I love this chapter because it starts with several lines that reveal a lot more about the reader than whatever point the author was trying to make.

The high scholar hears Tao and diligently practices it
The middle scholar hears Tao and sometimes keeps it, sometimes forgets it
The low scholar hears Tao and has a great laugh
Without laughter it wouldn’t be Tao

What do you first think when you read these lines? Do you identify with the high, middle, or low scholar?

I always loved school, and I was a diligent student. I worked hard and enjoyed my academic success. So I gravitate toward wanting to be the good student at the top. Indeed, many commentators and translators appear to place more value on being the high scholar. “High” and “low” are sometimes translated here as “superior” and “inferior.”

But as I considered this chapter more deeply, I began to question the assumption that we should strive to practice Tao diligently like the high scholar. Nowhere else in the Tao Te Ching are we encouraged to make such effort. On the contrary, we are taught that the way to harmony with Tao is not to learn, but to unlearn. Not to practice diligently, but to flow effortlessly.

Perhaps we have missed the point in these opening lines by so quickly admiring the high scholar. The low scholar hears Tao and laughs. This seems more in keeping with other descriptions of the sage as innocent like a child, without ambition, acting without effort, even appearing foolish to others. 

The image of the person hearing Tao and laughing reminds me of the Dalai Lama. He laughs a LOT! True, he does have a diligent practice of meditation, but I get the sense that he never takes himself too seriously.

The second part of this chapter revisits a familiar theme in the Tao Te Ching of opposites, listing twelve contrasts. For example,

Bright Tao seems dark
High virtue seems like a valley
Genuine truth seems uncertain

To me, this supports the consideration of the first lines as not meaning what they first appear to mean. That is, what seems like high achievement is not necessarily in harmony with Tao. And what we might dismiss as the fool’s laughter is really the sage’s deep awareness of Tao’s essence.

My quick identification with the high scholar has given me a great laugh ... at myself!

The first part of this chapter carries its deepest meaning. It begins with a brief version of creation.

Tao gives birth to one
One gives birth to two
Two give birth to three
Three give birth to the ten thousand things

Using symbols, this progression can be illustrated by the movement from wuji, or unlimited potential,

to taiji, commonly recognized as the yin yang symbol.

It is the separation of oneness into the complementary energies of yin and yang that creates form from the formlessness of One. This reminds me of the Buddhist teaching: “Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form.”

The union of yin and yang then produces the manifested universe, referred to as the ten thousand things.

The ten thousand things carry yin and embrace yang
These two energies exchange in the middle creating harmony

The character for carry suggests carrying something on one’s back. Thus carrying yin and embracing yang (in front) give a sense of yin and yang circling through us and around us in perfect balance, one fading as the other manifests.

This also reflects our breathing. We breathe in and manifest; we breathe out and release. The point of exchange is that moment when we are neither inhaling nor exhaling. There is a moment of balanced stillness as the two energies meet in the center before exchanging places and repeating the cycle. Within that stillness is the eternal harmony.

In Shambhala training, this point between the breaths is called the gap. It is the gateway of the holy instant described in A Course in Miracles. Within that tiny portal in time is the transcendence of time into the vastness of infinity.

This is our practical way to practice something mysterious and indefinable. We breathe. And as we reach that point of exchange, when we have fully inhaled or exhaled and are poised to reverse , we can be aware of the perfect harmony in the stillness.

A law professor, speaking English as a second language, once gave us an instruction to turn to a particular page and “be amazed.” Our breath is like that. It seems ordinary and we take it for granted. But within each breath is all the wisdom teaching of the universe.

Be amazed.

This short chapter highlights a theme that runs through the Tao Te Ching.

What is most soft
Overcomes what is most hard

Two characters are used for “overcome,” literally meaning to gallop on horseback. Having grown up riding horses, I have wonderful memories of galloping bareback across meadows, hands entwined in flowing mane, hanging on as my horse ran free. It was exhilarating and powerful.

The horse’s strength came from being supple, its speed from finding its rhythm. This is the image I have of softness overcoming rigidity.

The next line uses a different image.

What is without form or substance can enter the impenetrable

While not exactly on point, I am distracted by a memory of being inadvertently caught in a revolution in another country. With just minutes of warning, I and some fellow travelers crowded into a hotel room as chaos erupted in the streets below. When we saw the tear gas canisters exploding, we began stuffing wet towels around the windows, hoping to seal them. But within moments, our eyes were stinging red and watery as we looked at each other helplessly.

Flipping to the other side of the concept, much of what I practice in martial arts is about not being stiff or forceful. As one teacher says, “I know you, but you don’t know me.” He means that he can sense where our resistance is, where his advantage is, while we are unable to find any vulnerability on his part. If I push, I meet nothing and suddenly my own effort is my defeat.

