A Bare Bones Translation from the Earliest Excavated Texts
Guodian Bamboo Slips (c. 300 BCE) · Mawangdui Silk Manuscripts (c. 168 BCE)
德經 then 道經 · Te Ching then Tao Ching
Concrete imagery. Animistic worldview. Pictographic roots.
This translation draws primarily from the Guodian bamboo slips (c. 300 BCE), the oldest known fragments of the Tao Te Ching, and the Mawangdui silk manuscripts (c. 168 BCE), the earliest near-complete texts. Where these earliest sources differ from the later received (Wang Bi) edition, the earlier reading is preferred.
The chapter order follows the Mawangdui manuscripts, which place the Te section first, followed by the Tao section. This is the oldest known arrangement of the complete text. Standard chapter numbers are retained for cross-reference.
Chinese characters began as pictures carved in bone and cast in bronze. This translation attempts to recover the physical images embedded in the writing itself. Where a character contains an ox, an arrow, a beard, a dancer, a pair of wings, a twisted thread, or a compound dwelling-gate, those images are allowed to surface in the English.
A note on what this translation replaces and why. Standard English translations of the Tao Te Ching render 天 as “heaven,” 德 as “virtue,” 聖人 as “sage,” 玄 as “mysterious,” 惡 as “evil,” 善 as “good,” and 美 as “beautiful.” These choices are not defended by pictographic evidence, textual behavior, or historical context. They are defended by repetition. One translator used them, the next inherited them, and over generations they calcified into a standard that now passes for accuracy. But on what basis? “Heaven” imports a Christian cosmology that did not exist in Warring States China. “Virtue” imports a Greek philosophical framework. “Sage” implies a static authority figure sitting on a mountain, which is the opposite of what the text describes. “Mysterious” flattens a character that depicts twisted silk dyed dozens of times in an indigo vat. “Evil” imposes a moral binary onto a character that shows a twisted heart-mind. “Good” erases the sheep. “Beautiful” erases the fat animal. Every one of these standard choices can be questioned by simply looking at the character and asking: what is actually in the picture? The standard translations depend entirely on authoritative voice—they ask the reader to trust the master translator without showing their work. This translation shows its work. Every choice is derived from the pictographic components of the characters themselves, the behavior described in the text, and the historical context of the Warring States period. The reader is invited to check.
Some examples:
道 Tao, the journey. Composed of 首 (head) and 辶 (walking). Not a road. The traveling itself—a head leading feet forward through living landscape.
德 Te, self-alignment. Composed of 彳 (step) beside 直 (straight gaze: 目 eye looking directly ahead) above 心 (heart). Walking with your heart aligned to your own straight seeing. Not virtue imposed from outside, but the inner condition of being true to your own direct perception.
無 Wu, dancing-without. Shares its root with 舞 (dance). A figure with arms spread wide, holding plumes. In the key phrase 無為 wu wei, it becomes “dancing-without-forcing”—effortless action as a body moving freely, arms empty.
知 Zhi, arrow-know. Composed of 矢 (arrow) and 口 (mouth). Words that hit the mark. Knowing as aimed perception, not abstraction.
言 Yan, carved words. A blade or tongue over 口 (mouth), with marks suggesting sound radiating outward. Speech as something cut into the air.
物 Wu, branded things. Composed of 牛 (ox) and 勿 (streaked, marked). Originally the varied brands on oxen—things that have been counted, individuated, marked out from the herd.
非 Fei, apart-from. Two wings facing away from each other. Not opposition but distinction—two wings of the same bird, working apart-together.
而 Er, beard-growing into. A beard hanging from a chin. At transitional moments where one state slowly becomes another: bent, beard-growing into whole.
玄 Shwen (xuán). The character depicts twisted silk fibers. Raw silk had to be wrung and twisted by hand into thread—hard physical work requiring strength in the hands and forearms, and the skill to keep the twist uniform. Too loose and the thread breaks in the loom. Too tight and it kinks. Master twisters were specialists. Once twisted into thread and woven into cloth, the silk was dipped into an indigo vat, removed, left to oxidize in the air, and dipped again. Each pass darkened it one shade. Cheap cloth got two or three dips. Shwen cloth required dozens of dippings over days, passing through every nameable color into an almost-black that still held a reddish warmth when light caught it—the color of the sky in the narrow window between sunset and full dark. The result was among the most valuable cloth produced in the ancient world. To wear it was to display status. To make it was to be recognized as a master of patience, strength, and craft. You could not rush it. You could not fake it. The darkness itself was proof of the work. This word is left untranslated throughout.
神 Shén. Composed of 示 (spirit-altar, with drops of offering-blood) and 申 (lightning stretching through the sky). The flash of power that strikes sacred ground. These are the forces that arrive when the offering is made.
鬼 Guǐ, the dead who return. A figure with a huge swirling head—the body is small but the head-spirit is enormous. The hungry ones who come back.
聖人 Shèng rén, the investigative reporter. The oracle bone form of 聖 shows a kneeling figure with an enormous 耳 (ear), presenting 口 (a vessel used in ritual offerings), listening for what comes back. The Shuowen defines it as “one who penetrates all things by listening.” Across traditions, the core meaning is acute, receptive perception: the person who hears what others cannot. The standard translation “sage” implies static, settled wisdom—an authority figure dispensing truth. But that is not how the shèng rén behaves in this text. This person has no fixed heart-mind but takes the heart-mind of the hundred clans as heart-mind. This person treats all people as straw dogs—not with cruelty but with the same fierce attention given to each case, then released when the work is done. This person wears coarse cloth and hides jade against the chest—working without drawing attention. This person acts without claiming credit, carves words without imposing, and goes unrecognized by most. What this describes is not a sage on a mountain. It is someone who enters the field, listens with total absorption, reports what they find without editorializing, and moves on. The term “investigative reporter” recovers the active, receptive, detached quality of the original that “sage” has buried under centuries of reverence.
