Bent, and So Whole
In a storm, the tall stiff tree is the one that snaps.
The grass bends flat to the ground.
In the morning, the grass stands up again.
曲則全，枉則直，
qū zé quán, wǎng zé zhí,
Bent, and so whole; crooked, and so straight;
窪則盈，敝則新，
wā zé yíng, bì zé xīn,
hollow, and so full; worn out, and so new;
少則得，多則惑。
shǎo zé dé, duō zé huò.
little, and so gaining; much, and so confused.
是以聖人抱一為天下式。
shì yǐ shèngrén bào yī wéi tiānxià shì.
So the sage holds to the One, and becomes a pattern for all under heaven.
不自見故明，
bù zì xiàn gù míng,
Not showing off, and so seen clearly;
不自是故彰，
bù zì shì gù zhāng,
not insisting on being right, and so made plain;
不自伐故有功，
bù zì fá gù yǒu gōng,
not boasting, and so the work is credited;
不自矜故長。
bù zì jīn gù cháng.
not self-admiring, and so lasting.
夫唯不爭，
fū wéi bù zhēng,
Because the sage does not contend,
故天下莫能與之爭。
gù tiānxià mò néng yǔ zhī zhēng.
no one under heaven can contend with the sage.
古之所謂曲則全者，豈虛言哉！
gǔ zhī suǒ wèi qū zé quán zhě, qǐ xū yán zāi!
What the ancients called 'bent, and so whole': are these empty words?
誠全而歸之。
chéng quán ér guī zhī.
Truly, it is wholeness, and all comes back to it.
The words
bent, curved; also, a tune, a song
The same character names a melody: a line of sound that bends. Everything the chapter praises bends. In the storm, in an argument, in a hard year, what bends is what stays whole.
to hold the One, to embrace oneness
抱 is to hold in your arms, the way you'd carry a child. 一 is one, the simplest character there is: a single stroke. In the book, the One is the wholeness of things before they split into pairs: "heaven, having the One, is clear; earth, having the One, is at peace", says chapter 39. Holding it is not grasping it, as in chapter 29; it is how you'd hold something you love and don't want to crush.
self, oneself
Four lines in a row begin 不自: not self-. Not self-showing, not self-righting, not self-praising, not self-admiring. The sage is not without a self; the sage simply doesn't keep putting it in front.
The last of the four, 長, can be read cháng, "lasting", or zhǎng, "leading, growing", and translators split. This course reads cháng: what doesn't admire itself lasts.
Sitting with it
The chapter starts with six small paradoxes, as if from an old proverb. In fact it says so at the end: what the ancients called "bent, and so whole". Laozi is quoting a saying older than his book.
Bent, and so whole. There is a famous story in the Zhuangzi, the other great Taoist book, about a huge, twisted oak. A master carpenter walks past it without a glance: its wood is useless, too knotted for planks, too crooked for beams. That night the tree comes to him in a dream. If I had been useful, it says, I would have been cut down long ago.1 The bent tree was the one left whole.
Hollow, and so full. Only a hollow can be filled. A cup, a valley, a mind that doesn't already know the answer.
Worn out, and so new. Old leaves fall, and the tree is new in spring. A tired belief falls away, and you see freshly.
Little, and so gaining; much, and so confused. The person with one good book reads it. The person with a hundred unread books on a shelf feels behind.
Then the sage, who holds to the One and so becomes a pattern for everyone, not by preaching, but by being. And how does the sage live? By not doing four things we do all day: putting ourselves on show, insisting we're right, boasting of what we've done, admiring ourselves. And look what happens: what is not shown is seen clearly; what doesn't insist is made plain; the work that isn't boasted about gets credit; the one who isn't self-admiring lasts.
The last turn is one of the book's favourites, and you met it at the sea in chapter 66: because the sage does not contend, no one can contend with the sage. You can't win a race against someone who isn't running. You can't beat someone in an argument they have quietly let go of.
The chapter ends almost with a smile. Are these empty words? No. Bend, and you are whole, and everything comes back to you.
A practice
In your next disagreement, about something that doesn't really matter, try bending.
Say "you might be right", and mean it. Let the other person have the last word.
Afterwards, notice: did you lose something? Or is something whole that might have cracked?
To carry
曲則全
qū zé quán
Bent, and so whole.
Sources
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Zhuangzi, chapter 4, "In the World of Men" (人間世): the carpenter Shi and the great oak at the village shrine. ↩