crowd is bright and busy, as if feasting at the great sacrifice,
as if climbing the terraces in spring.
I alone am moored and give no sign,
like an infant who has not yet smiled;
adrift, as if there were no home to return to.
Everyone else has more than enough; I alone seem to have been left out.
Mine is the mind of a fool — so blank!
Ordinary people are bright; I alone am dim.
Ordinary people are sharp; I alone am muddled —
calm as the open sea,
blown on and on, as if never to stop.
Everyone else has a use; I alone am stubborn and unpresentable.
I alone differ from other people:
I prize being fed by the mother.
The bearing of the great power follows the Way and nothing else.
As a thing, the Way is only a flicker, only a dimness.
Flickering, dim — and within it there are images.
Dim, flickering — and within it there are things.
Shadowed, obscure — and within it there is an essence;
the essence is entirely real, and within it there is proof.
From now back to the oldest days, its name has never gone away;
by it we review the fathering of all things.
How do I know what the fathering of all things is like?
By this.
Bent, and therefore kept whole.
Crooked, and therefore straightened.
Hollowed, and therefore filled.
Worn out, and therefore renewed.
Having little, you gain;
having much, you lose the way.
Therefore the sage embraces the One and becomes the measure of the world.
He does not show himself, and so is clearly seen;
does not insist he is right, and so is evident;
does not boast, and so is given credit;
does not preen, and so he lasts.
And just because he does not compete,
no one in the world can compete with him.
The old saying, 'bent, and therefore kept whole' —
was that an empty phrase?
Be whole in truth, and everything comes home to you.
To be sparing with words is nature's own way.
A whirlwind does not outlast the morning;
a cloudburst does not outlast the day.
And who makes these? Heaven and earth.
If even heaven and earth cannot make a thing last,
how much less can man?
So one who gives himself to the Way becomes one with the Way;
one who gives himself to its power becomes one with that power;
one who gives himself to loss becomes one with loss.
The Way gladly receives whoever becomes one with the Way;
its power gladly receives whoever becomes one with that power;
and loss gladly receives whoever becomes one with loss.
Where trust falls short, there is no trust.
On tiptoe, you cannot stand; astride, you cannot walk.
Showing yourself, you are not clearly seen;
insisting you are right, you are not evident;
boasting, you get no credit;
preening, you do not last.
Seen from the Way, such things are called leftover food and a growth on the body.
Creatures, it seems, detest them —
so one who has the Way does not settle there.
There was something formed of chaos,
born before heaven and earth:
silent, vast, standing alone and unchanging,
moving everywhere and never spent —
fit to be the mother of the world.
I do not know its name.
I style it: the Way.
Forced to give it a name, I say: great.
Great means passing onward; passing onward means far;
and far means coming back.
So the Way is great; heaven and earth are great;
and the king too is great.
Within the realm there are four greats,
and the king is one of them.
Man patterns himself on earth,
earth patterns itself on heaven,
heaven patterns itself on the Way,
and the Way patterns itself on its own course.
The heavy is the root of the light;
the still is the master of the restless.
Therefore the sage travels all day without leaving his baggage-wagon,
and though there are splendid sights, he stays roosted above them, at ease.
How should the lord of ten thousand chariots
treat his own person as lighter than the world?
Take things lightly, and you lose the root;
be restless, and you lose the master.
A good traveler leaves no wheel-tracks.
A good speaker leaves no flaw to be seized on.
A good counter needs no tallies.
A good closer uses no bar or bolt, yet the door cannot be opened;
a good binder uses no rope or knot, yet what he ties cannot be undone.
So too the sage is always good at saving people, and abandons no one;
always good at saving things, and abandons nothing.
This is called wearing the light within.
So the good man is the bad man's teacher,
and the bad man is the good man's material.
Not to honor the teacher, not to love the material —
however clever you are, this is to be deeply lost.
It is called the essential mystery.
Know the male in you, keep to the female,
and be a ravine for the world.
Be a ravine for the world,
and the lasting power never leaves you:
you come back to being an infant.
Know the white in you, keep to the black,
and be a measure for the world.
Be a measure for the world,
and the lasting power never fails you:
you come back to the limitless.
Know the glory in you, keep to the disgrace,
and be a valley for the world.
Be a valley for the world,
and the lasting power is enough:
you come back to the uncarved wood.
When the uncarved wood is split, it becomes tools;
when the sage is put to use, he becomes chief of the officials.