諜 Dié, a parallel. This character means spy or intelligence gatherer. It is composed of 言 (carved words) and 枼 (leaf-tablet—a thin flat piece of wood used as a writing surface). One who observes in secret and records what they find. This character does not appear in the Tao Te Ching and is not etymologically related to 聖. But it comes from the same period—the Warring States, when every spear-walled territory ran intelligence networks—and it captures in its own pictographic components the same behavioral profile this text attributes to its shèng rén: enter the field, observe without being seen, record without editorializing, move on.
惡 E, twisted heart. A twisted or distorted form 亞 above 心 (heart-mind). In ancient Chinese thought, heart and mind were one organ. A twisted heart-mind is not moral evil but a distortion of the whole perceiving-feeling self.
國 Guó, spear-walled territory. Composed of 囗 (enclosure, walls) around 戈 (spear). A defended perimeter—you can hear the spears in the walls.
王 Wáng, axe-king. Three horizontal strokes (sky, people, ground) connected by one vertical line. The one who connects all three levels. During the Warring States period, these were regional strongmen ruling competing territories.
Three of the most important “moral” terms in the text all carry the same animal inside them:
善 Shàn, sheep-skilled. Contains 羊 (sheep). Not moral goodness but practical competence—skilled the way a herder is skilled with livestock. When the text says someone is sheep-skilled at walking or speaking, it means they handle it the way you handle a flock: with practiced, quiet mastery.
美 Měi, big-sheep. Composed of 羊 (sheep) and 大 (big). Beauty is a well-fed animal. Not aesthetics but prosperity. When the text says “all beneath the sky know big-sheep as big-sheep,” it is talking about wealth displayed and admired, not abstract beauty.
義 Yì, sheep-sacrifice. Composed of 羊 (sheep) and 我 (me, which contains 戈 spear). My sheep on my blade. The righteous act of sacrificing your own animal. When the text says you lose sheep-sacrifice, you have stopped giving up what is yours.
仁 Rén, togetherness. Composed of 人 (person) and 二 (two). Two people together. Not abstract benevolence—just the state of being with another person. The simplest form of not being alone.
福 Fú, full-vessel fortune. Composed of 示 (spirit-altar) and 畐 (a full vessel). A full offering vessel at the altar. Fortune is when the sacrifice is abundant.
禍 Huò, twisted-offering. Composed of 示 (spirit-altar) and 咼 (twisted, crooked). A twisted offering at the altar. Disaster is when the sacrifice goes wrong.
If the sheep feel relentless, that is the point. Unlike shwen and shén, “sheep” does not need to be left in Chinese—every Western reader knows what a sheep is. The West has its own deep sheep symbolism: the lamb of God, gentle as a lamb, the wise shepherd, the German Schäfchen as a term of endearment. Sheep are not foreign to us. What is foreign is the discovery that three of the most important “moral” terms in this ancient Chinese text—good, beautiful, righteous—all carry a sheep inside them. This is not a quirk of one character. It is a pattern that reveals how deeply pastoral economics shaped the philosophical vocabulary of the culture in which this text was written. The repetition is not a translation gimmick. It is a reflection of the culture. The standard translations erased this animal entirely, and in doing so they severed the text from the world it came from. It is possible to read five different English translations of the Tao Te Ching and come away with no idea that sheep were integral to not only the ancient Chinese economy, but to its language and philosophy. That silence is not neutral. It is a choice made by translators who preferred abstraction to livestock. This translation makes a different choice.
Opposites are treated with subtlety. The earliest texts show less rigid binary thinking than later versions. Chapter 63’s “taste what has no taste yet” retains the “yet” found in the earliest variants, implying unfolding potential rather than flat negation.
Terms like “heaven,” “eternal,” and “god” are avoided. The worldview is animistic: valley shén, the dead who return, mother-forces, breath-force, and the myriad living branded things inhabit a world that is alive, not governed by a transcendent deity.
A note on the Chinese words left standing in the English. Most translations try to make every word English. This one lets certain Chinese terms stand where English cannot reach. Tao, shén, shwen—no single English word can carry what these carry. “Mysterious” loses the silk. “Dark” loses the labor. “Spirit” loses the lightning at the altar. Every compression is a betrayal. So these words are left as small doors in the text. The reader hits an unfamiliar word, goes to the note, and comes out knowing something that no English substitute could have delivered. The inconvenience is the point. The ancient writers did not make their language convenient. They made it precise.
The romanization “Tao Te Ching” is used throughout rather than the Pinyin standard “Dao De Jing.”
An amplified edition with full etymological notes for every character is forthcoming.
The Book of Self-Alignment
The highest self-alignment
does not grasp at aligning—
this is how it finds alignment.
The lowest self-alignment
does not let go of aligning—
this is how it loses alignment.
The highest self-alignment dancing-without-forces,
and has no reason to force.
The highest togetherness acts,
but has no reason to act.
The highest sheep-sacrifice acts,
and has reason to act.
The highest altar-rites act,
and when no one responds,
it rolls up its sleeves and drags them.
So: lose the journey,
beard-growing into self-alignment.
Lose self-alignment,
beard-growing into togetherness.
Lose togetherness,
beard-growing into sheep-sacrifice.
Lose sheep-sacrifice,
beard-growing into altar-rites.
Altar-rites are the thin shell of center-hearted loyalty,
and the beginning of disorder.
Foreknowledge is a flower of the journey
and the beginning of foolishness.
The great-bodied one dwells in the thick,
not the thin—
dwells in the fruit, not the flower.
Lets go of that, takes hold of this.
Those that obtained one in ancient times:
The sky obtained one and became clear.
The ground obtained one and became settled.
The shén obtained one
and became potent.
The valley obtained one and became full.
The myriad branded things obtained one
and came alive.
The axe-kings obtained one
and became the measure of all beneath the sky.
What brought this about was one.
Without clarity the sky would crack.
Without settling the ground would quake.
Without potency the shén would wither.
Without fullness the valley would run dry.
Without life the myriad branded things would perish.
Without the measure
the axe-kings would stumble and fall.
The one who holds shells high
takes the one with small shells as root.
The high takes the low as foundation.
The axe-kings call themselves
orphan, destitute, unworthy—
is this not taking the humble as the root?
Many carts amount to no cart.
Do not wish to jingle like jade—
clatter instead like common stones.
