81: The Ideal

81

True words are not pleasing.
Pleasing words are not true.
Those who are right do not argue.
Those who argue are not right.
Those who know are not learned.
Those who are learned do not know.
The sage does not hoard.
The more he does for others,
The more he has.
The more he thereby gives to others,
The ever more he gets.
Heaven's Way
Is to benefit and not to harm.
The sage's Way
Is to act and not to contend.

The Ideal

The final chapter of the Tao Te Ching sums up the most important aspects of living up to the ideal of Tao, the Way, and what signifies the sage who follows it. The similarities to the Christian ideals, as expressed in the words of Jesus, are obvious. This whole chapter could be summarized: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

This proximity to Christian ethics would raise hesitation, since we have the tendency to interpret foreign cultures and thoughts according to our own beliefs. Could we be reading things into Lao Tzu that come from our own minds and not his?

But this golden rule is far from unique to Christianity. It can be found in numerous other traditions and philosophies. It's not unlikely for Lao Tzu to share it. Also, the Tao Te Ching contains many similar thoughts, as well as several arguments that lead to the same conclusion.

The unselfish ideal is universal. Lao Tzu clearly supports it, too.

One should not spend life gathering riches and privileges that others lack, although they might need them more. One should try to do good without forcing it upon people, and without needing to take credit for it. We should all try to help and care for one another. It's as simple as that.

If we could, we would swiftly reach Heaven on Earth.

Words, Words, Words
Also in his warnings against false speech and preaching, Lao Tzu expresses thoughts very close to those of Jesus and other thinkers through time. The truth is not always pleasant to hear. Those, whose words are always pleasing, probably avoid words that would upset us, whether they are true or not.

There's a lot of that going on, nowadays. Flattery, hypocrisy, and empty promises are poured over us constantly. The truth is said to be relative, which is taken as an excuse for bending it to one's liking and advantage.

It's also far too common for people in positions of responsibility to hide their failures and shortcomings by not telling us what they know. And in our everyday life we claim to be kind, by serving each other numerous white lies and flattery, but rarely sincerity.

This use of words has gone on so long and so much, that we are ourselves confused about whether or not what we say is true. We lie so much that we get lost in it, and we say so much that we can't keep track of it. As Hamlet says: "Words, words, words." We need to halt the flow and examine its content, before continuing.

Arguments can be constructive when those involved use them to investigate their thoughts, striving for conclusions that all can agree upon. But there are lots of arguments where that process doesn't take place, and they are usually the most heated ones, going on the longest. Sadly, they are also usually about the most important topics.

We listen the least when we talk the loudest. Many arguments are not exchanges of views, but repeated statements of the refusal to discuss.

Those who are right and know it, don't feel protective about it. Mistakes and lies are short-lived, but the truth will most certainly prevail without battle. It's what remains when lies have been revealed and mistakes have been corrected.

Truth wins without a fight, so there's no need to start one over it. The only thing needed is some patience. If we impatiently insist on the truth, we will be less convincing and it will just take longer for the truth to win.

When truth is fought for, it seems to be untrue. Why else fight for it? Countless times, we have experienced how lies and deceptions were forced on us, so we have good reason to suspect whatever is aggressively propagated.

The sage just lowers his voice and waits for sincere questions. They will come.

Wisdom, Not Learning
There is much good to say about learning, but it doesn't necessarily bring wisdom. Knowing the facts is not the same as understanding what they represent or prove. Good learning is gathered in order to have substantial material for reaching conclusions. But learning without concluding is as meaningless as amassing riches that one cannot ever spend in a lifetime. It's excessive baggage.

Our time is one of rapidly growing knowledge. The total of human knowledge is said to be doubled every few years. But most of this knowledge is in need of processing. It has yet to be used for conclusions. We number things and name them, but that's not to understand them. We're just expanding our catalogs.

Sadly, this rapidly increased knowledge and the widening gap to our understanding of it, leave most people in bewilderment. Not only is there more and more we have no chance of getting to know, but we also gasp at all we need to learn in order to introduce ourselves to any specific subject. Reaching knowledge about even the smallest thing seems like a gargantuan feat.

So, the more human knowledge is gathered, the less we know and the farther we get from understanding. There is less and less that we dare to believe we comprehend, without being experts on it.

That way, our society is quickly moving towards a world ruled by experts, as if there are always facts demanding this or that solution, and neither priorities nor ideals have anything to do with it. As if society is merely a machine and we are its fuel.

But facts are often inconclusive and experts are rarely infallible. Any social situation is so complex that several options are present. When we make our choices, we need to consider what future we want to reach.

We cannot surrender our responsibilities to facts that are yet uncertain or ambiguous. Nor can we allow those who claim to be the most learned to make all our choices for us. That ends in a world nobody wanted.

Knowledge without true understanding is blind. If we follow the blind we are sure to leave the Way.

Tao, the Way, is to benefit and not to harm. Therefore we know that what doesn't benefit us is not according to Tao, and it will probably harm us. A simple rule. When we are considering what path to follow and how to act, we can simply choose what's the most beneficial and the least harmful.

All through our history, we have far too many examples of this simple rule being neglected, and the costly results thereof.

It's not easy to follow Tao, the Way, but the result is certainly worth the effort.

80: Simple Utopia

80

Let the country be small,
And the inhabitants few.
Although there are weapons
For tens and hundreds of soldiers,
They will not be used.
Let people take death seriously,
And not travel far.
Although they have boats and carriages,
There's no occasion to use them.
Although they have armor and weapons,
There's no occasion to wear them.
Let people return to making knots on ropes,
Instead of writing.
Their food will be tasty.
Their clothes will be comfortable.
Their homes will be tranquil.
They will rejoice in their daily life.
They can see their neighbors.
Roosters and dogs can be heard from there.
Still, they will age and die
Without visiting one another.

Simple Utopia

Making knots on ropes was believed to be a forerunner to the sophisticated Chinese pictogram writing. Lao Tzu expresses a longing back to previous times, when things were simpler.

