837PoeticTao!

01 - The Mystical Way

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道可道，非常道。

dào kě dào ，fēi cháng dào 。

名可名，非常名。

míng kě míng ，fēi cháng míng 。

無名天地之始。

wú míng tiān dì zhī shǐ 。

有名萬物之母。

yǒu míng wàn wù zhī mǔ 。

故常無欲以觀其妙。

gù cháng wú yù yǐ guān qí miào 。

常有欲以觀其徼。

cháng yǒu yù yǐ guān qí jiǎo 。

此兩者同出而異名﹐同謂之玄。

cǐ liǎng zhě tóng chū ér yì míng ﹐tóng wèi zhī xuán 。

玄之又玄，眾妙之門。

xuán zhī yòu xuán ，zhòng miào zhī mén 。

The Mystical Way

A Dào that could be well-defined –

a Dào not of a timeless kind;

a concept that could be conceived,

no timeless concept thus retrieved!

Not to conceive all world's begin:

as mother of just everything.

And thus, without desire, see

accordingly its subtlety;

yet always with desire's sting,

you just see so its limiting.

These two, together made: the same,

yet being different in name –

as dark together to proclaim.

As darkest darkness to locate:

to all those Mysteries the Gate...

[

Chapter 1 opens with the fundamental distinction between what can be spoken and what remains beyond speech. The English poem conveys this tension with calm clarity: the notion that naming shapes the world yet also veils its deeper source. The verses present becoming and non-becoming as parallel thresholds, both arising from the same origin but diverging in how they appear to us. This captures Laozi’s central recognition that the world is not a fixed order but a field of unfolding, where the seen and the unseen are bound together. The idea that the nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth, while the named is the mother of things, is rendered with a steady balance that reflects the quiet metaphysics of the text.

The poetic version highlights this unfolding with soft contrasts. Expressions such as “without desire one sees its subtlety” and “with desire one sees its limits” beautifully preserve both the symmetry and the inner movement of the original. The poem keeps the tone light, almost effortless, while respecting the gravity of the concepts. Its rhythm reinforces the alternation between clarity and obscurity, and the closing lines echo the enigmatic unity behind all differences. The translation avoids heaviness and instead breathes the spaciousness that Laozi’s thought invites, giving the philosophical tension an elegant, melodic form.

In sum, the chapter shows that the Dào is not an object to be grasped but a presence to be perceived through openness. The poem reflects this by offering the reader a gentle shift of perspective: to see the world as a play of emerging forms arising from a deeper, unconditioned ground. The commentary and the translation work together to evoke a sense of origin that cannot be possessed yet can be sensed, allowing the first chapter to set the tone for the entire work: a guiding thread of clarity woven through cultivated not-knowing.

02 - The Unity of Opposites

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天下皆知美之為美，斯惡已；

tiān xià jiē zhī měi zhī wéi měi ，sī è yǐ ；

皆知善之為善，斯不善已。

jiē zhī shàn zhī wéi shàn ，sī bú shàn yǐ 。

故有無相生，難易相成，

gù yǒu wú xiàng shēng ，nán yì xiàng chéng ，

長短相形，高下相傾，

zhǎng duǎn xiàng xíng ，gāo xià xiàng qīng ，

音聲相和，前後相隨。

yīn shēng xiàng hé ，qián hòu xiàng suí 。

是以聖人處無為之事，行不言之教。

shì yǐ shèng rén chù wú wéi zhī shì ，háng bú yán zhī jiāo 。

萬物作焉而不辭。生而不有，

wàn wù zuò yān ér bú cí 。shēng ér bú yǒu ，

為而不恃，功成而弗居。

wéi ér bú shì ，gōng chéng ér fú jū 。

夫唯弗居，是以不去。

fū wéi fú jū ，shì yǐ bú qù 。

The Unity of Opposites

If worldwide everybody knew
what beauty can as beauty do –
then they would know the ugly, too;

If also everybody knew
what goodness can as goodness do –
then they would know the evil, too.

Hence, being's and non-being's state
do one another generate,

and difficult and easy meet,
so one another to complete,

are long and short each other's measure,

are high and low each other's pleasure,

so tone and sound meet one another,

before and next ensue each other.

And therefore: wise men stay aware,
not interfering their affair,

they practice wordless teaching there.

All things unfold, yet no decrease,

emerge, yet don't possess a piece,

they act, yet they do never claim,

do tasks, yet do not dwell on fame.

For just not dwelling on it here,

they therefore never disappear.

[

Chapter 2 turns to the emergence of opposites: beauty and ugliness, good and not-good, high and low, all arising together rather than in isolation. The poem reflects this by presenting these pairs not as fixed contrasts but as relational movements. Laozi’s insight is that value distinctions are not primordial facts; they appear only when consciousness begins to compare. This does not deny difference but reveals its conditional nature. The chapter therefore shifts the focus from things themselves to the mind that divides them. In this light, the sage becomes one who acts without clinging – creating, nourishing, accomplishing, yet stepping back from possession. This gesture of non-appropriation is central: things come into being, but the wise do not claim authorship.

The poetic rendering captures this with elegant clarity. The interplay of beauty and its opposite, of good and not-good, unfolds without moral weight, mirroring Laozi’s quiet tone. The verses move fluidly from description to reflection, and the rhythmic balance keeps the contrasts from hardening. The lines on the sage – acting without owning, shaping without controlling, completing without boasting – are expressed in a way that preserves both humility and precision. The poem succeeds in showing how stillness is not passivity but a conscious refraining from grasping, allowing the world to move according to its own rhythm.

In essence, Chapter 2 presents a philosophy of non-interference: distinctions arise, actions occur, but wisdom lies in not forcing outcomes. The poem preserves this by offering the reader a gentle model of conduct – a way of moving effectively without imposing oneself. It invites a stance in which clarity replaces ambition and the fullness of action appears when one does not insist on being its center. The commentary underscores that this early chapter already contains one of Laozi’s most enduring teachings: to accomplish without claiming, to act without striving, and to let the world be shaped through presence rather than pressure.

03 - Simplicity

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

不尚賢，使民不爭。

bú shàng xián ， shǐ mín bú zhēng 。

不貴難得之貨，使民不為盜。

bú guì nán dé zhī huò ，shǐ mín bú wéi dào 。

不見可欲，使民心不亂。

bú jiàn kě yù ，shǐ mín xīn bú luàn 。

是以聖人之治，虛其心，

shì yǐ shèng rén zhī zhì ，xū qí xīn ，

實其腹，弱其志，強其骨；

shí qí fù ，ruò qí zhì ，qiáng qí gǔ ；

常使民無知、無欲，

cháng shǐ mín wú zhī 、wú yù ，

使夫智者不敢為也。

shǐ fū zhì zhě bú gǎn wéi yě 。

為無為，則無不治。

wéi wú wéi ，zé wú bú zhì 。

Simplicity

Who not exalts proficient men,

keeps people not competing then.

Don't treasure goods hard to obtain,

then people will not rob again.

What is desirable don't show,

let unconfused their hearts be so.

And therefore, guidance by wise men

does empty their desire then,

their bellies filled, their hearts do weak,

and so they strengthen their physique.

They keep, who don't know, also free
from all desire, constantly,

they let them, who already know,
not dare to interfere, although.

To act, but not to interfere –

like that is nothing undone here!

[

Chapter 3 explores how social imbalance arises not from scarcity but from the deliberate stimulation of desire. When a community celebrates the exceptional too visibly, it creates competition; when it advertises what is difficult to obtain, it encourages longing and restlessness. Laozi’s approach does not reject talent or knowledge; instead, it questions the atmosphere created when these become tools for status. By removing the pressure to outshine others and by keeping life simple, the heart grows settled and the inclination toward rivalry diminishes. The sage leads by easing tensions rather than by multiplying rules, showing that stability comes from reducing what inflames, not from amplifying what fascinates.

The poetic rendition conveys this quieting movement with understated clarity. Its emphasis on not praising the unattainable mirrors Laozi’s suspicion of display, yet its tone remains gentle rather than doctrinal. The verses evoke a sense of inner spaciousness: as desires soften, the focus shifts from striving outward to resting within. The imagery of filling the belly and calming ambition illustrates nourishment without excess, care without control. The final thought–acting but not interfering–captures one of Laozi’s most characteristic insights: action that creates room rather than pressure, effect without imposition.

In the end, Chapter 3 presents a vision of governance rooted in psychological insight. People return to balance when they are not constantly stirred by comparisons and temptations. The poem reflects this atmosphere, allowing the reader to feel how serenity arises when the world becomes unprovoked. It suggests that true order is not engineered but allowed to appear, and that leadership attains its strength precisely when it does not intrude. In this way, both the original chapter and its poetic form reveal how simplicity becomes the very condition for harmony.

04 - Inscrutability

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道沖而用之或不盈。

dào chòng ér yòng zhī huò bú yíng 。

淵兮似萬物之宗。

yuān xī sì wàn wù zhī zōng 。

挫其銳解其紛，和其光，

cuò qí ruì jiě qí fēn ，hé qí guāng ，

同其塵，湛兮似或存。

tóng qí chén ，zhàn xī sì huò cún 。

吾不知誰之子，象帝之先。

wú bú zhī shuí zhī zǐ ，xiàng dì zhī xiān 。

Inscrutability

This Dào: like pouring out, but will,
in use, be likely not to fill.

Oh, so abyssmally profound -
alike all beings' deepest ground.

It blunts their sharpness everywhere,

unties their knot, makes soft their glare,

unites itself, their dust to share.

Oh, hidden, seems as if to be!

I do not know, whose child it be –

It's Heaven's herald, seemingly.

[

The chapter approaches the Dào as a presence that never exhausts itself, even as it pours into all things, and this paradox becomes a way of sensing its depth. It appears as an origin without beginning, a reservoir that receives without accumulating, and a movement that softens whatever has hardened in the world. The imagery of dissolving knots and dimming glory suggests that the Dào works by easing what has become tight and quieting what has grown too bright. Nothing in these lines describes a force that asserts itself; rather, they evoke a ground that steadies the visible without belonging to it. When the text wonders whose child this source might be, the question lingers intentionally, pointing not to genealogy but to the intuition of something earlier than any lineage, something that stands before form and yet lets form arise.

The poetic rendering deepens this sense of quiet abundance. The lines about bringing softness to sharpness and loosening the tangles of the world form a gentle rhythm of release, capturing a central laozian gesture: transformation through yielding. The merging with dust is rendered not as diminishment but as a way of entering the world without dominating it, turning humility into a form of power. The closing image–“as if simply there,” paired with the admission of not knowing–preserves the intentional vagueness of the original. It lets the mystery breathe without amplifying it, allowing the reader to feel how closeness to the Dào arises not through understanding but through a kind of receptive stillness. The translation respects this balance and lets the strangeness remain soft rather than obscure.

Taken together, the chapter presents the Dào as an inexhaustible source whose influence is felt in the softening of what is rigid and the quieting of what is overly bright. The poetic version accompanies this motion with an understated clarity, offering not explanations but an atmosphere in which the reader may enter the unbounded depth suggested by the text.

05 - Creative Emptiness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天地不仁，以萬物為芻狗。

tiān dì bú rén ，yǐ wàn wù wéi zōu gǒu 。

聖人不仁，以百姓為芻狗。

shèng rén bú rén ，yǐ bǎi xìng wéi zōu gǒu 。

天地之間，其猶橐籥乎﹖

tiān dì zhī jiān ，qí yóu tuó yào hū ﹖

虛而不屈，動而愈出。

xū ér bú qū ，dòng ér yù chū 。

多言數窮，不如守中。

duō yán shù qióng ，bú rú shǒu zhōng 。

Creative Emptiness

All world is not "humane" and kind:

for all those beings are declined
as if as dogs of straw defined...

Wise men are not "humane" and kind:

as straw dogs are they all assigned.

The Earth's and Heaven's interspace –

it's like a bellows in this case:

in emptiness, yet not deflating,

in motion even more creating.

More words exhaust, as often seen,

not as "to keep the Golden Mean!"

[

The chapter turns toward the unsettling impersonal quality of the Dào and of Heaven and Earth, describing them as vast processes that do not favor or reject, yet sustain all things without preference. This absence of partiality is not cruelty, but a different scale of attention, one in which the world moves by rhythms rather than by intentions. The comparison to a bellows suggests a fullness that increases the more it is drawn upon, a space that expands through its own emptiness. What looks void is in fact the condition for renewal; what appears indifferent is the ground on which life continually rises. The text invites the reader to release the idea of a cosmos ruled by moral oversight and instead enter a view in which responsiveness comes from alignment, not appeal.

The poetic version renders this unpersonal generosity with a quiet steadiness. The contrast between the impartial vastness of Heaven and Earth and the restless concerns of human beings is expressed without judgment, giving the chapter its characteristic coolness. The image of the bellows gains a delicate precision: it is not power that swells, but the capacity to let movement pass through without obstruction. The translation sustains a tone that is neither resigned nor harsh; it conveys the sense of a world that breathes through openness, not intention. The closing admonition to avoid excessive speech becomes a gentle reminder that clarity arises when agitation subsides, and the poetic phrasing mirrors this repose without dulling it.

As a whole, the chapter presents an austere but spacious vision of reality, one in which the impersonal does not diminish life but supports it in ways beyond preference or design. The poetic rendition honors this perspective by remaining lucid and restrained, allowing the reader to sense how the world’s vastness can feel impartial and yet quietly sustaining.

06 - The Mystical Female

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

谷神不死是謂玄牝。

gǔ shén bú sǐ shì wèi xuán pìn 。

玄牝之門是謂天地根。

xuán pìn zhī mén shì wèi tiān dì gēn 。

綿綿若存，用之不勤。

mián mián ruò cún ，yòng zhī bú qín 。

The Mystical Female

Immortal spirit of the valley:

it's called the mystic female's alley.

As mystic female's gate – the root
of Heaven's and of Earth's repute.

Intangible, yet seems like real –

in use not to exhaust a deal.

[

The chapter gestures toward an ever-living presence beneath the visible flow of things, naming it only through images that hint rather than define. This “valley spirit,” described as undying, is not a deity but a metaphor for a receptive depth that never exhausts itself. Its connection to the “mysterious female” suggests generativity without assertion, a source that nourishes by allowing emergence rather than by shaping it. The gate through which this presence becomes active is portrayed as both subtle and enduring, something that does not close because it does not strain. In this way the chapter points to a mode of vitality grounded not in force but in quiet continuity, a life that remains full precisely because it never seeks to be full.

The poetic rendering captures this interplay of depth and gentleness with a light, steady tone. The “valley spirit” becomes an image of openness that is never empty, and the reference to the feminine returns the reader to qualities of sheltering, yielding, and unobtrusive strength. The translation allows the metaphors to hover without solidifying, keeping the sense of something always near yet never seized. Its language moves slowly, affirming the endurance of what remains unseen, and it sustains the balance between mystery and calm that defines the original. The sense of a gate that never wears out is rendered with particular grace, suggesting a passage through which life enters the world without interruption.

In its entirety, the chapter presents an intuition of vitality that arises from receptivity rather than assertion. The poetic version supports this insight by offering a contemplative cadence, one that lets the reader feel how quietness can hold a power more lasting than effort. It evokes a source that does not diminish by giving and a presence that remains whole through continual openness, aligning form and meaning in a single gentle movement.

07 - Everlasting unselfishness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天長地久。

tiān zhǎng dì jiǔ 。

天地所以能長且久者，

tiān dì suǒ yǐ néng zhǎng qiě jiǔ zhě ，

以其不自生，故能長生。

yǐ qí bú zì shēng ，gù néng zhǎng shēng 。

是以聖人後其身而身先，

shì yǐ shèng rén hòu qí shēn ér shēn xiān ，

外其身而身存。

wài qí shēn ér shēn cún 。

非以其無私邪！故能成其私

fēi yǐ qí wú sī xié ！gù néng chéng qí sī

Everlasting Unselfishness

Eternal Heaven, Earth so stable.

Thus, to be constant both are able,

not for their own they do persist,

hence, they can constantly exist.

Wise men put last their self, it's said,
but are at last themselves ahead,

they do exclude their self-concern,

preserve their selves, yet, in return.

For no own interests to claim,

hence, they complete their private aim.

[

The chapter turns toward the vast endurance of Heaven and Earth, proposing that their longevity arises from their refusal to live for themselves. This idea is not a moral instruction but an observation of how the world persists: by serving as a field in which everything else may unfold. The sage appears as a human analogue to this cosmic spaciousness, acting without placing himself at the center, and thereby finding a paradoxical form of durability. The movement described is one of stepping back without withdrawing, of giving precedence to the world in a way that allows one’s own life to harmonize with its unfolding. By attending to what is beyond the self, the sage does not vanish but becomes more deeply rooted in the rhythm that sustains all things.

The poetic rendering carries this theme with a clarity that emphasizes reciprocity rather than self-denial. The sage’s “not living for himself” is expressed with a quiet understatement that avoids moral weight, letting the gesture feel natural rather than imposed. The imagery of serving others and being thereby preserved gains a soft contour, suggesting that selflessness is not sacrifice but alignment with a larger pattern. The translation keeps the tone gentle and spacious, letting the reader feel how stepping aside can become a mode of presence, and how the cosmos itself provides the template for this strange but steady form of endurance.

Taken together, the chapter proposes a way of living that mirrors the world’s vast processes: lasting by not grasping, and flourishing by not seeking priority. The poetic version reinforces this insight by letting the paradox remain open and resonant, offering the reader an experience of how humility can expand one’s life rather than shrink it. Through its calm phrasing and balanced cadence, it invites reflection on a form of strength grounded not in assertion but in quiet participation in the larger order.

08 - Flexibility without competition

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

上善若水。

shàng shàn ruò shuǐ 。

水善利萬物而不爭，

shuǐ shàn lì wàn wù ér bú zhēng ，

處眾人之所惡，故幾於道。

chù zhòng rén zhī suǒ è ，gù jǐ yú dào 。

居善地，心善淵與善仁，

jū shàn dì ，xīn shàn yuān yǔ shàn rén ，

言善信，正善治，

yán shàn xìn ，zhèng shàn zhì ，

事善能，動善時。

shì shàn néng ，dòng shàn shí 。

夫唯不爭，故無尤

fū wéi bú zhēng ，gù wú yóu

Flexibility without Competition

Like water seems the highest good:

for water's goodness also could
do benefit all creatures ever –

yet ready to compete it's never;

it is in places there remaining,
which many people are disdaining –

hence, nearness to the Dào attaining.

Best dwelling's good, its place to find,

profoundness: good in heart and mind,

humaneness: good in all donation,

sincerity: good conversation,

so good in ruling: regulation,

as good in business: competence,

and good in acting: timing sense.

Not to hanker... hence no rancor!

[

The chapter extols the quality of goodness by comparing it to water, a metaphor that carries both humility and quiet power. Water benefits all things without striving and settles naturally in the lowest places, revealing a way of being that is aligned with the Dào through its lack of contention. The text unfolds this image across different domains of life–dwelling, speaking, governing, acting–suggesting that the virtue of water can permeate every sphere. What emerges is not a doctrine but a posture: the one who does not elevate himself moves freely, avoids conflict, and remains close to the unforced patterns of the world. Goodness becomes a matter of accord rather than intention, a form of clarity reached by not resisting the place where one naturally belongs.

The poetic rendering conveys this fluidity with a tone of graceful simplicity. The metaphor of water is maintained with care, letting its softness and its ability to seek the low places illuminate the deeper meaning of the chapter. Each line unfolds without pressure, echoing the chapter’s call to inhabit life without strain. The translation refrains from embellishment, thereby mirroring the very modesty it describes; and yet the underlying strength of water–its capacity to shape without forcing–is felt in the steady pace of the language. By letting movement and stillness intermingle, the verses capture both the humility and the quiet efficacy that Laozi associates with the highest goodness.

Altogether, the chapter presents a vision of virtue that thrives through yielding rather than asserting. The poetic version deepens this vision by allowing the reader to sense the inhering strength of softness and the freedom that comes from not competing. Its calm cadence and gentle imagery invite the mind to settle, much like water finding its level, and in that settling one glimpses the spaciousness at the heart of the Dào.

09 - Letting Go

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

持而盈之不如其己；

chí ér yíng zhī bú rú qí jǐ ；

揣而銳之不可長保；

chuāi ér ruì zhī bú kě zhǎng bǎo ；

金玉滿堂莫之能守；

jīn yù mǎn táng mò zhī néng shǒu ；

富貴而驕，自遺其咎。

fù guì ér jiāo ，zì yí qí jiù 。

功遂身退，天之道。

gōng suí shēn tuì ，tiān zhī dào 。

Letting Go

Maintaining, but to do too much –

is not as let it end as such;

to polish it and sharpen, too,

can not protect you in long view!

With gold and jade to fill the hall:

there's no one who can guard them all;

be honored, rich, yet haughtily,

thus self-surrendering you fall
there in your own calamity.

If once your task is done, allow
yourself to leave... do retreat like Heaven's Dào.

[

The chapter cautions against the impulse to hold, to accumulate, or to perfect beyond the point where things can naturally sustain themselves. It presents a vision of balance in which excess–whether of possession, action, or ambition–invites reversal. The metaphor of a vessel filled to overflowing suggests that completion is not a fixed state but a threshold past which stability dissolves. Likewise, the warning that weapons lose their sharpness through constant use hints at a world in which force undermines itself. What the chapter offers is not a prohibition against achievement but a gentle recognition that life unfolds in cycles, and that wisdom lies in stepping back before the crest of a wave breaks under its own weight.

The poetic rendering conveys this teaching with a lucid restraint that matches the temper of the original. The verses about hoarding and pride are phrased without moral admonition, letting them appear as simple reflections on how things behave when pushed beyond their measure. The image of retreating once the work is done is handled with particular grace, highlighting the laozian insight that success ripens fully only when one refrains from clinging to it. The translation allows the inner rhythm of the chapter to surface–advancing and then loosening, shaping and then releasing–so that the reader feels how moderation arises from attentiveness rather than rule.

In sum, the chapter reveals a path of steadiness founded on recognizing the moment when increase becomes decline. The poetic version deepens this understanding by maintaining a quiet, reflective tone that neither dramatizes nor diminishes the text’s message. It invites the reader to sense how stepping back can preserve what pressing forward would erode, and how letting go at the right time becomes an act of harmony with the larger cadence of the world.

10 - Purity and Modesty

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

載營魄抱一，能無離乎﹖

zǎi yíng pò bào yī ，néng wú lí hū ﹖

專氣致柔，能如嬰兒乎﹖

zhuān qì zhì róu ，néng rú yīng ér hū ﹖

滌除玄覽，能無疵乎﹖

dí chú xuán lǎn ，néng wú cī hū ﹖

愛國治民，能無為乎﹖

ài guó zhì mín ，néng wú wéi hū ﹖

天門開闔，能為雌乎﹖

tiān mén kāi hé ，néng wéi cí hū ﹖

明白四達，能無知乎。

míng bái sì dá ，néng wú zhī hū 。

生之，畜之，生而不有；

shēng zhī ，chù zhī ，shēng ér bú yǒu ；

為而不恃；長而不宰，

wéi ér bú shì ；zhǎng ér bú zǎi ，

是謂玄德。

shì wèi xuán dé 。

Purity and Modesty

Preserve your spirit and your soul,
for to embrace their unity –

and can you be unsplit and whole?

Do focus vital energy,
achieving suppleness, to see –

if you can like a baby be?

Do wash away your views so dark –

well, can you be without a mark?

A folk to love, a land to lead:

no stealth in use could do, indeed?

As closed and opened Heaven's Gates...

can you thus act with female traits?

Reach understanding all-around,

can with no cunning that be found?

Create it, care for it, not less,

produce it, yet do not possess,

to act, yet not relying on,

to lead, yet not command upon –

Deep Inner Power called thereon.

[

The chapter turns to the question of how one may dwell in the world while remaining aligned with the ungraspable movement of the Dào. It presents a series of contemplative challenges: to hold the soul without letting it scatter, to soften one’s gaze while retaining clarity, to care for others without possessing them, and to act without leaving traces of self-assertion. These questions do not seek definite answers; they gesture toward a mode of being in which inner steadiness and outward responsiveness coexist. The sage’s work is likened to nurturing without claiming, shaping without controlling, guiding without imposing–a way of living that lets the ten thousand things flourish according to their own nature.

The poetic rendering carries these themes with a quiet intimacy, allowing each question to expand rather than resolve. The verses maintain a gentle cadence that mirrors the balance the chapter evokes: firmness without rigidity, softness without dissolution. The imagery of tending, guiding, and holding takes on a luminous lightness, expressing a care that is neither sentimental nor possessive. The translation retains the subtle tension between action and non-assertion, capturing how genuine influence arises from presence rather than from will. By letting the questions remain open, the poetic version honors the chapter’s purpose: to invite reflection rather than to instruct.

Altogether, the chapter portrays the art of inner composure joined with outward humility, a harmony that allows one to act in the world without becoming entangled in it. The poetic version amplifies this vision with a tone that is at once spacious and warm, encouraging the reader to sense how guidance can be given without force and how clarity can shine without claiming ownership. In this balance of inward stillness and gentle outward movement, the spirit of the Dào becomes quietly perceptible.

11 - Creative Nothingness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

三十幅共一轂，

sān shí fú gòng yī gū ，

當其無，有車之用。

dāng qí wú ，yǒu chē zhī yòng 。

埏埴以為器，

shān zhí yǐ wéi qì ，

當其無，有器之用。

dāng qí wú ，yǒu qì zhī yòng 。

鑿戶牖以為室，

záo hù yǒu yǐ wéi shì ，

當其無，有室之用。

dāng qí wú ，yǒu shì zhī yòng 。

故有之以為利，

gù yǒu zhī yǐ wéi lì ，

無之以為用。

wú zhī yǐ wéi yòng 。

Creative Nothingness

Have thirty spokes one hub to share,

that hub's non-being just is there
for chariot's usability.

To form a vessel, thus mould clay:

just its non-being, it's to be
a vessel's usefulness per se.

The doors and windows chisel out,
a living space to bring about:

in its non-being, equally,
the room has usability.

So Being lets advantage be,

Non-being, though, accordingly
effects its usability.

[

Chapter 11 reflects on the paradox that usefulness arises from what is not there. Form, substance, and structure matter, yet without the empty interval they outline, nothing could genuinely serve its purpose. The vessel is shaped from clay, but everything that can be stored, carried, or offered depends on the hollow within; a room is framed by doors and windows, but dwelling, gathering, and rest become possible only because of the space they enclose. Laozi gently redirects attention from visible completion toward the enabling power of what remains unfilled, suggesting that absence is not a deficiency but a quiet origin of function.

The poetic version preserves this inversion with clarity and a composed rhythm. Its movement from the formed to the unformed–clay to emptiness, spokes to wheel, walls to room–unfolds in balanced images that echo the laconic precision of the original. The rhyme supports the inward turn of the thought, guiding the reader toward the realization that non-being does not negate being but renders it viable. Through these images, the poem captures a subtle transformation: the concrete objects remain tangible, yet they hint at a principle that exceeds them without fanfare.

Chapter 11 ultimately widens into a reflection on how life itself is shaped. What proves most enabling is rarely the mass or solidity of things, but the openness they allow–spaces where movement, choice, and rest can arise. The poetic rendering conveys this with quiet poise, showing how emptiness becomes generative without asserting itself, and how usefulness emerges in the interplay between what is present and what gracefully steps back.

12 - Unaddicted Harmony

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

五色令人目盲，

wǔ sè lìng rén mù máng ，

五音令人耳聾，

wǔ yīn lìng rén ěr lóng ，

五味令人口爽，

wǔ wèi lìng rén kǒu shuǎng ，

馳騁畋獵令人心發狂，

chí chěng tián liè lìng rén xīn fā kuáng ，

難得之貨令人行妨。

nán dé zhī huò lìng rén háng fáng 。

是以聖人，為腹不為目，

shì yǐ shèng rén ，wéi fù bú wéi mù ，

故去彼取此。

gù qù bǐ qǔ cǐ 。

Unaddicted Harmony

Too many colors let you find:
they make the human eye go blind,

are there too many tones to hear:
they deafen our human ear,

too many flavors soon will waste
away the human mouth and taste.

All battue hunting, horses race:

make craze the human heart apace;

all goods too hard to be obtained,

they cause man's growth to be restrained.

So wise men care for needs, not greed;

rejecting this, choose that, indeed.

[

Chapter 12 reflects on how the senses, when overstimulated, lose their clarity. What dazzles the eye dims its ability to see; what overwhelms the ear erodes its capacity to hear. The text points toward a paradox of abundance: the more one chases stimulation, the less one perceives. Laozi suggests not renunciation but proportion, a way of letting sensation stay truthful by not exhausting it. The chapter becomes a quiet critique of excess: piling up possessions, sharpening desires, pursuing the spectacular. Instead of broadening life, such pursuits narrow it, until the self becomes crowded and opaque. The sage does not condemn the senses; he protects them by refusing their overuse. Clarity returns when the world is allowed to be simple again, when the inner room is no longer overfilled. In this stillness, discernment is restored, and one’s direction becomes gentle rather than driven.

The poetic version voices this insight with graceful restraint. Lines like “the five colors blind the eye” keep their elemental force without heaviness, and the sequence of images moves with a light transparency. The rhythm supports a quiet argument: unstrained perception is a deeper form of richness. The poem avoids moralizing and lets the difference between excess and sufficiency speak for itself. Its tone remains calm, shaped by understatement rather than emphasis, and the choice to let the images breathe preserves the classical temper of the chapter. Nothing is explained; everything is allowed to settle on its own clarity.

Chapter 12 thus shows how the Way restores perception by lowering the intensity of the world. The poetic rendering accompanies this gesture with soft steadiness, letting the reader feel how spacious life becomes when the heart is no longer dazzled but simply awake.