Turning back is the motion of the journey.
Yielding is the way the journey works.
The myriad branded things beneath the sky
are born from what-is.
What-is is born from what-is-not.
反者道之動
When a person of the highest kind hears the journey,
they walk it with diligence.
When a person of the middle kind hears the journey,
they keep it and lose it by turns.
When a person of the lowest kind hears the journey,
they laugh out loud at it.
If they did not laugh,
it would not be worthy to be the journey.
So the old sayings have it:
The bright journey seems shwen.
The advancing journey seems to retreat.
The level journey seems rough.
The highest self-alignment seems like a valley.
Great whiteness seems soiled.
Vast self-alignment seems not enough.
Sturdy self-alignment seems slack.
Plain truth seems muddy.
The great square has no corners.
The great vessel is slow to finish.
The great sound is faint to hear.
The great image has no shape.
The flowing journey hides, without a name.
Only the journey is sheep-skilled at lending
and completing.
The journey gives birth to one.
One gives birth to two.
Two gives birth to three.
Three gives birth to the myriad branded things.
The myriad branded things carry shadow on their backs
and hold light in their arms—
blending breath-force to make harmony.
What people despise:
orphan, destitute, unworthy—
yet the axe-kings take these as their own names.
Branded things:
diminish them and they increase.
Increase them and they diminish.
What others teach, I also teach:
The forceful do not die a natural death.
I will take this as the father of my teaching.
The softest thing beneath the sky
gallops through the hardest.
What-is-not enters where there is no gap.
From this I know the benefit
of dancing-without-forcing.
Teaching without carved words,
the benefit of dancing-without-forcing—
few beneath the sky can reach this.
天下之至柔
Name or body—which is closer to you?
Body or possessions—which counts for more?
Gaining or losing—which one sickens?
Great hoarding is sure to lead to great loss.
Knowing what is enough avoids disgrace.
Knowing where to stop avoids danger.
This way you can go on a long time.
名與身孰親
Great completion seems lacking—
its use is not worn out.
Great fullness seems empty—
its use is not exhausted.
Great straightness seems crooked.
Great skill seems clumsy.
Great carved words seem to stammer.
Restless movement overcomes cold.
Stillness overcomes heat.
Clear stillness becomes the measure
of all beneath the sky.
大成若缺
When all beneath the sky has the journey,
warhorses are retired to haul manure.
When all beneath the sky lacks the journey,
war-mares give birth on the borderlands.
No disaster is greater
than not knowing what is enough.
No blame is greater than wanting to seize.
So: the contentment of knowing enough—
this is enduring contentment.
天下有道
Without stepping outside the dwelling-gate,
know all beneath the sky.
Without peering through the window,
see the way of the sky.
The farther you go out,
the less you know.
The investigative reporter
knows without traveling,
names without seeing,
completes dancing-without-forcing.
不出戶，知天下
Pursuing book-learning,
each day something is added.
Pursuing the journey,
each day something is stripped away.
Strip and strip again
until you reach dancing-without-forcing.
Dancing-without-forcing,
and nothing is left undone.
Taking all beneath the sky—
always do it by not making things happen.
Once you start making things happen,
you are not enough
to take all beneath the sky.
為學日益
The investigative reporter
has no fixed heart-mind—
takes the heart-mind of the hundred clans
as heart-mind.
Those who are sheep-skilled, I am sheep-skilled to them.
Those who are not yet sheep-skilled,
I am also sheep-skilled to them—
self-alignment is in the sheep-skill.
Those who are trustworthy, I trust them.
Those who are not yet trustworthy,
I also trust them—
self-alignment is in the trusting.
The investigative reporter
in all beneath the sky
draws in, draws in—
muddling the heart-mind
for all beneath the sky.
The hundred clans all fix their eyes
and ears on this one—
the investigative reporter
treats them all as children.
Coming out is life, going in is death.
Companions of life: three in ten.
Companions of death: three in ten.
Those alive but moving toward death’s ground:
also three in ten.
Why? Because they live life too thickly.
I have heard:
one who is sheep-skilled at holding life
walks the land without meeting
rhinoceros or tiger,
enters battle without wearing armor
or carrying weapons.
The rhinoceros finds no place
to thrust its horn.
The tiger finds no place
to sink its claws.
Weapons find no place to lodge their blade.
Why? Because this one has no death-ground.
The journey gives birth to them.
Self-alignment feeds them.
Branded things give them shape.
Forces bring them to ripeness.
The myriad branded things all honor the journey
and prize self-alignment—
not because they were ordered to,
but always of themselves, so.
The journey gives birth,
self-alignment feeds—
grows them, rears them,
shelters them, ripens them,
nourishes them, covers them.
Gives birth but does not possess.
Acts but does not lean on it.
Guides but does not control.
This is called shwen self-alignment.
All beneath the sky has a beginning—
take it as the mother of all beneath the sky.
Having found the mother,
through her know the children.
Having known the children,
turn back and hold to the mother—
the body is laid down without danger.
Block the openings,
shut the dwelling-gates—
to the end of the body, no toil.
Open the openings,
busy yourself with branded things—
to the end of the body, no help.
Seeing the small is called bright seeing.
Holding to the yielding is called strength.
Use the light to return to bright seeing—
do not leave the body open to disaster.
This is called threading the enduring.
If I had even a scrap of understanding,
walking the great journey,
only straying aside would I fear.
The great journey is very smooth,
but the clans love the side trails.
The dawn-hall gleams, swept spotless,
the fields are choked with weeds,
the granaries are utterly empty—
yet some wear patterned silks,
carry sharp swords,
gorge on food and drink,
possess branded wealth beyond use.
This is called the boasting of thieves.
It is not the journey.
使我介然有知
What is well planted cannot be pulled up.
What is well clasped cannot be taken away.
Children and grandchildren
will honor it without ceasing.
Cultivate it in the body—
self-alignment becomes real.
Cultivate it in the family—
self-alignment overflows.
Cultivate it in the village—
self-alignment endures long.
Cultivate it in the spear-walled territory—
self-alignment grows rich.
Cultivate it in all beneath the sky—
self-alignment spreads wide.
