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© 2005 by Sam Hamill

Cover art by Kazuaki Tanahashi

Foreword © 2005 by Arthur Sze

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress catalogues the previous edition of this book as follows:

[Dao de jing. English]

Tao te ching: a new translation/Lao Tzu; translated from the Chinese by Sam Hamill; calligraphy by Kaz Tanahashi.

p. cm.

eISBN 978-0-8348-2299-3

ISBN 978-1-59030-011-4 (hardcover: alk. paper)

ISBN 978-1-59030-387-0 (paperback)

I. Hamill, Sam. II. Title.

BL1900.L26E5 2005

299.5′1482—dc22

2005007826

Contents

Foreword by Arthur Sze

Translator’s Introduction

Tao Te Ching

Foreword

The Tao Te Ching is a cornerstone of Chinese culture. The traditional view is that it was written by Lao Tzu, an older contemporary of Confucius (551–479 B.C.E.). Composed in this early time, the thoughts and insights, acute and profound, are essential reading for today. From its spellbinding and incantatory opening—beginning with four sets of three characters, extending to two sets of six characters—a swaying, mesmerizing rhythm is set in motion.

There will never be a definitive translation of the Tao Te Ching. Chapter by chapter, phrase by phrase, there is no substitute for reading and experiencing the text in its original splendor. Nevertheless, translation is a necessary art, for few readers can read the ancient characters now. And for such a classic text, there is no end in sight for translations. Yet, although many translations of the Tao Te Ching now exist in English, few convey the clarity, complexity, and force of the original.

In his new translation of Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, Sam Hamill resists any temptation to embellish or oversimplify or scatter New Age phrases over the text. His intention is to present clarity, depth, and intensity. In crucial chapter fourteen, for instance, Hamill brings three aspects of the Tao to the reader’s attention: its invisibility, its inaudibility, and its intangibility:

Looking and not seeing it,

we call it invisible;

listening and not hearing it,

we call it inaudible;

reaching and not touching it,

we call it ethereal.

These three aspects of it cannot be grasped,

but contribute to the one.

Its rising brings no dawn,

its setting no darkness;

it goes on and on, unnamable,

returning into nothingness.

Its form is formless.

Its image is invisible.

Meeting it, you cannot see its face.

Following it, you cannot see its back.

Hold to the ancient Tao

to grasp the here-and-now.

Discovering how things have always been

brings one into harmony with the Way.

Here, then, is Sam Hamill’s translation: unadorned, close to the text, and honoring its original energy.

—Arthur Sze

Translator’s Introduction

Lao Tzu, the “Old Master,” came and went like the wind in the sixth century B.C.E. But in his passing, he left behind an eternal thunderbolt. Born in the state of Ch’u half a century before the great K’ung-fu Tzu (Confucius 551–479 B.C.E.), his life is mostly legend. Ssu-ma Ch’ien’s Records of the Historian (100 B.C.E.) place him in the Chou capital of Loyang, working as historical archivist for the court, having come from the rich delta of the Yellow River, where shamanism was a cultural influence. Legend has the old sage, by name Li Erh-tan, losing his library amidst the crumbling Chou empire and fleeing through Han-ku Pass in the West. There he was questioned by the border guard about the nature of tao and te. Lao Tzu, it is said, sat there one evening and wrote out the Five-Thousand-Word Classic in two parts before disappearing from the world (or into it). Chinese literary history overflows with such apocryphal legends.

In all likelihood,