Chapter 15 · The Ancient Masters of the Tao

Tao Te Ching (Legge, 1891) · chapter title added by Learn the Dao

Learn the Dao: a quiet practice for learning the thing that can’t be known.

The chapter’s first line

The skilful masters (of the Tao) in old times,

Free. No account needed to start.

This chapter in plain modern English — David Kooi’s rendering ↓

The skilful masters (of the Tao) in old times, with a subtle and exquisite penetration, comprehended its mysteries, and were deep (also) so as to elude men's knowledge. As they were thus beyond men's knowledge, I will make an effort to describe of what sort they appeared to be. Shrinking looked they like those who wade through a stream in winter; irresolute like those who are afraid of all around them; grave like a guest (in awe of his host); evanescent like ice that is melting away; unpretentious like wood that has not been fashioned into anything; vacant like a valley, and dull like muddy water. Who can (make) the muddy water (clear)? Let it be still, and it will gradually become clear. Who can secure the condition of rest? Let movement go on, and the condition of rest will gradually arise. They who preserve this method of the Tao do not wish to be full (of themselves). It is through their not being full of themselves that they can afford to seem worn and not appear new and complete.

Learn this chapter by heart, one line at a time.

Read a chapter. Recite the next line from memory. The app shows you, gently, what you missed — then has each line ready again around when it would start to slip.

Your recall of a later line — for example

Let it be still and it — missed will gradually become clear

The dotted words are the ones you missed.

Try this chapter’s first line ↑

Free. No account needed to start.

Chapter 15, in a second rendering

Crossing the Stream on Ice

Dao De Kooi — an original rendering by David Kooi

The old hands who had this down were subtle past figuring out - deep past measuring. You couldn't touch bottom. So nobody could say what they were. Only what they were like: Careful - the way you cross a stream on ice, listening to it, weight still on the back foot. Alert, like the neighbors on every side might be trouble. Courteous as a guest in someone else's house. Loose as ice starting to let go of itself. Plain as wood nobody's gotten around to carving. Open as a valley. Murky as stirred-up water. Murky. Stay with that one a minute. Who can wait in their own mud until it settles clear? Who can hold still until the right move surfaces on its own? Not me, most days. But that's the practice. And the ones who live this way aren't trying to get full. That's the trick of it - not full, so there's room to wear out, come apart a little, and quietly begin again.

Next · Chapter 16The (state of) vacancy should be brought to the utmost degree…Read chapter 16 →

Read the whole chapter end to end →How the practice works →