A Journey of a Thousand Miles
A crack in a cup is easy to mend while it is a hairline.
A word of apology is easy while the hurt is fresh and small.
Almost everything is easy, early.
其安易持，
qí ān yì chí,
What is at rest is easy to hold;
其未兆易謀。
qí wèi zhào yì móu.
what has not yet shown a sign is easy to plan for.
其脆易泮，
qí cuì yì pàn,
What is brittle is easy to break;
其微易散。
qí wēi yì sàn.
what is tiny is easy to scatter.
為之於未有，
wéi zhī yú wèi yǒu,
Deal with it before it is there;
治之於未亂。
zhì zhī yú wèi luàn.
set it in order before it is in disorder.
合抱之木，生於毫末；
hé bào zhī mù, shēng yú háo mò;
A tree too wide for your arms grows from a shoot as fine as a hair;
九層之臺，起於累土；
jiǔ céng zhī tái, qǐ yú lěi tǔ;
a terrace nine storeys high rises from a heap of earth;
千里之行，始於足下。
qiān lǐ zhī xíng, shǐ yú zú xià.
a journey of a thousand miles begins beneath your feet.
為者敗之，執者失之。
wéi zhě bài zhī, zhí zhě shī zhī.
Whoever forces it spoils it; whoever grasps it loses it.
是以聖人無為故無敗，
shì yǐ shèngrén wú wéi gù wú bài,
So the sage, not forcing, spoils nothing;
無執故無失。
wú zhí gù wú shī.
not grasping, loses nothing.
民之從事，常於幾成而敗之。
mín zhī cóng shì, cháng yú jī chéng ér bài zhī.
When people take on a task, they often spoil it when it is nearly done.
慎終如始，則無敗事。
shèn zhōng rú shǐ, zé wú bài shì.
Take as much care at the end as at the beginning, and nothing is spoiled.
是以聖人欲不欲，
shì yǐ shèngrén yù bù yù,
So the sage desires not to desire,
不貴難得之貨；
bù guì nán dé zhī huò;
and does not prize goods that are hard to get;
學不學，
xué bù xué,
learns not to learn,
復眾人之所過。
fù zhòng rén zhī suǒ guò.
and goes back to what everyone else has passed by;
以輔萬物之自然，
yǐ fǔ wàn wù zhī zìrán,
so as to help the ten thousand things be so of themselves,
而不敢為。
ér bù gǎn wéi.
and does not dare to force them.
The words
to do, to act, to make
The plain, everyday word for doing, the 為 inside 無為, not-doing. In this chapter you can hear what kind of doing the book means when it says no: 為者敗之, whoever forces it spoils it. Doing that pushes past what is needed. That is why the translation here says "force", where in chapter 2 the same word was "acts".
beneath the feet
The most famous line of the book in English is usually "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step". The Chinese doesn't say step. It says 足下: beneath your feet. The journey begins where you are standing. (And the miles are 里, lǐ, the old Chinese mile, only a few hundred metres long. The journey is long, but it is made of small distances.)
the tip of a fine hair
毫 is a fine hair, the kind a calligraphy brush is made of; 末 is its very tip. Every tree you have ever stood under began as something you could not have seen without bending down.
Sitting with it
This is one of the longest chapters in the book, and one of the most practical.
It begins with timing. What is at rest is easy to hold. What hasn't started yet is easy to plan for. The brittle breaks easily, the tiny scatters easily. So act early: deal with things before they exist, set them in order before they are in disorder.
This is not-doing seen from a new side. The person who seems never to be rushing is often the one who did the small thing at the right time: the leak fixed when it was one drop, the conversation had when it was one awkward feeling and not yet a year of silence.
Then come the three pictures that everyone remembers. The great tree from a hair-thin shoot. The high terrace from a heap of earth. The thousand-li journey from beneath your feet. Read them both ways. They tell you not to be frightened of large things, because large things are made of small ones. And they tell you not to be careless with small things, because small things become large.
Then the warning, which is easy to read past: people often spoil a task when it is nearly done. Near the end, we get impatient. We want it finished, so we push. The last coat of paint goes on too thick. The last sentence of the letter turns sharp. Take as much care at the end as at the beginning.
The chapter ends with the sage, who wants not to want, learns not to learn, and goes back to what everyone else has hurried past. All of it for one purpose: to help things be what they are by themselves, and not to dare to force them. Helping, not forcing. The gardener again, from chapter 48.
A practice
Choose one small thing you have been putting off that is still small: a reply, a repair, a thank-you.
Do it today, while it is still easy.
Then choose one thing you are close to finishing. Finish it slowly, with the same care you had at the start.
To carry
千里之行，始於足下。
qiān lǐ zhī xíng, shǐ yú zú xià.
A journey of a thousand miles begins beneath your feet.