So: through the body, observe the body.
Through the family, observe the family.
Through the village, observe the village.
Through the spear-walled territory, observe the spear-walled territory.
Through all beneath the sky,
observe all beneath the sky.
How do I know the shape
of all beneath the sky?
Through this.
One who holds self-alignment in fullness
is like a newborn.
Wasps, scorpions, vipers do not sting it.
Fierce beasts do not seize it.
Birds of prey do not snatch it.
Its bones are soft, its sinews yielding,
yet its grip is tight.
It does not yet know
the joining of male and female,
yet its small body stirs—
life-force at its peak.
It screams all day without going hoarse—
harmony at its peak.
Knowing harmony is called the steady way.
Knowing the steady way is called bright seeing.
Adding to life is called a bad omen.
The heart-mind driving the breath-force
is called forcing.
Branded things that grow strong
beard-grow old.
This is called going against the journey.
What goes against the journey
comes to an early end.
One who arrow-knows does not carve words.
One who carves words does not arrow-know.
Block the body’s openings,
shut the compound dwelling-gates,
blunt the sharp edges,
loosen the tangles,
soften the glare,
settle with the dust.
This is called the receptive merging.
So: you cannot get close to this one,
cannot push this one away.
Cannot benefit this one,
cannot harm this one.
Cannot honor this one,
cannot disgrace this one.
This is why this one is prized
by all beneath the sky.
Use the upright to steady the spear-walled territory.
Use the unexpected to wage war.
Use not-making-things-happen
to take all beneath the sky.
How do I know it is so? Through this:
The more taboos and prohibitions,
the poorer the clans become.
The more sharp tools the clans possess,
the more the spear-walled territory falls into darkness.
The more cunning skills people have,
the more strange branded things spring up.
The more laws and commands are displayed,
the more pilferers and thieves appear.
The investigative reporter says:
I do not force,
and the clans change of themselves.
I prize stillness,
and the clans straighten of themselves.
I do not make things happen,
and the clans grow rich of themselves.
I dancing-without craving,
and the clans return to the uncarved wood
of themselves.
When the axe-king is muffled and dull,
the clans are simple and honest.
When the axe-king is sharp and prying,
the clans are broken and cunning.
Twisted-offering—full-vessel fortune leans on it.
Full-vessel fortune—twisted-offering hides within it.
Who knows where it ends?
There is no fixed upright.
The upright turns strange again.
The sheep-skilled turns twisted-hearted again.
The people’s confusion—
it has lasted a long time indeed.
The investigative reporter
is square-cornered but does not cut,
sharp-edged but does not wound,
straight but does not impose,
bright but does not dazzle.
In tending people and serving the sky,
nothing matches restraint.
Restraint means returning early.
Returning early means
piling up self-alignment.
Piling up self-alignment,
nothing cannot be overcome.
When nothing cannot be overcome,
no one knows your limit.
When no one knows your limit,
you can hold the spear-walled territory.
Holding the spear-walled territory’s mother-force,
you can endure long.
This is called deep roots and a firm stem—
the journey of long life
and far-reaching seeing.
Governing a great spear-walled territory
is like cooking a small fish.
Use the journey to tend all beneath the sky,
and the dead who return and the shén
will not show their harm.
Not that the dead who return lack power—
their power will not wound people.
Not only will their power
not wound people—
the investigative reporter
also will not wound people.
When these two do not wound each other,
self-alignment flows back
and gathers together.
治大國若烹小鮮
A great spear-walled territory is the low-lying ground,
the meeting-place of all beneath the sky,
the mother-force of all beneath the sky.
The female always overcomes the male
by stillness—
in stillness she takes the lower place.
So: a great spear-walled territory, by lowering itself
to a small spear-walled territory, takes the small spear-walled territory.
A small spear-walled territory, by lowering itself
to a great spear-walled territory, is taken by the great spear-walled territory.
One lowers and takes.
The other lowers and is taken.
The great spear-walled territory only wants
to shelter and feed people.
The small spear-walled territory only wants
to enter and serve.
Both get what they want—
the great should take the lower place.
The flowing journey is the hidden center
of the myriad branded things—
the treasure of the sheep-skilled,
the refuge of the not-yet-sheep-skilled.
Big-sheep carved words
can be traded at market.
Honored deeds can be offered to others.
Those who are not yet sheep-skilled—
why would you cast them out?
When the son of sky is enthroned
and the three ministers installed,
though you hold jade discs
before a team of four horses—
better to sit still and offer this journey.
Why did the ancients prize this journey?
Did they not say:
seek and you will find,
have faults and you will be forgiven?
This is why it is prized
by all beneath the sky.
Act dancing-without-forcing.
Work without making things happen.
Taste what has no taste yet.
Great or small, many or few—
answer twisted-heartedness with self-alignment.
Plan the hard while it is still easy.
Do the great while it is still small.
Hard things beneath the sky
must begin as easy.
Great things beneath the sky
must begin as small.
The investigative reporter
never tries to do the great—
and so achieves greatness.
Promises given lightly inspire little trust.
Taking things too easily
makes them surely hard.
The investigative reporter
treats things as difficult—
and so in the end has no difficulty.
What is at rest is easy to hold.
What has not yet shown signs
is easy to plan for.
What is brittle is easy to crack.
What is fine is easy to scatter.
Act on it before it exists.
Steady it before it falls into disorder.
A tree you can barely wrap your arms around
grew from a hair-thin sprout.
A tower of nine stories
rose from a heap of earth.
A journey of a thousand miles
began beneath your feet.
One who forces it ruins it.
One who grasps it loses it.
The investigative reporter
dancing-without-forces, so does not ruin.
Does not grasp, so does not lose.
The clans, in pursuing their affairs,
always ruin them when they are almost done.
Be as careful at the end
as at the beginning—
then nothing is ruined.
The investigative reporter craves not-craving,
does not prize hard-to-get branded things.
Learns to unlearn,
turns back to what the crowds have passed by—
to help the myriad branded things
follow what is so of themselves
and not dare to force.
Those of old who were skilled at the journey
did not use it to make the clans sharp—
they used it to keep them simple.
