The way and its name

Nothing is outside the Way. Yet what can be spoken cannot be constant; only what cannot be spoken can be constant. Benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom are aspects of the Way that can be spoken. But benevolence cannot serve as righteousness, nor ritual propriety as wisdom: this is how the speakable fails to be constant. Only the unspeakable can be benevolence in benevolence, righteousness in righteousness, ritual propriety in ritual propriety, and wisdom in wisdom. These are all inconstant, while the Way remains unchanged: this is how the unspeakable can be constant.

If the Way cannot be spoken, how much less can it be named? Names all concern what can be spoken. Once names are established, round and square, curved and straight differ, and cannot be constant.

'Nameless: the beginning of heaven and earth. Named: the mother of all things. Constantly in nonbeing, wishing to observe its wonder; constantly in being, wishing to observe its boundaries.'

From its nameless condition, it takes form as heaven and earth. Once heaven and earth take their places, names begin to be established. From its named condition, it spreads forth as all things. Once all things grow, their names become too numerous to record. Thus the nameless is the substance of the Way, and the named its functioning. [The source has an apparent copying error in the word rendered 'functioning.'] The sage embodies the Way for the world's use: entering the multitude of beings while constantly remaining in nonbeing, to observe its wonder; embodying utter nonbeing while constantly remaining in being, to observe its boundaries. To operate at the boundaries without knowing the wonder is to be coarse and without spiritual insight. To remain with the wonder without knowing the boundaries is to be refined but not comprehensive.

Speaking of being and nonbeing in terms of form, they are indeed two. Yet who recognizes that nonbeing moves into being, and being returns to nonbeing, so that they have never ceased to be one? Their names differ, but their root is one. Knowing the oneness of that root is mystery. What is distant beyond any attainable limit appears dark in color, so Laozi regularly uses 'dark mystery' to convey the ultimate. 'Mystery upon mystery: the gateway of all wonders.' To speak of mystery is to reach the limit, yet a thought of mystery still remains. With mystery upon mystery, that too is exhausted; nothing can be added. This is where all wonders emerge.