the short of it:

Tao is not Tao.

tree buffalo horns

70. The Difficulty of Knowing. 

My words are very easily known, and very easily practised. (Yet) none in the world can know them, or can practise them. The words have an ancestry, and the things have a Head. But because these are not understood, therefore I am not known. Few are they who know me. Worthy are they who copy me. For the sage wears a coarse garment, and hides [their] jewel in [their] bosom. 

Lau Tsze. Chalmers, John. The Speculations on Metaphysics, Polity, and Morality, of “the Old Philosopher,” Lau-tsze, Translated from the Chinese, with an Introduction by J. Chalmers. United Kingdom: Trübner, 1868.


70.’The Difficulty of Being (Rightly) Known.’

70.1 My words are very easy to know, and very easy to practise ; but there is no one in the world who is able to know and able to practise them. 

70.2 There is an originating and all-comprehending (principle) in my words, and an authoritative law for the things (which I enforce). It is because they do not know these, that [people] do not know me. 

70.3 They who know me are few, and I am on that account (the more) to be prized. It is thus that the sage wears (a poor garb of) hair cloth, while [they carry their] (signet of) jade in [their] bosom. 

Lao-tze. Legge, James. The Sacred Books of China: The Texts of Tâoism. United Kingdom: Clarendon, 1891.


70. Difficult To Understand. 

70.1 My words are very easy to understand and very easy to practise, but in the world no one can understand, no one can practise them. 

70.2 Words have an ancestor; Deeds have a master (viz.*, Reason). Since [they are] not understood, therefore I am not understood. Those who understand me are few, and thus I am distinguished. 

70.3 Therefore the holy [person] wears wool, and hides in [their] bosom [their] jewels. 

*In other words.

Lao-tze. Suzuki, D.T. and Carus, Paul. The Canon of Reason and Virtue: Lao-tze’s Tao Teh King. United States: Open court publishing Company, 1913.


tree buffalo and dude swirling together in a yin yang

the long of it:

Most translations of Chapter 70 end jarringly, like the ones here, because we are led to believe Lao Tsu is drawing attention to himself as a wise person (“Worthy are they who copy me” -Chalmers). 

These translations are misleading for two reasons:

First, Lao Tsu has been touting humility the whole book. Line one of Chapter 22 reads: “[Those] that [humble (themselves)] shall be preserved entire” (Chalmers); and in Chapter 67, not-seeking-greatness is one of Lao Tsu’s “three precious things.” 

Second, trying to “copy” Lao Tsu would be a sure-fire way to miss his point. After all, the whole book refers us back to the unspeakable, unwritable (hence un-copyable) Tao (Chap 1). He would not ask us to copy him, and he would not toot his own horn without a good reason.

Lao Tsu makes the most sense contextually, so let’s ladle Chapter 70 out of this translation soup. 

Obtuse translations.

Lao Tsu, as usual, opens with two competing concepts: easy/hard vs. few/many. Few can understand and practice the simplicity of his methods. Most can’t, or don’t. 

The second stanza buckles immediately under the weight of obtuse translations like ancestry/Head (Chalmers), principle/law (Legge), and ancestor/master (Suzuki). All three of these translations are too complex. 

Let’s simplify: words have history and actions have logic. That’s it. Lao Tsu is still talking about understanding and practice from the first stanza.  

People can’t understand his ways because they subvert both language and action. This is why people can’t adhere to them. They’d have to untether themselves from words and traditional logic. It’s too much for most people (and way too much for most governments). 

the Jade Marble.

Keep in mind Lao Tsu uses himself as a metaphor for people’s inability to understand Tao. People like him are rare, but only because the nature of Tao (few understand its simplicity) (Chap 53). 

If everyone understood it, it wouldn’t be Tao. It would be whatever was causing people to flock to it. Tao is simple and rare. That’s its nature. To be complex and abundant would change it into something else. Something not-Tao. 

This brings us to the final stanza, Lao Tsu’s typical dash of enigma. Understanding Tao makes Lao Tsu distinguishable, but only by being indistinguishable can Lao Tsu understand Tao.

Lao Tsu is treading a dangerously ironic line by saying “look at me! I am plain and hidden.” That’s the enigma of Chapter 70: keeping Tao depends on hiding Tao, because it’s easily lost. It takes concentration. And if we start showing it off there will be no end to it. Everybody will want it, and deplete us of it.  

Think of the operation of Tao like keeping your finger on a marble. If you push down too hard it will shoot away. If you let up too much it will roll away. So for the purpose of example, Lao Tsu shows us his jade marble, and then quickly covers it up.

Hide your Tao and in turn be hidden by it. Uncover your Tao, and risk losing it. This is the very reason Lao Tsu never uses the word Tao to describe Chapter 70.

-TB

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