“I’m trying...,” I begin. “That is your problem,” he laughs in response.

Just like in life. I’ve learned with my grandchildren something I never mastered with my strong-willed children. Don’t meet force with force, but rather yield and overcome. Deflect and redirect!

I’m reminded of the fable about the wind and the sun arguing about who is stronger. They agree to decide the question by competing to see which one can remove the coat of a person walking along the road. The wind blows as hard as it can, but the person grips her coat and wraps it tightly around her body. The sun shines gently and soon the person removes her coat to bask in the sun’s warmth.

The chapter ends with a lament that few people understand this principle. So true, isn’t it? We exhaust ourselves with our force and resistance, trying to make the present moment something other than what it is.  But each new moment gives us another opportunity to mount up and go for the galloping ride.

Fame or self, which is dearer
Self or wealth, which is greater
Gain or loss, which is painful

The first two lines remind me of a popular question – would you rather be rich or famous? Although here, we are asked to evaluate both fame and riches in comparison to our self. The character for self also means body, so we could make our evaluation in terms of our physical lives, or in terms of our identity or sense of self.

The third line asks us to look at the effect of gain or loss on our lives. Most of us would prefer gain to loss, but if we examine our attachment to gain and our aversion to loss, we might see that both can cause anxiety.

Excessive love comes at a great cost
More acquisition is balanced by more loss
Knowing contentment avoids disappointment
Knowing when to stop avoids trouble
Thus one long endures

The message here is one of balance and equanimity. Fame comes and goes. Riches come and go. We receive and release. There is a point of equipoise where the self remains balanced, not seeking to force or interfere.

Sometimes people misinterpret this to mean that we should just sit around doing nothing. That is not in harmony. When it is time to work, we work. When it is time to rest, we rest. We take responsibility for our lives. We provide for our families. We contribute to our communities.

We can do all of that from a centered place of contentment and gratitude, knowing when we have enough, or have done enough.

My sister is an artist, and I often wonder when she knows that a painting is finished. There seems to be a point where she has done enough, and more would be too much. She just knows. That fascinates me.

I have a friend who lives in a gorgeous, palatial home, but is always worried about money. How can a person who lives in such luxury have such a joy crushing sense of lack?  That fascinates me too.

This chapter invites us to examine our own lives, to notice where we are out of sync, where we struggle hold the scales out of balance, and to consider the effort it takes to maintain our disequilibrium. Can we observe without judgment? If we can, then perhaps we can gain some insight that might allow us to release even just a little of that burden.

Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole.  ~Herman Melville, Moby Dick

This chapter reminds me of 1 Corinthians 13:12 – For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. We think we see clearly, but when we look through the fog of our own judgments and beliefs, our hopes and fears, we see illusion yet think it real. We try to make sense of the paradox of our perceptions, seeking the safety of certainty instead of the mystery of truth.

Great perfection seems imperfect
Yet its use is not impaired

Great fullness seems empty
Yet its use is not exhausted

Great truth seems wrong
Great skill seems clumsy
Great eloquence seems awkward
Great richness seems poor

The repeated use of the character for “seems” suggests that things are not always as they appear. Or, as the saying goes, don’t believe everything you think.

This is especially true of the second couplet above. The fullness that appears empty is the unlimited potential of the formless, undifferentiated Tao, the source of the entire manifested universe.

In martial arts we practice wuji stance, or empty stance, as pictured above. From this perfectly aligned, relaxed stance, all movement is possible. The internal circulation of qi (energy) is unrestricted; the potential for outward expression of power is unlimited.

We can cultivate this same “stance” in our lives, by finding our inner balance and alignment. When we are fully present with an attitude of open awareness, we engage with life as it truly is, as we truly are. We see face to face.

Every object, every creature, every man, woman and child
has a soul,
and it is the destiny of all
to see as God sees, 
to know as God knows,
to feel as God feels, 
to Be
as God
Is
~Meister Eckhart

This chapter contrasts the effects of discontent and satisfaction. It begins with vivid imagery using horses.

When the world is in alignment with Tao
Horses work in the fields 
When the world is not in alignment with Tao
War horses are bred outside the city

Two very different roles for a horse to fill – one associated with peace and the abundance of harvest, the other associated with conflict and destruction. Literally life and death.

We think of this in terms of external peace and conflict, but we can also think of this in terms of whether we have peace or war inside of us. For whatever we have within is the energy we will offer to the world. As the saying goes, as within so without.

Many of us are looking outside ourselves at the world around us, which appears to be in such turmoil, and we want to contribute in some way to peace. But Adyashanti says that even if our words speak of peace, if there is internal struggle, what we transmit is conflict.

