Chapter 2
Original Text
天下皆知美之為美,斯惡已。
皆知善之為善,斯不善已。
故有無相生,難易相成,長短相形,高下相傾,音聲相和,前後相隨。
是以聖人處無為之事,行不言之教。
萬物作焉而不辭;生而不有,為而不恃,功成而弗居。
夫惟弗居,是以不去。
Translation
When all under Heaven know beauty as “beauty,” there is already “ugly.”
When all know good as “good,” there is already “not-good.”
Therefore being and nonbeing give birth to one another; hard and easy complete one another; long and short set one another off; high and low tip one another; tone and timbre harmonize with one another; front and back follow one another.
Thus the Sage attends to affairs of nonaction and conducts a teaching without words.
The myriad beings arise through it and he does not refuse; he gives life yet does not make them his own, acts yet does not rely on it, achieves merit yet does not dwell in it.
Only because he does not dwell in it, therefore it does not depart.
Word Notes
- 美 — “beauty”: good, fine.
- 惡 — “ugly / bad”: not good.
- 善 — “good”: moral goodness.
- 形 — “to set off”: to give shape/serve as a foil by comparison.
- 傾 — “to tip”: to lean/overbalance.
- 和 — “to harmonize”: to attune/blend.
- 辭 — “to refuse”: to decline/shirk.
- 恃 — “to rely on”: to depend on, to trust in.
Chapter Explanation
All under Heaven know that what is called “beautiful” counts as “good,” and so many will pose as beautiful—beauty then ceases to be beauty. All know that what is called “good” counts as “virtue,” and so many will counterfeit goodness—goodness then ceases to be good. This “not-beautiful” and “not-good” arise from beauty and goodness themselves.
Therefore, being and nonbeing are mutually generative; hard and easy bring one another to completion; long and short set one another off; high and low overbalance one another; loud and soft tones harmonize; front and back follow each other in turn.
Accordingly, the Sage handles affairs by nonaction and carries out a teaching without words. When things come forth, he does not refuse them, letting them follow their nature. He gives life to beings but does not make them his own; he acts yet does not rely on the action; he achieves and yet does not dwell in the achievement. Precisely because he does not dwell in it, his merit abides and does not pass away.
Discourse
This chapter teaches that whenever something arises with a name and form—“beauty,” “good”—it stands in contrast. Where there is beauty, there is not-beauty; where there is good, there is not-good. And this not-beauty and not-good spring from beauty and good themselves. Thus what belongs to the post-celestial realm of named forms is insufficient to be Dao’s substance.
Yet if we cling to the pre-celestial alone, there is no function. Without the post-celestial, the pre-celestial cannot be brought to completion. The limit of the post-celestial is precisely the pre-celestial; pre and post cycle into one another. The hinge where this cycling meets is where threshold (徼) and marvel (妙) arise. The Sage, having grasped the threshold, grounds himself in the pre-celestial and uses the post-celestial, yet does not become stained by it. Hence he “handles affairs of nonaction” and naturally rules by self-reverence; he “conducts a teaching without words” and naturally lets transformation persist in spirit.
Though the myriad beings arise in profusion, he lets them follow their native endowment so that they grow together without harm. And he does not call giving life a virtue to his credit; he does not call bringing to completion a merit. Cool and even, he sees that the merit of giving life and finishing things belongs to Dao’s spontaneity. Not only would relying on virtue and dwelling in achievement disqualify it as virtue and merit; even the name “merit” drops one back into the traces of the post-celestial.
Later readers failed to grasp Laozi’s true meaning and accused him of “quietism” that blocks progress. They do not see that Laozi’s nonaction is “nonaction whereby nothing is left undone”—attending to the body of nonaction while using the function of action, without clinging to action. To cling to action is to do only little deeds, not great ones; to act for one, not for many; to keep acting without rest until one is unable to act.
Consider: Western learning prizes rest—everyone sleeps. Rest is nonaction; yet by rest, spirit is restored and one can undertake all work. If one works without rest, one dies within a week—this is action turning into no action, indeed nothing done. Or consider electrons: in open space they seem to do nothing—nonaction—yet by their combining they constitute every thing under Heaven. Once formed, without a change in temperature or pressure, a thing cannot become something else. Thus the original combining—the nonaction—remains the greater action. Or think of a skilled operator before many machines: he sits still—nonaction—watching the motions. When a motion runs rough he adds water, fuel, or oil, or adjusts a lever—action. Once the machine runs again, he returns to stillness. Should he cling to action and fuss over a single unit, the others would stall or run off-spec and all would be in disorder. Hence nonaction is supremely subtle—the body and mother of action.
People call Daoist nonaction “useless,” as if it retarded evolution. They do not understand progress. The evolution of devices proceeds from the pre-celestial to the post-celestial; pushed to the extreme, it exhausts material potentials and the earth’s creatures perish—so-called “evolution” becomes regression. This is not to blame device-evolution—such evolution too is natural and without it there would be no world. My earlier remark that “what is purely pre-celestial has no function” was meant to break a one-sided view, not to belittle invention.
Laozi’s “handling affairs by nonaction” and “achievement without dwelling” is the evolution of Dao-learning—the genuine progress. Strictly speaking, Laozi even speaks of regression: the Great Dao does not regress, yet without regression the world would not appear. Anything that can be spoken or seen is already the regressed Dao. Pushed to the limit, regression becomes progress; pushed to the limit, progress becomes regression—a cycle. For convenience we call the device-path “regression” and the Dao-path “progress,” but the two progressions and regressions interpenetrate.
After Laozi’s five thousand characters, Guan Yin, Zhuangzi, and Liezi elaborated—“progress,” yes, but often empty talk without concrete works. In the Han after the wars of the Warring States, Cao Shen used a portion of Laozi’s Dao to bring peace; under Emperor Wen, punishments nearly fell into disuse, and the realm had the flavor of Cheng and Kang; people esteemed the Yellow-Lao learning. That was one part of Laozi’s Dao reaching an apex. When Dao-learning regresses, device-learning advances. Europe’s new learning began from the Han. From then on, Laozi’s Dao turned into Ge Hong’s alchemy, then Kou Qianzhi’s talismans; it flowed into prayers, charms, and technical arts, and into empty talkers of Jin, dissipated and unrestrained. Han Yu therefore denounced it; Song scholars followed, claiming Lao-learning was worse than Yang and Mo.
By today, Western devices have evolved to the extreme: for strength, they surpass us a hundredfold; for wealth, in craft and industry, likewise. Having long lost useful true Dao-learning, and not understanding devices, how could we not seem poor and weak? Thus hot-blooded reformers, eager to save the nation, dumped all blame on Laozi. The whole country echoed them, treating “old learning” like poison. But now device-learning has reached its limit and must regress; Dao-learning must advance. Not into extinction, but away from exaltation—and yet devices will still evolve, since devices are one part of Dao. Formerly, a portion of Laozi’s Dao could stop the wars of our land; today, the whole of Laozi’s Great Dao can stop the world’s wars.
The threshold and marvel I observed years ago are just this: let everyone speak Dao and discuss De, and evolve with the Great Dao. If all we know is competition, we slide with devices into regression. Western sages developed devices so that all might share material happiness; I join those who love Dao in developing Dao-learning so all might share moral happiness.
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