So the greatest carving cuts nothing apart.
Wanting to take the world and work your will on it —
I see that it cannot be done.
The world is a sacred vessel: it cannot be worked on,
and it cannot be held.
Work on it, and you wreck it; hold it, and you lose it.
For things sometimes lead and sometimes follow,
sometimes sigh gently and sometimes blow hard,
are sometimes strong and sometimes frail,
are sometimes crushed and sometimes ruined.
Therefore the sage forces nothing, and so wrecks nothing;
holds nothing, and so loses nothing.
And so he puts away the extreme,
puts away the extravagant,
puts away the excessive.
One who serves a ruler by the Way
does not force the world with weapons:
such business likes to come back on you.
Where armies camp, brambles grow;
after great armies, there always follow lean years.
The good commander gets a result, and that is all —
he does not use it to seize power.
He gets a result without preening,
a result without boasting,
a result without pride;
a result because he had no choice —
a result, but never force.
Things in their prime grow old:
this is called not being of the Way,
and what is not of the Way ends early.
Weapons are instruments of ill omen.
Creatures, it seems, detest them —
so one who has the Way does not settle among them.
At home, a gentleman honors the left;
at war, he honors the right.
Weapons are instruments of ill omen, not the gentleman's instruments.
He uses them only when he cannot help it,
and quietness and plainness are best.
He wins, and does not find it beautiful;
for whoever finds it beautiful delights in killing,
and no one who delights in killing
can achieve his aims in the world.
In matters of good fortune, the left is honored;
in matters of mourning, the right.
The lesser general stands on the left,
the supreme general on the right —
which is to say: they take their places as at a funeral.
When multitudes are killed, we weep for them in grief and sorrow;
when the battle is won, we observe it as a funeral.
The Way is forever nameless.
The uncarved wood is small, but nothing in the world can make it a servant.
If lords and kings could keep to it,
the ten thousand things would come of themselves to be their guests;
heaven and earth would join to send down sweet dew,
and the people, with no one ordering them, would share it evenly of themselves.
When the carving begins, the names appear;
and once the names are there, it is time to know when to stop.
Knowing when to stop is how you avoid danger.
The Way in the world is like this:
as the streams of the valleys run to the river and the sea.
To know others is intelligence; to know yourself is clear sight.
To defeat others takes strength; to defeat yourself is real strength.
To know you have enough is wealth.
To push on hard takes willpower.
Not to lose your place is to endure.
To die and not be forgotten — that is long life.
The great Way floods wide — it can go left or right.
The ten thousand things depend on it for life, and it does not refuse them;
its work is done, and it claims no title to it.
It clothes and feeds the ten thousand things and does not lord over them.
Always without desire — you could call it small;
the ten thousand things come home to it, and it does not lord over them —
you could call it great.
And because it never makes itself great,
it is able to complete its greatness.
Hold up the great image, and the world comes to you;
comes, and is not harmed — but settled, level, at peace.
Music and good food stop the passing traveler,
but the Way, when it leaves the mouth,
is flat — almost without taste.
Look for it: not enough there to see.
Listen for it: not enough there to hear.
Use it: it cannot be used up.
What you mean to shrink, you must first stretch;
what you mean to weaken, you must first strengthen;
what you mean to bring down, you must first raise up;
what you mean to take, you must first give.
This is called the faint light.
The soft and weak defeat the hard and strong.
Fish cannot be taken out of deep water,
and the sharpest instruments of a state must not be shown to anyone.
The Way is forever without forcing — and nothing is left undone.
If lords and kings could keep to it,
the ten thousand things would transform of themselves.
And if in transforming, desire should stir,
I would press it still with the nameless uncarved wood.
The nameless uncarved wood — that, too, will bring freedom from desire;
and without desire, in stillness,
the world will settle itself.
The highest power does not hold to power, and so it has power.
The lower power will not let go of power, and so it has none.
The highest power does not force, and has no motive to;
the lower power acts, and has its motives.
The highest humanity acts, but without a motive;
the highest duty acts, and has its motives.
The highest propriety acts — and when no one responds,
it bares its arm and drags them in.
So when the Way is lost, there comes power;
when power is lost, there comes humanity;
when humanity is lost, there comes duty;
when duty is lost, there comes propriety.
And propriety is loyalty and trust worn thin —
the first step of disorder.
Foreknowledge is the flower of the Way —
and the beginning of folly.
Therefore the grown man settles in the thick of it, not in the thin;
in the fruit, not in the flower.