I have some problems with this chapter. It describes what Lao Tzu regards as a dream society, but I find it kind of boring. No travel, no visions, no aspirations, and no curiosity. Nothing but the routine of everyday life. It's certainly peaceful and secure, but isn't it also dull?

Not to Lao Tzu, evidently. He praises this life, which could be described with his favorite image of the uncarved wood. We would call it rustic.

People have boats and carriages, but no longing to use them for exploring other parts of the world. They see the neighboring village and hear sounds from there, but don't bother walking the short distance to visit and get to know its inhabitants.

What kind of life is that? What kind of peace and security? To me, it seems like sleep, and a dreamless one at that.

Prison or Sanctuary
Lao Tzu is tired of the spectacular and the grand. He longs back to the basic qualities of life. That's possible for someone who has experienced the world, and gotten enough of it. For those who are yet to explore it, the simple village life might be closer to a prison than a sanctuary.

Of course, what he describes has a lasting charm. No war. No frustrated longing for a greener pasture elsewhere. People are content with what they have, so they know how to enjoy it fully.

The food they make may be simple, but it's tasty and filling. Their clothes may be colorless and coarse, without any fancy decorations, but they are comfortable and therefore pretty, too. Their homes are no palaces, but they find security in them. A house doesn't need to be big to be a home.

People who enjoy the simple everyday life are free from anguished longings for what very few can get. They will not be tempted by things they can't reach, and they will not suffer because they have less luxury than the emperor, his dukes and generals. Only by not longing for something else, you can truly enjoy what you have.

Many people have this ability. There is reason to envy them. If we are pleased with a life of simplicity, nothing can surpass it. Still, I'm not sure I would be satisfied.

I also doubt that Lao Tzu, that splendid mind pondering the hidden workings of the universe, would have settled for it, if he didn't first go out into the world to explore and understand it.

What he describes is not a perfect life for everyone, but a perfect retirement plan. The human being is not able to settle for steady peace and quiet, until after having experienced at least one adventure.

79: Honor the Settlement

79

When bitter enemies make peace,
Surely some bitterness remains.
How can this be solved?
Therefore:
The sage honors his part of the settlement,
But does not exact his due from others.
The virtuous carry out the settlement,
But those without virtue pursue their claims.
Heaven's Way gives no favors.
It always remains with good people.

Honor the Settlement

William Shakespeare dedicated one of his greatest dramas, Romeo and Juliet, to the tragic fact that conflict is so hard to end. Two families remain in a feud that has lasted for generations. It doesn't end until the highest price is paid for it – the death of both Romeo and his Juliet.

It's a human tragedy, indeed, that animosity is so easily started and so painstaking to stop. Once aggression has been expressed and returned, bitterness lingers on, whatever conclusion is reached. It can remain for hundreds of years, through many generations, even when the original cause for it is forgotten. New reasons will be invented on the way. When bitterness remains, the animosity is renewed and enforced even by the most ridiculous little mishap.

Making true and lasting peace between two enemies of old is as delicate a process as walking on thin ice. The same is true for a conflict that has escalated to severe violence. So many human shortcomings are involved, such as our pride, our temper, and our distrust in each other.

Fear might be the key ingredient here, as in so many other human failures. We dare do nothing else but prepare for the worst we suspect from our adversaries, and that's usually by doing it first. Disaster is bound to follow.

Again, yielding is the only way out. If we have the courage and the unselfishness to begin by sacrifices of our own, then our enemy can begin to relax. Peace is not accomplished with swords drawn, and only by sheathing our own swords can we expect our enemies to do the same.

Peace is worth the risk.

Among historians, it's strongly believed that one of the important reasons for the outbreak of World War II was the treaty after World War I. The victorious states demanded great sacrifices from Germany after the first war, so bitterness remained and continued to grow, making it much easier for Hitler to throw Germany into the second war.

The world community learned its lesson, as did the families Montague and Capulet after the death of their children. After World War II, the conquered nations were treated with some care and concern. They were completely disarmed, but that worked to their own economic advantage. No punishments were issued, except for some German leaders in the Nuremberg trials, which came very close to complete failure.

Nothing good comes out of striking at those who have already surrendered. Violent conflict is a tragedy. When it's ended, we should all concentrate on comforting and healing each other. Otherwise, it just has not ended.
Two Winners
Lao Tzu widens this to apply for any kind of settlement or agreement. The sage will concentrate on living up to his promise, whereas a lesser person is fixed on making sure that he gets his share, but ignores what he had agreed to contribute.

If both behave like the latter, then an escalating conflict is hard to avoid. But if one begins by showing trust and paying what he is due, then at length it will be very difficult for the other not to do the same.

Even if the reluctant party doesn't contribute, it's better to let it go than to insist on his fulfillment of the settlement. There are not many things a settlement can contain, which are worth an escalated conflict with little hope of a peaceful solution. Certainly not if war might follow.

Usually, when one of the parties is very reluctant to hold to his part, the settlement was unfair to begin with. A contract of any kind should have two winners. Otherwise, at least one of them is a loser. That party will become bitter and refuse.

Even if the loser accepts and delivers, bitterness will follow. And bitterness is such that it remains for very long, if not dealt with properly.

A contract, as fair as the judgment of King Salomon, creates problems if one of the parties still feels disadvantaged. Whether this feeling is legitimate or not, bitterness is born.

In a good solution, both parties not only benefit equally, but are convinced of it. The next best solution is if the party that can live with it the easiest, volunteers to gain the least from the settlement. An agreement is a delicate matter. It should be built on giving, not on taking.

Heaven's Way, which must again be a synonym for Tao, the Way, allows no favors. In each situation, it is present where the virtuous one goes, and where the most virtuous decision leads. It's not so that it favors the virtuous. It is present where the virtuous go, because they follow the Way.

Tao makes no adjustment for anybody. It twists and turns for nobody. It needs to be followed to be present. Therefore, those who follow it will benefit.

The Taoist Good
The good that Lao Tzu refers to here, should not be confused with the Christian idea of being good. There are great similarities, but also differences.

For example, to be a good Christian means to act with compassion towards fellow men, for their sake. The good Taoist, on the other hand, treats other people with compassion, but it's as a result of following the Way, the grand plan of the universe. It's not for the sake of other people, but because it's the best line of action for the whole world.