13 - Autonomous Self-Esteem

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

寵辱若驚，貴大患若身。

chǒng rǔ ruò jīng ，guì dà huàn ruò shēn 。

何謂寵辱若驚﹖

hé wèi chǒng rǔ ruò jīng ﹖

寵為下。

chǒng wéi xià 。

得之若驚失之若驚

dé zhī ruò jīng shī zhī ruò jīng

是謂寵辱若驚。

shì wèi chǒng rǔ ruò jīng 。

何謂貴大患若身﹖

hé wèi guì dà huàn ruò shēn ﹖

吾所以有大患者，

wú suǒ yǐ yǒu dà huàn zhě ，

為吾有身，及吾無身，

wéi wú yǒu shēn ，jí wú wú shēn ，

吾有何患?

wú yǒu hé huàn ?

故貴以身為天下，若可寄天下。

gù guì yǐ shēn wéi tiān xià ，ruò kě jì tiān xià 。

愛以身為天下，若可託天下。

ài yǐ shēn wéi tiān xià ，ruò kě tuō tiān xià 。

Autonomous Self-Esteem

Disgrace like favor: frightening,

like selfhood honor's worrying.

What does that mean, enlightening:
„Disgrace like favor: frightening“?

As grace degrades when you obtain it,

like frightening, to lose or gain it –

so, that is meant, enlightening:
„Disgrace like favor: frightening“?

What does that mean, enlightening:
“like selfhood honor's worrying.”?

I have big worries there, in fact,

because I selfishly do act;

and if I reached unselfishness –
which worries would I still possess?

Hence, who appreciate, with their
whole self for all the world to care,

well, give the world to them – they’re worth.

And they who with all selfness there,
with love for all the world do care,

well, trust them with all Heaven and Earth.

[

Chapter 13 reflects on praise and blame as forces that unsettle the heart. Honor lifts us only to expose us to the fear of falling, and disgrace shakes us because we tie our worth to the world’s shifting measures. Laozi’s insight is that both exaltation and humiliation disturb in the same way: they create dependence on what lies outside us. The teaching turns inward and suggests that the self can steady itself only by releasing the hunger for approval. When the self is no longer inflated by praise nor pierced by blame, life becomes simpler, shaped by an inner consistency rather than public weather. This steadiness does not harden; instead, it softens the grasping that makes every judgment feel monumental. The sage is not indifferent but free, anchored in a center that does not fluctuate with circumstance.

The poetic rendering echoes this teaching with calm clarity. Its lines move lightly between the poles of honor and disgrace, showing how symmetrical their grip can be. Instead of dramatizing the emotional swings, the poem lets them appear as movements of air–felt, but not definitive. The rhythm maintains an evenness that mirrors the lesson: that equilibrium is not something achieved but something allowed. The language resists both exaggeration and moralizing; it simply places the contrasts beside each other until their likeness becomes visible. The result is a tone that is contemplative without heaviness, spacious without vagueness.

Chapter 13 thus invites the reader to step out of the high and low tides of reputation. The poetic version keeps this invitation open, suggesting that freedom arises not by withdrawing from the world but by loosening the hold it has on one’s measure of self. In this quiet shift, dignity becomes unshakable.

14 - The Incomprehensibility of Dào

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

視之不見名曰夷。

shì zhī bú jiàn míng yuē yí 。

聽之不聞名曰希。

tīng zhī bú wén míng yuē xī 。

摶之不得名曰微。

tuán zhī bú dé míng yuē wēi 。

此三者不可致詰，故混而為一。

cǐ sān zhě bú kě zhì jié ，gù hún ér wéi yī 。

其上不皦，其下不昧，

qí shàng bú jiǎo ，qí xià bú mèi ，

繩繩不可名，復歸於無物。

shéng shéng bú kě míng ，fù guī yú wú wù 。

是謂無狀之狀，無物之象，是謂惚恍。

shì wèi wú zhuàng zhī zhuàng ，wú wù zhī xiàng ，shì wèi hū huǎng 。

迎之不見其首，隨之不見其後。

yíng zhī bú jiàn qí shǒu ，suí zhī bú jiàn qí hòu 。

執古之道以御今之有。

zhí gǔ zhī dào yǐ yù jīn zhī yǒu 。

能知古始，是謂道紀。

néng zhī gǔ shǐ ，shì wèi dào jì 。

The Incomprehensibility of Dào

You look – it can't be seen at all:

invisible like plain to call;

you listen, but it can't be heard:

inaudible – its empty word;

you reach for it - it's not to hold,

intangible, like subtle told.

They can‘t be fathomed more, these three,

hence merge and form a unity:

its height not bright, its depth not dark.

most boundlessly, no name to mark,

returning to non-entity.

It’s called the shapeless' shape, to be

an image of non-entity:

as indistinct and vague it’s meant.

Approach: it's head is not to see,

or follow: not to see its end.

Hold on to our ancient's Dào:

thus master your existence now.

Can ancient origins you get,

that means you see Dào's golden thread.

[

Chapter 14 turns toward what cannot be grasped, naming the unnameable through three subtle gestures: the invisible, the inaudible, the intangible. Each quality points not to absence but to a kind of presence that eludes capture. Laozi describes the Way as something that neither form nor sound nor substance can contain, yet which quietly binds the world together. The teaching is not abstract; it invites the reader to notice how the deepest movements of life occur beneath perception, like a current beneath still water. What cannot be seen may still guide, and what cannot be held may still support. The chapter dissolves the boundaries between past and future, front and back, urging us to dwell in what precedes distinction. In this undifferentiated space, clarity does not arise from sharpness but from openness, a willingness to meet what escapes definition.

The poetic rendering follows this movement with a soft attentiveness. Its phrases pivot gently around the unseen and the unheard, letting the silence between images carry much of the meaning. Rather than attempting to illuminate the elusive, the poem leaves it shaded, allowing the mind to enter the quiet gap where the Way becomes perceptible. The rhythm is unobtrusive, yet steady, and mirrors the chapter’s sense of continuity: the Way flows backward into antiquity and forward beyond thought, without ever becoming distant. The choice to use simple, resonant wording keeps the mystery intact while offering a clear emotional tone, neither solemn nor obscure. The poem succeeds by refusing to force comprehension; it leads the reader to a threshold and trusts the remaining step to understanding.

Chapter 14 ultimately teaches that the deepest truths do not stand before us but alongside us, quiet and constant. The poetic version honors this teaching by holding the mystery gently, showing how the unseen may be the most reliable companion on the path.

15 - The Inscrutability of the Wise Men

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

古之善為士者，

gǔ zhī shàn wéi shì zhě ，

微妙玄通，深不可識。

wēi miào xuán tōng ，shēn bú kě shí 。

夫唯不可識，故強為之容。

fū wéi bú kě shí ，gù qiáng wéi zhī róng 。

豫兮[焉]若冬涉川；

yù xī [yān ] ruò dōng shè chuān ；

猶兮若畏四鄰；儼兮其若容；

yóu xī ruò wèi sì lín ；yǎn xī qí ruò róng ；

渙兮若冰之將釋；敦兮其若樸；

huàn xī ruò bīng zhī jiāng shì ；dūn xī qí ruò pǔ ；

曠兮其若谷；混兮其若濁；

kuàng xī qí ruò gǔ ；hún xī qí ruò zhuó ；

[澹兮其若海；飂兮若無止。]

[dàn xī qí ruò hǎi ；liù xī ruò wú zhǐ 。]

]孰能濁以[止]靜之徐清。

shú néng zhuó yǐ [zhǐ ]jìng zhī xú qīng 。

孰能安以動之徐生。

shú néng ān yǐ dòng zhī xú shēng 。

保此道者不欲盈。

bǎo cǐ dào zhě bú yù yíng 。

夫唯不盈故能蔽而新成。

fū wéi bú yíng gù néng bì ér xīn chéng 。

The Inscrutability of the Wise Men

The masters of antiquity,
were practicing so splendidly,

pervasive, subtle, mystic, and

of depth, one could not comprehend.

For just I can't make out them clear,

I try to sketch how they appear:

How careful!, like in winter, oh,
to wade across a river so,

how cautious! oh, like scared, to hide
from neighbors there on every side;

how courteously! like guests, they felt,

how brittle! ice-like, soon to melt;

how genuine! like uncarved wood,

how vast! like valleys do for good,

and dim! like muddy waters stood.

And who can turbid waters clear
by caution just of silence here?

Who can inspire peace improvement
by wariness of constant movement?

Who will preserve these things, by never
desiring for excess, however:

for only no abundancy,

so could it shield you not to be
compelled to tasks repeatedly.

[

Chapter 15 evokes the ancient sages as figures of profound subtlety, moving through the world with a care that seems almost otherworldly. Their presence is described through images of delicacy: cautious as one crossing winter ice, alert as one sensing danger, modest like a guest, fluid as a melting block of ice. These metaphors hint at a state of mind that is neither fearful nor passive, but exquisitely responsive – a readiness that refuses rigidity. What made these sages difficult to grasp was not obscurity but transparency: they left no fixed traces, and so no one could define them. They were inwardly empty, outwardly quiet, and precisely through this emptiness they could adapt without strain. The chapter suggests that true clarity is not a matter of accumulating insight but of loosening the self until perception becomes unclouded. When the mind is still, the world becomes spacious.

The poetic rendering mirrors this atmosphere with gentle precision. By moving through the same metaphors with unforced rhythm, it restores the sense of the ancient temperament: cautious, receptive, and free of self-assertion. The language gives each image just enough weight to linger, yet not enough to solidify; this balance preserves the elusive quality that defines the chapter. Especially the closing suggestion – that patience leads the mind toward clarity – is carried through a quiet cadence that feels both humble and luminous. The poem avoids ornament and lets its simplicity serve as the main conduit for meaning. Its restraint becomes its strength: nothing is exaggerated, and so everything resonates.

Chapter 15 ultimately presents wisdom as a form of soft vigilance, a poise that neither grasps nor resists. The poetic version follows this path faithfully, offering a contemplative space in which the reader senses how delicacy can become strength and how emptiness can become the most reliable foundation.

16 - Returning to Constancy

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

致虛極守靜篤。

zhì xū jí shǒu jìng dǔ 。

萬物並作，吾以觀復。

wàn wù bìng zuò ，wú yǐ guān fù 。

夫物芸芸各復歸其根。

fū wù yún yún gè fù guī qí gēn 。

歸根曰靜，是謂復命；

guī gēn yuē jìng ，shì wèi fù mìng ；

復命曰常，知常曰明。

fù mìng yuē cháng ，zhī cháng yuē míng 。

不知常，妄作凶。

bú zhī cháng ，wàng zuò xiōng 。

知常容，容乃公，

zhī cháng róng ，róng nǎi gōng ，

公乃全，全乃天，

gōng nǎi quán ，quán nǎi tiān ，

天乃道，道乃久，沒身不殆。

tiān nǎi dào ，dào nǎi jiǔ ，méi shēn bú dài 。

Returning to Constancy

For utmost emptiness to enter,

keep calm and quiet in your center.

All creatures, growing there, conflate,

so, their return I contemplate.

For creatures most divers, they yearn

for home, their roots, they all return.

Return to roots: serenity,

it’s called return to destiny;

means destiny eternity,

eternity... enlightened be!

But not to know eternity:

it recklessly brings misery.

to know: all-encompassing be!

All-encompassing: justice see,

then justice leads to royalty,

and royalty gets heavenly,

thus heavenly with Dào to see.

The Dào implies longevity:

no danger body's loss will be.

[

Chapter 16 turns the attention inward and invites a return to the still point at the center of being. Laozi speaks of quieting the heart until it settles into openness, a space in which the agitation of the world loses its force. When one follows this movement toward inner calm, the myriad things arise and return without causing disturbance. The chapter describes a rhythm of life that is not controlled but witnessed, a cycle in which everything returns to its root. This return is not regress but clarity, for it reveals the nature that underlies change. To recognize this movement is to recognize permanence, not as something rigid but as a deep coherence within the flow of events. Such understanding brings freedom from fear, because one sees that what comes and goes has never been separate from what remains.

The poetic version echoes this spaciousness with a gentle cadence. Its phrasing avoids emphasis and lets each idea unfold without pressure, mirroring the serenity the chapter describes. Images of returning and resting are presented without ornament, allowing the quietness itself to carry the meaning. The tone remains soft and deliberate, and through this restraint the poem preserves the classical balance of simplicity and depth. The translation does not rush to interpret the Way; it creates the atmosphere in which meaning can arise on its own. The effect is one of subtle radiance, like a lantern seen through mist. Every line gestures toward the same center and keeps the reader close to that calm.

Chapter 16 suggests that wisdom grows where rest is allowed. The poetic rendering supports this insight with steady calm and invites the reader to join the circle of returning in which all things find their root.

17 - Considerate Leadership

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

太上，下知有之。

tài shàng ，xià zhī yǒu zhī 。

其次親而譽之。

qí cì qīn ér yù zhī 。

其次畏之。其次侮之。

qí cì wèi zhī 。 qí cì wǔ zhī 。

信不足焉，有不信焉。

xìn bú zú yān ，yǒu bú xìn yān 。

悠兮其貴言，功成事遂，

yōu xī qí guì yán ，gōng chéng shì suí ，

百姓皆謂我自然。

bǎi xìng jiē wèi wǒ zì rán 。

Considerate Leadership

From highest ones on top: we know
down here, they are existing, though!

Their next are praised as close and dear,

their next again they only fear,

and at their next they even sneer.

You do not trust enough? – You’ll earn
then not enough trust in return!

Their precious words, oh, thoughtfully,

affairs and tasks accomplished, see –

all other people will now say:
we did it ourselves that way!

[

Chapter 17 reflects on the subtlety of authority and on the paradox that the best forms of guidance are almost invisible. Laozi presents four descending modes of rule: the highest is scarcely noticed, the next is praised, the third is feared, and the last is openly despised. This gradation is not merely political; it is anthropological. Where rulers do not intrude, trust grows by itself; where they assert themselves, resistance arises; where they interfere too heavily, the natural coherence of a community dissolves. The central line–often rendered as the impossibility of receiving trust where no trust is granted–encapsulates a deep insight into social dynamics: relationship precedes command. The chapter closes with the ideal image of action completed without ownership, a gesture that reflects the Dao’s quiet mode of efficacy.

Your poetic rendering captures the descending rhythm of the four kinds of rulers through the repeated phrase “die Nächsten,” which acts almost like a soft drumbeat marking the fall in quality. The translation maintains the concise sharpness of the original while adding a graceful melodic movement that softens the political severity of the theme. The trust-line is expressed with an elegant symmetry that mirrors Laozi’s balance of clarity and restraint. Especially striking is the ending: the people saying, “Oh, we did it by ourselves.” This line conveys the daoistic core of non-claiming action and succeeds in making the invisible influence feel both natural and unforced. The poem’s tone is modest, without pathos, and yet unmistakably firm in its insight.

Chapter 17 portrays leadership as the art of stepping back so that others may step forward. Your poetic version transmits this lesson with measured transparency: it lets the principle of non-insistence shine through its quiet cadence and allows the reader to sense how authority becomes fullest when it disappears.

18 - The Omen of Decay

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

大道廢有仁義；

dà dào fèi yǒu rén yì ；

慧智出有大偽；

huì zhì chū yǒu dà wěi ；

六親不和有孝慈；

liù qīn bú hé yǒu xiào cí ；

國家昏亂有忠臣。

guó jiā hūn luàn yǒu zhōng chén 。

The Omen of Decay

Great Dào abandoned once, implies,
that justice and humaneness rise;

rise shrewdness there and sophistry:
then there is great hypocrisy.

In family no harmony,
means parents' love, filiality;

confused in chaos folk and land,
officials loyally at hand.

[

Chapter 18 observes what happens when the unity of the Dao fades from common life: virtues arise as compensations. When natural simplicity weakens, contrived benevolence and rigid righteousness appear; when families lose their quiet coherence, forced loyalty is praised; when states become disordered, clever ministers flourish. Laozi describes a moral landscape in which the very names of virtues signal that something more primal has been lost. The chapter suggests that moral talk increases when genuine alignment decreases: the more loudly a society proclaims virtue, the less effortlessly it lives it. The diagnosis is not cynical but diagnostic–an attempt to trace symptoms back to their underlying emptiness.

Your poetic rendering preserves this structure of decline with clear, compact strokes. The shift from the fading of the Dao to the rise of benevolence, from benevolence to righteousness, from righteousness to propriety, unfolds with a measured descent that mirrors the original’s logic. The couplets maintain a crisp rhythm that supports the theme: each fall in natural integrity is met with an increase in compensatory display. Particularly effective is the rendering of “die Pflichterfüllung,” which captures both the stiffness and the faint desperation of enforced morality. The poem gives each stage enough space to register, yet keeps the movement fluid, allowing readers to feel the slope rather than merely understand it.

Chapter 18 ultimately portrays a world in which virtue becomes a substitute for ease and alignment. Your poetic version holds this insight without harshness: it shows how societies try to repair loss through formality and moral insistence, but also how such insistence betrays the very loss it tries to conceal. The commentary and the poem together invite the reader to sense what Laozi calls the “soft order” behind things–an order not proclaimed but lived, and one that grows faint whenever its absence must be named.

19 - Freedom through Modesty

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

絕聖棄智，民利百倍；

jué shèng qì zhì ，mín lì bǎi bèi ；

絕仁棄義，民復孝慈；

jué rén qì yì ，mín fù xiào cí ；

絕巧棄利，盜賊無有；

jué qiǎo qì lì ，dào zéi wú yǒu ；

此三者，以為文不足。

cǐ sān zhě ，yǐ wéi wén bú zú 。

故令有所屬，

gù lìng yǒu suǒ shǔ ，

見素抱樸少私寡欲。

jiàn sù bào pǔ shǎo sī guǎ yù 。

Freedom through Modesty

Discard all sageliness, not less
go and abandon bookishness:

a hundredfold they profit, yes;

all your benevolence elude,
discard your moral rectitude:

to parents' love they will return,
and filial piety they earn;

leave cunning, profit do desist:

no thieves and robbers will exist.

As to depict effectively,
inadequate do prove these three,

so, let them this addition see:

stay plain, embrace simplicity,

less selfish and less greedy be!

[

This chapter explores simplicity as a condition of perception rather than a rule of behavior. Laozi lists qualities that usually organize human striving: cleverness, sharpness, moral certainty, and cultivated distinction. He does not deny their usefulness in limited contexts, but questions their dominance. When these qualities become central, they fragment experience and draw attention away from what is immediately present. The text suggests that complexity is often self-generated, produced by the urge to refine, judge, and separate. By setting these tendencies aside, something more basic comes into view. This is not regression, but release. The Dao appears here as what remains when excess interpretation falls away. Vision becomes clear not by adding insight, but by removing distortion. Desire quiets when it is no longer constantly stimulated by comparison. The chapter does not advocate ignorance or passivity, but a return to what does not require constant evaluation. What is plain does not need defense. By remaining close to what is simple, one regains coherence without effort. The emphasis lies on restoring proportion between perception and life, allowing experience to settle into a form that does not strain against itself.

The chapter then turns toward social feeling and personal posture. Laozi advises reducing ambition, softening insistence, and releasing attachment to advantage. These gestures are not moral demands, but practical adjustments. When ambition dominates, relations become transactional. When insistence hardens, interaction becomes resistant. By letting go of these pressures, one remains accessible without becoming exposed. The text introduces the image of embracing what is coarse and holding fast to what is unadorned. This stance preserves dignity without superiority. It does not seek to impress or to withdraw. Instead, it maintains a steady presence that does not provoke comparison. What is genuine does not need to be sharpened. The sage remains whole by refusing to specialize in distinction. This wholeness is not uniformity, but balance. By stepping back from excess refinement, one avoids the fragmentation that accompanies constant differentiation. The Dao functions here as a stabilizing background, allowing individual traits to exist without being exaggerated into identity.

What stands out in this rendering is the emphasis on subtraction as clarity. The language avoids prescribing a fixed state and instead points toward a process of easing. Nothing is forcefully removed. What loosens, loosens by itself once it is no longer fed. The chapter reads as an invitation to trust what remains when striving relaxes. By relinquishing the need to be sharp, clever, or exceptional, one returns to a mode of being that is sufficient without ornament. The Dao appears as a quiet ground that becomes perceptible when excess falls away, leaving life intact and undivided.

20 - Profane Men and Wise Man

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

絕學無憂，唯之與阿，相去幾何﹖

jué xué wú yōu ，wéi zhī yǔ ā ，xiàng qù jǐ hé ﹖

善之與惡，相去若何﹖

shàn zhī yǔ è ，xiàng qù ruò hé ﹖

人之所畏，不可不畏。

rén zhī suǒ wèi ，bú kě bú wèi 。

荒兮其未央哉！

huāng xī qí wèi yāng zāi ！

眾人熙熙如享太牢如春登臺。

zhòng rén xī xī rú xiǎng tài láo rú chūn dēng tái 。

我獨泊兮其未兆，如嬰兒之未孩；

wǒ dú bó xī qí wèi zhào ，rú yīng ér zhī wèi hái ；

儽儽兮若無所歸。

lěi lěi xī ruò wú suǒ guī 。

眾人皆有餘，而我獨若遺。

zhòng rén jiē yǒu yú ，ér wǒ dú ruò yí 。

我愚人之心也哉！

wǒ yú rén zhī xīn yě zāi ！

沌沌兮俗人昭昭。

dùn dùn xī sú rén zhāo zhāo 。

我獨昏昏；俗人察察，我獨悶悶。

wǒ dú hūn hūn ；sú rén chá chá ，wǒ dú mèn mèn 。

澹兮其若海,飂兮若無止眾人皆有以，

dàn xī qí ruò hǎi ,liù xī ruò wú zhǐ zhòng rén jiē yǒu yǐ ，

而我獨頑且鄙。

ér wǒ dú wán qiě bǐ 。

我獨異於人，而貴食母。

wǒ dú yì yú rén ，ér guì shí mǔ 。

Profane Men and Wise Men

Abandon all mere punditry:
no worries linger actually!

Approval's yes - hypocrisy:

how far apart, eh?!, mutually?

What difference Good and Evil be:

alike apart, what?, mutually?

When people something fear, they sheer

are then not able... not to fear:

...seems loneliness not ending here!

Delighted seems now everyone:

as for great sacrifices done,

as if in springtime they intend
view terraces there to ascend.

Alas! How quiet I'm alone,
that not yet any signs are shown,

I'm like a little infant child,
who actually has not yet smiled,

quite aimless, like without concern
for any place there to return.

Most have abundancy to find,

yet I seem just as left behind.

A simpleton in mind, I'm, too!

I'm turbid and confused, all through.

The common people: bright and clear,

but dim and dark just I am here;

for strict discern are people known,

but sad and sorry I'm alone.

Alas, such surging, like the ocean,

like wafting, oh, without devotion.

So many people have a plan,

but only I am stolid, rather,
quite seemingly a backwoodsman,

I only am unlike all other,

...yet I do cherish Nursing Mother.

[

This chapter turns inward and lingers on separation as an experience rather than a doctrine. Laozi describes the distance between himself and what others value, not with resentment, but with quiet observation. Where the crowd finds delight and affirmation, he feels no pull. Where others celebrate clarity and certainty, he remains undecided and open. The text does not present this stance as superiority, but as estrangement. To live without sharing common enthusiasms is to stand slightly apart, exposed and unprotected by agreement. Laozi’s tone here is gentle, almost vulnerable. He speaks of drifting, of lacking direction in the way others seem to possess it. This is not confusion, but a refusal to anchor identity in collective excitement. The Dao appears as something sensed beneath these differences, not as a solution that resolves them. By remaining unaligned with prevailing values, the speaker preserves an inner continuity that does not depend on recognition. The chapter suggests that belonging often requires conformity, while alignment with the Dao may involve solitude. What is gained is not comfort, but integrity. The cost is distance from shared certainties.

The text then deepens this contrast by turning to nourishment and dependence. Laozi compares himself to an infant, still sustained by what is given rather than by what is pursued. Others appear clever, purposeful, and full, while he remains empty and unformed. This emptiness is not lack, but openness. It has not yet hardened into preference or ambition. The image does not idealize immaturity, but points to a mode of being that has not been overdetermined. While others accumulate knowledge and advantage, the sage remains receptive, allowing life to arrive without being filtered through expectation. This posture resists the pressure to compete or to define oneself against others. The chapter implies that much of what passes for strength is actually tension. By remaining soft and unassertive, one avoids this strain. The Dao works through this unclaimed space, sustaining without directing. What is received without grasping does not exhaust itself.

What emerges in this rendering is a meditation on loneliness without complaint. The language stays close to the feeling of being out of step, while refusing to turn it into grievance. Difference is acknowledged without bitterness. The chapter reads as a quiet affirmation that not sharing the world’s enthusiasms does not mean being deprived of meaning. On the contrary, it may allow a deeper nourishment to continue uninterrupted. By remaining empty, unclaimed, and slightly apart, one stays close to a source that does not depend on agreement. The Dao appears here as a subtle sustenance that carries those who do not quite belong, yet remain intact.

21 - Unfathomable Dào

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

孔德之容惟道是從。

kǒng dé zhī róng wéi dào shì cóng 。

道之為物惟恍惟惚。

dào zhī wéi wù wéi huǎng wéi hū 。

惚兮恍兮其中有象。

hū xī huǎng xī qí zhōng yǒu xiàng 。

恍兮惚兮其中有物。

huǎng xī hū xī qí zhōng yǒu wù 。

窈兮冥兮其中有精。

yǎo xī míng xī qí zhōng yǒu jīng 。

其精甚真。其中有信。

qí jīng shèn zhēn 。qí zhōng yǒu xìn 。

自古及今，其名不去以閱眾甫。

zì gǔ jí jīn ，qí míng bú qù yǐ yuè zhòng fǔ 。

吾何以知眾甫之狀哉！以此。

wú hé yǐ zhī zhòng fǔ zhī zhuàng zāi ！yǐ cǐ 。

Unfathomable Dào

The Inner Power's views: like hollow,

and only Dào, they will there follow.

Dào's acting as an entity:

just vaguely, just elusively.

Elusive, oh, and vague, implied

there images in its inside,

So vague, alas, elusive, oh:

in its inside, are beings, though.

Secluded, oh, and dark: to hide

an essence there, in its inside:

an essence , highly genuine,

in its inside, there's trust within.

From the antiquity till now

its name stays unforgotten: Dào,

because one is discerning these
beginnings of all entities.

How do I know from this begin

of all, its form? From deep within!

[

This chapter turns toward form as something that follows rather than precedes. Laozi describes the Dao as elusive and indistinct, yet consistently present. What takes shape does so only after alignment has already occurred. The text resists any attempt to define the Dao through visible traits or fixed images. What is most real does not arrive fully formed. It moves ahead of clarity and leaves traces only indirectly. The chapter suggests that order is not constructed from concepts, but emerges from continuity. When one remains attuned, coherence appears without being summoned. The Dao is portrayed as something that cannot be grasped, yet cannot be absent. It is not an object of knowledge, but a condition of appearance. By trusting what is not immediately visible, one avoids the urge to substitute explanation for presence. The text emphasizes that form without source is hollow, while source without form remains generative. What matters is not capturing the Dao, but staying oriented toward it as things unfold.

The reflection then shifts to lineage and trust. Laozi asks how the patterns of the present can be known except through what has preceded them. The Dao is described as continuous across time, giving rise to forms without being exhausted by them. This continuity does not require belief, but recognition. By observing how things arise and pass, one learns to sense what remains constant through change. The chapter implies that trust in the Dao is not blind faith, but attentiveness to recurrence. What persists does so quietly, beneath fluctuation. Those who align with this persistence do not need rigid frameworks. They rely on resonance rather than certainty. The text suggests that coherence is inherited, not invented. It is carried forward by remaining receptive to what has always been at work. By acknowledging origin without trying to possess it, one stays within a lineage that does not demand allegianc.

What stands out in this rendering is the emphasis on subtle continuity over definition. The language avoids naming what cannot be fixed and instead traces how it makes itself known through pattern and return. The chapter reads as an invitation to trust emergence rather than control. By remaining close to what precedes form, one allows form to arise without distortion. The Dao appears not as a concept to be held, but as a background movement that sustains appearance while remaining beyond capture.

22 - The Wisdom of Yieldingness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

曲則全，枉則直，

qǔ zé quán ， wǎng zé zhí ，

窪則盈，敝則新少則得，

wā zé yíng ，bì zé xīn shǎo zé dé ，

多則惑。是以聖人抱一，為天下式。

duō zé huò 。shì yǐ shèng rén bào yī ，wéi tiān xià shì 。

不自見故明；不自是故彰；

bú zì jiàn gù míng ；bú zì shì gù zhāng ；

不自伐故有功；不自矜故長；

bú zì fá gù yǒu gōng ；bú zì jīn gù zhǎng ；

夫唯不爭，故天下莫能與之爭。

fū wéi bú zhēng ，gù tiān xià mò néng yǔ zhī zhēng 。

古之所謂：「曲則全者」豈虛言哉！

gǔ zhī suǒ wèi ：「qǔ zé quán zhě 」qǐ xū yán zāi ！

誠全而歸之。

chéng quán ér guī zhī 。

The Wisdom of Yieldingness

First partial, whole then, crooked, then straight,

past empty – filled, worn out – novate.

At first have little, then obtain,

have much – but then confused again.

Hence: wise men cherish unity,

a model for the world to be:

Not self-regarding, therefore brightened;

for not self-righteous, so enlightened;

for not self-praising, merits' straightness;

not self-admiring, lasting greatness;

just no competing to precede,

so no one in the world, indeed,
is able with them to compete.

First part, then whole, from Ancients learn!

How only empty words to earn?

When truly whole – then they return.