He lets the one go and takes the other.
Of those that in the old days got the One:
heaven got the One and became clear;
earth got the One and became steady;
the spirits got the One and became potent;
the valleys got the One and became full;
the ten thousand things got the One and came alive;
lords and kings got the One and became the standard for the world.
Carry it further:
without what makes it clear, heaven might crack;
without what makes it steady, earth might quake;
without what makes them potent, the spirits might fade;
without what makes them full, the valleys might run dry;
without what gives them life, the ten thousand things might perish;
without what makes them honored and high, lords and kings might fall.
So the honored is rooted in the humble,
and the high is founded on the low.
That is why lords and kings call themselves the orphan, the widower, the unworthy.
Is this not taking the humble as the root? Is it not?
So the highest praise is no praise.
Do not want to glitter like jade —
be rugged, like plain stone.
Turning back is how the Way moves.
Weakness is how the Way works.
The ten thousand things of the world are born from what is;
and what is, is born from what is not.
When the best students hear of the Way, they practice it with all they have.
When middling students hear of the Way, it half stays and half slips away.
When the worst students hear of the Way, they laugh at it out loud —
and if they did not laugh, it would not be worthy to be the Way.
So the fixed sayings put it:
the bright way seems dark;
the way forward seems like retreat;
the level way seems knotted;
the highest power seems like a valley;
the whitest white seems stained;
the amplest power seems not enough;
the sturdiest power seems shirking;
the plainest truth seems to shift.
The great square has no corners;
the great vessel is late in the making;
the great music is the faintest sound;
the great image has no shape;
and the Way hides, and has no name.
Yet it is just the Way
that is good at lending, and brings to completion.
The Way gives birth to one;
one gives birth to two;
two gives birth to three;
and three gives birth to the ten thousand things.
The ten thousand things carry the dark on their backs and hold the bright in their arms,
and the surging breath between them makes the harmony.
What people hate is to be the orphan, the widower, the unworthy —
yet kings and princes take these for their titles.
So it is with things: diminished, they are increased;
increased, they are diminished.
What others teach, I teach too:
the violent and the overbearing do not die a natural death.
I will make that the father of my teaching.
The softest thing in the world
rides down the hardest thing in the world;
what has no substance enters where there is no gap.
That is how I know the benefit of not forcing.
The teaching without words, the benefit of not forcing —
almost nothing in the world attains them.
Your name or your body — which is nearer to you?
Your body or your goods — which is worth more?
Gaining or losing — which is the sickness?
Love a thing dearly, and you pay a great price;
store up much, and you lose it heavily.
Know you have enough, and there is no disgrace;
know when to stop, and there is no danger —
and you can last long.
The greatest completion seems chipped,
yet use will not wear it out.
The greatest fullness seems poured empty,
yet use will not drain it.
The greatest straightness seems bent;
the greatest skill seems clumsy;
the greatest eloquence seems tongue-tied.
Stillness overcomes restlessness; cold overcomes heat.
Clear and still, one sets the world right.
When the world has the Way,
the racing horses are turned out to haul manure.
When the world is without the Way,
war-horses are foaled at the frontier.
There is no disaster greater than not knowing you have enough;
no fault greater than the desire to get.
So the sufficiency of knowing you have enough
is sufficiency that lasts.
Without going out the door, know the world.
Without looking out the window, see the way of heaven.
The farther you go,
the less you know.
Therefore the sage knows without traveling,
sees clearly without looking,
and completes without forcing.
Pursue learning: day by day, something added.
Pursue the Way: day by day, something dropped.
Drop, and drop again,
until you arrive at not forcing —
and forcing nothing, nothing is left undone.
Taking hold of the world is done by never meddling with it;
when it comes to meddling,
no one is fit to take hold of the world.
The sage keeps no settled mind of his own:
the people's mind is the mind he takes.
The good, I treat as good;
the not-good, I also treat as good —
and goodness is gained.
The trustworthy, I trust;
the untrustworthy, I also trust —
and trust is gained.
The sage, present in the world, draws in his breath,
and for the world's sake blurs his own mind;
the people all strain their ears and eyes toward him,
and the sage treats every one of them as his child.
We come out into life and go into death.
Three in ten are the companions of life;
three in ten are the companions of death;
and people who, in living, move themselves into the ground of death —
these too are three in ten.
And why? Because they live life too thickly.