Internal struggle is always rooted in desire, wanting something or someone (including ourselves) to be different, wanting reality to be different. Reality might be pleasurable or painful, but our suffering comes from our unwillingness to acknowledge reality as it is. This is the basis of desire and discontent.

There is no greater fault than having desire
There is no greater misfortune than not knowing contentment
There is no greater curse than obtaining your desire
Thus those who know contentment are always satisfied

That third line reminds me of the saying to be careful what you wish for! When we get what we desire, it sometimes isn’t what we thought it would be. Or even if it is, it isn’t long before we want something else. We think that our dissatisfaction comes from not having what we want, but perhaps our dissatisfaction comes from wanting.

My favorite translation of the last line is “He who knows enough is enough will always have enough.” My artist sister made me a beautiful rendition of this version that I keep on my desk. (See photo at top of post.)

So which horse will I ride today?

There is a lot packed into this short chapter, which makes clear that we need not look anywhere outside ourselves for the answers we seek. In fact, we need not look at all.

Without going out the door, one knows everything under heaven
Without looking out the window, one sees heaven’s Tao
The further away one goes, the less one knows
Thus the sage knows without going anywhere
Recognizes without looking
Accomplishes without doing

We read of wise hermits living for decades in caves and cloistered mystics. Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz learned that everything she wanted was in her own back yard back in Kansas. My Aunt Bernice never strayed far from home, yet understood more about life than most people with more education and worldly experience.

We can read this chapter in a literal sense and let our passports expire. However, I don’t think the caution here is against travel per se, but against looking outside of our own selves to find truth.

To go even further (pun intended), it is the very concept of seeking, whether out there or within, that frustrates our aspirations. Seeking suggests that there is something to find. But what if what we are seeking can’t be found because it was never lost? If I cover my eyes with my hands, I don’t need to find the light; I just need to remove what blocks my vision of the light that is all around me.

We embrace the idea that what we seek isn’t out there, but within, but we then continue the same search just in a different direction. Oh, it’s within me! Where is it? I search the inner terrain with the same determination as I searched the world over. It’s right here. I just need to meditate more (chant, pray, beat drums, walk labyrinths, do yoga, whatever). I know it’s close. But I can’t see it. Damn.

What happens if I quit searching? What happens if I just live fully present in this moment? And this one? We see heaven’s Tao. It looks just like life. And it’s marvelous.

Nor will people say, ‘Look, here it is,’ or ‘There it is.’ For you see, the kingdom of God is within you. ~Luke 17:21

Increase is the way of learning
Decrease is the way of Tao

The opening lines of this chapter perfectly capture my current perspective. This year presented several opportunities for me to learn something that I was very drawn to – a new sword form, a new style of tai chi, advancing my study of Chinese language, playing the piano.

In each instance I was initially very motivated. I eagerly sought instruction and diligently practiced. But my energy soon flagged and I realized, with some frustration and disappointment, that my heart just wasn’t in it. I finally admitted to a friend that “I just don’t want to learn anything right now.”

A remarkable confession from a person who has always loved learning. I was the nerd who loved school, at least until my rebellious days of high school. I thrived in law school. As a professor I had the luxury of getting paid to learn and to share what excited me about my chosen subjects. As a martial artist I reveled in increased skill and knowledge.

So why couldn’t I summon the energy and excitement to pursue these opportunities? There may not be a single explanation, but on some deep level my spirit seeks to rest quietly. And while resting, to allow a shedding, a falling away.

My canary Henry is molting, as he does every late summer and early fall. He doesn’t have to do anything. He just sits there and allows his old feathers to release, covering the cage and the surrounding floor with downy softness and small quills. He quits singing during this period. He is less active. He rests and waits. Like me.

The rest of the chapter returns to a theme throughout the Tao Te Ching – that of wu wei, or non-action.

Decrease until non-action is reached
Not acting allows all to be done
Without interference everything is accomplished
With interference there is never enough 

The Tao Te Ching envisions a universe that is self regulating, with a rhythm and harmony that is inherent in existence. This is opposite from a perspective that suggests we can and should improve on nature. In our over-scheduled, never enough time, always behind world, it seems crazy to think that doing less will actually accomplish more. Perhaps we simply discover that less really needs to be accomplished in the first place. Either way, life seems more spacious, more delightful, more serene when we are not battling against it all the time.

For peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe.  ~Larry Eisenberg

I am good to those who are good
I am good to those who are not good
I am trustworthy to those who are trustworthy
I am trustworthy to those who are not trustworthy

The heart of this little chapter says it all. The Bible observes that the sun shines on the good and the evil, and the rain falls on the just and the unjust. Flowers reveal their beauty to any and all who pass by, and even when no one is passing by.

