Less Every Day
A sculptor was once asked how he carved an elephant from a block of stone.
"Easy," he said. "I take away everything that isn't the elephant."
為學日益，
wéi xué rì yì,
Pursuing learning, every day there is more;
為道日損。
wéi dào rì sǔn.
pursuing the Way, every day there is less.
損之又損，以至於無為。
sǔn zhī yòu sǔn, yǐ zhì yú wú wéi.
Less, and less again, until you come to not-doing.
無為而無不為。
wú wéi ér wú bù wéi.
Not-doing, and nothing is left undone.
取天下常以無事，
qǔ tiānxià cháng yǐ wú shì,
All under heaven is always won by not meddling;
及其有事，
jí qí yǒu shì,
once you start meddling,
不足以取天下。
bù zú yǐ qǔ tiānxià.
you are not fit to win all under heaven.
The words
to increase, to add; more
The old form of the character is a dish (皿) with water rising over its rim: a cup that is filling, and then overflowing. Learning is like that. Every day, a little more goes in.
to decrease, to lessen; to take away
The opposite of 益. In the Book of Changes the two are a pair of signs, Decrease and Increase, side by side. Here they are two directions a life can face. Not two subjects to study, but two kinds of work: one adds, the other takes away.
having no business; not meddling
事 is a matter, an affair, a job to be done. 無事 is having none, or making none: leaving things alone that don't need you. In Chinese today, 沒事 (méi shì) is what you say when someone apologises: "it's nothing, no matter".
Sitting with it
You came to this course, perhaps, to learn something. The chapter says, gently: that is one road. There is another.
Pursuing learning, every day there is more. Facts, skills, names, opinions. This is good, and the book doesn't ask you to stop. You need to know how to cook, how to count, how to read a map.
Pursuing the Way, every day there is less. Here, what you gain is what you put down. A worry you no longer carry. An opinion you no longer need to defend. A habit of rushing, a habit of proving yourself, a story you keep telling about who wronged you. Each day, one thing lighter.
Notice that it doesn't say "less, and then stop". It says less, and less again. There is always one more thing to put down. And the place where all that subtracting arrives is not emptiness or laziness. It is not-doing, the word you met in chapter 2: acting without pushing, without the extra effort that comes from wanting too much.
Then the line that has puzzled readers for two thousand years. Not-doing, and nothing is left undone. How can that be?
Think of a gardener. A bad gardener pulls at the seedlings to make them grow faster. A good one waters, weeds, waits. The plants grow by themselves. The good gardener seems to do much less, and the garden does everything. That is not-doing with nothing left undone: you do what is needed, and not one push more, and the rest happens by itself.
The last lines turn to rulers, as the book often does. Whoever wants to hold the world must not keep meddling in it. But you can read them in a smaller kingdom too: a family, a classroom, your own day. The more you interfere, the less it works.
A practice
Tonight, before you sleep, think of one thing from the day that you added: a task, a worry, a purchase, an argument.
Then think of one thing you could take away tomorrow. Something small. One less message, one less errand, one less thing to prove.
Take it away. See if anything is left undone.
To carry
為道日損
wéi dào rì sǔn
Pursuing the Way, every day there is less.