[

This chapter gathers its insight through reversal. Laozi presents conditions that appear deficient or incomplete and shows how they return to wholeness. What is bent becomes straight, what is empty becomes full, what is worn becomes renewed. These statements are not promises of compensation but observations about process. Completion is not achieved by force, but by allowing movement to finish its own arc. When things are pushed toward fulfillment prematurely, they fracture. When they are allowed to follow their curve, they settle naturally. The chapter challenges the habit of correcting appearances instead of understanding trajectories. What seems lacking often carries the space needed for adjustment. The Dao is present in this capacity to complete through yielding rather than through insistence. By not resisting incompleteness, one avoids the violence of premature closure. Wholeness emerges not as an achievement, but as a consequence of remaining aligned with change.

The text then turns toward unity and coherence. Laozi suggests that holding to the One allows multiplicity to settle without conflict. When attention fragments, perception multiplies distinctions and loses orientation. By remaining centered, one does not need to pursue completeness outwardly. The sage does not compete for recognition, and therefore is recognized. He does not assert himself, and therefore remains intact. These reversals are not rhetorical flourishes but functional descriptions. Assertion introduces opposition, while restraint dissolves it. The chapter implies that visibility gained through display is unstable, while recognition that arises without demand endures. To be whole is not to be everything, but to avoid being pulled apart by comparison. The Dao operates here as a stabilizing center that does not need reinforcement. By remaining consistent, one allows contradictions to resolve themselves without intervention.

What emerges in this rendering is an emphasis on integrity through non-insistence. The language stays close to the idea that unity is preserved by not scattering attention across competing aims. Completeness is shown as something that follows restraint rather than ambition. The chapter reads as a meditation on how letting go of self-assertion allows coherence to return on its own terms. By accepting what appears partial and refusing to force resolution, one remains aligned with a process that gathers fragments without pressure. The Dao appears as a quiet principle that restores wholeness precisely because it does not demand it.

23 - The Sustainability of Dào

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

希言自然。

xī yán zì rán 。

故飄風不終朝，驟雨不終日。

gù piāo fēng bú zhōng cháo ，zhòu yǔ bú zhōng rì 。

孰為此者﹖天地。

shú wéi cǐ zhě ﹖tiān dì 。

天地尚不能久，而況於人乎﹖

tiān dì shàng bú néng jiǔ ，ér kuàng yú rén hū ﹖

故從事於道者，同於道。

gù cóng shì yú dào zhě ，tóng yú dào 。

德者同於德。

dé zhě tóng yú dé 。

失者同於失。

shī zhě tóng yú shī 。

同於道者道亦樂得之；

tóng yú dào zhě dào yì lè dé zhī ；

同於德者德亦樂得之；

tóng yú dé zhě dé yì lè dé zhī ；

同於失者失於樂得之。

tóng yú shī zhě shī yú lè dé zhī 。

信不足焉有不信焉

xìn bú zú yān yǒu bú xìn yān

The Sustainability of Dào

Few words are used by Nature's horn...

for whirlwinds don’t last all the morn,

a shower not all day occurs:

who renders these things? Heaven and Earth.

If Heaven and Earth can't last at length,

much less the humans have such strength?

And therefore: if you do allow
pursuing your affairs with Dào...

will those with Dào be one with it,

when Inner Power they commit,
they're one with Inner Power's wit,

but those, who lost it by refusing,
they even will be one with losing.

Those people who are one with Dào,

Dào, too, will get them gladly now;

those, one with Inner Power's view,

got Inner Power gladly, too;

if one with losing they impel:

gets Losing gladly them, as well.

You do not trust enough? – You’ll earn

then not enough trust in return!

[

This chapter turns toward brevity and restraint as expressions of alignment rather than limitation. Laozi observes that natural processes do not speak at length. Storms do not last all morning, nor does heavy rain endure all day. What belongs to the Dao completes itself without excess. Prolongation signals strain, not strength. The text suggests that durability arises from moderation, while insistence exhausts its own conditions. Speech that seeks to persuade too forcefully reveals insecurity. Action that presses beyond its moment loses its grounding. The Dao is reflected in the way natural movements begin, unfold, and conclude without commentary. By attending to this rhythm, one learns that lasting influence does not depend on intensity. It depends on fitting the moment. What aligns with the Dao does not need to announce itself repeatedly. It leaves traces through consistency rather than through volume.

The reflection then shifts toward agreement and resonance. Laozi states that those who align with the Dao are met by the Dao, while those who align with loss are met by loss. This is not moral judgment, but correspondence. Like meets like. What one commits to shapes what one encounters. The text implies that trust is not a separate act, but a condition of alignment. When one stands within the Dao, there is no need to secure outcomes. Agreement arises naturally because there is no internal division. Conversely, when one stands apart, discord follows without being imposed. The chapter suggests that sincerity is less about intention than about coherence. Words that are not backed by alignment dissipate. Promises made without grounding collapse under their own weight. The Dao does not reward or punish. It simply reflects the stance one takes.

What stands out in this rendering is the emphasis on quiet correspondence. The chapter reads as a reminder that alignment is revealed through duration rather than through declaration. By allowing actions and words to remain sparse and well-timed, one stays close to a process that does not require reinforcement. The Dao appears here as a field of resonance in which excess fades and simplicity endures. Those who remain consistent without insistence find themselves met without resistance.

24 - Avoidance of Sophistication

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

企者不立；跨者不行。

qǐ zhě bú lì ；kuà zhě bú háng 。

自見者不明；自是者不彰。

zì jiàn zhě bú míng ；zì shì zhě bú zhāng 。

自伐者無功；自矜者不長。

zì fá zhě wú gōng ；zì jīn zhě bú zhǎng 。

其在道也曰：餘食贅形。

qí zài dào yě yuē ：yú shí zhuì xíng 。

物或惡之，故有道者不處。

wù huò è zhī ，gù yǒu dào zhě bú chù 。

Avoidance of Sophistication

No stable stand on tiptoes, so

and those who straddle cannot go.

No self-attentives get enlightened,

self-righteous people are not brightened.

Self-boasters earn no merits, sure,

self-praisers never will endure.

This, with regard to Dào, too, would

be turgid acts, excessive food!

Since creatures might detest that, may

Dào's followers there never stay.

[

This chapter addresses imbalance as a condition that arises when movement loses its sense of measure. Laozi points to gestures that elevate themselves beyond their support and therefore forfeit it. Standing on tiptoe does not increase stature, and lengthening the stride does not extend the path. These images are not moral reproaches but observations about proportion. When action exceeds what the moment can sustain, it separates itself from the ground that allows it to continue. Excess is shown as impatience with fit. The wish to arrive sooner interrupts the continuity that makes arrival possible at all. The Dao appears here as a quiet standard of correspondence, not as an ideal to be pursued. What remains aligned does not need to push. It stays supported because it does not strain against its limits. Effort that seeks visibility replaces steadiness with tension, and tension erodes balance. Endurance belongs to what settles into place and allows time to complete its work. Stability is preserved by sensitivity to scale, not by insistence, and by restraint that understands when enough has already been reached.

The chapter then turns toward self assertion and accumulation as further expressions of the same imbalance. Laozi observes that those who emphasize themselves provoke resistance, and those who gather achievements add weight that cannot be carried for long. This is not framed as judgment, but as consequence. Attention directed toward display disperses energy and fractures coherence. What is added beyond necessity becomes burden rather than support. Recognition pursued directly depends on comparison and therefore remains unstable. Recognition that arises indirectly does not require defense. The Dao functions here as an economy of movement, in which effort circulates without friction and without excess. When action remains proportional, correction is unnecessary and opposition does not form. By refusing to compete for position, one avoids the spiral in which assertion demands further assertion. In that spiral, movement hardens into defense and consumes the strength it seeks to prove, until alignment with what sustains it is quietly lost.

What comes into view here is not a final conclusion, but a sustained condition. Measure is shown as something that must be maintained over time, not reached once and secured. When action fits its circumstance, it does not harden into habit or defense. It remains responsive and therefore alive. The Dao does not intervene to restore balance; it is already present in the capacity to refrain from excess. By not pressing for result or recognition, movement stays open to continuation. Nothing needs to be corrected because nothing has been forced. In this sense stability is not static, but quietly dynamic. It persists by renewing itself through restraint. What remains within its place does not exhaust its source, and what does not seek to stand out is not drawn into resistance. The Dao appears here as a lasting equilibrium that carries action forward precisely because it never demands arrival.

25 - The Greatness of Dào

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

有物混成先天地生。

yǒu wù hún chéng xiān tiān dì shēng 。

寂兮寥兮獨立不改，

jì xī liáo xī dú lì bú gǎi ，

周行而不殆，可以為天下母。

zhōu háng ér bú dài ，kě yǐ wéi tiān xià mǔ 。

吾不知其名，強字之曰道。

wú bú zhī qí míng ，qiáng zì zhī yuē dào 。

強為之名曰大。

qiáng wéi zhī míng yuē dà 。

大曰逝，逝曰遠，遠曰反。

dà yuē shì ，shì yuē yuǎn ，yuǎn yuē fǎn 。

故道大、天大、地大、人亦大。

gù dào dà 、tiān dà 、dì dà 、rén yì dà 。

域中有四大，而人居其一焉。

yù zhōng yǒu sì dà ，ér rén jū qí yī yān 。

人法地，地法天，天法道，道法自然

rén fǎ dì ，dì fǎ tiān ，tiān fǎ dào ，dào fǎ zì rán

The Greatness of Dào

There does exist an entity
quite nebulously, perfectly,

ere Heaven and Earth, born on its own:

A silent, oh!, and empty zone,
unchangeable, and stand-alone,

it's like revolving everywhere,
yet inexhaustible it's there,

it may be therefore seen as rather
once everybody's Primal Mother.

I do not know its name somehow,

I call it, designating, Dào;

and being just compelled to state
a name to it, I call it great.

This great means: goes away, and so

means goes away... far-reaching, though

far-reaching means: return to go.

So: great are Dào, and Heaven’s fate...
and Earth and King are also great.

Four Greats the Middle Kingdom chose,
the King resides as one of those.

Man follows traces, Earth did plough,

the Earth then follows Heaven's vow,

the Heaven follows Dào, and now,

its nature only follows: Dào.

[

This chapter turns toward origin without turning it into an object. Laozi speaks of something complete before heaven and earth, present without form and active without effort. It is introduced through negation rather than definition, as what precedes distinction and therefore cannot be captured by it. Silent and vast, it moves without being driven and returns without being compelled. The text does not elevate this source through attributes, but through its independence. It exists without leaning on what follows from it. By placing the Dao prior to measure and direction, the chapter loosens the impulse to seek foundations in visible structures. What grounds the world does not compete within it. The Dao remains itself while allowing all things to arise and pass. Its continuity does not depend on recognition, explanation, or command. The chapter suggests that origin is not a point in time, but a persistent condition. It does not recede as forms emerge. It remains present as what allows emergence to continue without exhaustion. By refusing to name it concretely, the text protects it from being reduced to an image or a cause among others.

The movement then shifts toward scale and correspondence. Laozi names the Dao as great, and from this greatness traces a sequence of alignment. Heaven follows the Dao, earth follows heaven, and humanity follows earth. This ordering is not presented as hierarchy in the sense of control, but as relational orientation. Each level responds to what sustains it. Greatness here does not imply dominance or expansion, but capacity. What is great contains room for movement without obstruction. When each element aligns with what exceeds it, coherence emerges without enforcement. Disorder appears when this orientation is ignored and self-sufficiency is assumed. The chapter emphasizes that alignment is not obedience, but fit. To follow what is greater is not to diminish oneself, but to remain within a movement that can be carried. By recognizing position within a larger pattern, action avoids overreach and retains continuity. The Dao functions as the widest context, within which all other motions find their place.

What becomes clear in this rendering is that origin and order are inseparable. The Dao does not rule by issuing directions, yet direction arises from staying aligned with it. By acknowledging what precedes and exceeds human intention, one acts without claiming authorship of the whole. The chapter closes on the sense that stability is preserved not by asserting mastery, but by remaining situated within a larger movement. When action respects this orientation, it continues without strain and without needing to be secured.

26 - Serenity

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

重為輕根，靜為躁君。

zhòng wéi qīng gēn ，jìng wéi zào jūn 。

是以君子終日行不離輜重。

shì yǐ jūn zǐ zhōng rì háng bú lí zī zhòng 。

雖有榮觀燕處超然。

suī yǒu róng guān yàn chù chāo rán 。

奈何萬乘之主而以身輕天下。

nài hé wàn chéng zhī zhǔ ér yǐ shēn qīng tiān xià 。

輕則失根，躁則失君。

qīng zé shī gēn ，zào zé shī jūn 。

Calmness

The heavy serves, light's root to be,

the calm as restless' mastery.

And so the wise men walk all-day,

not leaving heavy bags away.

Although with brilliant prospects, they

keep calm, transcend them anyway.

How myriad chariots' ruler, sightly,

and yet, because self-centered slightly,
could take then all the world so lightly?

Too lightly – lose your root then, be

too restless – lose your sovereignty.

[

Stillness, as Laozi presents it here, is not a pause but a foundation. It describes the weight that allows things to remain themselves and to act without being scattered. The Dao is the deep, unmoving ground on which movement becomes possible and meaningful. From this perspective, the sage does not flee the world but carries its quiet center within. Whoever loses this inner heaviness becomes restless, and restlessness produces forgetfulness of what is essential.

This chapter observes how external motion is often confused with inner vitality, although true composure arises from the ability to return to what is constant. Stillness gives shape to action in the same way that a root gives stability to a tree that grows in all directions.

In your poetic rendering this insight appears with clarity and restraint. The contrast between gravitas and lightness becomes a small meditation in itself. The lines invite the reader to sense how true calm supports movement instead of opposing it. The German version traces this balance with unforced rhythm and allows the intuition of weight and return to emerge from the phrasing rather than from direct explanation.

On a broader level the chapter suggests a principle that applies to life and leadership. Those who keep the inner center steady are not shaken by outer turbulence. They act with quiet persistence and preserve direction when others lose it. The Dao functions here as the gentle but enduring source of all orientation. Whoever remains in touch with this source can move through the world without becoming fragmented, and can guide others without pressing themselves into the foreground.

27 - True Mastership

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

善行無轍跡。善言無瑕謫。

shàn háng wú zhé jì 。shàn yán wú xiá zhé 。

善數不用籌策。善閉無關楗而不可開。

shàn shù bú yòng chóu cè 。shàn bì wú guān jiàn ér bú kě kāi 。

善結無繩約而不可解。

shàn jié wú shéng yuē ér bú kě jiě 。

是以聖人常善救人，故無棄人。

shì yǐ shèng rén cháng shàn jiù rén ，gù wú qì rén 。

常善救物，故無棄物。是謂襲明。

cháng shàn jiù wù ，gù wú qì wù 。shì wèi xí míng 。

故善人者不善人之師。不善人者善人之資。

gù shàn rén zhě bú shàn rén zhī shī 。bú shàn rén zhě shàn rén zhī zī 。

不貴其師、不愛其資，

bú guì qí shī 、bú ài qí zī ，

雖智大迷，是謂要妙。

suī zhì dà mí ，shì wèi yào miào 。

True Mastership

No track or trace good walkers cause,

good speakers: without faults or flaws.

Good reckoners: no tallies and
no writing tablets then at hand,

good closers: without bolt and bar,

yet none can open it so far.

Good binders: without knot and rope,

yet to unbind is none to cope.

That's why are all along wise men

so good at saving others then,

hence, never them abandoning;

while good at saving creatures ever,

hence, giving up a creature never –

enlightenment so following.

So: good men teach the not good men,

the good men's task: the not good then.

No longer teachers to adore,
their task not loving anymore:

though knowledge, great confusion, see:

it's called Essential Mystery.

[

This chapter turns attention to continuity rather than intervention. Laozi describes skill not as correction, but as preservation. What is well guided does not require repair, what is well held does not need to be secured, what is well spoken leaves no loose ends. The emphasis lies on a mode of action that does not break the natural course of things. Mastery appears not in visible effort, but in the absence of damage. The text suggests that true skill works before disruption arises. Instead of reacting to failure, it prevents fracture by remaining aligned with what already functions. Learning here is not accumulation, but refinement of attention. What is crude requires force, what is subtle requires care. By staying close to beginnings and transitions, one avoids the need for dramatic correction later. The Dao is present as a continuity that can be followed, not imposed. When action remains congruent with this continuity, nothing essential is lost.

The chapter then widens its scope from individual skill to transmission. Laozi speaks of using the light of understanding to illuminate what remains obscure, not by replacing it, but by remaining connected to it. The sage learns from the unlearned and teaches without positioning himself above them. This reciprocity prevents knowledge from hardening into hierarchy. What is broken is not rejected, what is incomplete is not despised. Instead, everything is held within a larger coherence that does not divide sharply between capable and incapable. The text implies that separation itself produces fragility. By maintaining connection, one preserves resilience. Teaching, in this sense, is not instruction but inclusion. Nothing is discarded, because nothing stands outside the Dao. What appears useless retains its place within the whole, and therefore remains available for transformation.

What emerges in this version is a meditation on care as a sustaining force. The language avoids heroic notions of mastery and replaces them with attentiveness that does not interrupt. Skill appears as the capacity to keep things intact by not forcing them into improvement. The chapter reads as an affirmation that guidance is most effective when it leaves no trace of control. By remaining close to continuity and refusing to sever what seems flawed, one protects the wholeness that allows change without loss.

28 - Visionary Power

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

知其雄，守其雌，為天下谿。

zhī qí xióng ，shǒu qí cí ，wéi tiān xià jī 。

為天下谿，常德不離，復歸於嬰兒。

wéi tiān xià jī ，cháng dé bú lí ，fù guī yú yīng ér 。

知其白，守其黑，為天下式。

zhī qí bái ，shǒu qí hēi ，wéi tiān xià shì 。

為天下式，常德不忒，復歸於無極。

wéi tiān xià shì ，cháng dé bú tuī ，fù guī yú wú jí 。

知其榮，守其辱，為天下谷。

zhī qí róng ，shǒu qí rǔ ，wéi tiān xià gǔ 。

為天下谷，常德乃足，復歸於樸。

wéi tiān xià gǔ ，cháng dé nǎi zú ，fù guī yú pǔ 。

樸散則為器，聖人用之則為官長。

pǔ sàn zé wéi qì ，shèng rén yòng zhī zé wéi guān zhǎng 。

故大制不割。

gù dà zhì bú gē 。

Visionary Power

Know manhood, keep your womanhood,

become world's riverbed for good.

Become world's riverbed, and be

with Inner Power constantly:

return, again like babyishly.

Your lightness know, your darkness hold:

as all world's model to unfold.

Become world's model, failing never

as Inner Power so forever:

return, and home - no limit told.

Your favor know, disfavor keep:
as all world's valley floor to reap.

World's valley be, eternally,
let ample Inner Power be:

return, your nativeness to see.

If nativeness is once dispersed,
it will become a tool at first;

it will be formed, used by wise men,

for elders and officials then:

"Great carvings: need no chips again"!

[

Chapter 28 speaks in paired gestures that do not cancel each other but define a place of balance. To know the masculine while holding to the feminine, to know the bright while remaining with the dark, to know honor while staying with humility: these are not calls to reversal, but to orientation. Laozi describes a form of awareness that recognizes power without inhabiting it. Strength is acknowledged, but it is not made into a dwelling. What matters is not what one can command, but where one chooses to remain. The chapter insists that wisdom lies less in acquisition than in position. By knowing the extremes without settling in them, one preserves freedom of movement. This posture does not deny differentiation, but it refuses fixation. Knowing does not require occupation. The sage remains accessible to the full range of experience precisely because no single quality becomes definitive. In this way, Chapter 28 continues the Daoist practice of holding opposites without resolving them, allowing each to inform the other while remaining grounded in a deeper continuity.

The recurring image of the valley introduces a spatial understanding of this continuity. What is low gathers what is high; what is open receives what is formed. By remaining with the valley, one does not withdraw from the world but becomes capable of sustaining it. The Dao appears here as the condition that allows forms to arise without being forced and to dissolve without loss. Return is not regression, but renewal. The movement back to what is uncarved restores the capacity for transformation. The “uncarved block” does not signify primitiveness, but potential that has not yet been narrowed. It names a state in which differentiation remains possible because it has not hardened. By preserving this openness, one becomes a reference point rather than a center, allowing order to emerge without being imposed.

Your poetic rendering holds this orientation with steady restraint. The contrasts are presented without emphasis, allowing their mutual dependence to remain visible. The language avoids resolution, keeping return as an active movement rather than a final state. In this way, the poem aligns closely with the chapter’s insight: integrity is not achieved by choosing a side, but by remaining faithful to the ground from which all sides arise.

29 - Non-Intervention

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

將欲取天下而為之，吾見其不得已。

jiāng yù qǔ tiān xià ér wéi zhī ，wú jiàn qí bú dé yǐ 。

天下神器，不可為也，

tiān xià shén qì ，bú kě wéi yě ，

為者敗之，執者失之。

wéi zhě bài zhī ，zhí zhě shī zhī 。

夫物或行或隨、或歔或吹、

fū wù huò háng huò suí 、huò xū huò chuī 、

或強或贏、或挫或隳。

huò qiáng huò yíng 、huò cuò huò huī 。

是以聖人去甚、

shì yǐ shèng rén qù shèn 、

去奢、去泰。

qù shē 、qù tài 。

Non-Intervention

You want to take all world, to be
yet interfering it? – I see
that not succeeding, finally.

The world – a spirit's vessel, too,

can not be interfered by you!

Who interferes, destroys by using,

and those, who try to hold, are losing!

So, entities advance or trail,

some snort, some blow, some strong, some frail,

some do destroy, and some do fail.

Wise men avoid excesses, hence,

and they avoid extravagance,

avoid, as well, all affluence.

[

Chapter 29 addresses the impulse to take hold of the world and reveals the quiet error at its center. The world, Laozi suggests, is not an object awaiting improvement but a living process already in motion. To seize it is to misunderstand its nature. What is whole is treated as incomplete, what is dynamic as fixed. The chapter does not condemn action, but it questions the posture from which action arises. When initiative is driven by possession, coherence is disturbed. The Dao is presented as something that cannot be mastered through effort, because it is not separate from the movement it sustains. Whoever attempts to shape the world according to intention introduces strain, and strain produces loss. The warning is subtle rather than dramatic. It points to a limit within agency itself. There is a difference between participating in the world’s unfolding and attempting to stand above it. Chapter 29 insists that wisdom begins with recognizing this difference and respecting the integrity of what already moves of its own accord.

The sequence of actions named in the chapter outlines a restrained causal logic. To take over leads to damage; to grasp leads to loss. These are not punishments imposed from outside, but consequences that follow naturally from misalignment. What is fragile cannot bear force, and what is alive cannot be stabilized without being diminished. The Dao completes itself without supervision. Interference interrupts timing, proportion, and relation. This does not mean withdrawal, but attentiveness. Action that emerges from listening remains light enough to adjust, while action driven by control hardens too quickly. The chapter thus draws a clear boundary between care and domination. To act in accord with the Dao is to remain responsive rather than directive, allowing processes to find their own completion.

Your poetic rendering maintains this restraint with notable steadiness. The language remains observational, avoiding urgency or reproach. Loss appears as an effect, not as a verdict, which preserves the descriptive clarity of the teaching. The calm pacing mirrors the chapter’s counsel to step back before intervening. In this way, the poem reinforces a central Daoist insight: harmony is not preserved by taking hold of the world, but by allowing one’s actions to remain light enough to follow its course.

30 - The Power of Ahimsa अहिंसा

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

以道佐人主者，不以兵強天下。

yǐ dào zuǒ rén zhǔ zhě ，bú yǐ bīng qiáng tiān xià 。

其事好還。師之所處荊棘生焉。

qí shì hǎo hái 。shī zhī suǒ chù jīng jí shēng yān 。

軍之後必有凶年。善有果而已，

jun1 zhī hòu bì yǒu xiōng nián 。shàn yǒu guǒ ér yǐ ，

不敢以取強。果而勿矜。

bú gǎn yǐ qǔ qiáng 。guǒ ér wù jīn 。

果而勿伐。果而勿驕。

guǒ ér wù fá 。guǒ ér wù jiāo 。

果而不得已。果而勿強。

guǒ ér bú dé yǐ 。guǒ ér wù qiáng 。

物壯則老，是謂不道，不道早已。

wù zhuàng zé lǎo ，shì wèi bú dào ，bú dào zǎo yǐ 。

The Power of Ahimsa

A ruler, helped by Dào, of course,

won't use his arms, the world to force

his interests he will complete

by rather doing a retreat.

Where troops to their encampments go,
there thorns and thistles start to grow;

great armies' aftermath appears
to be quite certain famine years.

The good ones: they achieve, yet break,

don't dare, by violence to take.

Achieved – no bragging yet engrossed,

achieved – yet they did never boast,

achieved – not haughtily to leave,

they could not help it but achieve,

achieved results quite easily,
yet did it never forcefully.

All creatures grow, but then grow old,

they called it: not in Dào enfold:

no Dào – an early end foretold.

[

Chapter 30 reflects on the use of force and places it within a wider rhythm of consequence. Laozi does not speak from moral outrage, but from observation. Where weapons and coercion dominate, their effects do not end with the immediate act. What is achieved through force carries within it the seed of decline. Victory obtained in this way does not settle into harmony, but invites repetition and escalation. The chapter situates power within time rather than triumph. It suggests that what relies on aggression cannot sustain itself, because it stands against the tendency of things to balance and return. Strength that does not know restraint exhausts its own ground. The Dao remains indifferent to conquest, yet responsive to excess. What rises unnaturally high prepares its own falling away.

The text draws attention to the atmosphere that follows violence. Where armies are present, thorns and weeds grow. This image does not function as metaphor alone, but as a description of how disorder spreads beyond its original cause. Force alters not only outcomes, but conditions. It reshapes the field in which future actions must take place. Laozi therefore distinguishes necessity from indulgence. Action may at times be unavoidable, but indulgence in power transforms necessity into habit. The sage recognizes this difference and refuses to dwell in achievement. Completion is followed by withdrawal, not celebration. By stepping back, further imbalance is prevented. The Dao favors those who know when to stop.

In your poetic rendering this sobriety is carefully preserved. The language avoids both condemnation and glorification, allowing consequence to speak for itself. The tone remains measured, as if the text were watching events unfold rather than judging them. This restraint reinforces the central insight of the chapter. Power that does not linger becomes less destructive, while power that seeks affirmation multiplies its costs. The poem thus aligns with the Daoist understanding that endurance arises not from force, but from timely release.

31 - Victories for Peace

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

夫佳兵者不祥之器，物或惡之，故有道者不處。

fū jiā bīng zhě bú xiáng zhī qì ，wù huò è zhī ，gù yǒu dào zhě bú chù 。

君子居則貴左，用兵則貴右。

jūn zǐ jū zé guì zuǒ ，yòng bīng zé guì yòu 。

兵者不祥之器，非君子之器，

bīng zhě bú xiáng zhī qì ，fēi jūn zǐ zhī qì ，

不得已而用之，恬淡為上。

bú dé yǐ ér yòng zhī ，tián dàn wéi shàng 。

勝而不美，而美之者，是樂殺人。

shèng ér bú měi ，ér měi zhī zhě ，shì lè shā rén 。

夫樂殺人者，則不可得志於天下矣。

fū lè shā rén zhě ，zé bú kě dé zhì yú tiān xià yǐ 。

吉事尚左，凶事尚右。

jí shì shàng zuǒ ，xiōng shì shàng yòu 。

偏將軍居左，上將軍居右。

piān jiāng jun1 jū zuǒ ，shàng jiāng jun1 jū yòu 。

言以喪禮處之。殺人之眾，

yán yǐ sàng lǐ chù zhī 。shā rén zhī zhòng ，

以悲哀泣之，戰勝以喪禮處之。

yǐ bēi āi qì zhī ，zhàn shèng yǐ sàng lǐ chù zhī 。

Victories for Peace

The finest weapons represent
an inauspicious instrument,

all creatures possibly detest them;

thus men of Dào will not request them.

The nobles like at home their left,

then, using arms, their right hand's deft.

Ill-omened tools all arms present,

for noble men no instrument;

you have no choice, to use them, too?
The best will peace and quiet do.

Do win, yet not delighted then:

but joy about this would again
be pleasure, too, in killing men.

For pleasure just in killing men
can never let achieve you then
to reach your goals on earth, again!

auspicious things: esteem the left,

choose right: of auspices bereft.

Stand lower ranks on left side, might

the higher ranks stand on the right;

their place: like burial rites invite!

Are numerous of people killed,
do weep, with grief and sorrow filled;

and if victorious are their fights –
so place them like in burial rites!

[

This chapter reflects on the use of force by stripping it of any aura of legitimacy. Laozi treats weapons not as instruments of strength, but as signs of failure. They belong to necessity, not preference. Their presence signals that harmony has already been lost. The text resists any attempt to aestheticize power or to cloak violence in ideals. Even when force cannot be avoided, it remains something to be handled with gravity rather than pride. To take pleasure in coercion is to mistake compulsion for alignment. The Dao does not appear where domination is celebrated. It withdraws when action becomes intoxicated with its own impact. What is gained through force carries a residue that cannot be integrated cleanly. The chapter insists that effectiveness measured by conquest is unstable, because it relies on conditions that must be continually reproduced. Violence, once normalized, demands repetition. Laozi’s stance is not pacifist rhetoric, but a sober assessment of consequence.

The text then turns to attitude rather than outcome. Even in situations where force is used, Laozi emphasizes restraint of spirit. Victory is not an occasion for celebration, because it rests on loss. To rejoice in success achieved through harm is to ignore what has been diminished. The sage therefore acts without relish and withdraws without display. There is no cultivation of fear, no inflation of triumph. By refusing to glorify violence, one prevents it from becoming habitual. The chapter suggests that escalation often begins not with action, but with the pleasure taken in it. When satisfaction attaches itself to domination, balance is already compromised. Mourning, rather than celebration, acknowledges the cost that accompanies necessity. This acknowledgment keeps force from hardening into identity.

