Muddy Water Made Clear
Stir a jar of pond water and hold it up to the light. You can see nothing.
Try to clear it with your hand and it only gets worse.
Put it down. Wait.
古之善為士者，
gǔ zhī shàn wéi shì zhě,
Those of old who were good at being masters
微妙玄通，深不可識。
wēi miào xuán tōng, shēn bù kě shí.
were subtle, wondrous, dark and all-reaching, too deep to be known.
夫唯不可識，故強為之容：
fū wéi bù kě shí, gù qiǎng wèi zhī róng:
Only because they cannot be known, I am forced to describe how they seemed:
豫焉若冬涉川，
yù yān ruò dōng shè chuān,
careful, as if crossing a river in winter;
猶兮若畏四鄰，
yóu xī ruò wèi sì lín,
watchful, as if wary of neighbours on every side;
儼兮其若容，
yǎn xī qí ruò róng,
reserved, like a guest;
渙兮若冰之將釋，
huàn xī ruò bīng zhī jiāng shì,
yielding, like ice about to melt;
敦兮其若樸，
dūn xī qí ruò pǔ,
plain, like the uncarved block;
曠兮其若谷，
kuàng xī qí ruò gǔ,
open, like a valley;
混兮其若濁。
hùn xī qí ruò zhuó.
murky, like muddy water.
孰能濁以靜之徐清？
shú néng zhuó yǐ jìng zhī xú qīng?
Who can be muddy, and, by being still, slowly become clear?
孰能安以久動之徐生？
shú néng ān yǐ jiǔ dòng zhī xú shēng?
Who can be at rest, and, by moving long, slowly come to life?
保此道者不欲盈。
bǎo cǐ dào zhě bù yù yíng.
Those who keep this Way do not wish to be full.
夫唯不盈，故能蔽不新成。
fū wéi bù yíng, gù néng bì bù xīn chéng.
Only because they are not full, they can wear out and need no remaking.
The words
slowly, gently, unhurried
The word the whole chapter rests on, used twice: 徐清, slowly clear; 徐生, slowly come to life. Not by effort. By time.
the uncarved block; unworked wood
Wood (木) as it comes from the tree, before anyone has cut it into a shape. One of the book's great pictures: what is simple, whole and not yet made into anything. A later module, Plain and Uncarved, is about it.
muddy, cloudy, unclear
The opposite of 清 (qīng), "clear, clean". The masters of old seemed murky to others, not sparkling or brilliant. And the question that follows is about every one of us: how does the muddy become clear?
In the Wang Bi text the guest line reads 儼兮其若容, "reserved, like a face"; most editors take 容 as a copying slip for 客 (kè), "a guest", which the older manuscripts have.1 The course follows them.
Sitting with it
Laozi can't tell you what the old masters were. They were too deep. So he tells you what they looked like from outside, in seven pictures.
Careful, like someone crossing a frozen river in winter: testing each step, not hurrying, aware the ice could break. Watchful, like someone who knows they are being watched. Reserved, like a guest in another person's home, who doesn't put their feet on the table. Yielding, like ice on the day it starts to melt. Plain, like a block of wood no one has carved. Open, like a valley. And murky, like muddy water.
Only the last one is surprising. We expect wise people to be clear, bright, sure. The book says that from the outside they looked a little unclear. They didn't explain themselves. They didn't sparkle.
Then come the two questions at the heart of the chapter, and of this whole module. Who can be muddy, and by being still, slowly become clear? Everyone has had a mind like the stirred-up jar: upset, confused, after bad news or a hard day. And everyone has tried to clear it by stirring more: thinking it through again, talking it over, going round and round. The chapter says: put it down. Be still. The mud will settle by itself, and slowly the water clears.
And the second question turns it round. Who can be at rest, and by moving long, slowly come to life? Stillness is not the end. The seed rests in the ground, and then it begins to grow, slowly, for a long time. Clarity comes first; then, gently, life.
"They do not wish to be full." The whole module has been about this, from the empty hub of the wheel to the root. A full cup can't take anything in. Someone who isn't full can wear out, and be worn, and still go on, like an old wooden bowl that is never thrown away.
A practice
The next time your mind is stirred up, upset, anxious, going in circles, don't try to fix it straight away.
Do something slow with your hands for five minutes: wash a cup, water a plant, fold some clothes. Let the mud settle. Then see what is clear.
To carry
孰能濁以靜之徐清
shú néng zhuó yǐ jìng zhī xú qīng
Who can be muddy, and, by being still, slowly become clear?
Sources
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Robert G. Henricks, Lao-tzu: Te-Tao Ching, a new translation based on the recently discovered Ma-wang-tui texts (Ballantine, 1989). ↩