That sometimes means people can be sacrificed, as mentioned in chapter 5, for the good of the whole. In some situations it's necessary to treat people as mere offerings. The Christian idea is practically the opposite. Everything else should be sacrificed for the good of the people. Well, everything but people's own willingness to make sacrifices for the good of other people. An interesting paradox.

The good used by Lao Tzu, shan, refers to the virtuous, righteous, charitable, and kind. It points to actions that are beneficial and in accordance with Heaven's order.

Lao Tzu would probably say that the only completely good is to follow Tao completely. Those who do are good, and so are their actions, as a consequence of following the Way. What they are and what they do lead to Tao.

78: Water Surpasses All

78

Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water.
Yet, to attack the hard and strong,
Nothing surpasses it.
Nothing can take its place.
The weak overcomes the strong.
The soft overcomes the hard.
Everybody in the world knows this,
Still nobody makes use of it.
Therefore the sage says:
To bear the country's disgrace
Is to rule the shrines of soil and grain.
To bear the country's misfortunes
Is to be the king of the world.
True words seem false.

Water Surpasses All

Lao Tzu returns to what must be his favorite metaphor for the primary quality of Tao, the Way. Water is yielding, which is exactly what makes it superior. As the Roman poet Ovid pointed out: Dripping water hollows out the stone, not through force but through persistence.

Water embraces instead of confronts, it caresses instead of beats, but it still subdues, eventually.

Of course, water can sometimes be a mighty striking force, but Lao Tzu refers to its yielding quality and its nature to seek the lowest place. That's what he admires in it, and that's what he wants us to learn, in just about everything we do.

Not only water is soft and weak in its behavior towards its surroundings, and still overcomes resistance. Many things in nature show the same traits and get the same results. The air even surpasses water in softness and weakness, but it tends to travel upwards, aiming for the sky. Otherwise it would surely become Lao Tzu's ideal example.

Anyway, nature tells us repeatedly to trust the soft and the weak, but we don't learn. As soon as we are eager to accomplish something, we go for the hard and strong. We lack the persistence that Ovid mentioned.

Persistence is a recurring theme in another Chinese classic, I Ching, the Book of Change. It states several times that persistence in a righteous course brings reward.

Ancient China was a country cherishing tradition and values of old, so the patience to persist was highly appreciated and recommended. We may not have the same ideal today, it seems.

Yielding
Lao Tzu doesn't state that persistence is the essence of what he advocates. Instead, he points out the yielding. If we can accept instead of oppose, and let go instead of confront, we can accomplish anything.

There are few obstacles that need to be destroyed. Most of them can simply be circumvented. Often when we choose the path of confrontation, we do so because of irrelevant factors, such as our pride and our impatience. Although we regard ourselves as the reasoning species, Homo sapiens, many of our actions are induced by our bad temper.

We would all gain by yielding and humbling ourselves. Thereby we would overcome our pride, which feeds our temper, which triggers our impatience. This is even more necessary in a ruler. So, the sage begins by lowering himself and accepting the suffering that may be inevitable.

He expects disgrace rather than praise, which is why he is apt to rule the old shrines of offerings to soil and grain. Those were places for important agricultural rituals in ancient China, so their ruler would be the ruler of the whole country.

The sage is also willing to share the misfortunes of the country, instead of using his power to isolate himself from them. That makes him fit to rule the whole world.

There are far too many rulers who use their power first and foremost to get personal benefits, and who blame everyone and everything for what might go wrong. That's just as true now as it was in the time of Lao Tzu.

He knew in what way they needed to change, but it seems neither he nor we have found out how to make them go through with that change. Nor have we learned how to avoid such rulers getting into power. Our problem might be that people who would as rulers live up to Lao Tzu's ideal are so rare.

77: Raise the Low

77

Heaven's Way is like stretching a bow.
The high is lowered and the low is raised.
Excess is reduced and deficiency is replenished.
Heaven's Way reduces excess and replenishes deficiency.
People's Way is not so.
They reduce the deficient and supply the excessive.
Who has excess and supplies the world?
Only the one who follows the Way.
Therefore, the sage acts without taking credit.
He accomplishes without dwelling on it.
He does not want to display his worth.

Raise the Low

Here, Lao Tzu again uses the expression Heaven's Way as if it's synonymous with Tao, the Way. It's a bit strange that he would do so, considering his otherwise consistent perspective on Tao preceding everything, including Heaven. To Lao Tzu, Tao is superior to all. Accordingly, Heaven's Way must be something lesser and later than the Way itself. I discuss this at chapter 73, where it also appears.

Anyway, what this chapter speaks of is hardly dependent on the definition of Heaven's Way.

Lao Tzu points out that the natural order of things is that excess should be reduced and deficiency should be replenished.

That's what water does by itself, and we are told that water behaves like Tao. It moves downwards, striving to balance high and low to a perfect middle.

Our society is certainly different. That's just as true today as it was in ancient China. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Wealth tends to move from those who don't have enough to those who have more than enough. It's true on the individual level, as well as for nations. Also, there are big differences of wealth between whole continents.

It's a tragedy that seems to have no end.

The sage refuses to participate in this deplorable process. Not only does he avoid getting what he doesn't need, but he also escapes being praised above others, although he might deserve it. He completes his tasks without expecting any reward. When he is done he just moves on.

Otherwise, society would surely hurry to make him one of the privileged, and cover him with gold.

Some have to struggle not to get more than they need, others don't get what they need no matter how they struggle. What's really needed, is that those who have more than they need give it to all those in the world who need it. Unfortunately, that's a struggle that few of the wealthy are willing to undertake.

76: Life Is Soft and Weak

76

People are born soft and weak.
They die hard and stiff.
All things such as grass and trees
Are soft and supple in life.
At their death they are withered and dry.
So, the hard and stiff are death's companions.
The soft and weak are life's companions.
Therefore:
The unyielding army will not win.
The rigid tree will be felled.
The rigid and big belong below.
The soft and weak belong above.