Here the rendering emphasizes sobriety as a form of clarity. The language avoids accusation and resists dramatic contrast. Weapons are named without fascination, and victory is described without emphasis. The tone remains even, allowing the ethical weight of the chapter to emerge from calm observation. The poem neither condemns nor excuses, but holds necessity within clear limits. By doing so, it reflects the Daoist insight that alignment is not achieved by eliminating violence, but by refusing to let it define meaning. What endures is not force itself, but the restraint that prevents it from becoming central.

32 - Transcendency

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道常無名。

dào cháng wú míng 。

*樸雖小¹天下莫能臣也。

*pǔ suī xiǎo 1tiān xià mò néng chén yě 。

侯王若能守之，萬物將自賓。

hóu wáng ruò néng shǒu zhī ，wàn wù jiāng zì bīn 。

天地相合以降甘露，民莫之令而自均。

tiān dì xiàng hé yǐ jiàng gān lù ，mín mò zhī lìng ér zì jūn 。

始制有名，名亦既有，

shǐ zhì yǒu míng ，míng yì jì yǒu ，

夫亦將知止，知止可以不殆。

fū yì jiāng zhī zhǐ ，zhī zhǐ kě yǐ bú dài 。

譬道之在天下，猶川谷之於江海。

pì dào zhī zài tiān xià ，yóu chuān gǔ zhī yú jiāng hǎi 。

Transcendency

The Dào is nameless constantly:

of natural simplicity,
though small, its service none can see.

If prince and king could hold to it,

then myriads of creatures fit
themselves as guests, spontaneously!

Would Heaven and Earth, unitedly,:
send down sweet dew in harmony;

by none commanded might they be,
yet by themselves quite orderly.

Start regulations: terms subsist;

in turn, if names do once exist,

then know, in turn, to end: in peace,

not danger, can you know to cease.

Dào's symbol for existing so:

it's like the rivulets: they go,
in rivers and the sea to flow.

[

Chapter 32 turns attention to what remains unnamed and therefore unappropriated. The Dao is described as constant and without designation, not because it is obscure, but because naming would already begin to limit it. What has no name cannot be claimed, divided, or fixed. From this perspective, order does not arise through definition, but through restraint. When rulers and leaders refrain from imposing names and distinctions too early, things are allowed to find their own coherence. The chapter suggests that domination often begins with classification. To name is to separate, and separation invites control. By leaving the Dao unnamed, Laozi preserves its capacity to sustain without governing. The world aligns itself when it is not prematurely organized.

This restraint is further illustrated through images of return and containment. When names multiply, knowing where to stop becomes essential. Boundaries that arise too quickly harden relations and provoke conflict. The Dao functions differently. It gathers without enclosing and guides without directing. The comparison to streams flowing toward the sea emphasizes a natural convergence that requires no command. What is lower receives what is higher, not through submission, but through position. In this movement, hierarchy dissolves into orientation. Order emerges as an effect, not as a plan. The chapter thus articulates a politics of non-imposition, grounded in trust toward processes that precede intention.

In the poetic rendering this quiet discipline is sustained with notable care. The language remains open, resisting the temptation to clarify too much. Naming is held back, allowing resonance to take precedence over definition. The tone remains calm and unassertive, mirroring the chapter’s refusal of premature structure. Meaning unfolds without pressure, as if allowed rather than produced. In this way, the poem reflects the insight that stability does not require control. What remains unnamed retains the power to gather all things without being exhausted by them.

33 - Enlightenment

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

知人者智，自知者明。

zhī rén zhě zhì ，zì zhī zhě míng 。

勝人者有力，自勝者強。

shèng rén zhě yǒu lì ，zì shèng zhě qiáng 。

知足者富。強行者有志。

zhī zú zhě fù 。qiáng háng zhě yǒu zhì 。

不失其所者久。

bú shī qí suǒ zhě jiǔ 。

死而不亡者，壽。

sǐ ér bú wáng zhě ，shòu 。

Enlightenment

To know the others – sapient,

to know yourself – enlightenment;

to vanquish others – force at length,

yourself to vanquish – inner strength.

And wealth – to know when it's enough,

a forceful go – your will is tough;

no loss of place – consistency,

no doom by death – longevity.

[

This chapter reflects on strength as a matter of orientation rather than force. Laozi distinguishes between knowing others and knowing oneself, between mastering situations and remaining steady within them. External knowledge allows comparison and control, but it does not guarantee clarity. Self-knowledge, by contrast, does not expand outward. It settles inward and stabilizes perception. The chapter suggests that many forms of power rely on opposition. They require something to be overcome. Inner steadiness does not. It remains intact regardless of circumstance. To endure is presented not as stubborn persistence, but as alignment with what sustains life over time. The text observes that those who depend on external measures of success exhaust themselves. They are strong only as long as resistance is available. What draws strength from inner clarity does not need reinforcement. It holds without pressure. The Dao is implied as the condition that allows this kind of strength to remain quiet and continuous. It does not magnify effort, but prevents dispersion. By remaining grounded in oneself, action becomes less reactive and more consistent.

The movement then turns toward sufficiency and contentment. Laozi contrasts accumulation with knowing when enough has been reached. Possession multiplies demands, while sufficiency settles them. The chapter does not condemn wealth or activity, but questions their claim to permanence. What is gained externally can be lost externally. What is secured through alignment remains accessible. Contentment is described not as satisfaction with less, but as freedom from the need to add. This freedom reduces friction and preserves energy. The text suggests that those who know sufficiency are not easily disturbed, because their orientation does not depend on increase. Desire narrows attention and accelerates exhaustion. Sufficiency widens attention and slows consumption. The Dao operates here as a regulator that prevents excess by restoring proportion. When movement remains proportional, continuity replaces urgency. Action becomes durable because it does not outrun its own resources.

What emerges in this rendering is a view of strength that rests on restraint rather than expansion. Endurance is shown as the result of staying within one’s measure and not mistaking accumulation for stability. By knowing oneself and recognizing sufficiency, one avoids the cycles of pursuit that lead to depletion. The Dao appears as the quiet ground of this orientation, sustaining action that neither presses forward nor collapses inward, but continues without strain.

34 - Unselfish Grandeur

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

大道氾兮，其可左右。

dà dào fán xī ，qí kě zuǒ yòu 。

萬物恃之以生而不辭，功成而不名有。

wàn wù shì zhī yǐ shēng ér bú cí ，gōng chéng ér bú míng yǒu 。

衣養萬物而不為主，常無欲可名於小。

yī yǎng wàn wù ér bú wéi zhǔ ，cháng wú yù kě míng yú xiǎo 。

萬物歸焉，而不為主，可名為大。

wàn wù guī yān ，ér bú wéi zhǔ ，kě míng wéi dà 。

以其終不自為大，故能成其大。

yǐ qí zhōng bú zì wéi dà ，gù néng chéng qí dà 。

Unselfish Grandeur

Great Dào is overflowing, oh!,

it can be left or right, to flow.

Depending on it, is affected
all creatures' life, and too, connected
to being born, but not rejected;

its merits are accomplished best,
although not named, as if possessed.

It gives all beings cloth and feed
but not to form their lord, indeed;

for wishless, constantly, at all:
so one can designate it small.

returning all, at any rate,
and yet not as their lord to call:

and so it can be named as great.

For finally it does not go
to take itself as great to show,

it can complete its greatness so.

[

Chapter 34 presents the Dao as something vast yet unobtrusive, all-encompassing yet without claim. It flows everywhere, nourishing all things without distinction, and nothing stands outside its reach. Laozi emphasizes that this greatness does not announce itself. The Dao does not command, does not demand recognition, and does not impose direction. It accomplishes its work by remaining close to what is small and ordinary. Because it does not act as a master, it never becomes an oppressor. Because it does not assert authority, it cannot be resisted. The chapter carefully detaches magnitude from domination. What is truly great does not need to appear large. The Dao supports growth without ownership and completion without credit. Its presence is continuous, not episodic, and its influence is felt precisely because it does not interrupt. By refusing a central position, it remains available to all movements. Greatness here is defined by inclusion rather than elevation, and by patience rather than force.

This mode of greatness reshapes conventional expectations of leadership and agency. What claims superiority isolates itself, but what remains open becomes indispensable. The Dao is compared to something that accomplishes without directing and guides without ruling. All things return to it, yet it never claims them as possessions. This return is not obedience, but affinity. The chapter suggests that true authority arises from reliability rather than command. What can be trusted does not need to be enforced. By remaining low, the Dao becomes unavoidable. It enters all processes without competing with them. In doing so, it allows each thing to fulfill its own nature. The refusal to dominate is not weakness, but the condition of sustained influence. What stands apart can be challenged, but what permeates cannot be displaced.

In the poetic rendering this quiet vastness is conveyed with restraint. The language avoids emphasis and allows scale to emerge through repetition rather than declaration. Greatness appears without display, and movement unfolds without urgency. The tone remains even, mirroring the chapter’s insistence that what truly supports the world does so without drawing attention to itself.

35 - Incorruptibility

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

執大象天下往。

zhí dà xiàng tiān xià wǎng 。

往而不害安平太。

wǎng ér bú hài ān píng tài 。

樂與餌，過客止。

lè yǔ ěr ，guò kè zhǐ 。

道之出口淡乎其無味。

dào zhī chū kǒu dàn hū qí wú wèi 。

視之不足見。

shì zhī bú zú jiàn 。

聽之不足聞。

tīng zhī bú zú wén 。

用之不足既。

yòng zhī bú zú jì 。

Incorruptibility

Hold on to your Great Image's worth:
will come to you then Heaven and Earth,

will come, and yet no harm to see:
secure and peaceful... utterly!

Alluring food and music will
let passing travelers stand still;

Dào's words seem bland and tasteless mere.

To look at it – it won't appear,

to listen – not enough to hear,

to use - not to exhaust, it's sheer.

[

This chapter turns toward what draws without display. Laozi speaks of the great image that has no visible form, yet gathers everything around it. What attracts here is not seduction, but orientation. When one aligns with the Dao, movement occurs without persuasion and presence is felt without announcement. The text contrasts this quiet gravity with sensory appeal. Music and rich food arrest attention for a moment, then pass. The Dao, by contrast, offers no spectacle, yet does not exhaust itself. It remains available without demanding focus. What is truly central does not need to advertise its qualities. Its effect lies in steadiness rather than stimulation. The chapter suggests that what is most reliable is often overlooked because it does not excite. Depth works slowly, without novelty. The Dao is described as bland, tasteless, almost empty, and precisely for that reason inexhaustible. It does not corrupt, because it does not entice through excess. What has no sharp edge cannot be used up by desire.

The text then reflects on perception and expectation. What is looked at directly may appear insignificant, and what is listened for may seem inaudible. Laozi does not deny the senses, but questions their authority. Sensory attraction pulls attention outward and scatters it among objects. The Dao does the opposite. It gathers without pulling and holds without grasping. Those who remain with it are not dazzled, but they are not deprived either. The chapter implies that corruption begins where attraction promises more than it can sustain. What flatters the senses often shortens endurance. By contrast, what offers little to appetite preserves continuity. The sage therefore does not compete with allure. There is no attempt to replace pleasure with austerity, only a refusal to confuse stimulation with nourishment. What supports life most deeply does not call attention to itself.

What emerges in this rendering is an emphasis on incorruptibility through modesty. The language stays close to the contrast between appeal and endurance, without turning it into moral instruction. The Dao appears as something that cannot be consumed because it does not present itself as an object of desire. Its presence is felt in stability rather than excitement. By remaining unremarkable, it avoids appropriation and remains intact. The chapter reads as a meditation on why what truly sustains does not need to persuade, and why what persuades rarely sustains.

36 - The Power of Paradox

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

將欲歙之，必固張之。

jiāng yù xī zhī ，bì gù zhāng zhī 。

將欲弱之，必固強之。

jiāng yù ruò zhī ，bì gù qiáng zhī 。

將欲廢之，必固興之。

jiāng yù fèi zhī ，bì gù xìng zhī 。

將欲取之，必固與之。

jiāng yù qǔ zhī ，bì gù yǔ zhī 。

是謂微明。柔弱勝剛強。

shì wèi wēi míng 。róu ruò shèng gāng qiáng 。

魚不可脫於淵，國之利器不可以示人。

yú bú kě tuō yú yuān ，guó zhī lì qì bú kě yǐ shì rén 。

The Power of the Paradox

You want it to contract – foresee:

you first must stretch it certainly;

you wish to weaken it at length –

you surely first must raise its strength;

and if you wish it to reject –

you must promote it , first, in fact;

to take away it , you intend –

you surely have it first to spend:

as subtle clarity it's meant.

The soft and weak beat hard and strong.

From depth, no fish do take along;

and realm's sharp weapons shouldn't be
displayed to people, obversely.

[

Chapter 36 articulates a principle of reversal that operates quietly within processes of change. What is to be contracted must first be allowed to expand, what is to be weakened must first be strengthened, what is to be removed must first be permitted to flourish. Laozi does not describe a tactic, but a rhythm. The chapter observes how transformation unfolds from within its opposite. Sudden force does not create lasting change, but prepares resistance. By contrast, allowing a movement to complete itself carries within it the conditions for return. The Dao works through sequence rather than intervention. It does not interrupt growth, but lets growth reveal its own limits. In this way, reversal appears not as negation, but as consequence. What reaches excess naturally bends back toward moderation. The chapter names this pattern without dramatizing it. It presents transformation as something that happens when pressure is withheld rather than applied.

This insight is paired with the image of softness overcoming hardness. What is pliant persists, while what is rigid breaks. Laozi draws attention to the quiet efficacy of what yields. Softness does not confront strength directly, yet it outlasts it. The Dao aligns with this mode of endurance. By remaining flexible, it absorbs force without being shaped by it. The chapter thus reframes power as the capacity to remain responsive. What adapts survives. What insists exhausts itself. This is not a moral lesson, but an observation of how processes behave over time. Subtlety functions more effectively than display. What is done without noise leaves fewer traces and fewer scars.

In the poetic rendering this logic of reversal is held with restraint. The language avoids strategic overtones and keeps the movement descriptive rather than prescriptive. Expansion and contraction appear as phases rather than opposites. The tone remains calm, allowing the reader to sense the pattern without being instructed. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s central intuition: lasting change does not arise from forceful correction, but from allowing tendencies to reveal their own turning points.

37 - The Victory of Contentedness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道常無為，而無不為。

dào cháng wú wéi ，ér wú bú wéi 。

侯王若能守之，萬物將自化。

hóu wáng ruò néng shǒu zhī ，wàn wù jiāng zì huà 。

化而欲作，吾將鎮之以無名之樸。

huà ér yù zuò ，wú jiāng zhèn zhī yǐ wú míng zhī pǔ 。

無名之樸，夫亦將無欲。

wú míng zhī pǔ ，fū yì jiāng wú yù 。

不欲以靜，天下將自定。

bú yù yǐ jìng ，tiān xià jiāng zì dìng 。

The Victory of Contentedness

Dào always doesn't interfere,

yet there is nothing undone here.

If prince and king made it the norm,

all creatures by themselves transform;

transform, yet still desires storm:

I would restrain them carefully
by Namelessness' simplicity.

The nativeness of namelessness:
this, truly, makes desireless.

Desireless: thus peace will be –

and all world self-determinedly.

[

Chapter 37 brings the movement of the text to a point of quiet completion. The Dao is presented as acting through non action, yet nothing remains undone. This is not a paradox meant to provoke, but a description of how coherence sustains itself. When the Dao remains unobtrusive, all things transform of their own accord. Laozi shifts attention away from technique and toward disposition. The issue is not whether action occurs, but whether it originates from interference or from alignment. The chapter suggests that interference begins where naming hardens into ambition. Desire, once fixed, introduces strain. When desire is allowed to settle, movement becomes simple again. The Dao does not require management, because it does not compete with what unfolds. By remaining unnamed and unasserted, it allows differentiation without fragmentation. Order arises without command, and completion follows without enforcement.

This principle is extended to human conduct and governance without being framed as instruction. When those in positions of influence refrain from imposing will, processes regain their own balance. The world is not corrected from outside, but steadied from within. The return to simplicity is not a regression, but a release from excess structuring. The image of the uncarved block reappears here as a reminder that form need not be eliminated, only softened. When distinctions remain flexible, they do not dominate. The Dao operates beneath visible arrangements, sustaining them without attachment. What remains calm does not provoke resistance. In this way, non action functions not as passivity, but as trust in the self ordering capacity of what is alive.

In the poetic rendering this closure is held with restraint. The language does not announce an ending, yet it conveys a sense of settling. Movement slows without stopping. Desire fades without being denied. The tone remains even, allowing the final insight of the book’s first arc to resonate quietly. Nothing is resolved in a final sense, yet everything is left in place. The chapter thus completes its cycle by returning to the beginning. What has no name remains effective, and what refrains from acting leaves nothing undone.

38 - The Power of Non-Intentionality

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

上德不德是以有德。

shàng dé bú dé shì yǐ yǒu dé 。

下德不失德是以無德。

xià dé bú shī dé shì yǐ wú dé 。

上德無為而無以為。

shàng dé wú wéi ér wú yǐ wéi 。

下德無為而有以為。

xià dé wú wéi ér yǒu yǐ wéi 。

上仁為之而無以為。

shàng rén wéi zhī ér wú yǐ wéi 。

上義為之而有以為。

shàng yì wéi zhī ér yǒu yǐ wéi 。

上禮為之而莫之以應，則攘臂而扔之。

shàng lǐ wéi zhī ér mò zhī yǐ yīng ，zé rǎng bì ér rēng zhī 。

故失道而後德。失德而後仁。

gù shī dào ér hòu dé 。shī dé ér hòu rén 。

失仁而後義。失義而後禮。

shī rén ér hòu yì 。shī yì ér hòu lǐ 。

夫禮者忠信之薄而亂之首。

fū lǐ zhě zhōng xìn zhī báo ér luàn zhī shǒu 。

前識者，道之華而愚之始。

qián shí zhě ，dào zhī huá ér yú zhī shǐ 。

是以大丈夫，處其厚，不居其薄。

shì yǐ dà zhàng fū ，chù qí hòu ，bú jū qí báo 。

處其實，不居其華。故去彼取此。

chù qí shí ，bú jū qí huá 。gù qù bǐ qǔ cǐ 。

The Power of Unintentionality

Superior Inner Power's core
seems Inner Power to ignore

got Inner Power thus the more.

Inferior Power can't let go
of Inner Power, does it ... so
keep any Inner Power? - no!

Superior Inner Power mere
does act, but does not interfere,
without intended doing here,

inferior Inner Power mere
does act, but does not interfere,
yet with intended doing here.

Does high humaneness interfere,
yet then without intentions here;

high justice interferes, and yet
it's doing with intention that.

Do highest morals interfere,
and yet, as none conforms, they sheer

roll up their sleeves and force it here.

And so, if losing Dào, then due
the Inner Power will ensue,

is Inner Power lost then, see:
it's followed by humanity,

is also lost humanity,
by justice followed will it be,

is lost then justice, finally,
it's followed by morality.

Then, truly will morality
thin out all faith and honesty,

and great confusion starts to be.

Those prophets: Dào's embellishment,

and also foolery's ascent!

Thus, great, respected men excel:

in their abundance they do dwell,

not staying superficially.

They dwell in substantiality,

don't stay in their adornment rather.

Rejecting one, they choose the other.

* s. ch. 38!

[

Chapter 38 marks a decisive shift by distinguishing the Dao from its later derivatives. Highest virtue is described as not consciously virtuous, and precisely for that reason it remains whole. When virtue becomes deliberate, it already signals a loss of immediacy. Laozi traces a gradual descent from Dao to virtue, from virtue to benevolence, from benevolence to righteousness, and finally to ritual. Each step introduces more intention and more self reference. What began as natural alignment becomes effort, then enforcement. The chapter does not condemn these later forms outright, but it reveals their compensatory character. They arise where direct coherence has weakened. Virtue that must be asserted has already become fragile. By naming this sequence, Laozi exposes how moral systems often appear not at the height of harmony, but at the point where it has begun to fail.

This analysis reframes ethical behavior as a matter of depth rather than correctness. The more one relies on visible norms and formal gestures, the more trust has already been lost. Ritual, placed at the end of the sequence, is shown as both necessary and dangerous. It preserves order when nothing else holds, yet it easily hardens into empty form. Laozi observes that when people cling to appearances of propriety, substance has already thinned. What is rigid demands compliance, but cannot restore alignment. The Dao, by contrast, works without reference to itself. It does not need justification, because it does not separate intention from action. The chapter thus warns against confusing moral display with moral ground. What is enforced may succeed outwardly, yet inward coherence cannot be compelled.

In the poetic rendering this descent is conveyed without accusation. The language remains measured, allowing the sequence to unfold as observation rather than critique. Each layer appears as a response to loss, not as a failure of character. The tone resists nostalgia for a pure origin and instead maintains clarity about process. In this way, the poem preserves the chapter’s insight that the deepest order does not announce itself. Where virtue no longer needs to be named, it remains closest to the Dao.

39 - Harmony through Simplicity

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

昔之得一者。天得一以清。

xī zhī dé yī zhě 。tiān dé yī yǐ qīng 。

地得一以寧。神得一以靈。

dì dé yī yǐ níng 。shén dé yī yǐ líng 。

谷得一以盈。萬物得一以生。

gǔ dé yī yǐ yíng 。wàn wù dé yī yǐ shēng 。

侯王得一以為天下貞。其致之。

hóu wáng dé yī yǐ wéi tiān xià zhēn 。qí zhì zhī 。

天無以清將恐裂。地無以寧將恐廢。

tiān wú yǐ qīng jiāng kǒng liè 。dì wú yǐ níng jiāng kǒng fèi 。

神無以靈將恐歇。谷無以盈將恐竭。

shén wú yǐ líng jiāng kǒng xiē 。gǔ wú yǐ yíng jiāng kǒng jié 。

萬物無以生將恐滅。侯王無以貞將恐蹶。

wàn wù wú yǐ shēng jiāng kǒng miè 。hóu wáng wú yǐ zhēn jiāng kǒng juě 。

故貴以賤為本，高以下為基。

gù guì yǐ jiàn wéi běn ，gāo yǐ xià wéi jī 。

是以侯王自稱孤、寡、不穀。

shì yǐ hóu wáng zì chēng gū 、guǎ 、bú yù 。

此非以賤為本邪﹖非乎。

cǐ fēi yǐ jiàn wéi běn xié ﹖fēi hū 。

至譽無譽。不欲琭琭如玉珞珞如石。

zhì yù wú yù 。bú yù lù lù rú yù luò luò rú shí 。

Harmony through Simplicity

In ancient times got Oneness here:

got One the Heaven, thus was clear,

the Earth got One, thus peace-attractive,

the spirits got One, thus effective,

the valleys got One, thereby rife.

All creatures got One, thus more life,

when prince and king attained the One,
as all world's norm they so did run.

This was by it, by Oneness, done!

When Heaven is not getting clear
to tear apart, it will thus fear,

the Earth, devoid of peaceful life
thereby, will fear to split and rive;

lack spirits suitable effects,
will fear to weaken in their acts,

those valleys with no fullness here:
therefore, will drying out then fear;

all creatures with no life about
they all will fear of dying out,

get kings and princes not at all
esteemed, they thus will fear to fall.

To serve as root, so high takes low,

and low takes high as base to go.

Themselves call kings and princes only
as orphaned, and unworthy, lonely.

And that, is it not for "The low...
serve as a root"? Is that not so?

Who counts on honors thus too much,
is without honor then, as such;

don't glisten as does jade alone,

keep rough... like a memorial stone.

[

This chapter turns toward unity as the quiet condition that allows things to endure. Laozi recalls how heaven, earth, and all beings arise from holding to the One. What remains unified stays clear and stable, while what loses unity disperses and decays. The text does not treat unity as a numerical principle, but as coherence. Heaven remains pure because it does not fracture itself. Earth remains steady because it does not divide its ground. Beings remain alive because they do not abandon what sustains them. When unity is lost, clarity clouds, stability erodes, and vitality thins. The chapter suggests that what appears solid is fragile once coherence is broken. Power, rank, and brilliance depend on what they rest upon. Without a unifying ground, they cannot persist. The Dao is implied as the source of this coherence, not by enforcing order, but by allowing things to remain gathered within themselves. By holding to what unifies, existence avoids scattering into competing fragments.

The movement then shifts toward humility and position. Laozi observes that what is elevated relies on what is low, and what is honored depends on what is plain. Nobility requires common ground, and visibility requires support. When rulers forget this dependence, they undermine their own standing. Titles, splendor, and distinction lose meaning when severed from what carries them. The chapter emphasizes that true stability does not come from elevation, but from connection. By acknowledging what lies beneath, one preserves what stands above. This is not an argument against form or structure, but against forgetting their basis. The Dao functions here as the unseen support that allows hierarchy to exist without hardening into domination. When leaders remain grounded, order remains flexible. When they seek brilliance without humility, coherence dissolves into display.

What becomes clear in this rendering is that unity and humility belong together. To hold to the One is not to rise above others, but to remain connected to what sustains all positions. Stability is preserved by remembering dependence, not by denying it. The Dao appears as the quiet ground that keeps heaven clear, earth firm, and action coherent. By remaining aligned with this ground, movement continues without collapse, and structure endures without becoming rigid.

40 - Returning to Non-Being

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

反者道之動。

fǎn zhě dào zhī dòng 。

弱者道之用。

ruò zhě dào zhī yòng 。

天下萬物生於有，有生於無。

tiān xià wàn wù shēng yú yǒu ，yǒu shēng yú wú 。

Returning to Non-Being

Returning – movement of the Dào,

yet yielding – is Dào's using now.

All world is born from Being, yes:

yet Being – born from Nothingness.

[

Chapter 40 turns attention to movement and return as the fundamental gestures of the Dao. What appears as advance is grounded in reversal, and what seems strong arises from softness. Laozi does not describe linear progress, but cyclical motion. Return is not failure or retreat, but the manner in which continuity is preserved. The Dao moves by bending back toward its source. In doing so, it avoids exhaustion. What pushes forward without return dissipates. The chapter presents reversal as an intrinsic rhythm rather than a corrective act. Change remains sustainable only when it remains connected to what precedes it. In this sense, return is not an interruption of movement, but its fulfillment. The Dao does not advance by accumulation, but by renewal.

Softness is named as the mode through which this movement operates. What yields remains alive, while what resists becomes brittle. Laozi draws attention to how effectiveness emerges where rigidity is absent. The Dao produces through non resistance, allowing forms to arise without fixing them permanently. Being itself is described as emerging from non being, not as opposition, but as dependence. What is manifest rests on what is not. This relation does not diminish what appears, but makes its appearance possible. The chapter thus reframes origin not as a starting point in time, but as an ongoing support. Existence remains porous, sustained by what does not insist on being seen.

In the poetic rendering this dynamic is conveyed with quiet balance. The language avoids emphasis on opposition and instead allows movement to unfold naturally. Return is sensed as easing rather than retreat, and softness appears as strength without display. The tone remains even, letting the relation between being and non being remain open. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s insight that continuity depends not on force or direction, but on the capacity to return without loss.

41 - Unimposing Dào

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

上士聞道勤而行之。

shàng shì wén dào qín ér háng zhī 。

中士聞道若存若亡。

zhōng shì wén dào ruò cún ruò wáng 。

下士聞道大笑之。

xià shì wén dào dà xiào zhī 。

不笑不足以為道。

bú xiào bú zú yǐ wéi dào 。

故建言有之。明道若昧。

gù jiàn yán yǒu zhī 。míng dào ruò mèi 。

進道若退。夷道若纇。

jìn dào ruò tuì 。yí dào ruò lèi 。

上德若谷。大白若辱。

shàng dé ruò gǔ 。dà bái ruò rǔ 。

廣德若不足。建德若偷。

guǎng dé ruò bú zú 。jiàn dé ruò tōu 。

質真若渝。大方無隅。

zhì zhēn ruò yú 。dà fāng wú yú 。

大器晚成。大音希聲。

dà qì wǎn chéng 。dà yīn xī shēng 。

大象無形。道隱無名。

dà xiàng wú xíng 。dào yǐn wú míng 。

夫唯道善貸且成。

fū wéi dào shàn dài qiě chéng 。

Unimposing Dào

Superior scholars hear of Dào,
endeavor practising it now;

hear medium scholars Dào, then twisting:
"...is it or is it not existing?"

inferior scholars hear of that
yet only laughing greatly at –

not being laughed at, anyhow,
it's not enough to act as Dào!

Established sayings thus assure:

enlightening is Dào obscure,

advancing Dào retreating now:

like bumpy seems the smoothing Dào.

High Inner Power: seems quite plain,

great purity seems full of stain,

vast Power not enough to reign,

firm Inner Power seems to feign,

pure truth like changeable again.

Need greatest squares no corner, sure,

do greatest talents late mature,

has greatest music silent sound,

and greatest form no shape around.

Just Dào, so nameless and discreet,

does well provide and does complete.

[

Chapter 41 opens by observing how different dispositions respond differently to the Dao. Those of highest capacity hear it and practice it; those of middling capacity hear it and sometimes lose it; those of lowest capacity hear it and laugh. Laozi does not treat laughter as misunderstanding alone, but as a revealing reaction. What accords with the Dao contradicts habitual expectations. Its reversals, its quietness, and its lack of obvious reward appear absurd to minds trained to value immediacy and display. The chapter suggests that resistance often takes the form of ridicule. What cannot be assimilated into prevailing measures is dismissed. In this way, laughter becomes an indicator of distance rather than insight. The Dao remains unchanged by these responses. It does not adjust itself to be convincing. Its validity is not confirmed by acceptance, nor weakened by mockery.

The chapter then unfolds a series of paradoxical statements that mirror this tension. Brightness appears dark, progress appears retreating, skill appears clumsy, eloquence appears hesitant. Laozi uses these contrasts not to confuse, but to realign perception. What is most effective often does not resemble effectiveness. What is deeply coherent may appear uneven on the surface. The Dao works beneath appearances, and therefore refuses to match them. These sayings invite patience rather than agreement. They ask the reader to tolerate dissonance long enough for another measure to emerge. Understanding here is not immediate recognition, but gradual attunement. The Dao reveals itself not by conforming to expectation, but by enduring beyond it.