But I have heard that one who is good at holding on to life
walks the land without meeting rhinoceros or tiger,
and passes through an army without armor or weapon:
the rhinoceros finds nowhere to plant its horn,
the tiger finds nowhere to set its claws,
the blade finds nowhere for its edge to enter.
And why?
Because there is no ground of death in him.
The Way gives them birth; its power rears them;
matter gives them shape; circumstance completes them.
So among the ten thousand things there is not one
that does not honor the Way and prize its power.
And this honor for the Way, this prizing of its power —
no one decrees it; it is always so of itself.
So the Way gives them birth, and its power rears them:
raises them, nurtures them,
settles them, ripens them,
feeds them, shelters them —
giving life without possessing,
acting without presuming,
raising without ruling.
This is called the dark power.
The world has a beginning:
take it for the mother of the world.
Once you have found the mother, you can know her children;
once you know the children, go back and keep to the mother —
and to the end of your days you will not be in danger.
Block the openings, shut the doors,
and to the end of your life you will not be worn down.
Open the openings, pile on the business,
and to the end of your life you will be past saving.
To see the small is called clear sight;
to keep to the soft is called strength.
Use the light,
but come home to its clarity,
and you will leave yourself no misfortune.
This is called practicing the lasting.
If I had just a grain of sense,
I would walk the great Way,
and my one fear would be straying from it.
The great Way is very level,
but people love the bypaths.
The court is swept spotless —
while the fields go to weeds and the granaries stand empty.
They wear embroidered silks,
hang sharp swords at their belts,
stuff themselves with food and drink,
and their wealth and goods run over:
this is called robbers' swagger.
It is not the Way!
What is well planted is not pulled up;
what is well held does not slip away:
and sons and grandsons keep up the offerings without end.
Cultivate it in your person, and its power is real;
cultivate it in the family, and its power spills over;
cultivate it in the village, and its power grows long;
cultivate it in the state, and its power is abundant;
cultivate it in the world, and its power reaches everywhere.
So observe the person by the person,
the family by the family,
the village by the village,
the state by the state,
and the world by the world.
How do I know the world is so?
By this.
One thick with the power is like a newborn child.
Wasps and scorpions, vipers and snakes do not sting him;
fierce beasts do not seize him;
birds of prey do not strike him.
His bones are weak, his sinews soft — and his grip is firm.
He knows nothing yet of the joining of female and male, and yet he stands erect:
the utmost of essence.
He howls all day and does not grow hoarse:
the utmost of harmony.
To know harmony is called the lasting;
to know the lasting is called clear sight.
But to force life onward is called an ill omen,
and a mind driving the breath is called violence.
Things in their prime grow old:
call it not being of the Way,
and what is not of the Way ends early.
One who knows does not speak;
one who speaks does not know.
Block the openings,
shut the doors,
blunt the sharpness,
untie the tangles,
soften the glare,
settle into the dust:
this is called the dark oneness.
So you cannot get close to such a man, and cannot push him away;
cannot profit him, and cannot harm him;
cannot ennoble him, and cannot degrade him.
That is why he is the most honored thing in the world.
Govern the state by the straight;
use troops by surprise;
take hold of the world by not meddling.
How do I know it is so? By this:
the more prohibitions and taboos in the world, the poorer the people;
the more sharp instruments the people have, the darker the state;
the more skill and cunning among men, the more freakish things appear;
the more laws and decrees are published, the more thieves and robbers there are.
So the sage says:
I force nothing, and the people transform of themselves;
I love stillness, and the people set themselves straight;
I do not meddle, and the people prosper of themselves;
I am without desire, and the people of themselves become uncarved wood.
When the government is dull and muffled,
the people are simple and honest.
When the government is sharp-eyed and probing,
the people are chipped and mean.
Disaster is what good fortune leans on;
good fortune is where disaster hides.
Who knows where it ends? There is no straight answer:
the straight turns strange again,
and the good turns monstrous.
Men have been lost about this for a long time indeed.
Therefore the sage is square-edged but does not cut,
sharp-cornered but does not stab,
straight but not overbearing,
bright but not blinding.
In governing men and serving heaven,
nothing compares with thrift.
Thrift alone means submitting early;
submitting early means doubling the stored-up power;
with doubled stored-up power, nothing is beyond you;
when nothing is beyond you, no one knows your limit;
when no one knows your limit, you are fit to have the state;
and having the mother of the state, you can last long.
This is called the deep root and the firm stem —
the way of long life and lasting sight.