If nature does not discriminate, then who are we to do so? Whether we act with kindness, compassion, integrity, does not depend on others. In a world that has become so entrenched in dualistic, judgmental perspective, what a radical notion!

Does this mean that we never have an opinion? Or that we never take action to serve or protect? No, of course not.

I’m thinking of the three people who intervened on public transit when a person started shouting abuse at two young women of color, one wearing a hajib. These defenders did not question the worthiness of the young women before coming to their aid. They saw a need for help and they stepped up, even at the cost of their lives.

The sage aligns with the harmony of creation
Breathing ocean-like energy into the heart

This is not a perspective of weakness or helplessness. This is a position of power, not personal ego power, but the power of the universe manifested through us when we are willing to allow it. It is always available to us. We need not develop it or be worthy of it. We only need to not block it.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. ~Marianne Williamson

The chapter opens with an observation on dualism.

Going out into life, entering death

What causes this cycle of life and death?

Because attachment to life is intense

The character for intense has additional meanings of thick, solid, lavish. This contrasts with the description in the second part of the chapter, which is one of my favorite passages in the Tao Te Ching. The English translations cannot convey the rhythm, beauty, and poetry of the Chinese, but still there is a sense of wonder and intriguing mystery.

Those who sustain life well
Go forth without fear of wild buffalo or tiger
Enter battle without armor or weapons
Wild buffalo have nowhere to thrust their horns
Tigers have nowhere to sink their claws
Weapons have nowhere their blades can pierce
Why is this
Because there is no death place

The character for “place” means a literal place or location.

What could this mean, to have no place for death to enter? When I contemplate this passage, I’m reminded of the story about the young woman who wants to study martial arts but is afraid of getting hurt. The teacher stands across the room from her and asks, “If I’m standing here and you are standing over there, can I hurt you?” No, she says. He moves a few steps closer and repeats the question. Still no. This goes on until he is standing right in front of her and asks her one more time, “If I’m standing here and you are standing there, can I hurt you?” “Yes!” she exclaims. The teacher looks at her and says, “Then don’t be there.”

Does it mean that we should avoid danger and cower in a locked safe room? I don’t think so. The person described in this passage is not afraid, but walks boldly through life’s challenges with courage and joy. There is a sense of freedom, not fear.

This seems quite different from the solid thickness of an intense attachment to life portrayed in the first section. Does this mean that if we figure out how to live free of attachment, we will never die? There are Chinese legends of immortals, but I’m pretty sure that none of us will avoid the death of our physical bodies. All that manifests into form will return to formlessness. Our death is assured the moment we are born. This is the nature of duality.

There is a Buddhist practice of contemplating death and our own mortality. Our acceptance of the cycle of life and death allows us to live in freedom, without futile resistance to reality. Death has no place to enter, not because we won’t ever die but because we live in harmony with the movement of creation.

Like the monk, who sat serenely as a warrior brandished his weapon. “Why aren’t you afraid? Don’t you know I can run you through without blinking an eye?” demanded the warrior. The monk smiled and replied, “And I can be run through without blinking an eye.”

This chapter is a dance between Tao and Te – Tao as the source of all things, and Te as the life force that sustains all things. Many chapters focus on one or the other, so it is enlightening to see here the interplay between the two fundamental concepts of the Tao Te Ching. It is a chapter that delights the ear in the original Chinese because you can hear the rhythm and cadence. It sounds like a dance!

Tao gives birth to all things
Te nurtures all things
Matter forms all things
Environment completes all things

This is a brief story of creation. Tao manifests as the universe through the creative agency of Te. What is undifferentiated and unlimited potential in the infinite emptiness of Tao springs forth and divides into what the Tao Te Ching calls the ten thousand things. It is like light shining through a prism and making rainbows on the wall.

I love prisms, by the way, and recently gave one to my grandson. We had so much fun finding sun coming through windows to create dancing rainbows on walls, floors, curtains, and our hands. But I digress....

Thus the ten thousand things revere Tao and honor Te 
Not because it is commanded of them
But because it is their true nature to do so

I love this passage because it reflects the divine relationship between the creative energy and the created. The Ten Commandments demand honor of father and mother, but here the honor is a natural inherent response, requiring no effort.

Likewise, it is Te’s nature to nourish and sustain all things as they move through the life cycle.

Thus Tao gives birth to all things
As Te nurtures them
Raises and nourishes them
Protects and matures them
Sustains and shelters them

This passage reminds me of Psalm 91:4. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.” So beautiful.

The last four lines are repeated in other chapters. This last section reminds me of Kahlil Gibran’s passage about children. 

Giving birth yet not possessing
Acting yet not claiming credit
Rearing yet not controlling
This is called profound Virtue (Te)

To me this chapter reflects the rhythm of breathing, the exchange between the inhale and the exhale. As we breathe, we dance our own creation, connecting ourselves as individuals to the universal energy that gives us all life.