In the poetic rendering this estrangement is handled with quiet steadiness. The language allows the paradoxes to stand without explanation, preserving their unsettling quality. Laughter is neither corrected nor rebuked, but left where it arises. The tone remains calm, trusting that what is aligned does not need to persuade. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s insight that the Dao is often closest where it seems most remote. What is truly straight may look bent, and what is most real may first appear implausible.

42 - Non-Violent Evolution

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道生一。一生二。二生三。三生萬物。

dào shēng yī 。yī shēng èr 。èr shēng sān 。sān shēng wàn wù 。

萬物負陰而抱陽，沖氣以為和。

wàn wù fù yīn ér bào yáng ，chòng qì yǐ wéi hé 。

人之所惡，唯孤、

rén zhī suǒ è ，wéi gū 、

寡不穀，而王公以為稱，

guǎ bú yù ，ér wáng gōng yǐ wéi chēng ，

故物或損之而益，或益之而損。

gù wù huò sǔn zhī ér yì ，huò yì zhī ér sǔn 。

人之所教，我亦教之，

rén zhī suǒ jiāo ，wǒ yì jiāo zhī ，

強梁者，不得其死。

qiáng liáng zhě ，bú dé qí sǐ 。

吾將以為教父。

wú jiāng yǐ wéi jiāo fù 。

Non-Violent Evolution

The Oneness first was made by Dào,

and Twoness made by Oneness now,

then Threeness made by Twoness' wings,

and Threeness made ten thousands things.

All creatures carry Yin among,
and also are embracing Yang,

the flow of vital force will be
effecting thus their harmony.

But that what men's disgust is only:

to be unworthy, orphaned, lonely,

and yet, all dukes and kings made claims
thereof as honorable names!

Hence, some do lose, yet benefit,

and sometimes win, yet losing it.

And that what other people taught,

so I do also teach that thought:

"The brutal ones, so violent,
they will not get their proper end!"

So I will use this as begin,
as all my teaching's origin.

[

Chapter 42 articulates the generative rhythm through which multiplicity arises from unity. The Dao gives rise to the One, the One to Two, the Two to Three, and the Three to the ten thousand things. Laozi does not present a cosmology to be systematized, but a movement to be sensed. Creation unfolds not through opposition alone, but through balance and relation. Yin and yang are held together by breath, the vital tension that allows form to appear without becoming rigid. What emerges is not a hierarchy of substances, but a dynamic field in which all things participate. The chapter emphasizes that life is sustained through combination rather than separation. What exists does so by sharing rather than by standing alone. Generation here is continuous, not confined to an origin in time.

The chapter then turns to the human tendency to resist this rhythm by seeking elevation without grounding. Laozi observes that people avoid what appears low and embrace what appears exalted, yet the Dao reverses this valuation. What is diminished outwardly may be rich inwardly. Loss, humility, and reduction are shown not as deficits, but as conditions for coherence. The sage accepts what others avoid and therefore remains whole. By aligning with what is not sought after, one avoids rivalry and comparison. The Dao does not compete for prominence. It supports what remains balanced between ascent and descent. In this way, the chapter reframes strength as the capacity to remain integrated within the whole rather than to rise above it.

In the poetic rendering this generative balance is preserved with calm precision. The language allows the sequence of emergence to remain suggestive rather than explanatory. Relation takes precedence over structure, and movement over definition. The tone remains steady, avoiding emphasis on beginnings or endings. The poem thus reflects the chapter’s insight that life unfolds through shared tension rather than isolated force. What endures is not what asserts itself most strongly, but what remains attuned to the rhythm that brings all things into being.

43 - The Victory of Softness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天下之至柔，馳騁天下之至堅。

tiān xià zhī zhì róu ，chí chěng tiān xià zhī zhì jiān 。

無有入無間，吾是以知無為之有益。

wú yǒu rù wú jiān ，wú shì yǐ zhī wú wéi zhī yǒu yì 。

不言之教，無為之益天下希及之。

bú yán zhī jiāo ，wú wéi zhī yì tiān xià xī jí zhī 。

The Victory of Softness

The softest things worldwide, they get
quite swiftly through world's hardest, yet.

Non-Being can, at any rate,
the gapless even penetrate!

I therefore know, what benefit
non-interfering has in it;

and wordless teachings let appear

its upside, not to interfere:

but few worldwide can reach that tier.

[

Chapter 43 brings attention to the efficacy of what appears least forceful. The softest and most yielding is shown to penetrate what is hardest, not through pressure, but through persistence. Laozi contrasts what has substance with what has none, suggesting that what is without form can enter where form cannot. This is not an argument for weakness, but an observation about how influence operates. What does not confront avoids resistance. The Dao works in this manner. It does not collide with obstacles, but passes through their openings. The chapter presents non action as a mode of effectiveness that bypasses struggle. What is done without interference leaves room for completion. In this sense, the chapter names a kind of power that does not appear as power at all.

The text then reflects on how rare this understanding is. Teaching without words and acting without effort are difficult to recognize, because they leave no obvious trace. Most people trust only what can be seen, heard, or measured. Laozi notes that silent influence often goes unnoticed, even while it shapes outcomes. The Dao does not persuade through argument, nor instruct through command. It allows insight to arise by example and proximity. What remains unspoken avoids distortion. The chapter thus values presence over explanation. What is shown quietly carries further than what is proclaimed loudly. Effectiveness here is inseparable from restraint.

In the poetic rendering this subtlety is sustained with care. The language remains spare, allowing softness and emptiness to retain their force. Nothing is dramatized, and no conclusion is announced. The tone stays even, trusting that what is least assertive can still be decisive. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s insight that the most effective movement often leaves no visible sign. What works through the Dao does not impress, but it endures.

44 - True Values

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

名與身孰親。

míng yǔ shēn shú qīn 。

身與貨孰多。

shēn yǔ huò shú duō 。

得與亡孰病。

dé yǔ wáng shú bìng 。

是故甚愛必大費。

shì gù shèn ài bì dà fèi 。

多藏必厚亡。

duō cáng bì hòu wáng 。

知足不辱。

zhī zú bú rǔ 。

知止不殆。

zhī zhǐ bú dài 。

可以長久。

kě yǐ zhǎng jiǔ 。

True Values

Your fame or Self – what's near your core?

Your Self or property – what’s more?

Your gain or loss – what's worse to store?

So, too much love: big costs recording,

big loss is sure for too much hoarding.

Know to suffice: it's no disgrace,

and know to halt: no risk to trace;

so you can long endure in place.

[

Chapter 44 turns toward the tension between possession and preservation. Laozi asks what is closer, the self or what one holds, and what costs more, loss of reputation or loss of life. These questions are not rhetorical flourishes, but invitations to remeasure value. What is clung to demands constant defense, while what is cared for quietly endures. The chapter observes how attachment reverses priorities. Wealth and honor appear desirable, yet their pursuit often erodes the very ground that sustains them. The Dao is not opposed to having, but it does not support fixation. What is grasped too tightly becomes a burden. In this sense, loss is not always a deprivation, but sometimes a release from excess concern.

The chapter then develops a principle of sufficiency. Knowing when enough has been reached prevents exhaustion. Knowing when to stop protects against danger. Laozi presents moderation not as moral restraint, but as practical wisdom. What accumulates without limit invites instability. What is pursued without pause invites collapse. The Dao favors continuity over accumulation. By remaining content with what is adequate, one avoids the cycle of desire that never settles. The chapter suggests that security does not arise from control, but from proportion. What remains within bounds does not provoke correction. In this way, sufficiency becomes a form of freedom rather than renunciation.

In the poetic rendering this measured perspective is held with calm balance. The language avoids warning tones and allows consequence to speak quietly. Possession and loss appear as relational, not absolute. The tone remains even, reflecting the chapter’s refusal of dramatic contrast. The poem thus conveys the insight that what is preserved is not what is amassed, but what is not endangered by excess. Endurance arises from knowing where one stands and when to rest.

45 - The Paradox of Truth

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

大成若缺，其用不弊。

dà chéng ruò quē ，qí yòng bú bì 。

大盈若沖，其用不窮。

dà yíng ruò chòng ，qí yòng bú qióng 。

大直若屈。

dà zhí ruò qū 。

大巧若拙。

dà qiǎo ruò zhuō 。

大辯若訥。

dà biàn ruò nè 。

靜勝躁，寒勝熱。

jìng shèng zào ，hán shèng rè 。

清靜為天下正。

qīng jìng wéi tiān xià zhèng 。

The Paradox of Truth

Inadequate seems high perfection,

but not debased its use in action.

Great fullness seems like void profuse,

but inexhaustible its use.

Great straightness – just like crooked it bends,

great skill – like clumsy, in a sense,

like stammering – great eloquence.

As movement overcomes the cold,

so stillness overcomes the heat.

And purity and stillness hold
for worldwide guidelines so, indeed.

[

Chapter 45 reflects on the paradoxical appearance of what is most complete. What is truly whole seems incomplete, what is truly full seems empty, what is most straight appears bent. Laozi does not present these as tricks of language, but as observations about how depth hides itself. What functions well does not draw attention to its efficiency. What endures does not display its strength. The Dao operates beneath surface impressions, and therefore contradicts habitual measures of success. Perfection that announces itself has already hardened. By contrast, what remains adaptable appears unfinished, yet it continues to serve. The chapter gently loosens the grip of appearances, inviting trust in processes that do not look impressive while they work.

This reflection extends to movement and rest. What moves well appears awkward, and what speaks well seems hesitant. Laozi notes that agitation exhausts itself, while calm sustains clarity. Heat and noise disperse, but quiet preserves. The Dao aligns with this cooling movement. It does not accelerate to prove itself, nor does it seek completion as a final state. Instead, it maintains balance through moderation and return. What is restless seeks resolution through activity, while what is settled allows resolution to emerge. The chapter thus reframes effectiveness as something that unfolds over time rather than through immediate display. Stability arises from patience, not from control.

In the poetic rendering this restraint is carefully maintained. The language allows the paradoxes to remain unresolved, preserving their instructive tension. No attempt is made to clarify what must be lived. The tone remains calm, letting quietness do its work. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s insight that what truly orders the world does so without drawing attention to itself. What appears lacking may be richest in effect, and what seems slow may carry the deepest continuity.

46 - Peaceful Frugality

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天下有道，卻走馬以糞。

tiān xià yǒu dào ，què zǒu mǎ yǐ fèn 。

天下無道，戎馬生於郊。

tiān xià wú dào ，róng mǎ shēng yú jiāo 。

[罪莫大於可欲] 禍莫大於不知足。

[zuì mò dà yú kě yù ] huò mò dà yú bú zhī zú 。

咎莫大於欲得。

jiù mò dà yú yù dé 。

故知足之足常足矣。

gù zhī zú zhī zú cháng zú yǐ 。

Peaceful Frugality

A world with Dào will change, for sure,
turns racing horses to manure,

a world without Dào lets them grow
up for the war, in outskirts, though.

Among all crimes there none is higher
than knowing well desire's fire,

among calamities none bigger
than not to know contentment's vigor,

no fault is greater in the main
than any greediness for gain.

Enough enoughness so to know,

is constantly enough, although!

[

Chapter 46 contrasts a world aligned with the Dao with one driven by excess desire. When the Dao is present, resources return to ordinary use and life remains close to what sustains it. When the Dao is lost, accumulation accelerates and conflict expands. Laozi does not frame this as moral decline, but as a shift in orientation. Desire, once unbounded, turns attention away from sufficiency toward endless acquisition. The chapter observes how craving multiplies faster than need and how surplus invites anxiety rather than ease. What is produced beyond measure does not settle, but demands further defense. In this way, abundance without balance becomes a source of disturbance. The Dao supports continuity by keeping desire proportionate to life.

The chapter then names desire itself as the greatest calamity. This is not a condemnation of wanting, but a warning about excess that no longer knows limits. Laozi distinguishes between need and insatiability. Knowing enough is presented as the condition for lasting contentment. What recognizes sufficiency does not depend on expansion to feel secure. The Dao does not oppose enjoyment, but it dissolves the restlessness that drives enjoyment to become addiction. When satisfaction is allowed to complete itself, it does not turn into hunger again. The chapter thus reframes peace as an outcome of measure rather than deprivation. What remains within bounds does not provoke correction.

In the poetic rendering this perspective is held without alarm. The language remains even, allowing the contrast to emerge through implication rather than judgment. Desire appears as a force that accelerates when left unattended, while sufficiency restores rhythm. The tone stays calm, reflecting the chapter’s insistence that balance is not achieved by struggle, but by recognizing when enough has already been reached.

47 - Perception and Insight

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

不出戶知天下。

bú chū hù zhī tiān xià 。

不闚牖見天道。

bú kuī yǒu jiàn tiān dào 。

其出彌遠，其知彌少。

qí chū mí yuǎn ，qí zhī mí shǎo 。

是以聖人不行而知。

shì yǐ shèng rén bú háng ér zhī 。

不見而明。

bú jiàn ér míng 。

不為而成。

bú wéi ér chéng 。

Perception and Insight

Not going out of any door,
do realize all world the more,

not peering out of windows, now
you might behold the Heaven's Dào.

How far away you ever go,

by far the less you really know!

Not traveling, the wise yet know,

don't peer, yet specifying so,

not acting, they complete although.

[

Chapter 47 turns attention inward, challenging the assumption that knowledge depends on outward extension. Laozi observes that one can understand the world without leaving the room and perceive the Dao without looking outward. This is not a rejection of experience, but a reminder that coherence does not arise from accumulation alone. The more one chases distant information, the more scattered perception becomes. The Dao is not located elsewhere. It is accessible where attention settles. By reducing outward pursuit, clarity gathers. Knowing here is not the result of travel, but of alignment. The chapter suggests that insight deepens when distraction subsides. What is sought far away often becomes visible when the urge to seek relaxes.

The chapter then draws a distinction between knowing and acting. Those who pursue knowledge endlessly may lose contact with what is essential, while those who remain centered act with ease. Laozi points to a mode of understanding that does not rely on inspection or measurement. Seeing without looking and knowing without learning describe a sensitivity that precedes analysis. The Dao does not require constant verification. It reveals itself through quiet familiarity rather than discovery. By remaining close to what is already present, one avoids the exhaustion that comes from perpetual inquiry. The chapter reframes wisdom as intimacy rather than expansion. What is grasped inwardly does not need to be confirmed outwardly.

In the poetic rendering this inward turn is conveyed with restraint. The language avoids inwardness as withdrawal and instead presents it as concentration. Distance and nearness lose their usual meaning. The tone remains calm, allowing insight to appear without effort. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s central intuition: what is most encompassing does not require pursuit. The Dao becomes evident not by going farther, but by remaining still enough to recognize what has never been absent.

48 - Less is More!

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

為學日益。

wéi xué rì yì 。

為道日損。

wéi dào rì sǔn 。

損之又損，以至於無為。

sǔn zhī yòu sǔn ，yǐ zhì yú wú wéi 。

無為而不為。

wú wéi ér bú wéi 。

取天下常以無事，及其有事，不足以取天下。

qǔ tiān xià cháng yǐ wú shì ，jí qí yǒu shì ，bú zú yǐ qǔ tiān xià 。

Less is More!

Do practice learning: daily so

amass, do practice Dào: let go.

Release and do release again:

non-interfering reaching then;

non-interfering actions run,
and yet will nothing be undone.

To win all world: no bustling bluff;

but getting it with bustling stuff –

to win the world, it's not enough.

[

This chapter contrasts accumulation with release and traces a movement that runs counter to ordinary effort. Laozi observes that learning tends to add, while alignment with the Dao tends to subtract. Knowledge gathers distinctions, methods, and aims, increasing complexity. The Dao, by contrast, is approached through letting go of what is unnecessary. This is not anti-intellectualism, but a different orientation toward effectiveness. What is added requires maintenance and defense. What is released reduces friction. The chapter suggests that many problems persist because too much is being carried. By subtracting interference rather than adding control, clarity returns. The Dao appears here as a mode of action that becomes more effective as it becomes simpler. Effort that seeks to manage everything multiplies tasks. Non-interference allows processes to complete themselves. This does not imply passivity, but precision. By doing less of what distorts, one allows more of what already works to continue without obstruction.

The movement then turns toward non-doing as a form of sufficiency. Laozi states that by non-doing nothing is left undone. This paradox points to a condition in which action no longer competes with circumstances. When intervention ceases to be habitual, response becomes timely. The chapter distinguishes between absence of action and absence of compulsion. Non-doing does not mean inactivity, but freedom from forcing outcomes. When goals are pressed too firmly, resistance forms. When space is left, alignment arises. The Dao functions here as a regulator that restores proportion by reducing excess intention. Governance and personal conduct are both addressed implicitly. To take hold of the world by constant action is to lose it. To refrain from imposing order allows order to emerge. The text emphasizes that restraint preserves flexibility, while insistence hardens what it seeks to shape.

What stands out in this rendering is the emphasis on subtraction as a path to effectiveness. Progress is shown not as accumulation, but as refinement through release. By relinquishing unnecessary effort, one remains responsive and avoids exhaustion. The Dao appears as a quiet efficiency that increases as interference decreases. When action aligns with this principle, outcomes unfold without being forced, and continuity replaces strain.

49 - Goodness and Faithfulness as Examples

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

聖人無常心。

shèng rén wú cháng xīn 。

以百姓心為心。

yǐ bǎi xìng xīn wéi xīn 。

善者吾善之。

shàn zhě wú shàn zhī 。

不善者吾亦善之德善。

bú shàn zhě wú yì shàn zhī dé shàn 。

信者吾信之。

xìn zhě wú xìn zhī 。

不信者吾亦信之、德信。

bú xìn zhě wú yì xìn zhī 、dé xìn 。

聖人在天下歙歙焉，為天下渾其心。

shèng rén zài tiān xià xī xī yān ，wéi tiān xià hún qí xīn 。

百姓皆注其耳目，聖人皆孩之。

bǎi xìng jiē zhù qí ěr mù ，shèng rén jiē hái zhī 。

Goodness and Faithfulness as Examples

The wise men have no fixed ambition,

so, they make others’ aims their vision.

To good men, I am good, to men

that are not good, I'm good again:

to get the most of goodness then!

To true men, I am true, to men

that are not true, I'm true again:

most faithfulness attaining then!

Amidst the world the wise men stay,

to act there in a humble way,

their heart-felt aims: not fixed are they.

All other people seek advice
and fix to them their ears and eyes –

they all are children to the wise...

[

This chapter presents responsiveness as the core of wise conduct. Laozi describes the sage as having no fixed heart of his own, but as taking the hearts of others as his own. This does not suggest indecision or lack of character, but permeability. By not clinging to a private agenda, the sage remains open to what is present. Goodness is not reserved for the good, nor trust withheld from the untrustworthy. The text frames this stance as practical rather than idealistic. When responses are conditioned by prior judgment, perception narrows. When they remain open, situations disclose their own requirements. The Dao appears here as a field of responsiveness that does not select in advance. By meeting each situation without preloaded preference, action becomes accurate. The chapter implies that rigidity masquerades as principle, while openness functions as real steadiness. To remain empty in this sense is to remain usable.

The movement then turns toward inclusion and care. Laozi notes that the sage treats all alike, without sharpening distinctions between worthy and unworthy. This is not moral leveling, but a refusal to fracture attention. When care is selective, it becomes brittle. When it is inclusive, it stabilizes relations. The text suggests that trust offered freely has a different effect than trust rationed conditionally. Conditional trust invites testing and resistance. Unconditional trust invites alignment. The Dao functions here as a soft binding force that holds differences without pressing them into uniformity. By not imposing correction prematurely, the sage allows transformation to occur without confrontation. Governance is again implied, but not prescribed. What governs well does so by reducing friction, not by enforcing virtue. Inclusion preserves coherence where exclusion multiplies strain.

What emerges in this rendering is an emphasis on openness as a form of strength. Responsiveness replaces control, and inclusion replaces judgment. By remaining without a fixed heart, the sage stays aligned with a movement that can adapt without losing direction. The Dao appears as the quiet medium through which trust circulates and action remains proportionate. When responses arise from openness rather than from defense, continuity is preserved and relations remain workable without coercion.

50 - Death and Life

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

出生入死。

chū shēng rù sǐ 。

生之徒，十有三。

shēng zhī tú ，shí yǒu sān 。

死之徒，十有三。

sǐ zhī tú ，shí yǒu sān 。

人之生，動之於死地，亦十有三。

rén zhī shēng ，dòng zhī yú sǐ dì ，yì shí yǒu sān 。

夫何故﹖以其生生之厚。

fū hé gù ﹖yǐ qí shēng shēng zhī hòu 。

蓋聞善攝生者，陸行不遇兇虎，入軍不被甲兵。

gài wén shàn shè shēng zhě ，lù háng bú yù xiōng hǔ ，rù jun1 bú bèi jiǎ bīng 。

兇無所投其角。

xiōng wú suǒ tóu qí jiǎo 。

虎無所用其爪。

hǔ wú suǒ yòng qí zhǎo 。

兵無所容其刃。

bīng wú suǒ róng qí rèn 。

夫何故﹖以其無死地。

fū hé gù ﹖yǐ qí wú sǐ dì 。

Death and Life

Go out to life, to death again…

those fans of life are three in ten,

and three in ten are death fans then.

And even there are men of life,
move, at their death place to arrive,

and they again in ten are three!

So, for what reason might that be?

For living life's abundancy.

One hears: good life guards, they show here

as country wanderers, no fear
as tigers, buffaloes appear;

they use to cross the battlefield,
but never wearing swords nor shield:

as buffaloes their horns do wield
they never find a place to dip,

for tigers' claws no place to rip,

no place to plunge a sword blade's tip.

And for what reason that's the case?

Because they have no mortal place!

[

This chapter turns toward life and mortality without dramatization. Laozi observes how people move through existence while carrying fear of death, and how this fear shapes their actions. Those who cling tightly to life expose themselves to danger by resisting its movement. Those who move with it do not sharpen its edge. The text does not deny vulnerability, but questions the habit of multiplying risks through anxiety and grasping. When attention fixates on preservation, perception narrows and movement becomes rigid. The Dao is implied as a way of living that does not oppose life’s transitions. By not tightening against what cannot be controlled, one reduces the points where harm can enter. The chapter suggests that resilience arises from fluidity rather than armor. What moves naturally leaves fewer openings for disruption. Life is sustained not by constant defense, but by remaining in accord with its rhythms.

The movement then contrasts ordinary fear with a deeper form of alignment. Laozi speaks of one who walks among dangers without being harmed, not as a miracle, but as a consequence of not carrying fear within. Where there is no fixation, there is no target. This is not invulnerability, but absence of internal resistance. The text implies that many threats gain force only where there is tension to meet them. When action is unforced, encounters lose their sharpness. The Dao functions here as a field in which life circulates without obstruction. To live fully is not to defy death, but to stop rehearsing it. By letting go of the urge to secure oneself against every outcome, one remains present and responsive. The chapter reframes safety as alignment rather than protection, and endurance as ease rather than struggle.

In the poetic rendering this idea is handled with careful restraint. The language avoids heroic tones and keeps the imagery suggestive rather than sensational. Protection is sensed as absence of friction rather than as defense. The tone remains even, allowing the insight to settle quietly. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s central intuition: life is preserved not by clinging to it, but by moving without fear driven excess. What aligns with the Dao does not challenge danger, and therefore often passes through untouched.

51 - The Way and its Power

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道生之，德畜之，

dào shēng zhī ，dé chù zhī ，

wù xíng zhī ，shì chéng zhī 。

物形之，勢成之。

是以萬物莫不尊道，而貴德。

shì yǐ wàn wù mò bú zūn dào ，ér guì dé 。

道之尊，德之貴，夫莫之命而常自然。

dào zhī zūn ，dé zhī guì ，fū mò zhī mìng ér cháng zì rán 。

故道生之，德畜之。

gù dào shēng zhī ，dé chù zhī 。

長之育之。亭之毒之。養之覆之。

zhǎng zhī yù zhī 。tíng zhī dú zhī 。yǎng zhī fù zhī 。

生而不有，為而不恃，長而不宰。

shēng ér bú yǒu ，wéi ér bú shì ，zhǎng ér bú zǎi 。

是謂玄德。

shì wèi xuán dé 。

The Way and its Power

They are created by this Dào,

by Inner Power nurtured now,

by beings they are shaped abounding,

completed then by their surrounding:

and none of beings will therefore

do not revere this Dào, and more:
the Inner Power they adore.

Dào's honoring and veneration,

and Inner Power's estimation:

for being in command of none,
yet always by itself so done.

This Dào creates them all, therefore,

but Inner Power nurtures more:

to foster them, to let them raise,

to shelter them, to heal all days,

to nurse them, and to shield their ways.

Creating Dào, not to possess,

Dào's acting, yet expecting less.

evolved by Dé, not dominated –

deep Inner Power is it stated.

[

This chapter turns toward quiet accumulation rather than visible force. Laozi observes how what endures does not advance by assertion, but by remaining aligned with what sustains it. Strength appears here not as pressure, but as continuity. What is fully present does not need to announce itself, because its influence unfolds through persistence rather than impact. The text draws attention to how growth that seeks notice exhausts itself, while growth that remains rooted continues without strain. Nothing is added by display, and nothing is lost by restraint. The chapter suggests that effectiveness increases when effort withdraws from the foreground. What holds does so by staying where it belongs. In this sense, fullness is not expansion, but density. It gathers by remaining, not by spreading. Laozi invites the reader to sense how power matures when it stops demanding recognition and allows its effects to accumulate quietly over time.

The second movement deepens this insight by turning toward governance and conduct. Order, the text implies, is weakened when it is pushed too hard into view. When action seeks confirmation, it begins to fracture. What truly organizes does not compete with what it organizes. Laozi frames restraint not as limitation, but as clarity about scope. By not exceeding its place, action retains coherence. The chapter suggests that authority dissolves when it attempts to prove itself, whereas it stabilizes when it remains implicit. This does not mean withdrawal from responsibility, but precision of presence. What is sufficient does not overreach. It remains effective because it stays proportionate to its function. In this way, the chapter presents moderation as a form of intelligence, not as caution born of fear, but as attunement to what the situation can carry without distortion.

In the poetic rendering this quiet generativity is maintained with steady calm. The language avoids celebration and allows process to remain central. Birth and nourishment appear as ongoing movements rather than as dramatic events. The tone remains even, reflecting the chapter’s insistence that what truly supports life does so without seeking recognition. Creation here is not a display of power, but an act of continual allowance. What grows under such conditions remains connected to its source without being held by it.

52 - Sense and Sensuousness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天下有始，以為天下母。

tiān xià yǒu shǐ ，yǐ wéi tiān xià mǔ 。

既得其母，以知其子。

jì dé qí mǔ ，yǐ zhī qí zǐ 。

既知其子，復守其母，沒身不殆。

jì zhī qí zǐ ，fù shǒu qí mǔ ，méi shēn bú dài 。

塞其兌，閉其門，終身不勤。

sāi qí duì ，bì qí mén ，zhōng shēn bú qín 。

開其兌，濟其事，終身不救。

kāi qí duì ，jì qí shì ，zhōng shēn bú jiù 。

見其小曰明，守柔曰強。

jiàn qí xiǎo yuē míng ，shǒu róu yuē qiáng 。

用其光，復歸其明，無遺身殃。

yòng qí guāng ，fù guī qí míng ，wú yí shēn yāng 。

是為習常。

shì wéi xí cháng 。

Sense and Sensuousness

All world had had an origin,

seen as World's Mother so therein.

So, once you did your mother find,
in turn your childship keep in mind,

have once your childship understood,
in turn adjoin world's Motherhood –
no danger anymore for good!

Do close your mouth, and shut your door:

no trouble lifelong anymore.

Do open mouth, boost things to do:

life's ending unredeemed for you.

Enlightenment speaks: see the small,

and strength says: keep to weakness all.

So, use that insight, home be sent,
return to your enlightenment,

don't lose yourself in misery;

it's served by practice, constantly.

[

This chapter turns toward return as the condition of clarity. Laozi speaks of beginning by knowing the mother, and through this knowing, coming to recognize the child. The image does not describe causality in a technical sense, but orientation. What is primary is not earlier in time alone, but deeper in function. By remaining with the source, perception does not scatter among effects. The chapter suggests that confusion arises when attention fixes itself on outcomes while losing contact with what gives rise to them. To hold to the origin is to preserve coherence amid multiplicity. Nothing is rejected, yet nothing distracts. The text emphasizes that guarding the source does not require effortful vigilance, but a form of inward steadiness. When the senses are not driven outward by attraction or fear, they remain open without being dispersed. In this way, return is not regression, but preservation of clarity within movement. The chapter frames knowing as a circular act: to see what unfolds, one must remain in touch with what precedes unfolding.

The second movement shifts from image to conduct. Laozi links openness of the senses with endurance, and closure with exhaustion. To block perception is not protection, but loss of vitality. Yet openness here is not indulgence. It is steadiness that allows perception without attachment. By keeping the inner aperture clear, one moves through the world without being consumed by it. The text suggests that life is preserved not by tightening control, but by avoiding dissipation. When action is guided by the source rather than by impulse, it does not burn itself out. The chapter contrasts two ways of moving: one that follows immediate stimulation and one that remains aligned with origin. The first leads to fatigue and loss, the second to continuity. Laozi presents this not as moral advice, but as an observation about how energy is conserved or depleted through orientation.

In the poetic rendering this return to origin is conveyed with quiet steadiness. The language avoids nostalgia and treats origin as a living reference rather than a past state. Opening and closing appear as rhythmic adjustments rather than as rigid controls. The tone remains calm, allowing the sense of rootedness to emerge without instruction. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s insight that security arises not from expansion, but from staying connected to what gives life its direction. What knows its source does not lose its way, even amid movement.