Life Is Soft and Weak

Lao Tzu uses drastic imagery, comparing the newborn baby with the dead corpse, the former being soft and the latter stiffening in rigor mortis. The fact that we stiffen after death confirms the point he wants to make.

Life is characterized by supple softness, growth, and the ability to adapt. Death is rigid, and the only change coming is that into dust.

The world certainly shows with all possible clarity what we should be in life, and what leads to death.

These self-evident conditions to life can be applied to so much within it. In war, the army that can move and adapt is most likely to win the war. Trees that harden and start to dry up inside will be felled by wind or by ax. If not, they finally fall by themselves.

The rigid, no matter how proudly it rose above everything else, will tumble. The soft and yielding, no matter how small it was in the beginning, will move upwards in its continued adaption, until it rises above all. As long as it keeps its supple vitality, it will grow and advance.

That goes for living beings as well as for their ventures.

It's true on so many levels. The biggest company in the world will soon go bankrupt if it doesn't adapt to changes in its line of business. The greatest nation will perish if it refuses to recognize changes inside or outside its borders. A leader who can't compromise will soon lose his power. An expert who rejects new discoveries descends into ignorance. A person who ceases to be curious grows tired and loses the lust for life.

We live as long as we adapt to life, which always changes. We start dying at the moment we begin to oppose that fundamental fact of life. There's the essence of longevity.

75: People versus Rulers

75

People starve.
The rulers consume too much with their taxes.
That is why people starve.
People are hard to govern.
The rulers interfere with too much.
That is why people are hard to govern.
People take death lightly.
They expect too much of life.
That is why people take death lightly.
Truly, only acting without thought of one's life
Is superior to valuing one's life.

People versus Rulers

There are people and there are rulers. Their relation is a complicated one, to say the least. People often have great difficulties suffering the demands of the rulers, and the rulers can have great problems making people obey their commands. Lao Tzu gives some hints to why this is so.

He blames the rulers, because they have the responsibility and the power to make changes. Common people usually don't.

High taxes were a problem then, as they are now. Governments are insatiable. Taxes are their means, without which they would not be able to do anything.

Power is money and money is power. Those who have the one get the other, and the more they have, the more they can get.

Suddenly, they get too much, and people starve. In the case of ancient China, some taxes could very well be in rice, so over-consumption at one end led directly to starvation at the other end. But the effect is the same when the tax is paid in the form of money.

Sadly, governments are tempted to take all but exactly what people need to survive, and sometimes they do it so narrowly that this crucial limit is exceeded. The excuses vary through time, but the greed is the same.

Of course, people who are pushed to starvation will be difficult to govern, but this can happen for many other reasons. The common denominator is exaggerated interference, which can be said about excess taxation, too.

When governments interfere too much with the lives of the people, there are bound to be reactions, protests, and a general unwillingness to comply. People can cause problems for their leaders in so many ways, only some of them obvious enough to counteract. When pressured, they will swiftly find all these possibilities.

Insufficient Fear
In the former chapter, Lao Tzu talked about threatening people with the death penalty, to make them obedient, and how complicated that can be. He returns to the subject here, explaining why people are not so afraid of dying.

They expect too much of life, which means that they hurry to experience this or that sensation, not bothering to consider risks that may be involved. Their appetite for life is so big that they become forgetful of hazards, and have no time for reflection.

It's like children playing wildly, forgetting to consider their own safety. When we are drunk on life, we feel invulnerable, and like the young we believe death to be as far off as if we were immortal.

If we don't get as much out of life as we wished, then it loses its charm. That way, too, we cease to fear death, even if we don't exactly want it at the very next moment. Expecting too much of life must lead to disappointment. Death loses its horror to the extent that life loses its charm.

To the same extent, the rulers lose their power over us, since they no longer have the ultimate threat at their disposal. Any other threat would also lose its bite, when we don't shudder at the thought of being killed. It brings a kind of freedom to the people, but in a risky fashion.

Lao Tzu recommends that we take life seriously and hold on to it. That's in accordance with our nature. We should do our best to survive as long as possible. But he doesn't regard it as the most ideal relation to life.

One attitude surpasses it. That's to act without being concerned about one's own survival, which is utter unselfishness. For the greatest good, we should be able to sacrifice ourselves without hesitation. Also, we should willingly risk our lives to help avoid the greatest evil.

So, we should strive to stay alive as long as that can be done without deviating from Tao, the Way. But we should follow the Way without worrying about how we personally might suffer along it. Lao Tzu assures us that no harm comes to us if we follow Tao, but to do so we must dare risking even our lives.

In other words, to live life properly, we can't be obsessed by the fear of death.

74: The Supreme Executioner

74

If people are not afraid of dying,
Why threaten them with death?
If people live in constant fear of death,
And if breaking the law is punished by death,
Then who would dare?
There is one appointed supreme executioner.
Truly, trying to take the place of the supreme executioner
Is like trying to carve wood like a master carpenter.
Of those who try to carve wood like a master carpenter,
There are few who do not injure their hands.

The Supreme Executioner

This chapter is unclear in several ways, in its Chinese original, and has been translated in quite different manners. The first part deals with the fear of death, the second with the executioner. The subjects connect, since Lao Tzu first discusses how fear of the death penalty makes people abide by the law, and then moves on to the one executing the punishment.

The complication lies in precisely what he has to say about these things.

In the first part, it's possible to read the second question as who dares to be an executioner, instead of who dares to break the law. That doesn't make much sense, if the fear of death is not supposed to be the fear of inducing it, as well as being struck by it.

A fear of being the executioner is probably not what Lao Tzu implies, since it has nothing to do with the fear of breaking the law. The executioner acts to uphold the law, not to break it. So, I translate this part to deal with the fear of dying. Lao Tzu has commented this also in other chapters.

That makes the message of the first part of the chapter quite obvious: people obey the laws if they fear the punishment. They obey them completely if they risk capital punishment.

This can be discussed. The death penalty exists in many countries, but crimes are still committed there. Lao Tzu would conclude that some people in those countries don't fear death, at least not enough to refrain from criminality.

It's hard to argue with such a statement, since it's very difficult to falsify. How to prove that people don't fear death enough? Actually, if they risk getting killed, they are obviously not overcome by the fear of it.

