Born Together
A valley is only a valley because there is a mountain beside it.
Take away the mountain, and the valley is gone too.
天下皆知美之為美，斯惡已；
tiānxià jiē zhī měi zhī wéi měi, sī è yǐ;
When all under heaven know beauty as beauty, there is already ugliness;
皆知善之為善，斯不善已。
jiē zhī shàn zhī wéi shàn, sī bù shàn yǐ.
when all know good as good, there is already the not-good.
故有無相生，
gù yǒu wú xiāng shēng,
So being and non-being give birth to each other,
難易相成，
nán yì xiāng chéng,
hard and easy complete each other,
長短相較，
cháng duǎn xiāng jiào,
long and short measure each other,
高下相傾，
gāo xià xiāng qīng,
high and low lean on each other,
音聲相和，
yīn shēng xiāng hè,
note and voice answer each other,
前後相隨。
qián hòu xiāng suí.
front and back follow each other.
是以聖人處無為之事，
shì yǐ shèngrén chǔ wú wéi zhī shì,
So the sage dwells in the work of not-doing,
行不言之教；
xíng bù yán zhī jiào;
and practises the teaching without words.
萬物作焉而不辭，
wàn wù zuò yān ér bù cí,
The ten thousand things rise, and the sage does not turn away from them;
生而不有，
shēng ér bù yǒu,
gives them life, and does not own them;
為而不恃，
wéi ér bù shì,
acts, and does not lean on it;
功成而弗居。
gōng chéng ér fú jū.
the work done, does not dwell in it.
夫唯弗居，是以不去。
fū wéi fú jū, shì yǐ bù qù.
And because the sage does not dwell in it, it never goes away.
The words
each other, mutually
Six times in a row: 相生, 相成, 相較, 相傾, 相和, 相隨. The character is a tree (木) and an eye (目): looking at something closely, face to face. Each pair in the chapter only exists by facing its other.
not-doing; acting without forcing
The first time the book's most famous word appears. 無 is "without", 為 "doing, acting, making". It does not mean lying in bed. The very next lines are full of action: the sage gives life, acts, finishes work. Wú wéi is doing in a way that doesn't push, grab or insist. A whole module of this course, Not Forcing, is about it.
to dwell, to sit down in a place and stay
The sage finishes the work and doesn't move in. Doesn't sit on it, guard it, keep pointing at it.
Sitting with it
The moment we call something beautiful, the chapter says, we have made ugliness. Not because beauty is bad. Because to see beauty as beauty, you have drawn a line, and a line has two sides.
You can test this on yourself. Decide that one way of looking is "good-looking", and you have also decided what isn't, and probably which side of the line you stand on in the mirror. Call one child "the clever one" in a family, and you have, without a word, made another one "not the clever one".
Then comes the list, slow and almost like a song. Being and non-being, hard and easy, long and short, high and low. Note and voice: a musical note and the voice that sings it, each answering the other. Front and back: you can't have a front without a back, any more than a coin can have one side.
None of this asks you to stop telling things apart. You still need to know the hot pan from the cold one. It asks you to hold your labels a little more lightly, knowing they come in pairs, and that the pair is one thing.
And then, out of this, the sage. If every praise makes its blame and every winning makes its losing, how do you act? The chapter's answer: do the work and don't stand on it. Make, and don't own. Help, and don't keep the receipt.
The last line is the surprising one. Because the sage does not dwell in it, it never goes away. Think of the people whose kindness you still carry years later. Most of them never mentioned it again. The good that is not held on to is the good that stays.
A practice
Today, do one useful thing for someone and don't mention it. Not afterwards, not to them, not to anyone.
Notice the small pull to be thanked, or seen, or to bring it up later. You don't need to fight it. Just notice it, and let the work be done.
To carry
功成而弗居
gōng chéng ér fú jū
The work done, do not dwell in it.