The clans are hard to steady
because they have too much cleverness.
To use cleverness to steady the spear-walled territory
is to be the spear-walled territory’s thief.
Not to use cleverness to steady the spear-walled territory
is to be the spear-walled territory’s blessing.
Knowing these two is also a pattern.
Always knowing the pattern—
this is called shwen self-alignment.
Shwen self-alignment runs deep and far,
turning back with branded things—
beard-growing into the great flowing along.
The rivers and sea can be lord
of the hundred valley-streams
because they are sheep-skilled at being below them.
To stand above the clans,
you must carve words as if below them.
To go before the clans,
you must place yourself behind them.
The investigative reporter stands above,
and the clans do not feel burdened.
Goes before,
and the clans are not harmed.
All beneath the sky is glad to support this one
and does not grow tired of it.
Because there is no contending,
nothing beneath the sky
can contend with this one.
All beneath the sky says my journey is great
and seems like nothing at all.
It is great precisely because
it seems like nothing.
If it resembled anything,
it would long ago have become small.
I have three treasures I hold and prize:
The first is called tenderness.
The second is called restraint.
The third is called not daring
to stand ahead of all beneath the sky.
Tender, so able to be brave.
Restrained, so able to spread wide.
Not daring to stand ahead,
so able to become head of the makers.
Now: to be brave without tenderness,
to spread wide without restraint,
to go ahead without staying behind—
this is death.
Tenderness: in battle, it wins.
In defense, it holds firm.
When the sky is about to rescue someone,
it guards them with tenderness.
A sheep-skilled warrior is not fierce.
A sheep-skilled fighter does not rage.
A sheep-skilled overcomer does not engage.
A sheep-skilled user of people
places themselves below.
This is called the self-alignment
of not contending.
This is called the strength of using people.
This is called matching the sky—
the ancient peak.
善為士者不武
There is a saying among those who wage war:
I dare not act as the host—
instead I act as the guest.
I dare not advance an inch—
instead I retreat a foot.
This is called marching without marching,
rolling up sleeves without baring arms,
facing the enemy without an enemy,
wielding weapons without weapons.
No disaster is greater
than taking your enemy lightly.
Taking your enemy lightly
nearly costs me my treasures.
When opposing forces meet,
the one who grieves will win.
My carved words are very easy to understand,
very easy to put into practice.
Yet no one beneath the sky can understand them,
no one can put them into practice.
Carved words have an ancestor.
Affairs have a master.
It is only because of not understanding
that I am not understood.
Those who understand me are few—
those who follow me are rare.
The investigative reporter wears coarse cloth
and hides jade against the chest.
吞言甚易知
To arrow-know that you do not arrow-know
is the highest.
Not to arrow-know that you do not arrow-know
is sickness.
Only by being sick of sickness
can you be free of sickness.
The investigative reporter is not sick—
being sick of sickness,
and so is not sick.
知不知，上
When the clans do not fear
what should be feared,
then the truly fearful arrives.
Do not crowd their dwellings.
Do not press down on their lives.
Only by not pressing down
will they not press back.
The investigative reporter
arrow-knows the self
but does not display the self,
cares for the self
but does not prize the self.
Lets go of that, takes hold of this.
民不畏威
Bravery in daring leads to killing.
Bravery in not daring leads to life.
Of these two, one benefits, one harms.
What the sky despises—
who knows the reason?
The sky’s flowing journey:
does not contend yet is sheep-skilled at winning,
does not carve words yet is sheep-skilled at answering,
is not summoned yet comes of itself,
is slack yet sheep-skilled at planning.
The sky’s net is vast, vast—
its mesh is wide,
yet nothing slips through.
勇於敢則殺
If the clans do not fear death,
why threaten them with death?
Suppose the clans always fear death,
and those who act strangely
I seize and kill—
who would dare?
There is always the one
who executes the killing.
To kill in place of the one who executes—
this is called chopping
in place of the master carpenter.
Those who chop
in place of the master carpenter
rarely escape cutting their own hands.
民不畏死
The clans starve
because those above eat too much in grain-tax.
This is why they starve.
The clans are hard to steady
because those above keep making things happen.
This is why they are hard to steady.
The clans take death lightly
because those above demand too much of living.
This is why they take death lightly.
Only those who do not busy themselves
with living
are wiser than those who prize life.
民之飢
A person at birth is soft and yielding.
At death: stiff and hard.
The myriad plants and grasses at birth
are soft and tender.
At death: withered and dry.
So: the stiff and hard
are companions of death.
The soft and yielding
are companions of life.
A weapon that is hard will not win.
A tree that is stiff will be cut down.
The hard and great dwell below.
The soft and yielding dwell above.
人之生也柔弱
The way of the sky—
is it not like drawing a bow?
What is high, it presses down.
What is low, it lifts up.
What has too much, it takes from.
What does not have enough, it adds to.
The way of the sky:
takes from what has too much,
adds to what does not have enough.
The way of people is not so—
takes from what does not have enough
to offer to what has too much.
Who can take what they have too much of
and offer it to all beneath the sky?
Only one who holds the journey.
The investigative reporter acts
but does not lean on it,
the work is done
and does not dwell in it—
has no wish to display worthiness.
Nothing beneath the sky
is softer and more yielding than water,
yet for attacking the hard and forceful,
nothing surpasses it.
Nothing can take its place.
The yielding overcomes the hard.
The soft overcomes the forceful.
No one beneath the sky does not know this,
yet no one can put it into practice.
The investigative reporter says:
One who takes on the spear-walled territory’s filth
is called lord of the soil altars.
One who takes on the spear-walled territory’s misfortune
is called the axe-king of
all beneath the sky.
Straight carved words seem to twist around.
After a great bitterness is settled,
some bitterness is sure to remain—
how can this be called good?
The investigative reporter
holds the left side of the tally
and does not press claims against the people.
One who has self-alignment
attends to the tally.
One without self-alignment
attends to collecting.
The way of the sky has no favorites—
it endures with the sheep-skilled.
和大怨，必有餘怨
Small spear-walled territory, few clans.
Let there be tens and hundreds of tools,
but no one uses them.