53 - Right Ways and Going Astray

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

使我介然有知，

shǐ wǒ jiè rán yǒu zhī ，

行於大道，唯施是畏。

háng yú dà dào ，wéi shī shì wèi 。

大道甚夷，而民好徑。

dà dào shèn yí ，ér mín hǎo jīng 。

朝甚除，田甚蕪，倉甚虛。

cháo shèn chú ，tián shèn wú ，cāng shèn xū 。

服文綵，帶利劍，

fú wén cǎi ，dài lì jiàn ，

厭飲食，財貨有餘。

yàn yǐn shí ，cái huò yǒu yú 。

是謂盜夸。非道也哉。

shì wèi dào kuā 。fēi dào yě zāi 。

Right Way and Going Astray

If I had tiny knowledge mere,

I'd walk then on great Dào, and here
just aberration were to fear.

This Dào is great, and very straight,

but byways people more elate:

the courts extremely splendid, see,

but fields of weed, exceedingly,

most empty every granary.

With fine embroidered cloth and cord,

their belt to carry sharp a sword,

so saturated – drinks and foods,

and money, assets, surplus goods:

that's bragging, robber's pride to call,

indeed, but Dào it's not at all!

[

This chapter opens with the tension between simplicity and deviation. Laozi observes that the way itself is not difficult, yet people persistently wander from it. The difficulty does not lie in understanding, but in attraction. What draws attention away is not complexity, but appetite. The text frames error not as ignorance, but as preference. When desire leads, clarity recedes. The way remains level, but feet choose side paths. Laozi’s language points to a subtle imbalance: the more one knows, the easier it becomes to rationalize departure. Knowledge, when untethered from simplicity, becomes an accomplice to excess. The chapter suggests that deviation often appears justified from within, even while it erodes coherence. What is lost is not orientation, but restraint. By naming this dynamic without accusation, the text exposes how easily alignment is traded for advantage.

The second movement turns toward social consequence. Laozi sketches images of imbalance without elaboration: abundance in one place, neglect in another; excess alongside depletion. These contrasts are not argued, but shown. They arise when conduct abandons proportion. The text does not condemn wealth or order as such, but the forgetting of measure. When accumulation becomes the goal, the way is no longer followed, even if it is spoken of. Laozi emphasizes that disorder does not require chaos; it can arise within structured systems when appetite overrides fit. The chapter’s force lies in its restraint. It names symptoms without prescribing reform, suggesting that correction begins earlier than policy, at the level of orientation. When action returns to simplicity, balance reasserts itself without enforcement.

In the poetic rendering this caution is expressed without accusation. The language remains measured, allowing the contrast between the plain path and the decorated detour to speak for itself. The tone avoids urgency and leaves space for recognition rather than alarm. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s insight that the greatest danger is not confusion, but the gradual forgetting of what is simple. What remains level does not entice, yet it carries life forward without strain.

54 - Social Maturing

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

善建者不拔。

shàn jiàn zhě bú bá 。

善抱者不脫。

shàn bào zhě bú tuō 。

子孫以祭祀不輟。

zǐ sūn yǐ jì sì bú chuò 。

修之於身其德乃真。

xiū zhī yú shēn qí dé nǎi zhēn 。

修之於家其德乃餘。

xiū zhī yú jiā qí dé nǎi yú 。

修之於鄉其德乃長。

xiū zhī yú xiāng qí dé nǎi zhǎng 。

修之於邦其德乃豐。

xiū zhī yú bāng qí dé nǎi fēng 。

修之於天下其德乃普。

xiū zhī yú tiān xià qí dé nǎi pǔ 。

故以身觀身，以家觀家，

gù yǐ shēn guān shēn ，yǐ jiā guān jiā ，

以鄉觀鄉，以邦觀邦，以天下觀天下。

yǐ xiāng guān xiāng ，yǐ bāng guān bāng ，yǐ tiān xià guān tiān xià 。

吾何以知天下然哉﹖以此。

wú hé yǐ zhī tiān xià rán zāi ﹖yǐ cǐ 。

Social Maturing

Well rooted ones get not uprooted,

and well held-on ones get not looted;

thus, child and grandchild do not end
ancestral sacrifice to spend.

Within your Self, first Dào let flower,
then genuine: your Inner Power;

let in your family it flower,
gets ample then your Inner Power;

within your village let it flower,
gets timeless then your Inner Power;

within your nation let it flower,
gets overflowing then your Power;

within all world now let it flower,
gets widespread then your Inner Power.

Hence, to yourself, accordingly,
that way behold yourself to be,

see family as family,

see village as community,

consider nations nationally,

see world as world, accordingly.

Whereby then do I really see
all world as such? Spontaneously!

[

This chapter turns toward rooting as the basis of endurance. Laozi speaks of what is firmly planted as not easily uprooted, and of what is securely held as not easily lost. The images point toward continuity rather than defense. Stability is not achieved through force, but through depth. What has taken root does not need to be guarded constantly, because its strength lies beneath the surface. The text suggests that durability arises from the way something is established, not from how aggressively it is protected. When beginnings are sound, continuation follows naturally. Laozi frames this as a principle that applies across scales, from the individual to the collective. What is cultivated with care carries itself forward without strain. The chapter emphasizes that true security is quiet. It does not announce itself, yet it persists.

The second movement widens the scope, tracing how this rootedness extends from self to family, from family to community, and further outward. Each level reflects the quality of the one before it. The progression is not hierarchical in the sense of command, but generative. What is ordered at the center radiates coherence without instruction. Laozi does not present this as moral causation, but as resonance. When cultivation is genuine, it reproduces itself through contact. The text resists the idea that large structures can be stabilized independently of their foundations. What is sound locally remains sound as it extends. Where roots are shallow, expansion amplifies fragility rather than strength.

In the poetic rendering this sense of rootedness is maintained with calm assurance. The language avoids exhortation and allows consequence to unfold naturally. Stability appears as something that grows unnoticed until it is tested. The tone remains even, reflecting the chapter’s trust that what is deeply grounded does not need to prove itself. Endurance here is not a matter of resistance, but of alignment. What is established in accordance with the Dao remains present through change without being displaced.

55 - The Power of Virtue

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

含德之厚比於赤子。

hán dé zhī hòu bǐ yú chì zǐ 。

毒蟲虺蛇不螫，猛獸不據，攫鳥不摶。

dú chóng huī shé bú shì ，měng shòu bú jù ，jué niǎo bú tuán 。

骨弱筋柔而握固。

gǔ ruò jīn róu ér wò gù 。

未知牝牡之合而全作，精之至也。

wèi zhī pìn mǔ zhī hé ér quán zuò ，jīng zhī zhì yě 。

終日號而不嗄，和之至也。

zhōng rì hào ér bú á ，hé zhī zhì yě 。

知和曰常。知常曰明。

zhī hé yuē cháng 。zhī cháng yuē míng 。

益生曰祥。心使氣曰強。

yì shēng yuē xiáng 。xīn shǐ qì yuē qiáng 。

物壯則老。

wù zhuàng zé lǎo 。

謂之不道，不道早已。

wèi zhī bú dào ，bú dào zǎo yǐ 。

The Power of Virtue

Keep Inner Power, full compiled –

it is alike a newborn child:

So, hornet, scorpion, serpent, snake,
to sting or hurt it, they won't make,

wild beasts would never seize or hit,
or birds of prey not claw at it.

Its bones so weak, its sinews soft,
and yet its grip is strong quite oft.

It does not know yet how would be
a male's and female's unity,
yet raising its virility:

a climax of the vital force.

To cry all day, yet never hoarse:

a peak of harmony, of course!

Know harmony means: constancy,

know constancy: enlightened be!

Excess in life: as omen named,

ambition does engage your Qi:
so it's as violence proclaimed.

All creatures grow, but then grow old,

they called it: not in Dào enfold:

no Dào – an early end foretold.

[

This chapter turns toward fullness as a state prior to self-assertion. Laozi evokes the image of an infant, not to idealize innocence, but to point toward undivided vitality. What is whole has not yet learned to split itself into defense and display. Strength is present without being exercised, and resilience exists without being tested. The text suggests that fragility and power are not opposites at this stage, but coexist without conflict. What has not begun to calculate does not overextend. Laozi’s language draws attention to how completeness precedes strategy. When life is not yet divided against itself, it moves without strain. The chapter frames this condition not as something to be imitated literally, but as a reference point for understanding how vitality is preserved before it is fragmented by self-conscious control.

The second movement shifts from image to implication. Laozi contrasts this undivided state with the later tendency to harden and force outcomes. What becomes rigid invites breaking. What insists on display invites exhaustion. The text does not argue against strength, but against tension. When energy is compressed into assertion, it loses its capacity to circulate. The chapter suggests that decay does not begin with weakness, but with overuse of force. By naming how softness carries life forward while hardness accelerates decline, Laozi reframes endurance as flexibility rather than resistance. This is not advice toward passivity, but toward responsiveness. What remains open can adjust; what stiffens loses range. Vitality, the text implies, survives by staying mobile within itself.

In the poetic rendering this quiet strength is conveyed with restraint. The language avoids sentimentality and keeps the image of the infant grounded rather than symbolic. Softness appears as stability rather than fragility. The tone remains calm, allowing the insight to emerge without instruction. In this way, the poem reflects the chapter’s central intuition: life flourishes where it is not constrained by fear or ambition. What remains close to its own nature retains a strength that does not need to announce itself.

56 - Silent Enlightenment

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

知者不言。

zhī zhě bú yán 。

言者不知。

yán zhě bú zhī 。

塞其兑，閉其門，

sāi qí duì ，bì qí mén ，

挫其銳，解其紛，

cuò qí ruì ，jiě qí fēn ，

和其光，同其塵，是謂玄同。

hé qí guāng ，tóng qí chén ，shì wèi xuán tóng 。

故不可得而親。

gù bú kě dé ér qīn 。

不可得而疏。不可得而利。

bú kě dé ér shū 。bú kě dé ér lì 。

不可得而害。不可得而貴。

bú kě dé ér hài 。bú kě dé ér guì 。

不可得而賤。故為天下貴。

bú kě dé ér jiàn 。gù wéi tiān xià guì 。

Silent Enlightenment

A knower does not talk, just so
a talker still does not yet know.

So close your mouth, your gates do shut;

and blunt your sharpness, tangles cut;

do moderate your brightness, just

for getting one so with your dust:

it's as Mysterious One discussed!

That's why you cannot get it near,

nor can you get it far from here,

and neither can you get it charming,

nor can you then obtain it harming;

you cannot get it venerating,

nor can you get it denigrating:

hence acting as world's highest rating.

[

This chapter turns toward concealment as a disciplined form of clarity. Laozi speaks of closing openings and softening sharpness, not as acts of withdrawal, but as means of preventing dispersion. What is gathered remains effective because it is not continually spent. The text suggests that exposure wears things down long before they fail. By quieting what protrudes and smoothing what cuts, coherence is preserved beneath the surface. Silence here is not emptiness, but containment. Energy that is not constantly projected outward retains its density and direction. Laozi’s images point to an inner economy in which attention is conserved rather than scattered. When expression multiplies without limit, meaning thins and presence dissolves. To close the leaks is to protect depth. What does not insist on shining avoids being eroded by visibility. In this sense, obscurity is not loss, but a deliberate refusal to be consumed by display. The chapter frames concealment as a way of staying whole amid a world that invites fragmentation. What is held together does not need to announce itself to remain real.

The second movement deepens this restraint by turning to the field of relation. Laozi describes a condition in which distinctions no longer compel reaction. Praise and blame lose their power to agitate, gain and loss cease to pull attention off its center. This is not indifference, but balance born of alignment. When identity no longer depends on contrast, the world presses less heavily. The text suggests that vulnerability arises where the self is exposed through comparison. By loosening attachment to being seen, valued, or opposed, one becomes less available for disruption. Difference continues to exist, yet it no longer fractures unity. Laozi presents this state as a form of unification: what is no longer split by judgment cannot be easily unsettled. The chapter observes that steadiness grows where response is measured, not reflexive. By refusing to be sharpened by conflict, one avoids being dulled by it. Integrity is preserved by not offering oneself as a surface for impact.

In the poetic rendering this veiling is sustained with gentle restraint. The language avoids emphasis and allows images to settle without explanation. Sharpness fades into continuity, and noise recedes into quiet presence. The tone remains even, mirroring the chapter’s insight that what is most complete often remains unseen. Understanding does not announce itself. It stays available by not placing itself at the center. What aligns with the Dao becomes neither notable nor obscure, but simply present.

In Alquiros’ rendering, this chapter reads as a meditation on preserved integrity through containment. Unity is not achieved by expansion, but by remaining gathered. What is closed is not diminished, and what is softened is not weakened. The text closes on the sense that endurance begins where dispersion ends. By conserving attention and reducing exposure, action continues without fracture and presence remains intact over time.

57 - Silent Simplicity, Noble Greatness!

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

以正治國，以奇用兵，以無事取天下。

yǐ zhèng zhì guó ，yǐ qí yòng bīng ，yǐ wú shì qǔ tiān xià 。

吾何以知其然哉﹖以此。

wú hé yǐ zhī qí rán zāi ﹖yǐ cǐ 。

天下多忌諱而民彌貧。

tiān xià duō jì huì ér mín mí pín 。

民多利器國家滋昏。

mín duō lì qì guó jiā zī hūn 。

人多伎巧奇物泫起。

rén duō jì qiǎo qí wù xuàn qǐ 。

法令滋彰盜賊多有。

fǎ lìng zī zhāng dào zéi duō yǒu 。

故聖人云我無為而民自化。

gù shèng rén yún wǒ wú wéi ér mín zì huà 。

我好靜而民自正。

wǒ hǎo jìng ér mín zì zhèng 。

我無事而民自富。

wǒ wú shì ér mín zì fù 。

我無欲而民自樸。

wǒ wú yù ér mín zì pǔ 。

Silent Simplicity, Noble Greatness!

By righteousness a state to reign,

by weapons cunningly to feign...

non-bustle but all world to get!

But whence I know so? Well, by that:

The more taboos the World does set,
the more get people poorer yet;

are lots of sharp devices used,
are state and people more confused;

the more they use such crafty skill,
the more strange things come up at will;

more law and order to display,
more thieves and robbers do there stray.

Wise men are therefore speaking here:

I act without to interfere,
yet people do grow naturally;

preferring stillness, yet, I see:
they rectify spontaneously.

Of fussy busyness I'm free,
yet people prosper naturally;

without desire, I am seen,
yet by themselves they get pristine.

[

This chapter turns toward restraint as the condition for effective order. Laozi observes that governance deteriorates when it multiplies measures and interventions. What is crowded with rules becomes brittle, because each addition invites circumvention. The text frames simplicity not as neglect, but as trust in what already functions. When action is reduced to what is necessary, coherence has room to emerge. Laozi’s language suggests that excess control fragments the field it tries to organize. By pressing too hard, one provokes resistance; by insisting on visibility, one invites distortion. The chapter presents restraint as a way of allowing processes to settle into their own alignment. What is left alone does not decay by default. Order arises where interference recedes and space is returned to what can regulate itself.

The second movement shifts toward paradox. Laozi juxtaposes governing with non-interfering, knowing with not manipulating. The text does not deny the need for structure, but questions the impulse to constantly adjust it. When authorities chase effects, causes are neglected. By staying with what is fundamental, outcomes stabilize without being forced. The chapter suggests that skill lies in recognizing when action has reached sufficiency. Beyond that point, effort subtracts rather than adds. This is not passivity, but discrimination. To refrain at the right moment is a form of precision. Laozi frames this as an intelligence that trusts proportion over reaction. When conduct remains measured, it does not need to be defended repeatedly. The field holds because it is not continually disturbed.

In the poetic rendering this restraint is carried with calm clarity. The language avoids instruction and lets consequence speak quietly. Order and disorder appear as responses to orientation rather than to command. The tone remains even, reflecting the chapter’s trust that coherence arises when pressure is withdrawn. In this way, the poem echoes the chapter’s insight that peace is not engineered, but allowed. What aligns with the Dao governs without ruling and achieves stability without assertion.

58 - Gentle Leadership

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

其政悶悶，其民淳淳。

qí zhèng mèn mèn ，qí mín chún chún 。

其政察察，其民缺缺。

qí zhèng chá chá ，qí mín quē quē 。

禍尚福之所倚。

huò shàng fú zhī suǒ yǐ 。

福尚禍之所伏。

fú shàng huò zhī suǒ fú 。

孰知其極，其無正。

shú zhī qí jí ，qí wú zhèng 。

正復為奇，善復為妖。

zhèng fù wéi qí ，shàn fù wéi yāo 。

人之迷其日固久。

rén zhī mí qí rì gù jiǔ 。

是以聖人方而不割。

shì yǐ shèng rén fāng ér bú gē 。

廉而不劌。直而不肆。光而不燿。

lián ér bú guì 。zhí ér bú sì 。guāng ér bú shuò 。

Gentle Leadership

Whose ruler is restrained, will win

its people: pure and genuine;

whose government is spying on,

its people: devious and con.

Bad luck: good fortune's underlays,

good luck: misfortune's lurking place.

Whoever does this highest know:

is handling without guidelines, though!

Perverted principles get strange,

perverted goodness evil's range;

so, men's delusion: certainly
its days for long time had to be.

their days for long time, certainly.

Thereby, the wise men are attending

outspokenly, yet not offending,

as pointed, yet not piercing stated,

direct, but never dissipating,

and brilliant, not investigating.

[

This chapter turns toward softness as the hidden source of trust. Laozi contrasts two modes of rule: one that presses and one that allows. Where governance is heavy-handed, people grow guarded and evasive. Where it is light, confidence begins to settle. The text suggests that fear does not arise from disorder alone, but from the anticipation of intrusion. When authority announces itself constantly, it erodes the space in which trust can form. Laozi frames gentleness not as weakness, but as an atmosphere in which life can move without bracing itself. What is not threatened does not need to harden. The chapter observes that ease at the surface often reflects restraint at the center. When action refrains from forcing outcomes, alignment becomes possible without resistance. Softness here is not indulgence, but an intelligent reduction of pressure. By not tightening its grip, rule avoids provoking concealment and distortion.

The second movement deepens this contrast by tracing its effects over time. Laozi notes how what begins as strictness may appear effective, yet gradually produces cunning and fragmentation. In contrast, what begins as tolerance may seem imprecise, yet fosters honesty and coherence. The text does not idealize laxity, but emphasizes proportion. When conduct remains measured, it does not invite counter-movement. Laozi suggests that harsh clarity often generates subtle confusion, while quiet allowance clarifies without display. The chapter frames this as a reversal: where force seeks to define outcomes, it multiplies uncertainty; where restraint allows space, understanding grows. This is not a call to abandon structure, but to recognize how tone shapes response. Governance, like speech, carries consequences beyond content. When it is softened, it reaches further without needing to be raised.

In the poetic rendering this fluidity is maintained with quiet composure. The language avoids moral emphasis and allows reversals to appear naturally. Brightness and darkness exchange places without drama. The tone remains even, reflecting the chapter’s insistence that steadiness does not depend on control. In this way, the poem mirrors the insight that clarity which does not harden preserves life, while sharpness that insists on its own correctness eventually turns against itself.

59 - Moderation

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

治人事天莫若嗇。

zhì rén shì tiān mò ruò sè 。

夫唯嗇是謂早服。

fū wéi sè shì wèi zǎo fú 。

早服謂之重積德。

zǎo fú wèi zhī zhòng jī dé 。

重積德則無不克。

zhòng jī dé zé wú bú kè 。

無不克則莫知其極。

wú bú kè zé mò zhī qí jí 。

莫知其極可以有國。

mò zhī qí jí kě yǐ yǒu guó 。

有國之母可以長久。

yǒu guó zhī mǔ kě yǐ zhǎng jiǔ 。

是謂深根固柢，長生久視之道。

shì wèi shēn gēn gù dǐ ，zhǎng shēng jiǔ shì zhī dào 。

Moderation

Lead people, and serve Heaven's care –
reduction: nothing to compare.

For only will this moderation
be called a timely obligation;

this timely forethought means to pass
their Inner Power's ample mass.

then, Inner Power's mass so vast:
there's “Nothing not to cope with", last.

Then, nothing not to cope with, signs:
that "No one knows one's borderlines";

your limits – are they known by none,
feel able so the realm to run;

who runs the realm quite motherly,
can long then run persistently.

Called: deeply rooted, based so strong –

Dào's view extended, living long!

[

This chapter turns toward restraint practiced early rather than correction applied late. Laozi speaks of moderation as something that must precede excess, not respond to it. What is conserved from the beginning does not require repair. The text suggests that capacity grows where consumption is limited before strain appears. By holding back in advance, one accumulates reserve without effort. Laozi frames this not as asceticism, but as foresight. What is saved before it is needed becomes strength without tension. The chapter emphasizes that endurance is built quietly, through habits that prevent depletion rather than heroic acts that compensate for it. When limits are respected early, continuity establishes itself naturally. Moderation here is not a reaction, but a stance toward time. It keeps the future open by not exhausting the present.

The second movement extends this principle to leadership and continuity. Laozi connects accumulated reserve with the ability to remain aligned over long durations. What is governed with restraint does not burn out its foundations. By keeping within measure, authority avoids the cycles of overreach and collapse. The text suggests that lasting presence depends less on control than on patience. When roots are not overdrawn, growth remains steady. Laozi does not describe this as moral virtue, but as practical intelligence. The chapter implies that power preserved through moderation becomes unobtrusive yet resilient. It does not need to reassert itself repeatedly because it has not been weakened by excess. Continuity arises where limits are honored before they are tested.

In Alquiros’ poetic rendering, this principle is carried without emphasis. The language avoids command and instruction, allowing the insight to unfold as an observation rather than a rule. The calm tone mirrors the content: endurance arises from holding back. The chapter reads as a meditation on sustainability in the deepest sense, not ecological or political alone, but existential. What is not consumed remains available. What is preserved quietly governs longer than what is forced into display.

60 - Domination without Damage

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

治大國若烹小鮮。

zhì dà guó ruò pēng xiǎo xiān 。

以道蒞天下，其鬼不神。

yǐ dào lì tiān xià ，qí guǐ bú shén 。

非其鬼不神，其神不傷人。

fēi qí guǐ bú shén ，qí shén bú shāng rén 。

非其神不傷人，聖人亦不傷人。

fēi qí shén bú shāng rén ，shèng rén yì bú shāng rén 。

夫兩不相傷，故德交歸焉。

fū liǎng bú xiàng shāng ，gù dé jiāo guī yān 。

Domination without Damage

To govern larger countries be
like frying small fish... cautiously.

To run all world, use Dào to see:

its evil spirits haunt?- They don't;

not only evil spirits won't,
good spirits harming men? - They don't;

Not only its good spirits won't
harm men –but also wise men don't.

good spirits harming men? - They don't;

Not only its good spirits won't
harm men – but also wise men don't.

For both don't harm so mutually,

hence will their Inner Power be
combined, their way return to see!

[

This chapter turns toward delicacy as the proper mode of handling what is complex. Laozi offers the image of cooking a small fish, not as metaphor for technique, but for proportion. What is subtle is spoiled by excess attention. When stirred too much, it falls apart; when handled lightly, it holds together. The text suggests that many disturbances arise not from neglect, but from overmanagement. By intervening repeatedly, one breaks the very coherence one seeks to preserve. Laozi frames care as restraint informed by sensitivity. Attention must be present, yet sparing. What is allowed to settle retains its form. The chapter emphasizes that effectiveness depends on knowing when to stop adjusting. Precision here lies in touch, not in control. By reducing manipulation, action respects the inner balance of what it tends. The image points toward an ethic of minimal interference: stay attentive, but do not impose movement where stability already exists.

The second movement widens the scope to rule and order. Laozi links light governance with the containment of disruption. When authority refrains from constant assertion, disturbances lose their foothold. This is not because problems vanish, but because they are not amplified. The text suggests that agitation feeds on reaction. By not engaging every fluctuation, one prevents escalation. Laozi’s language implies that harm thrives where attention is heavy-handed. When pressure is reduced, opposing forces dissipate on their own. The chapter does not deny the presence of conflict, but shows how it is kept from spreading. Governance that is measured does not invite challenge, because it does not create surfaces for impact. Order remains intact by staying proportionate to what it addresses. The less it presses, the more it holds.

In the authors’ rendering, the metaphor retains its gentleness. The language does not dramatize power but softens it. Governance appears as an art of non intrusion, closer to listening than to commanding. The calmness of the tone reinforces the message that durability depends on care rather than assertion. What is handled lightly remains whole. What is constantly adjusted breaks apart. The chapter leaves the reader with a sense that true mastery lies in knowing when not to touch at all.

61 - First Servants

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

大國者下流，天下之交。

dà guó zhě xià liú ，tiān xià zhī jiāo 。

天下之牝。

tiān xià zhī pìn 。

牝常以靜勝牡。

pìn cháng yǐ jìng shèng mǔ 。

以靜為下。

yǐ jìng wéi xià 。

故大國以下小國，則取小國。

gù dà guó yǐ xià xiǎo guó ，zé qǔ xiǎo guó 。

小國以下大國，則取大國。

xiǎo guó yǐ xià dà guó ，zé qǔ dà guó 。

故或下以取，或下而取。

gù huò xià yǐ qǔ ，huò xià ér qǔ 。

大國不過欲兼畜人。

dà guó bú guò yù jiān chù rén 。

小國不過欲入事人。

xiǎo guó bú guò yù rù shì rén 。

夫兩者各得所欲，大者宜為下。

fū liǎng zhě gè dé suǒ yù ，dà zhě yí wéi xià 。

First Servants

Big states, they flow just downwards, hence:

as all the world's big confluence,

so all world's femaleness to show.

By constant calmness does prevail
the female concept over male,

by calmness acting down below.

Hence: bigger states, accordingly,
below the smaller states, they be,

are small states taken over then;

the smaller states, accordingly
below the bigger states they be,

to gain the bigger states again.

Hence, some below for gaining so,

and others, are there gained below.

Big states wish other states downright,
to bring together and unite;

the smaller states: they wish, with verve,
to join the others and to serve;

For both ones, each of them shall get:
all that what they are wishing yet –

should great ones act below, at that!

[

This chapter approaches power through the image of receptivity rather than dominance, using scale as a test of orientation. Laozi describes the great state as one that places itself below the small, not as concession or weakness, but as a functional stance. What is low gathers, what is high disperses. The metaphor does not argue politics but reveals a dynamic of attraction. When position is quiet, movement comes toward it without coercion. Influence arises where pressure is absent. The text suggests that assertion creates friction, while receptivity creates convergence. By remaining grounded, the larger entity becomes a place of settlement rather than control. Size alone does not determine stability. Orientation does. The Dao appears here as a field in which relative position shapes outcome more than force or ambition. To choose the lower place is to make room for relation without demand. What does not insist does not provoke resistance. Power exercised in this way does not need reinforcement, because it is not perceived as threat. The chapter reframes greatness as the capacity to receive without absorbing and to attract without binding. What yields becomes central not by claim, but by function.

The reflection then turns to mutual benefit without hierarchy. When the large seeks to dominate the small, both lose balance. When the small seeks to leverage the large, alignment dissolves as well. Laozi proposes a relation in which neither side aims at advantage. The smaller finds shelter without surrender, the larger gains steadiness without expansion. This balance preserves difference rather than erasing it. The text dismantles the logic of conquest by replacing it with reciprocity grounded in restraint. Union formed through pressure remains brittle, while union formed through acceptance endures. Ambition is exposed as a source of instability, because it presses relation into comparison. Receptivity, by contrast, allows continuity without absorption. The sage does not force agreement, but maintains conditions in which agreement can arise. Power is present without being exercised, and influence operates without display. What is shared remains intact because it is not seized. The Dao works through this quiet symmetry, where gain does not require loss and stability does not depend on enlargement.

What stands out in this rendering is the emphasis on gravity without coercion. The language stays close to the image of low ground that gathers water, not by command, but by position. Greatness is shown as something that does not need to announce itself or confirm its scale through expansion. By remaining receptive, it becomes a reference point rather than a rival. The chapter reads as a meditation on how steadiness arises when scale is held lightly and relation is allowed to form without pressure.

62 - Source and Refuge

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

道者萬物之奧。

dào zhě wàn wù zhī ào 。

善人之寶，不善人之所保。

shàn rén zhī bǎo ，bú shàn rén zhī suǒ bǎo 。

美言可以市尊。美行可以加人。

měi yán kě yǐ shì zūn 。měi háng kě yǐ jiā rén 。

人之不善，何棄之有。

rén zhī bú shàn ，hé qì zhī yǒu 。

故立天子、置三公，

gù lì tiān zǐ 、zhì sān gōng ，

雖有拱璧以先駟馬，不如坐進此道。

suī yǒu gǒng bì yǐ xiān sì mǎ ，bú rú zuò jìn cǐ dào 。

古之所以貴此道者何。

gǔ zhī suǒ yǐ guì cǐ dào zhě hé 。

不曰：求以得，有罪以免邪﹖

bú yuē ：qiú yǐ dé ，yǒu zuì yǐ miǎn xié ﹖

故為天下貴。

gù wéi tiān xià guì 。

Source and Refuge

The Dào – all creature's common flow:

for good ones treasurelike a glow,

for bad ones a protection so!

To bargain, pleasant words are used,

yet honorable deeds, to boost
the others – ... are they not so good:

to spurn their being? – Why we should?

And thus: if Heaven's Son were crowned,

installed three ministers around,

though they have precious discs of jade,

and drive a four-in-hand parade:

not similar to sitting now,
to be promoting just this Dào!

What might the Ancient's reason be
to praise this Dào, accordingly?

Is it not said: "Who seeks, will find",

"Who loaded guilt, thus freed in mind"?

Hence, as world's highest, it's designed.