As Lao Tzu says, they would need to be in constant fear of death. Otherwise they might at times be forgetful of it, and at such times they would be tempted to commit the crimes that the death penalty was supposed to prevent. This fear would only work if it were an obsession.

The chapter has been interpreted as Lao Tzu's support for the death penalty. I doubt it. Here, he really says that it demands total obsession with this fear, which would be a terrible life. In the following chapter he will continue his reasoning by explaining why people are not that fearful of death.

Instead of advocating the death penalty, he may be pointing out its shortcomings and hinting at solutions elsewhere.

Nature Kills
That would explain the next part of this chapter, where he moves on to say that there is one supreme executioner, who cannot be imitated without risk. That master executioner is nature. Death from natural causes is the unavoidable executioner who never fails. Why should we try to compete with it?

Nature behaves according to Tao, so this must be true for natural causes as well. The supreme executioner is appointed by none other than Tao, that is to say it's in accordance with the Way, and part of its structure. If we try to take it upon ourselves to decide when people should live and when they should die, then we surely deviate from the Way. That is bound to fail.

An alternative interpretation of this part of the chapter makes the supreme executioner the human being appointed by the government. That would make some vague sense if the first part of the chapter asks who dares to execute others, but the train of thought would still be odd.

If we are afraid of killing, then we hardly aim to take the role of the executioner. So, in this case the second part of the chapter is meaninglessly just stating what we already know and support. That's not very likely.

We can't apply our present questioning of the capital punishment on something written more than two thousand years ago. In the society where Lao Tzu lived, there was little ethical opposition to the death penalty.

But Lao Tzu's Tao is one where any action should be considered carefully, and avoided if at all possible. Putting people to death would be drastic also in the eyes of the people at his time, so it would be strange if he didn't feel uncomfortable with it.

Also, he states repeatedly that violent solutions are the worst.

It's not unthinkable that Lao Tzu wished to argue against the death penalty, as well as other forceful actions common in his time – as in ours. If so, the first part of this chapter presents a common argument for the death penalty. It's supposed to work as a deterrent. But then the second part starts to explain why this is not a valid excuse.

In the next chapter he continues by stating that people aren't that afraid of death, because of society's imperfection. So, the deterrent doesn't work. Then there is no good reason for the killing.

Society should be protective of its people, like a mother, and not brutal like a vindictive warrior. Lao Tzu might not insist on an end to the death penalty, but he is not likely to believe that it benefits society.

73: Heaven's Way

73

Those who have the courage to dare will perish.
Those who have the courage not to dare will live.
Of those two, one is beneficial and one is harmful.
What Heaven detests, who knows why?
Even the sage considers it difficult.
Heaven's Way does not contend,
Yet it certainly triumphs.
It does not speak,
Yet it certainly answers.
It does not summon,
Yet things come by themselves.
It seems to be at rest,
Yet it certainly has a plan.
Heaven's net is very vast.
It is sparsely meshed, yet nothing slips through.

Heaven's Way

Heaven's Way, T'ien chih Tao, is a concept that was old and established already at the time of Lao Tzu. Mankind has always observed and awed at the many movements in the sky. Clouds of different shades and shapes sail through it, occasional rain or snow falls from it, the sun and moon travel it in fixed cycles, and the stars appear in millions at clear skied nights.

It's a marvel, indeed, with significant importance to earthly life.

Heaven has been studied for at least as long as we have historical records of human thought, probably much longer than that. People searched to explain these events and to foresee them. Although the sky was way out of reach, or maybe just because of this, mankind feared it and struggled to understand its dynamics. Astrology is just one of those efforts.

The search for the way in which the sky behaves is what once formed the concept of Heaven's Way.

In Chinese tradition, and many others around the world, Heaven was regarded as the ruling force of the whole world, shaping everything else to conform to its ways.

This power of Heaven was not necessarily seen as belonging to some kind of divinity. It could be described as divine in itself, but just as impersonal as the Tao of which Lao Tzu speaks. It was regarded as a sovereign power, indeed, but more of a natural law than an entity with its own thoughts and wishes.

That's why even the sage has problems understanding some of its traits. Why would a natural law have preferences that seem to be moral ones? Still, when Lao Tzu observes the world around him, he comes to the conclusion that Heaven's Way clearly prefers some directions, and avoids other ones as if with disgust.

He draws the conclusion that the laws of Tao are for the best, not because they benefit the most, although they do, but just because the laws of Tao have formed the world.

One could say that the laws of Tao are for the best, simply because there is nothing else.

The expression Heaven's Way in this chapter is most likely to stand for Tao, the Way. It's cause for thought that Lao Tzu would use this expression instead of just calling it Tao, as usual. This appears in the chapters 9, 47, 73, 77, 79, and 81. There might be an influence from other sources involved, maybe an addition in a later copy of the text.

In other Chinese traditions, Heaven's Way was supreme to any other Way. In Lao Tzu's universe, Tao is the first cause and the master of all. Already in the first chapter, he has established that Tao is the beginning of Heaven and Earth, so Heaven's Way must be something later and inferior.

Therefore, I would not be surprised if future findings of older manuscripts show that Heaven is a later addition to this chapter, or the whole chapter might be a later construction.

The oldest manuscript of the Tao Te Ching found so far is that from Guodian, which dates back to around 300 BC. There, none of the chapters 67 to 81 can be found. The manuscript is far from complete, so nothing is certain, but the absence of this big chunk of the text suggests later additions. That would also explain why many of the thoughts in the Tao Te Ching are repeated in several chapters of its present form.

On the other hand, it might simply mean that this chunk somehow got lost from the rest of the Guodian manuscript.

Chapter 9, which also uses the expression Heaven's Way, is included in the Guodian manuscript, and so is this expression at the proper place. The other chapters where the expression occurs are absent from the Guodian manuscript.

We need additional findings to make any solid conclusions about the matter. Still, in the following I assume that Heaven and its Way in this chapter is synonymous to Tao.

Courage
The chapter begins with an observation to which we can all easily relate. The daring ones who jump into danger are likely to meet with disaster.