Govern a great state as you would cook a small fish.
Preside over the world by the Way,
and the ghosts lose their power —
or rather, not that the ghosts lose their power,
but that their power does not harm people;
or rather, not only does their power not harm people,
the sage also does not harm people.
And since these two do no harm to each other,
their powers flow together and come home.
A great state is the low ground of the rivers,
the meeting-place of the world,
the female of the world.
The female always overcomes the male by stillness,
and in stillness she takes the lower place.
So a great state, by lowering itself to a small state, wins the small state;
and a small state, by lowering itself to a great state, wins the great state.
The one lowers itself to win;
the other is low, and wins.
A great state wants no more than to gather and feed people;
a small state wants no more than to enter another's service.
Since both get what they want,
it is the great one that should lie low.
The Way is the innermost room of the ten thousand things:
the good man's treasure,
the bad man's refuge.
Fine words can buy honor,
and fine deeds can lift a man above others —
but the bad in a man: why should it mean throwing him away?
So when the Son of Heaven is enthroned and the three ministers installed,
though jade disks are presented, carried before teams of four horses,
it is not so good as sitting still and offering this Way.
Why did the ancients prize this Way?
Did they not say: seek, and by it you find;
be guilty, and by it you are spared?
That is why it is the most honored thing in the world.
Act without forcing;
work without meddling;
taste without flavoring.
Meet the great with the small and the many with the few;
repay resentment with kindness.
Plan the hard while it is easy;
do the great while it is small.
The hardest things in the world must begin while they are easy;
the greatest things in the world must begin while they are small.
Therefore the sage never makes himself great —
and so completes his greatness.
Promises lightly given are trusted lightly,
and taking much to be easy makes much turn hard.
Therefore the sage treats even the easy as hard —
and so, in the end, nothing is hard for him.
What is at rest is easy to hold;
what has given no sign is easy to plan for;
what is brittle is easy to split;
what is minute is easy to scatter.
Deal with it before it exists;
set it in order before it is disordered.
A tree you can barely embrace grows from the finest shoot;
a nine-storey terrace rises from a basket of earth;
a journey of a thousand miles begins under your feet.
Work on it, and you wreck it; hold it, and you lose it.
Therefore the sage forces nothing, and wrecks nothing;
holds nothing, and loses nothing.
People's undertakings fail always on the edge of success.
Care at the end as at the beginning,
and nothing fails.
Therefore the sage desires to be without desire
and puts no price on goods hard to come by;
he learns to unlearn
and turns back to the place the crowd has passed by.
He supports the ten thousand things in their own course —
and does not dare to force them.
The ancients who practiced the Way well
did not use it to enlighten the people,
but to keep them simple.
The people are hard to govern
when their cleverness is great.
So to govern a state by cleverness is to plunder the state,
and to govern a state without cleverness is the state's good fortune.
To know these two is also the measuring rule;
and always to know the measuring rule
is called the dark power.
The dark power is deep, far-reaching,
and moves contrary to things —
and only then arrives at the great flowing-with.
The river and the sea can be kings of the hundred valleys
because they are good at lying below them:
that is what makes them kings of the hundred valleys.
So to be above the people,
you must put yourself below them in your speech;
to be ahead of the people,
you must put yourself behind them.
Thus the sage stands above, and the people feel no weight;
stands in front, and the people fear no harm.
So the whole world delights to push him forward and never tires of him;
and because he does not compete,
no one in the world can compete with him.
Everyone in the world says my Way is great — great, and like nothing else.
It is just because it is great that it is like nothing else:
if it were like anything, it would long since have become small.
I have three treasures; I hold them and guard them.
The first is a mother's tenderness;
the second is thrift;
the third is not daring to be first in the world.
Tender, and therefore able to be brave;
thrifty, and therefore able to be liberal;
not daring to be first in the world, and therefore able to head the finished vessels.
But now men drop the tenderness and go straight for the bravery,
drop the thrift and go straight for the liberality,
drop the staying-behind and go straight for the front —
that is death!
With tenderness, you win when you fight and hold firm when you defend.
Whom heaven means to save,
it guards with tenderness.
The good officer is not warlike.
The good fighter is not angry.
The good victor does not engage.
The good user of men puts himself below them.
This is called the power of not competing;
this is called using the strength of others;
this is called matching heaven — the utmost of the ancients.
The soldiers have a saying:
I dare not play the host, but play the guest;
I dare not advance an inch, but retreat a foot.