[

This chapter places the Dao at the center as a quiet refuge rather than an object of display. Laozi describes it as a shelter that receives what is cast aside and supports what is fragile. Value is not created through brilliance or achievement but through the capacity to hold what would otherwise be lost. The Dao does not compete with visible virtues or spectacular deeds. It remains present beneath them, offering continuity where merit alone fails. What is honored publicly may impress, but what endures privately preserves. The chapter subtly shifts attention from accomplishment to ground. What is precious is not what shines, but what allows return. The Dao appears as a constant background that accepts without judging and sustains without demanding. In this sense, it functions as a kind of universal reserve, available to all regardless of status or failure.

From this view, ritual and hierarchy lose their absolute weight. Honors, gifts, and formal recognition are secondary to the deeper capacity to receive and restore. Laozi suggests that even those who have erred are not excluded from this ground. The Dao does not reject what society discards. It remains accessible precisely where conventional value systems withdraw. This perspective quietly undermines systems built solely on reward and punishment. Order based on merit alone is brittle; order grounded in acceptance is resilient. The chapter implies that true worth is not allocated but inherent, and that guidance is most effective when it points back to this underlying source rather than enforcing compliance.

The language unfolds with restraint, avoiding consolation or moral appeal. Images of shelter and return carry the weight of the insight without elaboration. The reader is not instructed but invited to notice what already supports everything else. The Dao stands as what quietly redeems without intervening, what gathers without selecting. The lasting impression is one of calm inclusiveness: what is rooted deeply enough does not need to exclude, and what remains available can guide without force.

63 - The Lightness of Being

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

為無為，事無事，味無味。

wéi wú wéi ，shì wú shì ，wèi wú wèi 。

大小多少，報怨以德。

dà xiǎo duō shǎo ，bào yuàn yǐ dé 。

圖難於其易，為大於其細。

tú nán yú qí yì ，wéi dà yú qí xì 。

天下難事必作於易。

tiān xià nán shì bì zuò yú yì 。

天下大事必作於細。

tiān xià dà shì bì zuò yú xì 。

是以聖人終不為大，故能成其大。

shì yǐ shèng rén zhōng bú wéi dà ，gù néng chéng qí dà 。

夫輕諾必寡信。多易必多難。

fū qīng nuò bì guǎ xìn 。duō yì bì duō nán 。

是以聖人猶難之，故終無難矣。

shì yǐ shèng rén yóu nán zhī ，gù zhōng wú nán yǐ 。

The Lightness of Being

Be doing, yet without ado,

do business, free from bustling, too,

the tasteless even let taste great,

find big in little, much in few,

with Inner Power answer hate.

Plan difficulties, while they're plain,

do greatness while it's small, again.

For all world's difficulty springs

quite certainly from easy things;

and all world's great affairs mature

from marginal ones, to be sure.

Hence, no great things do wise men treat,

so able greatness to complete.

For easy promise, little trust,

much ease – much trouble to adjust.

So, wise men face the trouble's call,

hence, free of problems, after all!

[

The chapter opens with a sequence of paradoxical imperatives that are not meant as riddles but as a reorientation of attention. Acting without acting, working without striving, tasting without tasting – these formulations redirect focus from the visible gesture to the underlying mode. Laozi is not advocating passivity, but a form of engagement that does not inflate itself through effort. What matters is not the display of action but the alignment from which action arises. When this alignment is present, even complex undertakings lose their heaviness. They unfold from simplicity rather than from pressure. The text suggests that difficulty is often produced by the mind’s urge to anticipate, enlarge, and dramatize. By remaining with what is small and immediate, one avoids the accumulation of resistance. In this sense, greatness is not something added later, but something preserved from distortion. The Dao is present before scale appears. What is large grows from what is small only if the small is not violated by impatience or ambition. Thus the chapter invites a disciplined restraint that protects beginnings from being overburdened by imagined ends.

A central movement of the chapter concerns response rather than initiative. Laozi proposes meeting what is hard while it is still easy, and handling what is great while it is still minor. This is not a strategy of control but of timing. Problems become unmanageable when they are allowed to grow beyond their natural measure. By attending early and without agitation, one does not need force later. The same logic governs the treatment of conflict. Injury is not answered by retaliation but by virtue, not as moral heroism but as practical clarity. Responding in kind would only multiply entanglement. Virtue here means refusing to amplify disturbance. The sage remains reliable without making heavy promises, careful without dramatizing caution. Trust is built through consistency, not through assurances. Laozi’s perspective dissolves the modern tendency to seek security in declarations. Stability arises from conduct that is so unforced that it leaves no residue of strain behind.

In Alquiros’ rendering, the chapter reads as a meditation on scale and restraint. The language keeps returning to beginnings, to what is still light enough to be guided without pressure. What stands out is the quiet confidence that nothing essential is gained by escalation. By remaining close to the small, the near, and the unadorned, one preserves the capacity to respond without rigidity. The text offers no technique, only a way of standing within events that prevents them from hardening into burdens.

64 - First Steps to Completion

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

其安易持，其未兆易謀。

qí ān yì chí ，qí wèi zhào yì móu 。

其脆易泮，其微易散。

qí cuì yì pàn ，qí wēi yì sàn 。

為之於未有，治之於未亂。

wéi zhī yú wèi yǒu ，zhì zhī yú wèi luàn 。

合抱之木生於毫末。

hé bào zhī mù shēng yú háo mò 。

九層之台起於累土。

jiǔ céng zhī tái qǐ yú lèi tǔ 。

千里之行始於足下。

qiān lǐ zhī háng shǐ yú zú xià 。

為者敗之，執者失之。

wéi zhě bài zhī ，zhí zhě shī zhī 。

是以聖人無為故無敗，無執故無失。

shì yǐ shèng rén wú wéi gù wú bài ，wú zhí gù wú shī 。

民之從事常於幾成而敗之。

mín zhī cóng shì cháng yú jǐ chéng ér bài zhī 。

慎終如始則無敗事。

shèn zhōng rú shǐ zé wú bài shì 。

是以聖人欲不欲，不貴難得之貨。

shì yǐ shèng rén yù bú yù ，bú guì nán dé zhī huò 。

學不學，復眾人之所過，

xué bú xué ，fù zhòng rén zhī suǒ guò ，

以輔萬物之自然而不敢為。

yǐ fǔ wàn wù zhī zì rán ér bú gǎn wéi 。

First Steps to Completion

What's calm is easy to uphold,

what's not by omens yet foretold:
precautions – easy to unfold;

what's brittle, easily is shattered,

what's tiny, easily is scattered.

While not yet being, handle fate,

while not yet troubled, regulate.

A tree, together to embrace,

it grew of tiny shoots, its base,

and towers of nine storeys' size,

from little heaps of soil, arise;

a journey, thousand miles to fare,

you start just from your feet down there.

He's blasting them, who intervenes,

it's losing what to grasp them means.

So wise men never interfere,
and thus without destroying here,

no grasp, no losing, thus to fear.

People follow their affair,
often near completion there,
and yet dare it to impair.

Start and finish it with care,

without then failing your affair.

Wise men desire no desire,
goods, hard-to-get, not to admire;

and they are learning not to learn,
where many pass, they do return;

for to support all beings here,
as by-themselves-so to appear,
yet do not dare to interfere.

[

This chapter continues the reflection on beginnings and timing, but with a stronger emphasis on fragility. What is at rest is easy to hold, what has not yet appeared is easy to guide. Laozi draws attention to the moment before things acquire momentum. Once movement has hardened into habit, correction becomes difficult and costly. Disorder does not erupt suddenly, it accumulates through neglect of small deviations. The text therefore speaks less about intervention than about attentiveness. Care is required not because the world is hostile, but because processes are subtle at their origin. When attention drifts, imbalance grows quietly. The Dao is present precisely in this early phase, where nothing demands force and nothing resists gentle guidance. To act too late is to invite struggle. To act too early, however, is equally problematic if it is driven by impatience. The chapter thus outlines a narrow path between omission and interference. It is a discipline of presence that neither rushes nor postpones. By honoring what is still incomplete, one avoids the need for dramatic correction later.

A key theme here is non-possession. Laozi warns against grasping outcomes and claiming authorship over success. When achievement is seized as a personal object, loss is already prepared. Completion that is claimed becomes brittle, while completion that is allowed remains resilient. The sage therefore works without ownership and finishes without attachment. This stance does not diminish effectiveness, it stabilizes it. Failure, in this view, is not the result of insufficient effort but of excessive fixation. By treating results lightly, one avoids the collapse that follows disappointment. The chapter also returns to the problem of intention. Good intentions, when inflated, can do harm. They disrupt the quiet unfolding of events by imposing an image of how things ought to be. Laozi’s restraint is not indifference but respect for the natural course of change. What is allowed to mature at its own pace does not rebel against completion.

In the authors’ rendering, the chapter becomes a study in careful withdrawal. The emphasis lies on staying close without intruding, on guiding without imprinting one’s own design. The language carries a sense of patience that is neither passive nor anxious. What emerges is an ethic of light touch, where success is measured by the absence of strain rather than by visible triumph. The Dao appears as the capacity to remain present at the threshold, attentive to beginnings, and willing to step back once the movement can sustain itself.

65 - Plain Naturalness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

古之善為道者，非以明民，將以愚之。

gǔ zhī shàn wéi dào zhě ，fēi yǐ míng mín ，jiāng yǐ yú zhī 。

民之難治，以其智多。

mín zhī nán zhì ，yǐ qí zhì duō 。

故以智治國，國之賊。

gù yǐ zhì zhì guó ，guó zhī zéi 。

不以智治國，國之福。

bú yǐ zhì zhì guó ，guó zhī fú 。

知此兩者，亦稽式。

zhī cǐ liǎng zhě ，yì jī shì 。

常知稽式，是謂玄德。

cháng zhī jī shì ，shì wèi xuán dé 。

玄德深矣、遠矣！與物反矣。

xuán dé shēn yǐ 、yuǎn yǐ ！yǔ wù fǎn yǐ 。

然後乃至大順。

rán hòu nǎi zhì dà shùn 。

Plain Naturalness

The ancients – excellently how
they all were practising this Dào,

not to enlighten them thereby:

they wished them so to simplify.

For people: they are hard to lead,

while using shrewdness much, indeed...

Control with shrewdness so a state –

that's ruining the country’s fate,

without such shrewdness rule the land –

a blessing for this land, at hand.

And these two things, one should them know

as proven common models, though,

as common rules forever seen:

does Mystic Inner Power mean.

All Mystic Inner Power's seed:
far-reaching and profound , indeed,

provides return each entity,

so, after all, they all will be
obtaining then Great Harmony!

[

This chapter turns toward the relation between knowledge and governance, but it does so by undoing a familiar assumption. Laozi does not oppose understanding itself, he questions the kind of knowing that hardens into control. When cleverness becomes a tool of domination, it fragments the natural coherence of life. The text recalls an older mode in which simplicity was not ignorance but a form of integration. People were not managed through constant instruction but allowed to remain close to their own rhythms. Excessive guidance, however well meant, produces dependence and subtle resistance. The chapter suggests that disorder often arises not from lack of intelligence, but from its overuse. When systems multiply explanations and rules, they estrange people from direct experience. The Dao recedes when life is filtered too heavily through concepts. What remains is compliance without inner alignment. Laozi’s critique is therefore directed at the inflation of intellect into authority. Wisdom, in his sense, is not the accumulation of insight but the capacity to refrain from imposing it. By keeping things plain, one preserves coherence without coercion.

The second movement of the chapter introduces paradox as a corrective. Governing by cleverness weakens the fabric it seeks to strengthen, while governing by restraint allows trust to form. This is not an argument for deception or obscurity, but for transparency without manipulation. When leaders display their ingenuity, they invite comparison, competition, and resentment. When they remain unobtrusive, order stabilizes without spectacle. The chapter links this restraint to virtue, not as moral superiority but as structural balance. Virtue here means not extracting advantage from asymmetry of knowledge. The sage does not confuse others in order to appear wise. Instead, clarity is shared indirectly through consistency of action. The text implies that harmony depends less on instruction than on example. What is lived quietly teaches more than what is explained repeatedly. In this way, the Dao works beneath awareness, shaping conduct without announcing itself.

In Alquiros’ rendering, the chapter reads as a meditation on intellectual humility. The emphasis lies on preserving simplicity against the temptation to overmanage. Knowledge is not rejected, but softened, returned to service rather than rule. What stands out is the insistence that stability grows where insight does not seek recognition. By stepping back from the display of cleverness, one allows a deeper order to remain intact. The chapter closes without prescription, leaving only a posture of restraint. The Dao appears as the quiet confidence that life does not require constant correction in order to endure.

66 - Leading from Below

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

江海之所以能為百谷王者，

jiāng hǎi zhī suǒ yǐ néng wéi bǎi gǔ wáng zhě ，

以其善下之，故能為百谷王。

yǐ qí shàn xià zhī ，gù néng wéi bǎi gǔ wáng 。

是以聖人欲上民，必以言下之。

shì yǐ shèng rén yù shàng mín ，bì yǐ yán xià zhī 。

欲先民，必以身後之。

yù xiān mín ，bì yǐ shēn hòu zhī 。

是以聖人處上而民不重，處前而民不害。

shì yǐ shèng rén chù shàng ér mín bú zhòng ，chù qián ér mín bú hài 。

是以天下樂推而不厭。

shì yǐ tiān xià lè tuī ér bú yàn 。

以其不爭，故天下莫能與之爭。

yǐ qí bú zhēng ，gù tiān xià mò néng yǔ zhī zhēng 。

Leading from Below

Wherefore can seas and rivers act
as hundred valleys' lords, in fact?

For serving them well from below,

as hundred valleys' kings they go.

Above the people wise men go:
then clearly put themselves below;

and if they wish to be ahead,
they put themselves behind, instead.

That's why above will stay wise men,
yet people are unburdened then,

and even when they stay ahead,
the people stay undamaged yet.

That's why all world supports them cheery,
and yet devoid of being weary.

For not competing, none they meet
worldwide, who could with them compete.

[

This chapter addresses leadership through the image of low position. Laozi presents humility not as a personal virtue to be admired, but as a functional stance that allows collective movement to occur. What is low does not compete, and therefore does not obstruct. Rivers and seas become rulers of the valleys because they remain beneath them, receiving rather than asserting. The text shifts the notion of authority away from elevation and toward receptivity. To lead is not to stand above, but to create space in which others can find their own balance. Power that insists on visibility provokes resistance, while power that withdraws allows alignment. The Dao is described here as a principle of placement rather than force. By choosing the lower position, one avoids friction and gathers strength indirectly. This does not weaken leadership, it stabilizes it. What carries weight without pressing does not need defense. The chapter suggests that endurance in leadership arises from the absence of self-display.

The second movement explores the paradoxical effect of non-assertion. When the leader does not contend, others do not feel contested. When no claim is made, no claim needs to be defended. Laozi reframes ambition as a source of instability rather than progress. Those who push themselves forward create a field of comparison, while those who remain behind dissolve it. This does not erase difference, but prevents it from becoming rivalry. The text implies that conflict is often generated by positioning rather than by substance. By relinquishing the urge to be first, one allows order to emerge without struggle. The sage governs by standing back, yet remains present. Influence operates quietly, through reliability rather than command. In this view, authority is not exercised but inhabited. It rests on trust that does not need reinforcement through assertion.

In Alquiros’ rendering, the chapter reads as a study in gravity without pressure. The imagery of low ground is carried with restraint, emphasizing function over symbolism. What stands out is the calm confidence that leadership need not announce itself to be effective. By accepting a position that appears secondary, one becomes indispensable. The Dao here reveals itself as a principle of quiet convergence, where strength accumulates precisely because it does not insist on being seen.

67 - The Three Treasures

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天下皆謂我道大似不肖。

tiān xià jiē wèi wǒ dào dà sì bú xiāo 。

夫唯大故似不肖。

fū wéi dà gù sì bú xiāo 。

若肖，久矣！其細也夫。

ruò xiāo ，jiǔ yǐ ！qí xì yě fū 。

我有三寶持而保之：

wǒ yǒu sān bǎo chí ér bǎo zhī ：

一曰慈，二曰儉，三曰不敢為天下先。

yī yuē cí ， èr yuē jiǎn ，sān yuē bú gǎn wéi tiān xià xiān 。

慈故能勇，儉故能廣，

cí gù néng yǒng ，jiǎn gù néng guǎng ，

不敢為天下先故能成器長。

bú gǎn wéi tiān xià xiān gù néng chéng qì zhǎng 。

今舍慈且勇，舍儉且廣，舍後且先，

jīn shě cí qiě yǒng ，shě jiǎn qiě guǎng ，shě hòu qiě xiān ，

死矣！夫慈以戰則勝，以守則固。

sǐ yǐ ！fū cí yǐ zhàn zé shèng ，yǐ shǒu zé gù 。

天將救之以慈衛之。

tiān jiāng jiù zhī yǐ cí wèi zhī 。

The Three Treasures

My Dào – they all worldwide call great,

seems incomparable to rate –

and truly, just so great it's there,

for seemingly not to compare;

were it comparable, long since,

as petty, well, it would evince.

There are Three Treasures, I possess,

to hold and to esteem them, yes:

the first: let's call it Charity,

the second called: Frugality,

the third be named "don't dare to act
ahead of all the world", in fact.
{the third so means: Humility.}

With Charity, thereby one can
become a lionhearted man,

and with Frugality – one might
thereby high-hearted be outright,

"no boldly acts: ahead, indeed,
of all", so able to complete
all my potential them to lead.

They do reject now Charity,
to live but lionheartedly,

they do reject Frugality,
but they remain high-heartedly,

they do reject Humility,
but stay ahead... well: fatally!

And truly, as for Charity:
when used in fight – you thus will win,

used in defense – resist therein.

Will Heaven save you from above,
then by protecting you through Love.

[

Chapter 67 describes the Three Treasures—Charity, Frugality, and Non-Pretension—as the core of all wisdom and the foundation of leadership. These three form an attitude that protects, strengthens, and maintains the right measure. The text opens with a reflection on invisibility as a form of effectiveness. Laozi describes the highest kind of leadership as barely perceptible, followed by forms that are respected, feared, or despised. This sequence is not a moral ranking but an observation about distance. The lines show that Charity brings forth courage, Frugality brings forth magnanimity, and withdrawal brings forth the ability to lead without dominating. Where leadership is quiet, people remain close to their own activity. The most effective guidance therefore leaves little trace; life proceeds without interruption. The chapter unfolds that true strength arises not from force but from mildness. Harmony depends less on instruction than on trust in the process already underway. The Dào operates through absence of pressure rather than presence of command, by creating conditions rather than outcomes. Success is recognized only after the fact, when people feel that events have unfolded naturally. Whoever preserves the Three Treasures remains connected to the Dào. The lines warn against seeking courage without Charity or leadership without humility: any of these shortcuts destroys the path, as the treasures work as a unit.

The second movement turns toward the economy of speech and restraint. The poetic version brings this quiet threefold nature of the Dào to expression with calm warmth. Laozi emphasizes the economy of words, not as a stylistic preference but as a mode of care, so as not to disrupt the rhythm of action. The representation of the Three Treasures is clearly framed and preserves their Laozi-like softness. The development of the idea that courage and mildness are not a contradiction but bring each other forth is particularly successful, which the poetic language makes tangible. The verses show how Frugality orders and how Non-Pretension grants the true ability to lead. When words are few, completion feels collective rather than imposed—the rendering avoids any moral severity and keeps the imagery light and carrying. This is respect for autonomy. The sage speaks only when speech clarifies without dominating. Promises are avoided as they bind attention to the future. What holds a community together is reliability, not reassurance. Stability arises when action is consistent and language remains proportionate to necessity. The version remains relaxed yet precise, close to the quiet breath of the original.

Chapter 67 shows that the Dào operates through Charity, Frugality, and Humility. The poetic version preserves this insight with gentle clarity and reminds us that the three treasures are not virtues in the usual sense but a way of life. Here the rendering places emphasis on trust as an emergent quality rather than a declared goal. The tone remains deliberately understated, allowing the insight to rest without amplification. Leadership appears as a background condition, not as a foreground performance. It shows that the path becomes strong where the heart remains soft—and that the Dào unfolds its deepest power in mildness. By withdrawing from display and explanation, authority becomes almost indistinguishable from the life it supports. The chapter closes on this subtle inversion: the less leadership insists on itself, the more completely it fulfills its role.

68 - True Leadership

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

善為士者不武。

shàn wéi shì zhě bú wǔ 。

善戰者不怒。

shàn zhàn zhě bú nù 。

善勝敵者不與。

shàn shèng dí zhě bú yǔ 。

善用人者為之下。

shàn yòng rén zhě wéi zhī xià 。

是謂不爭之德。

shì wèi bú zhēng zhī dé 。

是謂用人之力。

shì wèi yòng rén zhī lì 。

是謂配天古之極。

shì wèi pèi tiān gǔ zhī jí 。

True Leadership

Good leaders don't act martially,

not angry should good fighters be;

good conquerors of enemies
impassive, not-engaged are these,

they, who are good in using men,
act from below so humbly then.

It's called non-struggling's Inner Strength,

that means strong leadership at length.

It's called resembling heavenly:

the highest in antiquity!

[

This chapter presents a constellation of paradoxical strengths: the best warrior is not aggressive, the best fighter is not angry, the best victor does not contend, and the best leader places himself beneath others. These images are not idealizations but functional descriptions. Laozi is interested in outcomes that endure, not in displays that exhaust themselves. Force that advertises itself invites resistance; strength that remains unprovocative has nothing to push against. The chapter reframes excellence as a capacity to remain unentangled by the impulses usually associated with power. Anger narrows perception, competition multiplies opponents, and assertion generates counter-assertion. By stepping out of these cycles, effectiveness increases rather than diminishes. The Dao here is not a moral instruction to be gentle, but an observation about leverage. What does not oppose does not need to overcome. What does not inflame does not need to be restrained. The text suggests that mastery lies in maintaining a condition where escalation never becomes necessary.

The second movement links this restraint to a deeper alignment with what Laozi calls Heaven. This alignment is not obedience to an external order but coherence with a larger pattern that does not require personal force. To act without contending is to allow circumstances to resolve themselves without being driven toward conflict. Victory that is claimed hardens into rivalry, while victory that is not claimed dissolves comparison altogether. The sage therefore remains effective without triumphalism. Leadership is exercised without the theatrics of dominance. The chapter implies that the most reliable strength is one that does not seek validation through opposition. By avoiding confrontation, one preserves the capacity to respond when response is truly required. This is not weakness, but conservation of energy and clarity. The Dao appears as the art of staying aligned with conditions that make struggle unnecessary.

In this version, the emphasis falls on non-contending as a principle of durable strength. The language avoids heroic framing and keeps the focus on functional outcomes rather than ideals. What stands out is the quiet confidence that real power does not need an adversary to define itself. By remaining below rather than above, one avoids the dynamics that erode stability. The chapter reads as an invitation to recognize that the highest effectiveness operates without the drama usually associated with force.

69 - Victorious Retreat

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

用兵有言:吾不敢為主而為客。

yòng bīng yǒu yán :wú bú gǎn wéi zhǔ ér wéi kè 。

不敢進寸而退尺。

bú gǎn jìn cùn ér tuì chǐ 。

是謂行無行。

shì wèi háng wú háng 。

攘無臂。扔無敵。執無兵。

rǎng wú bì 。rēng wú dí 。zhí wú bīng 。

禍莫大於輕敵。

huò mò dà yú qīng dí 。

輕敵幾喪吾寶。

qīng dí jǐ sàng wú bǎo 。

故抗兵相加哀者勝矣。

gù kàng bīng xiàng jiā āi zhě shèng yǐ 。

Victorious Retreat

The weapon users say at most:

"I do not dare to act the host,

but rather act as guest engrossed".

"Not daring to advance an inch,

yet I step back a foot to flinch."

Called: "marching without march" achieve,

"without your arm roll up your sleeve",

"throw back without a fight", as told,

"without a weapon do take hold!“

There are no worse calamities
than taking lightly enemies;

Opponents underrated – measures:
I almost could have lost my Treasures

When warriors, on fighting place,
hence go and mutually do face,

well, those with pity win the race!

[

This chapter turns to the logic of conflict and exposes it as a self-defeating posture. Laozi frames engagement not as a contest to be won, but as a condition to be avoided whenever possible. To advance without advancing, to withdraw while appearing to move forward, describes a stance that refuses to solidify opposition. The text suggests that hostility gains momentum only when it is met head-on. Once positions harden, perception narrows and outcomes become rigid. What appears as strength in confrontation often masks a loss of flexibility. By refusing to define the situation as a battle, one keeps multiple paths open. The Dao here functions as a way of staying mobile within tension, neither yielding blindly nor pressing aggressively. Preparedness is emphasized without eagerness. Readiness without appetite for conflict preserves clarity. The chapter implies that the most dangerous moment is not attack itself, but the internal commitment to attack as a solution.

The second movement sharpens this insight by identifying the true cost of contention. To regard an opponent as an enemy is already to incur loss. Once hostility is internalized, the field is distorted and judgment becomes partial. Laozi warns that those who delight in victory do not truly prevail, because triumph fixes the mind in comparison and resentment. The grief that follows conflict is not incidental, it is intrinsic. To harm another is to diminish one’s own capacity for balance. The sage therefore treats engagement as a last resort and never with relish. Even when force cannot be avoided, it is carried out without pride. The chapter insists that sorrow, not celebration, accompanies necessity. This sobriety prevents escalation after the immediate danger has passed. By acknowledging the cost of conflict, one avoids repeating it. The Dao here is the discipline of remembering what is lost whenever opposition is embraced.

In this rendering, the emphasis lies on restraint as an ethical clarity rather than a tactical trick. The language keeps returning to the inner shift that precedes outward struggle. What emerges is a sober view of conflict as something that damages all sides, even when it appears successful. The chapter does not offer a method for winning, but a way of standing that makes winning irrelevant. By refusing to take pleasure in domination, one preserves the possibility of return to balance once the moment of danger has ended.

70 - But Few are Chosen

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

吾言甚易知、甚易行。

wú yán shèn yì zhī 、shèn yì háng 。

天下莫能知、莫能行。

tiān xià mò néng zhī 、mò néng háng 。

言有宗、事有君。

yán yǒu zōng 、shì yǒu jūn 。

夫唯無知，是以我不知。

fū wéi wú zhī ，shì yǐ wǒ bú zhī 。

知我者希，則我者貴。

zhī wǒ zhě xī ，zé wǒ zhě guì 。

是以聖人被褐懷玉。

shì yǐ shèng rén bèi hè huái yù 。

But Few are Chosen

My words: most easily to see,

to follow: done most easily,

yet worldwide understood by none,

can follow not a single one.

My Words have rules – a Lord my deed,

for this not understanding, bare,

hence, I'm not understood, concede:

those, understanding me, are rare,

they thus appreciate me there.

So wise men's clothes are coarsely made,

but in their heart: a piece of jade!

[

This chapter reflects on misunderstanding as an almost inevitable condition. Laozi notes that his words are easy to grasp and easy to practice, yet few truly understand or live by them. The difficulty does not lie in complexity but in orientation. What is simple does not attract ambition, and what does not promise advantage is easily dismissed. The Dao resists appropriation because it does not flatter the mind’s desire for mastery. Those who seek clever formulations or novel doctrines overlook what is already available. The text suggests that obscurity is often projected onto teachings that fail to satisfy expectations of gain. Laozi’s voice here is neither defensive nor resigned. It is observational. Misunderstanding arises because people approach with the wrong posture. They listen for techniques rather than for alignment. As a result, the teaching remains present but unused, clear yet uninhabited.

The second movement introduces the image of concealment. The sage is described as wearing coarse clothing while carrying jade within. This is not an aesthetic preference but a protective measure. What is valuable is kept inward, not displayed. Display invites appropriation and distortion, while concealment preserves integrity. The chapter implies that truth does not benefit from exposure to constant evaluation. When insight is paraded, it becomes an object of comparison and debate. When it remains inward, it continues to orient conduct quietly. Laozi thus separates appearance from substance. What looks unremarkable may carry depth, while what appears refined may be hollow. The Dao does not advertise itself. It remains accessible, but only to those willing to look without expectation of spectacle. This inwardness is not secrecy, but economy. Nothing essential is withheld, yet nothing is exaggerated.

Here the emphasis falls on dignity without display. The rendering highlights the calm acceptance that not being understood is part of remaining aligned. There is no urge to persuade, correct, or impress. Value is preserved by not insisting on recognition. The chapter reads as a quiet affirmation that integrity does not require acknowledgment to remain intact. By carrying what matters inwardly and allowing the outer form to remain plain, one stays free from the distortions that accompany approval or rejection. The Dao appears as something that endures precisely because it does not compete for attention.

71 - Illusion and Wisdom

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

知不知上，不知知病。

zhī bú zhī shàng ，bú zhī zhī bìng 。

夫唯病病，是以不病。

fū wéi bìng bìng ，shì yǐ bú bìng 。

聖人不病，以其病病。

shèng rén bú bìng ，yǐ qí bìng bìng 。

夫唯病病，是以不病。

fū wéi bìng bìng ，shì yǐ bú bìng 。

Illusion and Wisdom

Know: not to know – the highest scaling,

not knowing: not to know – a failing:

for only failing just this failing,

therefore no failing is prevailing.

So not to fail: the wise men's trail,

for failing yet that failure's tale –

they therefore not at all do fail.

[

This chapter pivots on a subtle reversal of what is usually counted as knowledge. Laozi suggests that recognizing one’s own not-knowing is a form of clarity, while assuming knowledge where none exists is a kind of illness. The text does not condemn learning or inquiry, but it draws a sharp line between openness and presumption. To know that one does not know keeps perception flexible. To believe that one already knows closes the field and replaces attention with habit. The Dao is presented here as something that cannot be mastered through accumulation. It requires a stance that remains responsive rather than fixed. What blocks understanding is not ignorance itself, but the refusal to acknowledge it. The chapter implies that certainty hardens too quickly and begins to substitute itself for reality. By contrast, admitted uncertainty keeps the mind aligned with what is actually present. In this way, not-knowing functions as a safeguard against distortion.