Refusing those dares is another kind of courage, which might be despised by some. It's not an inferior kind of courage, but it reduces the risk of harm.

Strangely, society seems to praise the attitude that seeks danger, as if welcoming disaster. It's as if society as a whole, similar to many of its members, nourishes some kind of death wish.

In traditional Christianity, suicide was a serious sin. Such corpses were buried outside the cemeteries, and in his Divine Comedy, Dante placed them in the very worst part of Hell. Suicide was despised because it was seen as throwing away the gift from God, who was the source of all life. Committing suicide was ungrateful. Also, it was a kind of sabotage of God's plan, which applied to each and every living creature.

Tao's disapproval of people risking their lives may be something similar. It goes against the plan, the pattern and direction constituting the Way. People should try to stay alive, as a way of conforming to their nature.

The more we cling to life, the less we are inclined to act irresponsibly and put ourselves at risk. The world would be a much more peaceful place if we learned this. Some would say boring, but that remains to be seen.

Tao Is Hiding
What triumphs without contending, answers without speaking, attracts without summoning, and pursues a plan although resting, is definitely Tao, the Way. It's the hidden ruler, the truth written on everything in the world, the center of all, and the process that everything adapts to by itself.

It's the Way nature is.

Its structure covers all, but not tightly like the peel encloses the orange. Tao is hiding in the background and in the minute. It's better described as a net connecting all things in the world, but still allowing them to move rather freely. Its meshes are so sparse that it seems to consist only of holes, but nothing escapes it, since it's the fabric of which the universe is made.

72: Don't Make Them Weary

72

When people do not dread authorities,
Then a greater dread descends.
Do not crowd their dwellings.
Do not make them weary at their work.
If you do not make them weary,
They will not be weary of you.
Therefore, the sage knows himself,
But does not parade.
He cherishes himself,
But does not praise himself.
He discards the one,
And chooses the other.

Don't Make Them Weary

The second part of the Tao Te Ching has several chapters on government, and how to improve it. This is one of them. What Lao Tzu expresses in his views on governing the country, often seems very similar to modern democratic ideals. That would be going too far, though.

It's clear that he thinks of a state ruled by a sovereign who doesn't need regular voting procedures to stay in power, or a parliament to convince. He thinks of kings and dukes and the like. Their power is not questioned, but their use of it is.

Lao Tzu doesn't hope for a revolution. He might even abhor it, if he were able to imagine such a thing. He thinks about the existing authorities, and what advice he would give them.

Legend has it that he did himself work as a government official, although not a very prominent one, before leaving the country in dismay. So, he knew about the shortcomings of leadership, and the damages it brought to the empire as well as its population. When writing a text of as much as five thousand words, he was bound to touch on the subject.

Apart from insisting on the ruler's responsibility to act according to Tao, the Way, Lao Tzu also stresses again and again that the ruler should work for the best of the people. That was by no means the norm in his time. In many countries around the world it still isn't.

The emperor had the whole country at his disposal, to do whatever he wanted with it, as if his wishes came from Heaven. Concern for the people was far down on the list.

Lao Tzu brings it up to first place, and he has two main reasons for it. One is that compassion and careful concern are in accordance with Tao. With such leadership the country would progress as it should, to everyone's delight.

The other reason is that a ruler who ignores the needs and sentiments of his subjects may be overthrown. To Lao Tzu, a rebellion of that kind, no matter how understandable, deviates even more from the Way than bad leadership does. In his mind, it would open for chaos.

The world is governed by Tao, and a country should be governed by a king. Lao Tzu sees no alternative. But the king needs to follow Tao, or the whole order is at risk.

In this chapter he points out that a ruler should execute his powers mildly. If people are too burdened by their ruler, they will cease to respect him, and obey him as little as they can get away with.

If he inflicts on their homes, narrowing their space of living, he strikes them where it really hurts. There will be a reaction. The same is likely if he harasses them at their work, demanding too much or disturbing them in their daily chores. They can't let that continue at length, or they risk their very livelihood.

A ruler is free to do a lot of things and take heavy tolls from his subjects. But if he shakes the very ground under their feet, they must counter it somehow.

Lao Tzu expresses it by playing with words, using `weary' in ambiguous ways, but the subject is quite serious. The ruler needs the people's trust, and that can only be reached by proving worthy of it.

The sage trusts his own capacity and wisdom, but still remains humble and discreet. So should a ruler. It's the best way to serve Heaven and Tao, but it can only be done by primarily serving the people.

71: Knowing Illness

71

Knowing that you do not know is the best.
Not knowing that you do not know is an illness.
Truly, only those who see illness as illness
Can avoid illness.
The sage is not ill,
Because he sees illness as illness.
Therefore he is not ill.

Knowing Illness

Disease awareness and the lack thereof are frequently discussed in relation to mental disease, where the lack of awareness is said to be common. No wonder, since it's the mind that is affected, and it's by the mind one is made aware. One can't see into oneself. Nor is it easy to regard one's actions from an objective perspective, because the mind is subjective by nature.

When Lao Tzu uses the metaphor of illness, he is referring to a mental capacity, but hardly any kind of real insanity. He speaks about the ability to be aware of what you know and what you don't know. They are not easy to tell apart, again a paradox of the mind.

If you know something, that's fine. You know that you know it. But you must also know something to know that you don't know it. Otherwise you can only guess about it.

So, if you know, you can't be completely sure that you really do. If you don't know, it's most likely that you are not aware of it, or you would know at least to some extent. Maybe the truth lies in the great gray zone between the two extremes, as is so often the case with things in this world.

If you know a little, you may know that it's only a little of it you know. Then you also know that there's more to know, and until you do so, there is a lot you don't know.

Still, we are only concerned with quantities. The quality of knowledge is the extent to which it's true. Every person experiences often through life, how things that one held to be true, later prove to be false. This also goes for society as a whole. What's the truth one day is nothing but nonsense the next day.

Our knowledge keeps increasing, but our knowledge of the truth often changes dramatically. What we take for granted may very well prove to be completely wrong.