This is called marching without a march,
baring no arm to raise,
dragging in no enemy,
holding no weapon.
There is no disaster greater than making light of the enemy;
make light of the enemy, and you are near to losing my treasures.
So when matched armies close,
it is the grieving side that wins.
My words are very easy to understand and very easy to practice —
and no one in the world can understand them or practice them.
Words have an ancestor; deeds have a master.
It is only because people do not know them
that they do not know me.
Those who know me are few;
those who follow me are precious.
That is why the sage wears coarse cloth
and carries jade inside it.
To know that you do not know is best.
Not to know, yet think you know — that is the sickness.
Only by being sick of the sickness
are you not sick.
The sage is not sick:
he is sick of the sickness,
and so he is not sick.
When the people no longer fear your power,
the greater power is on its way.
Do not crowd them in their homes;
do not press down on their livelihood.
It is only where there is no pressing
that there is no weariness.
Therefore the sage knows himself and does not display himself,
loves himself and does not exalt himself.
He lets the one go and takes the other.
Courage in daring kills;
courage in not daring keeps alive.
Of these two, one profits and one harms —
and when heaven hates a thing, who knows its reason?
Even the sage treats this as hard.
The way of heaven:
it does not compete, yet it is good at winning;
it does not speak, yet it is good at answering;
it is not summoned, yet it comes of itself;
it is slack, yet good at planning.
Heaven's net is vast:
wide-meshed, and it loses nothing.
If the people do not fear death,
what use is threatening them with death?
And supposing the people were kept in constant fear of death,
and the doers of strange deeds could be caught and killed by me —
who would dare?
There is always the appointed executioner who kills.
To kill in the executioner's place
is to hew in the master carpenter's place;
and of those who hew in the master carpenter's place,
few indeed fail to wound their own hands.
The people starve
because those above them eat too much in taxes:
that is why they starve.
The people are hard to govern
because those above them keep forcing things:
that is why they are hard to govern.
The people make light of death
because they themselves crave life too thickly:
that is why they make light of death.
It is precisely one who does not make living his business
who is wiser than those who prize life.
A man at birth is soft and weak;
at death he is rigid and hard.
The ten thousand things, the grass and trees, are soft and tender in life,
and dry and withered in death.
So the rigid and hard are death's companions,
and the soft and weak are life's companions.
Thus an army grown rigid will not win,
and a tree grown rigid meets the axe.
The rigid and great take the lower place;
the soft and weak take the higher.
The way of heaven — is it not like the drawing of a bow?
What is high, it presses down;
what is low, it lifts up;
where there is too much, it takes away;
where there is not enough, it fills in.
The way of heaven takes from what has too much
and fills in what has not enough.
The way of man is otherwise:
it takes from those who have not enough
to serve those who have too much.
Who can have more than enough and offer it to the world?
Only one who has the Way.
Therefore the sage acts and does not presume on it,
completes his work and does not settle in it.
He has no wish to show off his worth.
Nothing in the world is softer or weaker than water,
yet for attacking the hard and strong, nothing can better it,
because nothing can take its place.
That the weak defeats the strong and the soft defeats the hard,
no one in the world fails to know —
and no one can practice it.
So the sage says:
to take on the filth of the state is to be lord of the altars of soil and grain;
to take on the misfortunes of the state is to be king of the world.
Straight words seem to run backwards.
When a great resentment is reconciled,
some resentment is bound to remain —
how can that be counted as good?
Therefore the sage holds the left half of the tally
and demands nothing from anyone.
The man with power keeps the tally;
the man without power keeps the tax-roll.
The way of heaven plays no favorites:
it is always with the good man.
A small state with few people.
Let there be tools for tens and hundreds, and no one using them;
let the people take death seriously and not move far away.
Though there are boats and carriages, no one to ride them;
though there are armor and weapons, no occasion to parade them.
Let the people go back to knotting cords and using them,
and find their food sweet,
their clothes beautiful,
their homes at peace,
their customs a delight.
The neighboring state is within sight,
the crowing of its cocks and barking of its dogs within hearing —
and the people grow old and die
without ever having been across.
Trustworthy words are not beautiful;
beautiful words are not to be trusted.
The good do not argue;
those who argue are not good.
Those who know are not learned;
the learned do not know.
The sage does not hoard:
the more he does for others, the more he has;
the more he gives to others, the more is his.
The way of heaven: to benefit and not to harm.
The way of the sage: to act and not to compete.