Let the clans take death seriously
and not travel far.
Though there are boats and carts,
no one rides them.
Though there are armor and weapons,
no one displays them.
Let the clans return to knotting cords
and using them.
Find their food sweet.
Find their clothing big-sheep.
Find their dwellings peaceful.
Find their customs joyful.
Neighboring lands in sight of each other,
the sound of roosters and dogs
crossing between them—
the clans grow old and die
without ever visiting back and forth.
Trustworthy carved words are not big-sheep.
Big-sheep carved words are not trustworthy.
One who is sheep-skilled does not argue.
One who argues is not sheep-skilled.
One who arrow-knows does not hoard learning.
One who hoards learning does not arrow-know.
The investigative reporter does not hoard—
the more that is done for others,
the more there is.
The more that is given to others,
the more there is.
The way of the sky:
sharpens but does not harm.
The way of the investigative reporter:
acts but does not contend.
The Book of the Flowing Journey
The journey that can be told
apart-from the lasting journey.
The name that can be called
apart-from the lasting name.
The nameless is the root-breath of the myriad branded things.
The named is the mother-force that nurses them into form.
Free from craving, witness the subtle stirrings.
Filled with craving, witness only the surface shells.
These two emerge from the same shwen spring—
shwen within shwen,
the gate where all living forces crowd through.
道可道也，非恆道也
When all beneath the sky know big-sheep as big-sheep,
there is already what is not yet big-sheep.
When all know the sheep-skilled as sheep-skilled,
there is already what is not yet sheep-skilled.
So: what-is and what-is-not give rise to each other,
hard and yielding shape each other,
long and short measure each other,
high and low lean into each other,
voice and echo answer each other,
before and after trail each other.
The investigative reporter acts without claiming,
teaches without carving words aloud.
The myriad branded things arise—
none are turned away.
They are brought forth but not possessed,
tended but not leashed.
The work ripens and no one dwells on it.
Because no one dwells on it,
the bird does not fly away.
Do not elevate the cunning,
and the clans will not contend.
Do not prize hard-to-get branded things,
and the clans will not become pilferers.
Do not display what stirs craving,
and the heart-minds will not be thrown into turmoil.
The investigative reporter steadies the clans:
empties their scheming, fills their bellies,
weakens their ambitions, strengthens their bones.
Keep the clans free of arrow-knowing and itching wants.
Keep the clever ones from daring to act on schemes.
Act dancing-without-forcing,
and nothing falls out of order.
不尚賢，使民不爭
The flowing journey is a hollow vessel—
pour from it and it never needs filling.
Fathomless,
it seems the ancestor of the myriad branded things.
It blunts sharp edges,
loosens tangled cords,
softens glaring light,
settles with the dust.
Shwen and still, it seems barely there.
Whose child it is, I do not know—
its image came before the old ancestors.
道沖，而用之或不盈
The sky and the ground are not tender-hearted—
they treat the myriad branded things as straw dogs.
The investigative reporter is not tender-hearted—
treats the hundred clans as straw dogs.
The space between sky and ground—
is it not like a bellows?
Empty yet not collapsing,
pumped and more keeps pouring out.
Many carved words hasten exhaustion.
Better to hold to the hollow center.
天地不仁
The valley shén does not die—
this is called the shwen mother-force.
The dwelling-gate of the shwen mother-force—
this is called the root of sky and ground.
Gossamer, as if barely there,
drawn upon without ever wearing thin.
谷神不死
The sky endures, the ground lasts long.
The reason sky and ground can endure and last
is that they do not live for themselves—
so they go on living.
The investigative reporter stays behind
and ends up ahead,
stays outside the body
and the body is preserved.
Is it not because there is no self-serving
that the self is fulfilled?
天長地久
The highest sheep-skill moves like water.
Water is sheep-skilled at nourishing the myriad branded things
and does not contend—
it settles in places people disdain.
So it is close to the flowing journey.
In dwelling, be sheep-skilled at finding the low ground.
In heart-mind, be sheep-skilled at going deep and still.
In giving, be sheep-skilled at being like the rain.
In carving words, be sheep-skilled at keeping trust.
In steadying, be sheep-skilled at restoring order.
In working, be sheep-skilled at what you can do.
In moving, be sheep-skilled at finding the right moment.
Only by not contending
does no blame arise.
上善若水
Grasp and fill to the brim—
better to have stopped in time.
Hammer and hone to a fine point—
it will not keep its edge for long.
Fill a hall with gold and jade—
no one can guard it.
Wealth and rank beard-growing into arrogance—
this draws ruin upon itself.
When the work is done, step back—
this is the way of the sky’s flowing.
持而盈之，不如其已
Carrying your animal soul and clasping one—
can you keep them from separating?
Gathering your breath-force to reach softness—
can you be like a newborn?
Washing and clearing the shwen mirror—
can you be free of smudges?
Loving the clans and steadying the spear-walled territory—
can you act without arrow-knowing?
The dwelling-gates of the sky opening and closing—
can you be the mother-bird?
Bright seeing reaching in all directions—
can you do it without scheming?
Give birth to them, feed them.
Give birth but do not possess.
Act but do not lean on it.
Guide but do not control.
This is called the shwen self-alignment.
Thirty spokes share one hub—
where there is nothing, the cart is useful.
Shape clay into a vessel—
where there is nothing, the vessel is useful.
Cut dwelling-gates and windows for a room—
where there is nothing, the room is useful.
So: what-is provides the benefit,
what-is-not provides the use.
三十輻共一轂
Five colors blind the eye.
Five tones deafen the ear.
Five flavors dull the tongue.
Racing and hunting drive the heart-mind wild.
Hard-to-get branded things hobble your steps.
The investigative reporter attends to the belly,
not the eye—
lets go of that, takes hold of this.
五色令人目盲
Favor and disgrace both make you flinch.
Prize great trouble as you prize your own body.
Why do favor and disgrace make you flinch?
Favor lifts you up, disgrace drops you down—
getting it makes you flinch,
losing it makes you flinch.
This is why favor and disgrace both make you flinch.
Why prize great trouble as you prize your body?
The reason I have great trouble
is that I have a body.
