Chapters 1–9

1

The Way that can be told
is not the constant Way;
the name that can be named
is not the constant name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth;
the named is the mother of the ten thousand things.
Therefore, ever without desire, one sees its mystery;
ever with desire, one sees its bounds.
These two come forth together but differ in name.
Together they are called the mystery:
mystery upon mystery,
the gate of all wonders.

2

When all the world knows beauty as beauty,
there is already ugliness;
when all know the good as good,
there is already what is not good.
So being and non-being give birth to each other,
difficult and easy complete each other,
long and short measure each other,
high and low lean on each other,
note and voice harmonise with each other,
before and after follow each other.
Therefore the sage abides in the work of non-action
and practises the teaching without words.
The ten thousand things arise, and he does not turn them away;
he gives them life but does not possess them,
acts but does not presume on it,
completes his work but does not dwell on it.
Just because he does not dwell on it,
it never leaves him.

3

Do not exalt the worthy,
and the people will not contend;
do not prize goods that are hard to get,
and the people will not steal;
do not display what is desirable,
and the people's hearts will not be disturbed.
Therefore the sage governs
by emptying their hearts and filling their bellies,
weakening their ambitions and strengthening their bones.
He keeps the people always without cunning and without desire,
and sees that the clever do not dare to act.
Practise non-action,
and nothing will be out of order.

4

The Way is empty, yet in use it is never filled.
Deep, it seems the ancestor of the ten thousand things.
It blunts the sharp,
unties the tangled,
softens the glare,
becomes one with the dust.
Hidden, it seems as if it might be there.
I do not know whose child it is;
it seems to come before the Lord of Heaven.

5

Heaven and earth are not humane:
they treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs.
The sage is not humane:
he treats the people as straw dogs.¹
The space between heaven and earth —
is it not like a bellows?
Empty, yet never exhausted;
the more it moves, the more comes out.
Many words soon come to an end;
better to hold to the centre.

6

The spirit of the valley never dies;
it is called the mysterious female.
The gate of the mysterious female
is called the root of heaven and earth.
Unbroken, as if ever present,
draw on it, and it is never used up.

7

Heaven is lasting and earth endures.
Heaven and earth can last and endure
because they do not live for themselves;
therefore they can live long.
So the sage puts himself last, and finds himself first;
treats himself as outside, and his self is preserved.
Is it not because he has no selfish aims
that he can fulfil himself?

8

The highest good is like water.
Water is good at benefiting the ten thousand things and does not contend;
it dwells in places that people disdain,
and so it is close to the Way.
In dwelling, the good lies in the ground;
in the heart, the good lies in depth;
in giving, the good lies in kindness;
in speech, the good lies in sincerity;
in governing, the good lies in order;
in affairs, the good lies in ability;
in action, the good lies in timeliness.
Just because it does not contend,
it incurs no blame.

9

To hold a vessel and fill it to the brim
is not as good as stopping in time.
A blade honed to its sharpest
cannot long keep its edge.
A hall full of gold and jade
no one can guard.
Wealth and rank with arrogance
bring their own ruin.
When the work is done, withdraw:
this is the Way of heaven.

1. Straw dogs were figures used as offerings in sacrifices: honoured during the rite and thrown away afterwards. ↩