Lao Tzu (Lao Zi), the legendary writer of Tao Te Ching (Dao De Jing), who rode a water buffalo when leaving the Emperor's court after growing tired of politics. Before leaving China, he wrote Tao Te Ching on the request of a guardsman at the Chinese border.
     Below is a translation and explanation, chapter by chapter, of the Tao Te Ching, made by Swedish historian of ideas Stefan Stenudd. This is an ongoing work, so the chapters (81 in total) will be published as they are written.

Tao Te Ching

by Lao Tzu
Translated and explained by Stefan Stenudd, 2008.
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5        The limit of compassion

Heaven and Earth are not kind. They regard all things as offerings.

The sapient is not kind. He regards the people as offerings.

Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows?

It is empty, but lacks nothing.

The more it moves, the more comes out of it.

A multitude of words is tiresome, unlike remaining centered.

The limit of compassion

This chapter consists of three parts that have little to do with one another. The first part talks about offerings, the second about a bellows, and the third about words. The division of Tao Te Ching into 81 chapters was not done by its author, but introduced much later. So, here I suspect that three separate sayings have been combined into one, although Lao Tzu did not intend it. I have divided the parts by blank lines.

            Now, the first part speaks of a ruthlessness that seems terrifying. The offerings that Lao Tzu mentions were straw dogs used in religious rituals, and thrown away afterward. We have no doubt that nature treats all its components and creatures with such indifference, simply because it lacks awareness. It is like a machine. But why should the sapient do the same?

            Should we not be compassionate, doing our utmost to save fellow men from pain and misfortune?

            Well, Lao Tzu probably refers to society as a whole – much like nature is a whole. Too much concern for single individuals can bring mayhem on society. We should be like straw dogs in the sense that none is worth more than the survival of the society that contains us all. So, the sapient would not dream of harming society for the benefit of a few of its members, but would not hesitate to sacrifice a few for the need of all. And to guarantee the survival of society, he would be prepared to offer almost all of its inhabitants.

            Anyone who is given the power to rule a nation would do the same. Actually, the people demands it of their ruler. It is the very basis of any society: nothing within it is worth sacrificing it for, and no price is too high to save it from destruction.

            This is not only the case in a crisis, but in everyday life as well. Individuals cannot demand to be treated better than what is good for the whole. On the other hand, there is no reason for allowing the citizens to suffer more than what is needed for society to prevail. The most precious society is the one that needs the least sacrifice of its members.

            In the second part of this chapter, Lao Tzu marvels at the abundance of the world we live in – the space between Heaven above our heads, and Earth below our feet.

            In this space we move about freely, and there seems to be no end to what is brought forth in it. Countless generations of animals and vegetation, the cycles of the seasons, the splendor of sunrise and sunset, the phases of the moon. Everything moves and renews itself, and all the creatures that feed on the Earth and breathe the sky multiply. The world is filled with tireless reproduction. It is as if the sky is a breath of life, its winds stirring the cornucopia that is Earth.

            In the third part of the chapter, Lao Tzu seems aching to let his pen rest. Words and the thoughts behind them may be clever, perhaps inspired, but still there can be enough of them. Then it is better to silently take it all in. We don’t need to describe everything we experience, or to express all that we learn. The words are mere shadows. If we focus on them we may lose sight of the reality they try to imitate.

            Instead, we should trust that our inner stillness finds the Way, and makes us see the patterns in the constant bombardment of information that is our daily life.

            The word ‘centered’ in my translation of this chapter is jhong (or zhong) in Chinese and means middle or center. It is used in the name for the Chinese nation (Jhongguo or Zhongguo). The Chinese character for the word is a simplification of an arrow hitting the center of a target. In Lao Tzu’s use of the word, inner balance and steadfastness is implied, somewhat like the keel of a boat that is unaffected by the waves on the sea. That is how the human mind should be – calm in whatever turmoil surrounds it, confident even in a rain of urgent questions and answers.

© Stefan Stenudd

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Stefan Stenudd 2008

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