So beautiful.

This chapter reflects the motion of Tao as the origin of all things, manifesting into form and then returning to the source. The image of the divine mother figures prominently, giving us the sense that Tao gives birth to, rather than creates, “all under heaven.” The bond between Tao and the universe is compared to the bond between mother and child.

All under heaven has a source
This source is the mother of all things
To know the mother is to know the child
To know the child is to abide in the love of the mother
Thus becoming one with the eternal source of all things
And therefore beyond all danger

I’ve taken a little liberty with the characters in my translation, but I think it reflects the essential message of this passage. We connect to the divine (by whatever name we use – God, nature, universal energy) through our connection to each other. Indeed, through our connection to all under heaven.

A Course in Miracles teaches that any separation we create between ourselves and whatever we identify as “other than self” effectively separates us from our holy source. In other words, we cannot be connected to God if we are separated from others in any way, for example, through anger, judgment, fear, exclusion. All of creation reflects the holy source, and is one with it, like a rainbow manifesting the color spectrum of undifferentiated light. When we separate ourselves into “us” and “them,” it’s like saying that blue is the color of light but red isn’t.

This next passage contrasts our tendency to jump in and direct things with the inherent perfection of nature’s flow, which takes care of itself when we surrender our own agendas.

Close the mouth
Shut the door
Life is untroubled
Open the mouth
Meddle in affairs
Life is lost

The Tao Te Ching has a clear preference for careful words and non-interference with the natural flow of universal energy. There is a natural, effortless, perpetual unfolding of the world. When we interfere, no matter how well intentioned, we disrupt that natural flow. Imbalance results, sometimes with disastrous consequences. Then we are caught up in an endless struggle to repair, to fix, to restore.

We see this on a global scale, and also in our individual lives. Think about a time when you tried to make something better, and only made it worse. Of course, there are times when our efforts do lead to desired results, as when we clean up environmental damage, or make amends to heal a relationship. But we can always go back to the moment when we first set ourselves on a path out of sync with nature’s inherent wisdom. We can’t go back, but life pretty much guarantees that we will have another opportunity to make a choice!

The final passage brings us back to the concept of returning to our natural state of balance moment by moment.

Seeing the small is called enlightenment
Abiding in tenderness is called strength
Using the light 
We restore our inner vision without exposure to misfortune
This is our eternal practice

This is the point, isn’t it? That every moment, every holy instant, offers us a choice – to be fully present or to be lost in distraction. We think that enlightenment is some goal to achieve in the future, and that once achieved we can sit back and bask in eternal serenity. But it isn’t like that. We practice, in every moment. Without judgment, because in the time it takes to judge ourselves, several more opportunities have passed. So we practice again.

Our practice becomes integrated into our daily lives. We don’t practice only when we are on our meditation cushion, or in church, or in martial arts class. We practice with every breath, every heartbeat. Our practice IS our life. So beautiful.

There is no such thing as enlightenment. There are only enlightened moments. ~Adyashanti

This chapter paints an accurate picture of the human experience.

If I have even a little knowledge
I will walk on the path of the great Tao
Straying from it is my only fear

This path is very smooth and easy
But people love to veer off on side roads

While the palace courts are splendid 
The fields lie fallow
And the granaries are empty

People wear elegant clothes
And carry sharp weapons
Eating and drinking to excess
Hoarding their wealth and possessions

This extravagance is robbery
The opposite of the great path of Tao

I can’t help but notice the relevance of this chapter to today’s world. However, before we “veer off on a side road” talking about current politics or world crises, remember that this was written at least 2,500 years ago. This chapter has always been relevant because it speaks to the timeless human condition. The first Noble Truth of Buddhism is the fact of suffering. However, that is not the end of the story. As the saying goes, “Everything will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it’s not the end.”

All spiritual wisdom teachings offer a way to understand and engage with our human experience. (“Tao” actually means “way” or “path.”) All address this fact of suffering, and provide a framework for changing the way we relate to it, with the result that our suffering is eased if not eliminated.

A necessary component of this framework is an honest inquiry into the nature of our existence, and a recognition of our own participation in the reality that we perceive. Regardless of different concepts or vocabulary, the key is not so much the “answers” but our “willingness” to inquire honestly and listen.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” ~Isaiah 30:21

This chapter beautifully expresses the nature of Te (the Te from the title Tao Te Ching) in every aspect of the universe.

Good rooting cannot be uprooted
Good holding cannot be taken away

Te is loosely translated as Virtue, but it does not mean virtue in the sense of morality or righteous behavior. We might think of it as the natural expression of Tao in the manifested universe. It is the form of the formless, the creation arising from the origin of creation.