The second movement introduces the metaphor of illness to sharpen the contrast. To be sick of sickness is to be already on the way to health. This is not a call to eradicate weakness, but to recognize it without identification. When limitation is seen clearly, it no longer governs behavior unconsciously. The sage does not deny vulnerability, but does not dramatize it either. By refusing to take illness as identity, one prevents it from spreading into every domain. Laozi’s insight here is practical rather than diagnostic. Awareness interrupts repetition. The text suggests that many errors persist because they remain unnamed. Once seen, they lose their compulsive force. The Dao operates through this quiet exposure, not by correction imposed from outside, but by clarity arising within.

Here the rendering emphasizes sobriety rather than paradox. The language stays close to lived experience, where false certainty often causes more harm than acknowledged limitation. What emerges is a calm respect for the boundary of understanding. The chapter does not praise ignorance, but it honors honesty about one’s own reach. By remaining alert to what one does not know, one avoids the rigidity that turns insight into dogma. The Dao appears as a mode of attentiveness that remains healthy precisely because it does not pretend to be complete.

72 - True Authority

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

民不畏威，則大威至。

mín bú wèi wēi ，zé dà wēi zhì 。

無狎其所居，無厭其所生。

wú xiá qí suǒ jū ，wú yàn qí suǒ shēng 。

夫唯不厭，是以不厭。

fū wéi bú yàn ，shì yǐ bú yàn 。

是以聖人自知不自見。

shì yǐ shèng rén zì zhī bú zì jiàn 。

自愛不自貴。

zì ài bú zì guì 。

故去彼取此。

gù qù bǐ qǔ cǐ 。

True Authority

When they don't fear authorities,

comes Great Authority to these.

Do not constrict their dwelling place,

do not suppress their living space:

just not suppressing so their zest,

thereby they will not be depressed!

So wise men know themselves, ...don't seem
to note themselves. With self-esteem,

themselves not overestimating:

preferring that, yet this abating.

[

This chapter addresses the tension between authority and fear, but it does so by shifting attention away from coercion toward legitimacy. Laozi observes that when people no longer fear power, something has already gone wrong. Fear may produce obedience, but it does not produce alignment. Once authority relies on intimidation, it has lost contact with what sustains it. The text suggests that excessive pressure provokes defiance or withdrawal, not stability. What is enforced from above eventually hollows out from below. The Dao appears here as a principle that cannot be imposed. When space is denied, resistance forms silently. When life is constrained too tightly, it seeks expression elsewhere. The chapter thus reads as a warning against mistaking control for order. True order does not need to announce itself through threat. It rests on a shared sense of proportion that fear can only undermine.

The second movement turns inward, emphasizing self-restraint as the corrective. Laozi advises not to crowd people’s lives, not to exhaust their vitality, and not to press against their natural measure. These are not humanitarian slogans but structural insights. When limits are respected, resentment does not accumulate. When people are not humiliated or trapped, they do not need to rebel. The sage governs by knowing when to stop, not by pushing further. Authority that remains aware of its own reach avoids the cycle of escalation that fear inevitably triggers. The text implies that rulers who seek to magnify themselves invite collapse, while those who refrain preserve continuity. The Dao works through moderation that leaves room for movement. It is not weakness, but an understanding of thresholds. By honoring these thresholds, governance remains breathable rather than suffocating.

What stands out in this rendering is the quiet insistence that dignity cannot be forced. The language emphasizes distance without detachment, authority without intrusion. The chapter does not argue against leadership, but against its inflation. When power refrains from crowding life, it becomes almost invisible, and precisely for that reason endures. The Dao here emerges as the art of leaving space, trusting that what is not pressed will not break, and that what is allowed to breathe will not need to flee.

73 - Tacit Victories

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

勇於敢則殺。

yǒng yú gǎn zé shā 。

勇於不敢則活。

yǒng yú bú gǎn zé huó 。

此兩者或利或害。

cǐ liǎng zhě huò lì huò hài 。

天之所惡孰知其故。

tiān zhī suǒ è shú zhī qí gù 。

是以聖人猶難之天之道不爭而善勝。

shì yǐ shèng rén yóu nán zhī tiān zhī dào bú zhēng ér shàn shèng 。

不言而善應。

bú yán ér shàn yīng 。

不召而自來。

bú zhào ér zì lái 。

繟然而善謀。

chán rán ér shàn móu 。

天網恢恢疏而不失。

tiān wǎng huī huī shū ér bú shī 。

Tacit Victories

Audacity to dare will kill,

but courage not to dare lives, still

these two might harm or might fulfill,

The Heaven's actual loathing will –

be dubious, who does know its wherefore?

Found even hard by sages, therefore.

And Heaven's Dào: without competing –
and yet so splendid in defeating,

no speaking – yet best answer set,

no call – and by itself come yet,

at ease – but good precautions met.

So vast and wide is Heaven's net:

wide-meshed – impermeable yet!

[

This chapter confronts courage and risk, but it does so by undoing the usual moral ranking between boldness and caution. Laozi distinguishes between daring that seeks exposure and daring that avoids it. One kind of courage courts danger and often meets death; the other withdraws from display and quietly survives. The text does not praise timidity, nor does it glorify recklessness. Instead, it observes that outcomes are shaped less by intention than by alignment with a larger order. Heaven, as Laozi names it, does not reward bravado. It operates without favoritism and without haste. What appears unjust from a human perspective follows a pattern that is not immediately visible. The Dao here is presented as an impersonal field in which excess, whether of aggression or avoidance, has consequences. Survival is not earned by heroics, but by fitting within what can be sustained.

The second movement deepens this perspective by emphasizing non-interference. Heaven acts without acting, achieves without striving, and responds without effort. Laozi’s language resists anthropomorphism. There is no image of judgment, only of balance. What overreaches is quietly reduced; what remains within measure is allowed to persist. This is not punishment but calibration. The sage aligns with this process by refraining from imposing personal standards of merit onto events. Rather than attempting to correct the world through force, one studies its tendencies and moves accordingly. The text suggests that many calamities arise from mistaking moral intensity for effectiveness. When action is driven by righteousness rather than proportion, it often disrupts the very balance it seeks to defend. The Dao offers no guarantee of safety, but it reduces unnecessary exposure to harm.

In this rendering, the emphasis lies on humility before patterns that exceed human calculation. The tone remains sober, avoiding both fatalism and defiance. Courage appears not as a posture to be displayed, but as a quiet discernment of when to advance and when to step aside. The chapter closes without consolation, offering instead a steady confidence that alignment matters more than assertion. The Dao emerges as a background order that neither argues nor explains, but steadily shapes outcomes through restraint.

74 - Death and Deadliness

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

民不畏死，奈何以死懼之。

mín bú wèi sǐ ，nài hé yǐ sǐ jù zhī 。

若使民常畏死，而為奇者，

ruò shǐ mín cháng wèi sǐ ，ér wéi qí zhě ，

吾得執而殺之，孰敢。

wú dé zhí ér shā zhī ，shú gǎn 。

常有司殺者殺。

cháng yǒu sī shā zhě shā 。

夫代司殺者殺，是謂代大匠斲。

fū dài sī shā zhě shā ，shì wèi dài dà jiàng zhuó 。

夫代大匠斲者，希有不傷其手矣。

fū dài dà jiàng zhuó zhě ，xī yǒu bú shāng qí shǒu yǐ 。

Death and Deadliness

And people, who don't fear to die,

how using death to threat them – why?

If causing people so to be
afraid of death quite steadily,

yet evildoers, at the end,

whom I could find and apprehend,
but then, to put to death them there –

which one of all of us would dare?

There always were official men
as headsmen executing then;

In fact, if you replace at will
official headsmen, just to kill,

that means, replacing, too, the utter
Great Carpenter as our cutter;

in fact, replacing then this utter
Great Carpenter as cutter, thence –

they rarely had not hurt their hands!

[

This chapter turns to punishment and responsibility, but it does so by shifting attention away from authority and toward necessity. Laozi questions the impulse to administer death or severe sanction as a means of restoring order. When fear of death fails to deter wrongdoing, increasing severity does not repair the underlying imbalance. The text suggests that punishment is often used as a substitute for understanding causes. By treating symptoms as if they were origins, authority multiplies harm without resolving disorder. Laozi introduces the image of an executioner who already fulfills the function of taking life. To replace this role with human assertion is to assume a power that exceeds proper measure. The Dao appears here as a boundary between what can be guided and what cannot be commandeered. When leaders attempt to wield ultimate force, they expose themselves to the same risk they seek to impose. The chapter reframes severity as a confession of loss of alignment rather than a demonstration of strength.

The second movement deepens this warning by invoking the inevitability of consequence. To take over the work of the executioner is compared to seizing the tools of a master craftsman. Those who do so are likely to injure themselves. This metaphor dissolves the fantasy of clean intervention. There is no violence without residue, no coercion without recoil. Laozi’s concern is not moral outrage but practical realism. Authority that oversteps invites instability by disrupting the balance it claims to enforce. The text implies that order maintained through fear remains fragile, dependent on constant escalation. By contrast, restraint preserves continuity. When the causes of disorder are addressed quietly, the need for punishment diminishes on its own. The Dao operates through this indirect correction, where excess is allowed to exhaust itself rather than being mirrored by further excess.

Here the emphasis falls on humility in the face of irreversible acts. The language remains calm, almost spare, underscoring the seriousness of assuming powers that cannot be undone. What emerges is a sober recognition that some forces exceed human jurisdiction. By refusing to compete with necessity, one avoids entanglement in cycles of harm. The chapter reads as a reminder that lasting order is not enforced at the edge of fear, but maintained by staying within limits that preserve both life and coherence.

75 - Tax Riots

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

民之饑以其上食稅之多，是以饑。

mín zhī qí yǐ qí shàng shí shuì zhī duō ，shì yǐ qí 。

民之難治以其上之有為，是以難治。

mín zhī nán zhì yǐ qí shàng zhī yǒu wéi ，shì yǐ nán zhì 。

民之輕死以其求生之厚，是以輕死。

mín zhī qīng sǐ yǐ qí qiú shēng zhī hòu ，shì yǐ qīng sǐ 。

夫唯無以生為者，是賢於貴生。

fū wéi wú yǐ shēng wéi zhě ，shì xián yú guì shēng 。

Tax Riots

All people starve... because their reign
eats up too much their tax of grain...

starvation therefore will remain.

So hard to rule are people here,

because their rulers interfere –

that's why they hard to rule appear.

They all take lightly death, they strive
for fullness therefore in their life –

thus taking death too easily,

for only those who never strive
for overestimating life,

are worthier in any case
than just their life to overpraise.

[

This chapter links social unrest to excess at the top rather than failure at the bottom. Laozi observes that people become difficult to govern when their lives are pressed too hard by demands that drain vitality. Hunger is not portrayed as a natural condition but as the result of extraction. When those above consume without measure, those below are left without margin. The text does not frame this as moral accusation, but as causal relation. Life resists when it is deprived of what sustains it. Attempts to impose order under such conditions only intensify instability. The Dao appears here as a principle of circulation. When flow is blocked, pressure builds. When pressure builds, compliance collapses. The chapter thus shifts responsibility away from individual conduct and toward structural imbalance. Governance fails not because people are unruly, but because their capacity to live has been narrowed beyond endurance.

The second movement contrasts this with an attitude toward life itself. Laozi suggests that those who cling too tightly to living often lose it, while those who do not grasp at survival remain closer to it. This is not an invitation to neglect, but a critique of obsession. When life is treated as an object to be secured at all costs, fear multiplies and action becomes distorted. By contrast, those who value life without trying to possess it move more freely within its limits. The sage does not endanger life, but does not center everything upon preserving it either. This balance allows responsiveness without panic. The chapter implies that genuine care for life expresses itself as moderation rather than accumulation. What is hoarded becomes brittle. What is allowed to circulate remains resilient.

In this version, the emphasis falls on proportionality as the hidden condition of stability. The language keeps close to material realities, food, vitality, pressure, without turning them into slogans. What stands out is the quiet insistence that social order cannot be separated from how life is sustained at its base. When demands exceed capacity, resistance is not a choice but a consequence. The Dao here emerges as an ethic of restraint that protects life by refusing to exhaust it, and preserves continuity by leaving enough untouched to endure.

76 - Subtle Strengths

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

人之生也柔弱，其死也堅強。

rén zhī shēng yě róu ruò ，qí sǐ yě jiān qiáng 。

草木之生也柔脆，其死也枯槁。

cǎo mù zhī shēng yě róu cuì ，qí sǐ yě kū gǎo 。

故堅強者死之徒，柔弱者生之徒。

gù jiān qiáng zhě sǐ zhī tú ，róu ruò zhě shēng zhī tú 。

是以兵強則滅，木強則折。

shì yǐ bīng qiáng zé miè ，mù qiáng zé shé 。

強大處下，柔弱處上。

qiáng dà chù xià ，róu ruò chù shàng 。

Subtle Strengths

At birth were people soft and slight,

yet hard and rigid when they died.

All living beings, grass and tree –
their birth so soft and supple, see,

their dying withered yet and dried.

So: hardness and rigidity –
their death they do accompany,

but suppleness and weakness thrive
as their companions of all life!

So rigid troops – no win to take,

and trees, too strong, will soon then break,

so great and rigid stay inferior,

but soft and supple stay superior.

[

This chapter contrasts life and death through the language of softness and rigidity. Laozi observes that living things are supple and responsive, while what is dead is hard and fixed. The distinction is not biological alone, but structural. Flexibility allows adaptation, while rigidity resists change until it breaks. The text reframes strength away from firmness and toward responsiveness. What yields can survive pressure; what resists it absolutely becomes fragile. The Dao is presented here as a principle of pliancy that accompanies life itself. To remain alive is to remain adjustable. When structures harden too early, they lose the capacity to respond to circumstance. Laozi’s insight is not sentimental. Softness is not weakness, but an ongoing openness to influence. What is alive is shaped by its surroundings without losing coherence. What is rigid must either dominate or shatter.

The second movement extends this logic to power and conduct. Those who are stiff and forceful tend toward defeat, while those who remain yielding tend toward endurance. This is not a moral judgment but an observation about trajectories. Force accelerates confrontation and exhausts its own resources. Yielding absorbs impact and redistributes it. The chapter suggests that many failures arise from mistaking hardness for resolve. When action becomes inflexible, it can no longer adjust to changing conditions. The sage therefore aligns with softness, not as avoidance, but as strategic continuity. By remaining open, one retains range. By remaining rigid, one narrows options until collapse becomes likely. The Dao here is the art of staying alive within change, neither dissolving nor hardening beyond response.

What emerges in this rendering is an emphasis on resilience rather than opposition. The language avoids romanticizing softness and instead presents it as a functional advantage. Life is sustained by responsiveness, not by resistance. The chapter reads as a quiet reminder that endurance depends less on holding firm than on knowing when to bend. The Dao appears as the capacity to remain in motion without losing form, flexible enough to adapt, and stable enough to continue.

77 - The Way of Nature

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天之道其猶張弓與。

tiān zhī dào qí yóu zhāng gōng yǔ 。

高者抑之，下者舉之。

gāo zhě yì zhī ，xià zhě jǔ zhī 。

有餘者損之，不足者補之。

yǒu yú zhě sǔn zhī ，bú zú zhě bǔ zhī 。

天之道，損有餘而補不足。

tiān zhī dào ，sǔn yǒu yú ér bǔ bú zú 。

人之道，則不然，損不足以奉有餘。

rén zhī dào ，zé bú rán ，sǔn bú zú yǐ fèng yǒu yú 。

孰能有餘以奉天下，唯有道者。

shú néng yǒu yú yǐ fèng tiān xià ，wéi yǒu dào zhě 。

是以聖人為而不恃，功成而不處。

shì yǐ shèng rén wéi ér bú shì ，gōng chéng ér bú chù 。

其不欲見賢邪！

qí bú yù jiàn xián xié ！

The Way of Nature

The Heaven's Way – is it not so
just like the drawing of a bow?

Pulls down the high, uplifts the low;

decreases all abundancies,

the insufficient to increase...

The Heaven's Way - thus equally:
reduces all abundancy,

yet raises insufficiency.

But Men's Way, does act differently:

decreasing insufficiency,
so offering abundancy.

And who can have abundancy,
for giving so all world for free?

That only, who has Dào, will be.

So: wise men act, yet do not claim,

their tasks accomplished, yet don't aim
to linger, they don't want to be
there flaunting superiority.

[

This chapter returns to the image of balance, using the tension between excess and deficiency as its guiding contrast. Laozi compares the Dao to the drawing of a bow: what is high is lowered, what is low is raised, what is excessive is reduced, what is lacking is supplied. The image is not moral but mechanical. Balance is not achieved through intention but through adjustment. Human activity, by contrast, often reverses this logic, taking from what is scarce and adding to what already overflows. The text suggests that imbalance is not accidental, but produced by patterns of accumulation that ignore proportion. The Dao operates impersonally, redistributing without preference. It does not reward merit or punish fault; it corrects extremes by returning them toward measure. What exceeds its range is gently drawn back, not through force, but through inevitability.

The second movement contrasts this with human conduct. Laozi observes that people often act in ways that intensify disparity, giving more to those who already have and extracting from those who do not. This is not framed as moral outrage, but as a misunderstanding of how stability is maintained. When imbalance grows, coherence weakens. The sage, by contrast, aligns with the Dao by giving without possessing and acting without claiming. Contribution is offered without expectation of return or recognition. This stance prevents accumulation from turning into entitlement. The chapter implies that generosity loses its stabilizing function when it becomes a display or a transaction. What truly restores balance is not redistribution enforced from above, but conduct that does not seek advantage from asymmetry. By refusing to stand apart from the field of adjustment, one participates in its quiet correction.

Here the emphasis lies on proportion as an ongoing process rather than a fixed state. The language keeps the image of the bow in the background, allowing it to guide the reading without dominating it. What stands out is the calm assurance that balance does not need advocacy to function. The Dao works continuously, correcting excess and deficiency without announcement. By aligning with this movement, one contributes to stability without becoming its manager. The chapter closes with a sense of trust in a process that restores measure precisely because it does not depend on human calculation.

78 - The Wisdom of Water

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

天下莫柔弱於水。

tiān xià mò róu ruò yú shuǐ 。

而攻堅強者，莫之能勝，以其無以易之。

ér gōng jiān qiáng zhě ，mò zhī néng shèng ，yǐ qí wú yǐ yì zhī 。

弱之勝強。柔之勝剛。

ruò zhī shèng qiáng 。róu zhī shèng gāng 。

天下莫不知莫能行。

tiān xià mò bú zhī mò néng háng 。

是以聖人云，受國之垢是謂社稷主。

shì yǐ shèng rén yún ，shòu guó zhī gòu shì wèi shè jì zhǔ 。

受國不祥是為天下王。

shòu guó bú xiáng shì wéi tiān xià wáng 。

正言若反。

zhèng yán ruò fǎn 。

The Wisdom of Water

There's nothing softer all worldwide,
and weaker, too, than water's guide,

does firm and strong things yet attack,

thus nothing can surpass its track,

so nothing can replace its lack.

The weak will overcome the strong,

the soft beats hardest all along.

There's none on Earth who wouldn't know,

yet none can practice it, although.

And therefore wise men's word – it says:

"He, who is bearing realm's disgrace,

as 'Lord of land and grain' to praise";

"And he, who bears the realm's disaster,

he will be called then all world's master".

Like paradox sounds true word's phrase...

[

This chapter takes up the familiar image of water, but it does so with a sharper emphasis on reversal. Nothing in the world is softer or more yielding than water, yet nothing surpasses it in wearing down what is hard and rigid. Laozi is not praising gentleness as a virtue, but pointing to an asymmetry of effectiveness. What yields does not confront resistance directly, and therefore is not exhausted by it. Hardness meets hardness and breaks; softness passes through and remains. The Dao is expressed here as persistence without strain. Water does not argue with stone, it simply continues. Over time, this continuity proves stronger than force. The chapter suggests that effectiveness is often misjudged because it lacks drama. What works quietly is overlooked, while what asserts itself is admired despite its fragility. Laozi’s insight reframes endurance as a property of those who do not compete on the terms of resistance.

The second movement draws an explicit parallel between this principle and conduct. Accepting what others reject, bearing what others avoid, places one in alignment with a deeper order. This is not self-sacrifice as moral display, but an understanding of leverage. By taking on what is disowned, one neutralizes conflict before it forms. The text suggests that those who can absorb blame or difficulty without internalizing it hold a position of unusual stability. They are not weakened by what passes through them. Paradox becomes instruction here: what appears inferior occupies the strongest position. The sage does not seek purity or exemption, but remains open to what others deflect. In doing so, disturbance is dissipated rather than reflected back. The Dao operates through this capacity to receive without being deformed.

What emerges in this rendering is an emphasis on quiet superiority without triumph. The language avoids idealizing humility and instead presents receptivity as a structural advantage. Water does not win, yet it remains. By aligning with what yields and endures, one steps out of cycles of resistance that consume themselves. The chapter closes with the recognition that what the world dismisses as weak often carries the deepest capacity to transform. The Dao appears as a strength that does not announce itself, but persists long after force has spent its momentum.

79 - The Blessing of Tolerance

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

和大怨必有餘怨。

hé dà yuàn bì yǒu yú yuàn 。

安可以為善。

ān kě yǐ wéi shàn 。

是以聖人執左契，而不責於人。

shì yǐ shèng rén zhí zuǒ qì ，ér bú zé yú rén 。

有德司契，無德司徹。

yǒu dé sī qì ，wú dé sī chè 。

天道無親常與善人。

tiān dào wú qīn cháng yǔ shàn rén 。

The Blessing of Tolerance

Appeased great anger – there will be

a last resentment certainly;

but how could anybody see
that act as good, accordingly?

Thus, contract's left side hold wise men,

but not from others claiming then.

With Inner Strength, keep contracts' aims,

without that Strength just stand on claims.

"Impartial Heaven's Dào will be –

supporting good men constantly."

[

This chapter addresses the aftermath of conflict and the residue it leaves behind. Laozi observes that even when an agreement is reached, something remains unsettled. Resolution does not erase imbalance; it only halts escalation. Those who insist on full repayment or exact compensation keep the wound open. The text distinguishes between settling accounts and restoring harmony. Justice pursued as equivalence hardens into continuation of conflict by other means. The Dao is presented here as a refusal to complete the circle of retaliation. By not insisting on what is owed, one prevents the past from governing the future. The chapter suggests that peace maintained through exact reckoning remains fragile, dependent on memory of injury. What truly ends conflict is not balance of claims, but release from them. Letting go interrupts the logic that keeps opposition alive.

The second movement contrasts two stances: one that holds the tally and one that relinquishes it. Laozi portrays the sage as keeping the record of obligation without demanding payment. This is not indulgence or moral leniency, but a strategic withdrawal from perpetuation. Demanding repayment reinforces separation, while restraint dissolves it. The text implies that insistence on fairness can itself become unfair when it ignores context and consequence. Heaven, as Laozi names it, does not contend and does not take sides, yet order is maintained. Giving without reclaiming aligns with this pattern. What is yielded is not lost, but transformed into continuity. The chapter quietly reframes responsibility as something carried without enforcement. By refusing to press advantage, one preserves relation rather than victory. The Dao works here as a principle that favors endurance over closure.

In this rendering, the emphasis falls on release as the final act of resolution. The language remains measured, avoiding moral exhortation. What stands out is the clarity that true settlement does not lie in exactitude, but in the willingness to absorb imbalance without turning it into leverage. The chapter reads as a meditation on how peace is sustained after the visible conflict ends. By letting claims fall away, one prevents their return in another form. The Dao appears as the capacity to end cycles by not completing them.

80 - Simplify Your Life!

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

小國寡民。

xiǎo guó guǎ mín 。

使有什伯之器而不用。

shǐ yǒu shí bó zhī qì ér bú yòng 。

使民重死而不遠徙。

shǐ mín zhòng sǐ ér bú yuǎn xǐ 。

雖有舟輿無所乘之。

suī yǒu zhōu yú wú suǒ chéng zhī 。

雖有甲兵無所陳之。

suī yǒu jiǎ bīng wú suǒ chén zhī 。

使民復結繩而用之。

shǐ mín fù jié shéng ér yòng zhī 。

甘其食、美其服、

gān qí shí 、měi qí fú 、

安其居、樂其俗。

ān qí jū 、lè qí sú 。

鄰國相望，雞犬之聲相聞。

lín guó xiàng wàng ，jī quǎn zhī shēng xiàng wén 。

民至老死不相往來。

mín zhì lǎo sǐ bú xiàng wǎng lái 。

Simplify Your Life!

Few people and their country small:

let ten or hundred tools have all,

and yet, let not of use them be.

Their death let take them seriously,

and let them not too far then go.

Let have them boat and carriage, though,

without inducement yet to board them,

all arms and armors: they might hoard them,

yet with no reason them to show.

To knotting cords let people go,

as well as them applying so.

So sweet their food, nice cloths they add,

they dwell in peace, their customs glad.

The neighbor states face one another,

hear dog's and rooster's sound each other,

the people reach old age and die,

yet never mutually come by.

[

This chapter imagines a society that has chosen smallness not as deprivation, but as sufficiency. Laozi describes a community with few people, simple tools, and limited movement, where life remains close to what is immediately manageable. The image is not nostalgic fantasy, but a thought experiment about scale. When systems grow beyond lived reach, dependence replaces participation. By keeping means modest, people remain competent within their own lives. The text emphasizes proximity rather than isolation. Neighboring communities are close enough to hear one another, yet travel is rare. This restraint preserves difference without friction. The Dao appears here as a preference for containment, where complexity is kept within bounds that do not overwhelm attention. Life is not impoverished by this choice, but stabilized. Desire does not need to be suppressed, because it is not constantly inflamed by excess.

The second movement contrasts this condition with the restlessness produced by expansion. When novelty multiplies and reach extends endlessly, satisfaction becomes fragile. Laozi suggests that abundance of options erodes contentment rather than enhancing it. By limiting scope, one preserves depth. Tools exist, but are not fetishized. Knowledge exists, but does not demand constant application. The chapter does not argue against progress, but against disproportion. What exceeds necessity introduces strain. The sage therefore favors conditions that allow people to remain grounded in their immediate world. This grounding reduces conflict not by enforcement, but by absence of provocation. When life is legible and local, comparison loses its grip. The Dao works through this quiet containment, where fulfillment arises from what is near rather than from what is distant.

Here the emphasis lies on sufficiency as an active choice. The language avoids romanticizing simplicity and instead presents it as a structural advantage. What stands out is the confidence that limitation can protect richness rather than diminish it. The chapter reads as an invitation to reconsider scale as an ethical dimension. By choosing what is small enough to be lived fully, one avoids the fragmentation that accompanies endless reach. The Dao appears as a principle that favors closeness over accumulation, and continuity over expansion.

81 - True Words

Wáng Bì 王弼 (226–249):

hànyǔ pīnyīn

信言不美。美言不信。

xìn yán bú měi 。měi yán bú xìn 。

善者不辯。辯者不善。

shàn zhě bú biàn 。biàn zhě bú shàn 。

知者不博。博者不知。

zhī zhě bú bó 。bó zhě bú zhī 。

聖人不積。既以為人己愈有。

shèng rén bú jī 。jì yǐ wéi rén jǐ yù yǒu 。

既以與人己愈多。

jì yǐ yǔ rén jǐ yù duō 。

天之道利而不害。

tiān zhī dào lì ér bú hài 。

聖人之道為而不爭。

shèng rén zhī dào wéi ér bú zhēng 。

True Words

True words – not fine, fine words – not true.

Not arguing the good ones do,

not good are arguing ones, too;

the knowing ones: not learned, and so

the learned do not truly know.

No wise men hoard: thus, for they do
for others, they the more have, too;

thus, for they give to other men,
they get themselves the more, by then.

As Heaven's Dào gives use, not cheats –

Man's Dào creates, yet not competes.

[

This chapter closes the text by returning to simplicity, but now with a tone of completion rather than instruction. Laozi contrasts truth with eloquence, wisdom with cleverness, and fullness with accumulation. What is genuine does not need embellishment, and what seeks display already drifts away from what it claims to express. The Dao is not something to be proven or defended. It stands prior to persuasion. Those who argue are often compensating for insecurity, while those who know remain quiet because nothing needs reinforcement. The chapter gathers many earlier themes into a final orientation: clarity is reduced when it is advertised, and strength is weakened when it seeks admiration. This is not an attack on language or intelligence, but a reminder of their limits. When words multiply beyond necessity, they obscure rather than illuminate. The Dao remains available precisely because it is not dressed up to impress.

Attention then turns to generosity and sufficiency. Laozi observes that those who give do not diminish themselves, while those who hoard never feel complete. Taking from others increases lack, while giving aligns one with abundance that does not deplete. This is not idealism, but an observation about circulation. What moves remains alive; what is held rigidly decays. The sage therefore acts without accumulation and teaches without possession. There is no sense of final authority or closing doctrine here. Instead, the chapter affirms a way of remaining open at the end. Completion is not sealed by mastery, but by release. The text resists the urge to summarize itself triumphantly. It leaves room rather than closure. In doing so, it preserves continuity beyond the final line.

Here the rendering emphasizes quiet completion without finality. The language withdraws from contrast and rests in proportion. What stands out is the refusal to conclude with command or promise. The Dao is not handed over as a result, but left present as a condition that continues. The ending does not resolve the text into certainty, but returns it to use. By stepping away from display and accumulation, the chapter affirms that what endures does so without claiming the last word.

[

Aim of This Poetic Version

1. Precision of Meaning

2. Rhyme

3. Rhythm

4. Tone and Restraint

5. Visible Terminology (Bold Type)

On the Special Design of This Edition

Footnotes