The only proper attitude to have towards this is one of modesty and humility. We must keep in mind that knowledge is uncertain and truth is elusive. Then we know that we don't know, and thereby escape the illness.

The uncertainty of knowledge has been discussed by philosophers since ancient times, in the West as well as the East. When Descartes stated that "I think, therefore I am," he pointed out that the only thing I can be sure of is that there is someone wondering – that someone being me. Making sure of anything else is not an easy task. Claiming to be sure of anything else can be quite detrimental.

70: Easy to Understand

70

My words are very easy to understand
And very easy to practice.
Still, no one in the world
Can understand or practice them.
My words have an origin.
My deeds have a sovereign.
Truly, because people do not understand this,
They do not understand me.
That so few understand me is why I am treasured.
Therefore, the sage wears coarse clothes, concealing jade.

Easy to Understand

The origin and sovereign of Lao Tzu's words and deeds is obviously one and the same: Tao, the Way. People who don't understand Tao have little chance of understanding what Lao Tzu says, or why he acts the way he does, which is mostly by non-action.

Reading his book, we can understand the difficulty people might have to grasp its content. That difficulty must have been as great in his own time, among his own people. Although they were familiar with the language and the context in which he spoke, his ideas and conclusions must have seemed odd, even mysterious. We still struggle with his words, although science and learning have in some ways taken us closer to his worldview.

So, Lao Tzu remains a treasure.

His text is straightforward. One might even call his words simple. But there's jade inside. The words reveal the treasure of Tao to those who can read them properly. They may be few, even fewer if we just count those who are certain of understanding the text correctly. That would be only those who are already familiar with Tao. Anyone else is not likely to figure it out.

So, we must wonder: For whom was the Tao Te Ching written, if those who can understand it already know what it says, and the others are unlikely to learn it by reading the book? Lao Tzu cannot have been very optimistic about the reception of his book. He probably didn't care too much, since he is supposed to have written it when leaving China for good.

He may have written it as a gesture to the ancients, since he thought of them as so much wiser than his contemporaries. A tribute to the wisdom of old.

It's not unique among authors to write for their predecessors instead of the present audience. Maybe they also hope that the future will hold at least a few kindred spirits, appreciating their text properly.

Lao Tzu wrote primarily for his kindred spirits, wherever and whenever they might appear. He probably had not met too many of them in his life.

69: Like a Guest

69

Warriors say:
I dare not be like the host,
But would rather be like the guest.
I dare not advance an inch,
But would rather retreat a foot.
This is called marching without marching,
Grabbing without arms,
Charging without enemy,
Seizing without weapons.
No misfortune is worse
Than underestimating the enemy.
Underestimating the enemy,
I risk losing my treasure.
Therefore:
When equal armies battle,
The grieving one will be victorious.

Like a Guest

The wise warrior would not invite to battle and presume to control the circumstances. Instead, he considers his actions carefully and expects the unexpected.

He acts like the guest, and not like the host. It's not his party. He is even hesitant about visiting it, and would make other plans if possible.

Therefore he is reluctant to advance even the slightest. He would rather retreat, if that's at all possible. Moving forward is stepping into the unknown, but backwards you return to familiar territory.

Also, the warrior who is eager to advance is the one who nurtures the illusion that war brings good things to the winner. There are no winners in war. Those who know this neither invite to it, nor hurry to advance in it.

The hesitant warrior marches without marching, which is to say that he tries as much as he can to win the war without doing battle. If prepared properly, a war can be won before the battle begins.

To charge without enemy is to arm the country so well in times of peace that war is avoided, or swiftly won. It's arming to avoid war, not to wage it. The same can be said for seizing without weapons.

War Is Failure
Neither the start nor the end of war is decided by what happens in between, but what happens before. War is not the means to an outcome, but an outcome. There was failure to avoid it. Previous conditions and preparations are the decisive factors.

That's why the superior warrior grieves when forced to do battle. To him, it means that something failed, and tragedy for all ensues, no matter who wins and who loses. His grief proves his superiority. Therefore, it's the sign of the winner. Since he regrets going to war he is well prepared to avoid it. That's also the preparation to win it.

Grabbing without arms is an expression that can be compared to using one's arms without rolling up the sleeves. That's how the line is usually translated. When force is used, it should not be announced or displayed.

There is no mistake greater than underestimating the enemy. That is sure to lead to losing the war. Those who underestimate their enemies are unprepared for them. How could they win? Not only will they lose the war and what they might have sought to gain by it, but their failure is also evidence that they lack essential insight into how the world works.

The greatest of treasures, Tao, is not in their grasp.

The line about the treasure is ambiguous. It could refer only to whatever treasures the warring parties try to defend or seize, but Lao Tzu shifts to First Person. Since Tao is the only thing he really treasures, he indicates that it's lost to a warrior who acts so foolishly.

Indeed, those who hurry to war, thinking that they are sure to win it, have moved very far from the Way. Even if they should be so lucky as to win the war, they have lost something more precious than any land they seize. Soon, also what they conquered will be lost to them, since they lack the wisdom to hold on to it.

War is won by those who know that nothing is won by it.

68: Peaceful Warriors

68

Excellent warriors are not violent.
Excellent soldiers are not furious.
Excellent conquerors do not engage.
Excellent leaders of people lower themselves.
This is called the virtue of no strife.
This is called the use of people's capacity.
This is called the union with Heaven.
It is the perfection of the ancients.

Peaceful Warriors

It would be going too far to state that Lao Tzu is a pacifist. In his book, he seems to admit to the necessity of war in some cases, or the impossibility to avoid it forever. What he does make clear, though, is that even in the case of war there are virtuous actions and non-virtuous ones.

Warriors and warlords may use violence, but they should not be violent. They should not jump to violent solutions. When they find no other way, they should mourn it and be as sparse with the violence as possible. A warrior who revels in violence and brutality is an abomination, also in the eyes of other warriors.

It's not even the most efficient way to wage a war. Violence promotes violent responses, and it makes the enemy increasingly committed to resist the onslaught. When a warlord uses excessive violence, his own troops will be dismayed and the enemy troops will find courage to fight back with tremendous strength and perseverance.