The character for Te 德 offers insight. The left part of the character is the radical (or root) indicating forward movement. On the right side of the character, the cross on the top is the number 10, and it is placed above a horizontal rectangle meaning eyes. The lower part of the right side is the character for heart. So one way to think of the character is “moving forward with the powerful vision (10 eyes) of the heart” or “following the guidance of our inner sight.”

Te is naturally rooted and held in the limitless potential of its source, Tao, and therefore cannot be uprooted or taken away. When we are in alignment with Te, from the individual to all of creation, everything moves together in harmony.

The next section outlines the effect of alignment on these different levels.

When we practice or cultivate this alignment...
In the self, Te becomes genuine
In the family, Te becomes overflowing
In the community, Te becomes everlasting
In the nation, Te becomes abundant
In the universe, Te becomes omnipresent

The Tao Te Ching describes an approach to life that is contrary to the way many of us operate. We often move from the outside and the larger to the inside and the smaller. Rules are made by representatives theoretically for the good of society and we are obligated to follow them, subject to external enforcement. As a lawyer, I’m well aware of the massive, complicated, seemingly unending volumes of laws and regulations that govern so many aspects of our lives.

However, when we begin with the individual, internally aligned with the unhindered flow of Tao, Te naturally manifests through us. As we move outward in expanding circles, the family, the community, and so on, all become aligned in harmony.

In the absence of such alignment, we fall back on the next best thing, from morality to law to empty ritual, as described in Chapter 38.

It seems overwhelming when we seek to change world, but we can begin not by changing ourselves, but by allowing our true nature to reveal itself. In other words, we don’t need to change who we are; we need to be who we are. We do this first by seeing everything as it is. The end of the chapter counsels us to see with our inner sight all levels of the manifested universe.

I thus know everything under heaven as it truly is

This chapter has a surprise bonus in it, a little hidden wisdom treasure. But before we get to that...

The chapter begins with a passage comparing a person with abundant Te (Virtue) to an infant, a metaphor repeated in several places in the Tao Te Ching. A baby is supple and soft, yet amazingly strong and full of vigor. I laughed when I read that the infant can cry all day and not get hoarse. Having recently spent what felt like all day (but was really only about half an hour) trying to soothe my wailing grandbaby, I can attest that I wore out much faster than she did. My ears are still ringing.

A baby’s innocent and unfiltered engagement with its experience of life in the present moment is its protection, its power, and its wisdom. It lives in perfect harmony. This is reflected in Jesus’s encouragement to be like a small child, to whom the kingdom of heaven belongs. And it is picked up in A Course in Miracles, which teaches that our safety lies in our defenselessness.

The next passage sets out a series of connections.

Knowing harmony is called the eternal
Knowing the eternal is called enlightenment

The natural expansion of life force is called a blessing
The heart’s allowing vital energy (qi) to move freely is called strength

The secret wisdom treasure is hidden in these last two lines, which can be translated in an opposite way, thanks to several characters susceptible to different meanings. An alternate translation:

Increasing life force is called ominous
The mind’s control of vital energy is called overstraining (or violence)

Hmm, so which is it? These lines reveal the beautiful and unfathomable paradox of Tao. The two translations are not in conflict with each other. The characters support either view (although for reasons too detailed to bore you with here, I lean towards the first translation).

When we are in harmony with the infinite (eternal), our energy is uncontained and unrestricted. It moves in concert with the energy of the universe. To say it another way, the energy of the universe moves though us unimpeded by our attempts to control it or direct it. Our power is unlimited because it is not “our” individual power, but universal power. We are merely the conduits through which it is expressed.

The second translation cautions us about exhaustion and suffering that result when we seek to impose our individual will on this energy that moves through us. The effort we expend in doing this depletes our vital energy and leads to disharmony and misfortune.

The last lines contrast this infinite and eternal energy with the finite and limited energy of the individual.

Things in physical form flourish and then age
This is not the nature of Tao
What is not Tao comes to an end

This sounds more negative in translation than I think the Chinese characters truly reflect. Elsewhere in the Tao Te Ching, the infinite and eternal Tao is described as the source of the “ten thousand things” (the manifested universe) which come into being, and then at the end of their life cycle return to Tao. The physical aspect of our individual existence is undeniably time limited. We manifest and return. That isn’t bad. It is natural. We are both infinite and finite.

Again, the wondrous paradox that weaves through this ancient text. Babies are not troubled by this. No wonder so many wisdom teachings honor them.

