Chapter 56

Original Text

知者不言，言者不知。塞其兌，閉其門，挫其銳，解其紛，和其光，同其塵，是謂玄同。故不可得而親，不可得而疏，不可得而利，不可得而害，不可得而貴，不可得而賤。故為天下貴。

Translation

Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know. Block the openings, shut the gates, blunt the edges, loosen the tangles, blend the light, mingle with the dust — this is called mysterious sameness.

Therefore one cannot draw near to it, nor keep distant from it; one cannot profit it, nor harm it; one cannot ennoble it, nor demean it. Hence it is the most honored in all under Heaven.

Word Notes

• 疏 — "distant": far, remote.

Chapter Explanation

Those who truly know Dao do not speak of it. Those who speak of it do not truly know. Those who truly know Dao block their outward openings and shut their gates against what enters from without. They blunt their sharp edges, free themselves from entanglement, blend their light, and mingle with the worldly dust. This is called mysterious sameness. Why is it called mysterious sameness? Because one cannot draw near to such a person, nor keep distant from them; one cannot profit them, nor harm them; one cannot ennoble them, nor demean them. Therefore they are the most honored in all under Heaven.

Discourse

The great Dao is without sound or scent. It cannot be put into words. The moment one speaks of it, one falls into fixed appearances — and this is not truly understanding Dao. Those who truly understand Dao cast off their acuity and let fall their scheming; inwardly they give rise to no discriminating marks; outwardly they mingle with others. What need have they for lofty rhetoric and sweeping pronouncements? And what need for endless argument and debate?

In an era of the Great Unity, everyone would be a person of noble character, so blending with others would naturally follow. But even in an era of chaos, when people's conduct is far from uniform, the person of Dao still blends with others. Yet though they blend, they are harmonious but not swept along — they differ from people of the world. People of the world draw close to, honor, and benefit those who are the same as themselves, while they distance, demean, and harm those who differ. The person of Dao is the same as others, yet no one can draw near to them, profit them, or ennoble them — this is sameness that is not-sameness. And since no one can draw near to them, profit them, or ennoble them, yet equally no one can distance them, harm them, or demean them — this is not-sameness that is sameness. This is the most mysterious kind of sameness. Though on the surface they are the same as others, their inner spiritual nobility is something no one can actually reach.

The Confucian disciple Yan Hui, though he walked step by step when the Master walked, and hastened when the Master hastened, still sighed in admiration: "The more I look up, the higher it seems; the more I bore into it, the harder it becomes; I see it before me, and suddenly it is behind." This is precisely the principle at work.

Yet people of the world fail to perceive this. They say that Mozi's "elevating sameness" — his political doctrine of enforced uniformity — originated with Laozi. They do not realize that Mozi's sameness is caught up in outward traces — it is external, institutionalized, coerced. Laozi's sameness is supremely mysterious. Laozi and Mozi are vastly different indeed.