When I no longer have a body,
what trouble can find me?
One who prizes tending all beneath the sky
as their own body—
this one can be entrusted with all beneath the sky.
One who loves tending all beneath the sky
as their own body—
this one can be given all beneath the sky.
Look at it—it cannot be seen. Call it: faint.
Listen for it—it cannot be heard. Call it: thin.
Reach for it—it cannot be grasped. Call it: subtle.
These three cannot be unraveled further,
so they tangle into one.
Its top is not bright,
its underside not shwen.
Unceasing, unnameable,
it turns back to the realm of no-thing.
This is called the shape without a shape,
the image of no-thing.
This is called blurred and shadowy.
Face it and you do not see its head.
Follow it and you do not see its back.
Hold to the old journey to steer what is present—
to know the ancient beginnings,
this is called the thread of the flowing journey.
Those of old who were skilled at this—
subtle, wondrous,
shwen in their penetration,
too deep to be known.
Because they cannot be known,
I will try to picture them:
Hesitant—like crossing a winter stream.
Watchful—like fearing the four neighbors.
Formal—like being a guest.
Yielding—like ice about to melt.
Honest—like uncarved wood.
Open—like a valley.
Murky—like muddied water.
Who can be still and let the mud slowly settle?
Who can be at rest and slowly come to life?
One who holds this journey
does not want to be filled to the brim.
Only because they are not full
can they wear out,
beard-growing into renewal.
Reach the utmost emptiness.
Hold fast to deep stillness.
The myriad branded things rise together—
I watch them turn back.
All things flourish and swarm,
each returns to its root.
Returning to the root is called stillness.
Stillness is called turning back toward life-force.
Turning back toward life-force
is called the steady way.
Knowing the steady way is called bright seeing.
Not knowing the steady way—
reckless action invites disaster.
Knowing the steady way,
you can embrace all.
Embracing all, you can be fair.
Being fair, you can be whole.
Being whole, you are close to the sky.
Close to the sky,
you are close to the flowing journey.
Close to the flowing journey, you endure long—
the body is laid down without danger.
The highest kind—
those below barely know they exist.
The next—they love and praise them.
The next—they fear them.
The next—they scorn them.
When trust is not enough,
there will be no trust in return.
Unhurried, careful with carved words—
when the work is done and things flow,
the hundred clans all say: we did it ourselves.
太上，下知有之
When the great flowing journey falls into disuse,
then talk of togetherness and sheep-sacrifice appears.
When arrow-knowing and cleverness come forth,
then great pretending appears.
When the six kin are not in harmony,
then talk of dutiful children appears.
When the spear-walled territory is in darkness and disorder,
then talk of loyal ministers appears.
大道廉，有仁義
Cut off arrow-knowing,
toss aside thorn-twisted arguments—
the clans gain a hundredfold in flowing bounty.
Cut off sly hand-tricks,
toss aside hoarded gains—
pilferers and shadow-thieves vanish from the groves.
Cut off false masks,
toss aside churning worries—
the clans return to root-tender bonds,
like young shoots to soil-spirits.
These three, taken as carved marks, fall short.
So let there be something they belong to:
Reveal the raw thread-weave,
clasp the uncarved wood—
shrink self-hoards, thin out cravings.
Cut off book-learning and worries vanish.
How far apart are yes-sounds and scolding?
How far apart are big-sheep and ugly?
What the clans fear, you cannot not fear—
wild and boundless, with no end yet in sight.
The crowds are merry,
as if feasting on sacrificial ox,
as if climbing the spring terraces.
I alone am still, giving no sign—
like a newborn that has not yet smiled.
Drifting, drifting—
with no home to return to.
The crowds all have more than enough.
I alone seem to have lost everything.
Mine is a fool’s heart-mind—murky, murky.
Common folk are bright and sharp.
I alone am dim and dull.
Common folk are keen and certain.
I alone am sealed up tight.
Calm as the sea,
gusting like a wind that will not stop.
The crowds all have their purpose.
I alone am stubborn and tangled,
like a peasant.
I alone differ from the rest—
I prize feeding from the mother-force.
The shape of the great self-alignment
follows only the flowing journey.
The flowing journey as a thing—
blurred, shadowy.
Shadowy, blurred—within it are images.
Blurred, shadowy—within it are branded things.
Shwen and deep—within it is life-seed.
That life-seed is very real—
within it is something trustworthy.
From the ancient times to now,
its name has not gone away—
through it I survey the origins of all branded things.
How do I know the shape of the origins?
Through this.
孔德之容，惟道是從
Bent, beard-growing into whole.
Crooked, beard-growing into straight.
Hollow, beard-growing into filled.
Worn out, beard-growing into renewed.
Little, beard-growing into gaining.
Much, beard-growing into bewildered.
The investigative reporter clasps the one
and becomes the measure for all beneath the sky.
Does not display, so is bright.
Does not claim right, so stands out.
Does not boast, so has merit.
Does not lord over, so endures.
Only because there is no contending
does nothing beneath the sky
contend with this one.
What the ancients called
‘bent, beard-growing into whole’—
were these empty carved words?
To be truly whole, turn back toward it.
Few carved words come of themselves.
A whirlwind does not last all morning.
A cloudburst does not last all day.
Who makes these? Sky and ground.
If sky and ground cannot go on forever,
how much less can a person?
One who follows the flowing journey
merges with the journey.
One who follows self-alignment
merges with aligning.
One who follows loss merges with loss.
Merged with the journey—
the journey welcomes you.
Merged with aligning—
the aligning welcomes you.
Merged with loss—loss welcomes you.
When trust is not enough,
there will be no trust in return.
One who stands on tiptoe cannot stay balanced.
One who strides wide cannot walk far.
One who displays cannot be bright.
One who claims right cannot stand out.
One who boasts has no merit.
One who lords over does not endure.
From the view of the flowing journey,
these are called leftover food and extra growths—
even branded creatures may despise them.
So one who holds the journey
does not dwell in them.
企者不立
There was something formed in the chaos—
born before sky and ground.
Silent, vast,
standing alone, not shifting,
circling without tiring.
It can be called the mother
of all beneath the sky.
