Tao Te Ching — Chapter 39

From of old, these attained the One: heaven attained the One and became clear; earth attained the One and became steady; spirits attained the One and became potent; valleys attained the One and became full; the ten thousand things attained the One and lived; lords and kings attained the One and became the standard for the world. Carried to its conclusion: without that clarity, heaven might crack; without that steadiness, earth might quake; without that potency, spirits might fade; without that fullness, valleys might run dry; without that life, all things might perish; without that high nobility, lords and kings might fall. So the noble takes the humble as its root, and the high takes the low as its foundation. This is why lords and kings call themselves "orphaned," "widowed," "unworthy." Is this not taking the humble as the root? Is it not? So the highest renown is to have no renown. Do not desire to glitter like jade or to clatter like stones.

James Legge (1891)

The things which from of old have got the One (the Tao) are—Heaven which by it is bright and pure; Earth rendered thereby firm and sure; Spirits with powers by it supplied; Valleys kept full throughout their void; All creatures which through it do live; Princes and kings who from it get The model which to all they give. All these are the results of the One (Tao). If heaven were not thus pure, it soon would rend; If earth were not thus sure, 'twould break and bend; Without these powers, the spirits soon would fail; If not so filled, the drought would parch each vale; Without that life, creatures would pass away; Princes and kings, without that moral sway, However grand and high, would all decay. Thus it is that dignity finds its (firm) root in its (previous) meanness, and what is lofty finds its stability in the lowness (from which it rises). Hence princes and kings call themselves 'Orphans,' 'Men of small virtue,' and as 'Carriages without a nave.' Is not this an acknowledgment that in their considering themselves mean they see the foundation of their dignity? So it is that in the enumeration of the different parts of a carriage we do not come on what makes it answer the ends of a carriage. They do not wish to show themselves elegant-looking as jade, but (prefer) to be coarse-looking as an (ordinary) stone.

Dwight Goddard (1919)

It has been said of old, only those who attain unity attain self-hood. Heaven attained unity and thereby is space. Earth attained unity, thereby it is solid. Spirit attained unity, thereby it became mind. Valleys attained unity, therefore rivers flow down them. All things have unity and thereby have life. Princes and kings as they attain unity become standards of conduct for the nation. If heaven were not space it might crack, if earth were not solid it might bend. If spirits were not unified into mind they might vanish, if valleys were not adapted to rivers they would be parched. Everything if it were not for life would burn up. Therefore nobles find their roots among the commoners; the high is always founded upon the low. The reason why princes and kings speak of themselves as orphans, inferiors and unworthy, is because they recognize that their roots run down to the common life. A true self-hood does not desire to be overvalued as a gem, nor to be undervalued as a mere stone.

This chapter celebrates yī, "the One" — the unifying power of the Tao — as the source of every realm's proper functioning. The opening litany is sweeping: heaven is clear, earth is steady, spirits are potent, valleys are full, all things live, and rulers serve as the world's standard — all because each has "attained the One." The unifying principle is what makes each thing what it properly is. The chapter then drives the point home from the negative side: without that grounding clarity heaven would crack, without steadiness earth would quake, without fullness the valleys would dry up. Everything depends on its connection to the unifying source; cut off from it, each thing falls apart.

The chapter's second movement delivers its central ethical teaching, one of the clearest statements of the book's reverence for lowliness: guì yǐ jiàn wéi běn, gāo yǐ xià wéi jī — "the noble takes the humble as its root, the high takes the low as its foundation." This is why, Laozi notes, rulers traditionally referred to themselves with humble, even self-deprecating titles — "the orphaned," "the widowed," "the unworthy." The highest stations acknowledge their dependence on the lowly base that supports them. The closing images are pointed: the highest renown is to have no renown, and one should not wish to glitter conspicuously like polished jade but to be plain and solid like ordinary stone. Greatness that forgets its humble roots, like a high tower with no foundation, is bound to topple.

The principle that the high is founded on the low and nobility rooted in humility is the same reversal that runs through the Gospel — "the stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone," "whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted." The rulers' humble self-titles parallel the religious custom, across traditions, of the powerful adopting names of servanthood — the Pope as servus servorum Dei, "servant of the servants of God."

The vision of all things deriving their being and integrity from "the One" resonates deeply with the Vedantic teaching that all multiplicity rests on an underlying unity (ekam sat, "the Real is one"), and with the Neoplatonic emanation of all things from "the One" — without which each thing would lose its coherence and dissolve.

Everything that holds together does so by its connection to a unifying ground; cut off from it, things fall apart. And in human affairs, the high is always founded on the low — nobility rests on humility, and greatness that forgets its humble base becomes unstable. The wise stay plain like common stone rather than glittering like jade.

This chapter speaks to anyone in a position of height — leaders, the successful, the celebrated. "The high takes the low as its foundation" is a reminder that status rests entirely on the humble base that supports it: the workers, the overlooked, the ordinary ground beneath the tower. Leaders who acknowledge this — who keep their roots in the common life rather than glittering above it — remain stable; those who forget it topple. "The highest renown is to have no renown" is also a quiet rebuke to the modern hunger for visibility: choose to be solid and plain over conspicuous and polished.