Tao Te Ching – Chapter Forty-One
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
When a superior man hears of the Tao,
he immediately begins to embody it.
When an average man hears of the Tao,
he half believes it, half doubts it.
When a foolish man hears of the Tao,
he laughs out loud.
If he didn’t laugh,
it wouldn’t be the Tao.
Thus it is said:
The path into the light seems dark,
the path forward seems to go back,
the direct path seems long,
true power seems weak,
true purity seems tarnished,
true steadfastness seems changeable,
true clarity seems obscure,
the greatest art seems unsophisticated,
the greatest love seems indifferent,
the greatest wisdom seems childish.
The Tao is nowhere to be found.
Yet it nourishes and completes all things.
How I Read This Chapter
The Way is not what it seems.
The deeper the truth,
the less obvious it looks.
The foolish mock it,
because it doesn’t dazzle.
The wise walk it,
because they feel its quiet pull.
What appears backwards,
may be the only way forward.
What feels weak,
may be our greatest strength.
What seems empty,
may be full of light.
The Tao hides in plain sight,
soft, simple, real.
What This Means To Me
This chapter makes me smile. It names something I’ve felt but couldn’t quite explain: the strangeness of the path. Recovery, like the Tao, rarely looks the way I thought healing would look. It often feels backwards, awkward, upside down. At first glance, it doesn’t sparkle. And because of that, I almost walked away.
“When a foolish man hears of the Tao, he laughs out loud.” That was me, before I was ready. I heard people talk in meetings about surrender and grace and powerlessness and thought, You’ve got to be kidding me. I wanted sharp solutions and quick fixes. I didn’t understand how silence, humility, and letting go could possibly change my life.
But something in me stayed. And over time, I started to see the truth behind the apparent foolishness. That what seems weak is actually strong. That what seems slow is actually steady. That what seems soft is often sacred.
“The path into the light seems dark. The path forward seems to go back.” Recovery has felt like that many times. Especially in the beginning – when I had to go back to old wounds, admit hard truths, face things I’d spent years avoiding. It didn’t feel like progress. It felt like regression. But it was actually the way forward.
Each step in the Twelve Steps is full of paradox. I admit powerlessness and discover strength. I make amends and find freedom. I help others and find myself. Nothing is linear. Everything is deeper than it appears.
I love how this chapter dismantles our assumptions. “True purity seems tarnished.” Yes – because real purity isn’t about appearances. It’s about honesty. It’s about owning my flaws and living truthfully in the world. “The greatest wisdom seems childish.” I’ve seen this too – in the simple joy of being sober, in the humble laughter in a meeting, in the innocent trust of someone new to recovery saying, “I don’t know, but I’m willing.”
And then this: “The Tao is nowhere to be found. Yet it nourishes and completes all things.” That’s the mystery I now live in. I can’t see the Tao. I can’t bottle it or explain it fully. But I feel it – especially when I’m not trying to chase it. Especially when I stop striving and start listening.
This is what Step Eleven has become for me. A practice not of achieving spiritual enlightenment, but of making space. Quiet space. Willing space. In that space, the Tao moves – not loudly, but deeply. Not to impress, but to sustain.
Recovery is not flashy. It’s not perfect. It’s not always obvious. But it is real. It is gentle. It is enough. And it grows stronger every time I trust what seems foolish, follow what feels uncertain, and walk forward, even when the path seems to go back.