One who knows does not speak
One who speaks does not know

Upon reading these opening lines, our first instinct might be to be quiet, to show that, or at least hope that, we are among those who know. But then, after a while, we want to talk about it, either to share what we think we know, or to question whether we know anything at all. Even Lao Zi, the purported author of the Tao Te Ching, acknowledges in the opening lines of the first chapter that the Tao is beyond understanding and identification . . . and then proceeds to use roughly 5,000 characters to describe it!

Our minds operate in the realm of thought, and we communicate using language. Yet these two functions by their very nature take us a step away from the direct and unfiltered experience of reality, of truth. That doesn’t make thinking and speaking bad. It just means that they, like Moses, will inevitably fail to take us into the promised land they point to. With that in mind, our aim in thinking and speaking might be, as Adyashanti says, to fail well.

Two sections follow these opening lines, each with a repeating pattern. The first section sets forth what might be practices for finding entry to the mystery.

Seal the openings
Close the door
Blunt the point
Unravel the tangles
Soften the brightness
Become one with the dust
This is called mysterious union

These lines highlight the idea that entering the promised land, so to speak, is not achieved by effort or force. In fact, it is not “achieved” at all, but rather “allowed” or “released” into. The nature of the universe, as described in the Tao Te Ching, is to manifest into form, and return to the formlessness of Tao. It is a natural process, one that we neither create nor control.

The last section follows a pattern of transcending opposites, a theme throughout the entire text.

Thus it is beyond attachment
Beyond aversion
Beyond gain
Beyond loss
Beyond honor
Beyond disgrace
Thus harmonized with everything under heaven

Our brains seek to understand, to know, to categorize and file away. Negative or apophatic theology teaches us that that is all well and good, but it is not how we enter into the mystery of divine relationship or union. “Not this, not this” is the refrain of those who know truth.

Or, as St. Augustine said, “If you can understand it, it’s not God.”

The theme of this chapter can be summed up like this: Do not interfere. 

One can rule a country with predictable justice
One can wage a war with unpredictable strategy
But one can harness the power of the universe only by non-interference

We don’t have to look far to see where interference, even well-intentioned, has caused more harm than good. In the southern United States, you can see miles of natural vegetation choked by the uncontrollable proliferation of kudzu, a non-indigenous plant introduced along roadways to prevent erosion. Or, on a more personal level, we might think of times when our efforts to “help” a friend or a situation had unanticipated and often unappreciated results. I know I can think of a few!

When we encounter some of those unanticipated results, we often feel an urge to “fix” things by interfering even more. One of the best Star Trek stories (from Voyager) involved an individual who figured out how to go back in time and change specific events. He used these “time incursions” to eliminate historical enemies of his species. However, these alterations allowed a plague virus to emerge which ended up killing his beloved wife.

His grief spurred him to go back over and over to try to re-establish a timeline that brought her back. Unfortunately, each effort shifted future trajectories in unpredictable ways, creating new worlds and civilizations and destroying others, creating chaos and eventually driving him mad. So there.

Coming back to the present time on this planet, I am struck by the timeless accuracy of this line from the next section of the chapter:

The more rules and laws we have, the more lawbreakers and criminals emerge

As a lawyer, I used to marvel at the endless library shelves stuffed with books full of laws. And new ones constantly arrived. Besides the laws themselves, there were even more books full of regulations detailing how the laws should be applied. And more books still, full of judicial opinions settling disputes about all the laws and regulations.

I can sympathize with that poor alien trying to use time incursions to create the reality he sought. Are we much different with our “law incursions”? I wonder.

Thus the sage says:
I refrain from forcing change, and people transform themselves
I abide in stillness, and people manifest their natural goodness
I refrain from interfering, and people themselves prosper
I live without desire, and people enjoy simplicity

The character for this last word is  朴  and means purity or simplicity, like an uncarved block of wood. This character is used throughout the Tao Te Ching to indicate our natural state of oneness with the universe, with infinite, undifferentiated potential. Like the concept of beginner’s mind.

In a curious quirk of the English language, “do not interfere” if said aloud, sounds just like “do not enter fear.”  Hmm, something to think about.

This chapter highlights the folly of thinking that we know what’s good or bad, or that we can control things outside ourselves. It begins with an observation about government.

When government is unobtrusive
People are wholesome and pure
When government is oppressive
People are restless and contentious

The Tao Te Ching’s passages on government are consistent with the view that the “government is best that governs least,” or with the concept of a “servant leader.” This is challenging to apply to today’s world when the more traditional social structures of villages and small communities are missing in much of the developed world. So I prefer to consider these “government” passages in relation to our own individual self-government. Then the message of the text is easier to discern and apply.

When I am overly harsh with self-criticism, or overly strict with rigid rules, I lose my connection with the divine energy that moves all around me and through me. If instead, I remain fluid and in alignment with this energy, then, to borrow from Buddhist terminology, “right action” naturally and effortlessly occurs.