I do not know its name.
I mark it: the journey.
Forced to give it a name, I call it: great.
Great means flowing outward.
Flowing outward means reaching far.
Reaching far means turning back.
The journey is great.
The sky is great.
The ground is great.
The axe-king is also great.
Within the land there are four great ones,
and the axe-king is one of them.
The person follows the ground.
The ground follows the sky.
The sky follows the flowing journey.
The flowing journey follows
what is so of itself.
Heavy is the root of light.
Stillness is the master of restlessness.
The investigative reporter travels all day
without leaving the heavy supply cart.
Though there are lookout towers and fine views,
this one sits calmly, rising above them.
Why would the lord of ten thousand chariots
treat the body lightly in all beneath the sky?
Light, and the root is lost.
Restless, and mastery is lost.
重為輕根
Sheep-skilled walking leaves no tracks.
Sheep-skilled carved words have no flaws to pick at.
Sheep-skilled counting uses no tally sticks.
Sheep-skilled closing uses no bolt,
yet nothing can open it.
Sheep-skilled binding uses no cord,
yet nothing can loosen it.
The investigative reporter
is always sheep-skilled at helping people—
no one is cast aside.
Always sheep-skilled at helping branded things—
nothing is cast aside.
This is called threading the light.
The sheep-skilled person is the teacher of the not-yet-sheep-skilled.
The not-yet-sheep-skilled person
is the raw material of the sheep-skilled.
Not prizing the teacher,
not cherishing the material—
though clever, this is a great confusion.
This is called the essential mystery.
Know the male-force,
hold to the female-force—
become the stream-channel of all beneath the sky.
Being the stream-channel,
the steady self-alignment does not leave—
return to the newborn.
Know the bright,
hold to the shwen—
become the pattern for all beneath the sky.
Being the pattern,
the steady self-alignment does not waver—
return to the boundless.
Know honor,
hold to lowliness—
become the valley of all beneath the sky.
Being the valley,
the steady self-alignment fills up—
return to the uncarved wood.
When the uncarved wood is split,
it becomes tools.
The investigative reporter uses them
and becomes head of the makers—
the great shaping does no cutting.
Those who would take all beneath the sky
and act on it—
I see they will not succeed.
All beneath the sky is a spirit vessel—
it cannot be acted upon.
Act on it and you will ruin it.
Grasp it and you will lose it.
Among branded things:
some lead, some follow.
Some blow warm, some blow cool.
Some are strong, some are weak.
Some rise up, some fall down.
The investigative reporter
lets go of the extreme,
lets go of the extravagant,
lets go of the excess.
One who uses the journey to assist the axe-king—
does not use weapons to force all beneath the sky.
Such things tend to turn back on themselves.
Where armies have camped,
thorns and brambles grow.
After a great war,
bitter years are sure to follow.
The skillful one acts and stops—
does not dare to take by force.
Acts and does not boast.
Acts and does not claim right.
Acts and does not lord over.
Acts because there is no other way.
Acts and does not force.
Branded things that grow strong
beard-grow old—
this is called going against the journey.
What goes against the journey
comes to an early end.
Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen—
branded creatures may despise them.
So one who holds the journey
does not dwell with them.
At home, the axe-king honors the left.
In war, the axe-king honors the right.
Weapons are instruments of ill omen,
not the instruments of the commanding lord—
use them only when there is no other way.
Calm detachment is best.
Victory is not big-sheep.
Those who call it big-sheep
delight in the killing of people.
Those who delight in killing
cannot fulfill their purpose beneath the sky.
In full-vessel fortune, favor the left.
In mourning, favor the right.
The second general stands on the left.
The chief general stands on the right—
meaning: treat it as a funeral rite.
When many have been killed,
stand amid them with grief and weeping.
When you have won a victory,
observe it as a funeral rite.
The flowing journey has no fixed name,
enduring as uncarved wood.
Small as it is,
nothing beneath the sky dares to make it serve.
If the axe-kings could hold to it,
the myriad branded things would submit of themselves.
Sky and ground would join
to send down sweet dew—
the clans, without being ordered,
would find their balance.
When shaping begins, names appear.
Once names appear,
know also where to stop.
Knowing where to stop,
you can avoid danger.
The flowing journey in all beneath the sky
is like streams and valley waters
flowing into the rivers and sea.
Arrow-knowing others is sharp seeing.
Arrow-knowing yourself is bright seeing.
Overcoming others takes force.
Overcoming yourself takes strength.
Knowing what is enough is wealth.
Forcing ahead takes will.
Not losing your ground—this endures.
Dying without being forgotten—
this is long life.
知人者智
The great flowing journey floods in every direction—
left and right it can go.
The myriad branded things depend on it for life
and it does not refuse.
The work is done and it claims no name.
It clothes and feeds the myriad branded things
but does not act as master.
Enduring without craving—
it can be called small.
The myriad branded things turn to it
and it does not act as master—
it can be called great.
Because it never tries to be great,
it can achieve its greatness.
大道氾公
Hold to the great image
and all beneath the sky will come.
Come and not be harmed—
rest in peace and balance.
Music and fine food—
passing travelers stop.
The flowing journey,
when it comes from the mouth—
bland, it has no taste yet.
Look at it—not enough to see.
Listen for it—not enough to hear.
Use it—not enough to use up.
執大象，天下往
What is about to shrink
must first be stretched open.
What is about to weaken
must first be made strong.
What is about to be discarded
must first be raised up.
What is about to be seized
must first be given away.
This is called subtle bright seeing.
The soft and yielding
overcomes the hard and forceful.
Fish should not leave the deep water.
The land’s sharp tools
should not be shown to the clans.
將欲歙之，必固張之
The flowing journey dancing-without-forces,
yet nothing is left undone.
If the axe-kings could hold to it,
the myriad branded things
would change of themselves.
Changed, and if craving stirs—
I would calm it
with the nameless uncarved wood.
The nameless uncarved wood—
there would be no craving.
Dancing-without craving, find stillness—
all beneath the sky would settle of itself.
道恆無為
Compiled from the oldest known sources.
The journey that can be told apart-from the lasting journey.