At length, he cannot win.

A furious soldier is inferior in battle. Wrath makes for poor judgment and a dimmed vision. He might be an awe-inspiring sight at first, but when the actual battle commences, he proves to lack many of the abilities necessary to succeed and survive.

It's an inferior and unbalanced state of mind, which may be a misguided way of dealing with the terrible situation, or the consequence of some equally misguided conviction of war being the righteous course of action.

The superior soldiers are the ones who keep being human, in the middle of battle, and continue to cherish peacetime values. That makes them complete also in moments of crisis.

The conqueror eager to engage in battle will soon enough enter one he cannot win. His narrow-minded preference for martial solutions will make him equally narrow-minded in battle. He will be easily outmaneuvered.

His strategy is unrefined and inferior. His perception is clouded. His haste to do battle may catch the enemy by surprise at first, but war is easier to start than to end. His attitude has the tools for the former, but not for the latter.

The superior conqueror waits and tries all other alternatives, before going to war. And when doing so, he is very well prepared. He regrets having to start a war and longs for its ending, so he knows how to reach the latter. If there was any way of succeeding without battle, he would have found it. In many cases there are such alternatives.

Caring Leaders
Lao Tzu moves on to leadership in general, not just on the battlefield. It's the same in every case. Good leaders lower themselves and act humbly in front of the people at their command. Otherwise their leadership will always be questioned, often opposed, and sometimes revolted.

The humble and caring leaders will be met accordingly. Then they can lead with ease.

The leader, who refrains from personal strife, will find people responding by doing their utmost to comply. They are encouraged by a leader who doesn't push a personal agenda, but the common interest. So, they take initiatives to bring their own abilities and make use of them.

If they were displeased with their leader, they would hide their capacities. They would only do what they had to, and do it without commitment. They would be of little use to their leader.

Such leadership, although skilled and wise, would hardly be something as grand as a union with Heaven. Nor is it in accordance with Tao.

Excellent leaders put their own interests aside, work for a common good together with their people, and are reluctant to spring into forceful action. They are indeed following the Way.

67: Battle with Compassion

67

The whole world says that my Way is great like nothing else.
It is great because it is like nothing else.
If it were like everything else,
It would long ago have become insignificant.
I have three treasures that I cherish.
The first is compassion.
The second is moderation.
The third is not claiming to be first in the world.
By compassion one can be brave.
By moderation one can be generous.
By not claiming to be first in the world one can rule.
But to be brave without compassion,
Generous without moderation,
And rule without refraining from being first in the world
Are certain deaths.
So, those who have compassion when they do battle
Will be victorious.
Those who likewise defend themselves
Will be safe.
Heaven will rescue and protect them with compassion.

Battle with Compassion

In the beginning of this chapter, Lao Tzu plays with the word hsiao, which means both `like' and `small.' The latter I dared to translate as `insignificant,' to clarify what kind of small Lao Tzu refers to here. The two words have different pictograms, but they are pronounced the same.

With his little joke, he implies that something bearing a likeness to other things has to be small. It certainly makes sense in relation to significance. What looks like a lot of other things loses its significance. But size is not affected in the same manner.

What is true regarding size, though, is that the smaller things are, the more difficult it is for our eyes to tell them apart. Who can separate one mosquito from another? Who even cares? Our eyes prefer to focus on big things, and we tend to regard them as important, judging just by their size.

The lines about size and significance are very likely to be a separate chapter in the eyes of the author. They have little to do with what follows, or for that matter how the previous chapter ends.

Vital Qualities
Next, Lao Tzu talks about the three qualities he regards as the most important: compassion, moderation, and reluctance to be first in the world. The last we can describe as modesty. Compassion leads to bravery, moderation to generosity, and modesty to the ability to rule. They contain the seeds to what are practically their opposites.

Of far greater importance is that these opposites are in dire need of the three qualities, or they lead to disaster.

Bravery without compassion is what can be seen in soldiers with no care for the lives they take, or self-appointed heroes who bully people around them for no other reason than that they can. Inconsiderate bravery is indeed disastrous, sooner or later also to the ones expressing it.

Generosity without moderation leads to meaningless waste. It's gluttony, and no fortune is so great that it will not be spent, eventually. It's also provocative. Even those who benefit from such generosity are offended by it. Whatever they get from it, they are at the same time reminded of their own lack of resources.

Generosity without moderation is flaunting one's fortune. It's perceived as vulgar, almost obscene. Such gifts are bitterly received, not only because they seem to mean nothing to the donor. They are insults to the receiver.

Worst by far is to rule without modesty. The ruler who wants to be first in the world might cause widespread destruction. Through history, we have had the misfortune of experiencing plenty of them. There are some such rulers today, as well.

We must beware, because those who have the desire to be first in the world will spare no efforts to get there. Once they do, it's extremely difficult and costly to get rid of them. So, we have to consider very carefully what persons we allow to be our leaders.

A golden rule is to avoid giving power to people who want it, or loudly claim to be best fit for it. The best leaders we can find are usually those who are reluctant to shoulder the responsibility. They take it seriously. Those we need to convince to take the job are the ones we should get for it. But those who jump at the opportunity should be stopped at the entrance.

We must learn this. The survival of the world depends on it, now that we have such enormous resources and so terrible weapons at the disposal of our leaders.

Those who remain compassionate, on the other hand, will be successful and avoid blame. Even when they must go to war, if they still remain compassionate they will be victorious and the enemy will not grieve it. That's a mighty power, surpassing most weaponry.

When they defend themselves, remaining compassionate, they will not be conquered, because they have something so fine to protect. The enemy will congratulate them, out of respect for their nobility.

In a sharp conflict, it's necessary to see the adversary as evil and oneself as good. Otherwise it's very difficult to muster up the necessary resolve to fight until winning. The one who remains compassionate is certainly good, and therefore has the most splendid advantage. The enemy will find it hard to hate him.

Even Heaven agrees on this. So, fate seems to work in favor of those who remain compassionate. That's because compassion is a trait of Tao, the Way. The compassionate is treated the same by Tao. Compassion breeds compassion. So, there's no reason to deviate from it.