Our loss of alignment often results from judgment, and attachment or aversion. As Shakespeare’s Hamlet says, “Nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

Good fortune arises from the ashes of misfortune
Misery is held in the folds of joy’s robes

The characters for good fortune/joy 福  and misfortune/misery  祸  have the same radical, or root, meaning to reveal, as in a sacred revelation. This suggests that good fortune and misery are both rooted in holy origin, both part of the divine dance of life.

The chapter goes on to explain that when we impose our rigid standards of judgment (like an oppressive government) on our experience, we become confused and misguided. However, when we drop our judgments of good and bad, our attachment to pleasure and our aversion to pain, we can see everything as it is. We take our place in the divine dance.

Everything shares the same breath. But the movement of the breath comes and goes. It ends only to begin again. ~Wang P’ang

“Everything in moderation,” goes the adage. The Noble Eightfold Path of Buddhism is described as the “middle way.” A meditation instruction teaches “not too tight, not too loose.” 

The concept of moderation is the foundation of this chapter.

Governing people in alignment with heaven
Is accomplished only through moderation

As with other chapters on governing, I find this most helpful when I think of self governance.

The character for moderation  啬  has components that mean come, from, earth, return. Returning, we are told elsewhere in the Tao Te Ching, is the motion of Tao. There is a cycle of manifestation into form, and a return to formlessness. Like an inhale and exhale. 

The center of this cycle, the liminal space between form and formless, the pause between the inhale and the exhale, represents this concept of moderation. Moderation is the point of balance between one extreme and the other. 

The Tao Te Ching is fond of using a cascading structure in some chapters. Perhaps this aided in remembering what was at one time passed down through oral tradition. 

Moderation means early attunement (or attunement from the beginning)
Early attunement means the accumulation of Te (Virtue)
The accumulation of Virtue leads to mastery
Mastery leads to limitless awareness
Limitless awareness leads to aligned governance
Aligned governance leads to the eternal
The deep roots of the eternal offer infinite perception of Tao

Admittedly, that might be a bit hard to follow. However, if we consider the overall arc of this chapter, especially in terms of self governance, we can see the connection between the middle way of moderation and our alignment with the sacred energy moving between heaven and earth. 

When we swing too far in one direction or another, we lose this alignment. We must then use our energy to maintain this imbalance, or we compensate by swinging to the other extreme. But when we follow this middle way, our steps are effortless, and we are always attuned to the guidance of nature (Tao). 

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it." ~Isaiah 30:21

Governing a big country is like frying a small fish

Hmm, this sounds like a set up for a punch line in a bad joke. But the punch line is:

Thus use Dao to govern all under heaven

Okay, that’s better. Using Dao (Tao) as a governing principle is a theme of the Tao Te Ching. It can apply to actual government, and can apply just as well to how we govern ourselves. And as with cooking a small fish, less is more.

Think about the proliferation of laws we have in the United States at all levels of government. Our answer to many problems is to make up more rules and then try to enforce them. We do this in our legislatures, in our communities, in our families, and with ourselves. And how is that working for us?

I’m not suggesting that we toss out all the rules. I am wondering, though, if we look to rules to solve problems that rules can’t solve, or can’t solve well.

A friend related a story about leading a meeting during which a woman was being disruptive and obnoxious. Feeling responsible for the governance of the meeting, he approached her during a break, intending to confront her about her behavior and to insist that she change her behavior or leave. Instead, at the last minute, he shifted his perspective and asked her if she was all right. After a brief exchange, she broke down in tears and shared with him a challenge she was experiencing. Feeling heard, understood, and respected, she was able to release her combative stance and engage in a more productive way.

Either way, he would have prevented further disruption. But look at the different outcomes. He chose to focus on connection rather than content, on understanding rather than force, on relationship rather than judgment.

This chapter goes on to observe that “demons” have no power when Dao is the guiding principle. Force and resistance feed conflict and opposition. In contrast, Dao follows the natural flow of energy in the universe.

Thus harmony and peace are integrated and restored

This works just as well in our individual lives. Recently I was struggling with a situation that churned up a lot of emotion for me. My initial response was to try to control the situation, to direct an outcome of my choice, to force others to comply. Not surprisingly, I was not very successful, and even to the extent that I was, my emotional turmoil was not alleviated.

I’d like to say I got smart, but what I got was exhausted. And finally, I just stopped fighting. I let go of what I couldn’t control (most everything), and focused on regaining internal alignment and equanimity. And what do you know – once released from my desperate interference, everything began to unfold in a natural way. True, not entirely to my liking, but in a way I could see was inevitable and perhaps for the best.

I’m cooking a small fish for dinner.

For peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe. ~Larry Eisenberg