Tao Te Ching – Chapter Forty-Three
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
The gentlest thing in the world,
overcomes the hardest thing in the world.
That which has no substance,
enters where there is no space.
This shows the value of non-action.
Teaching without words,
performing without actions:
that is the Master’s way.
How I Read This Chapter
Gentleness overcomes force.
Softness dissolves resistance.
The formless moves where nothing else can.
What cannot be touched,
still carries truth.
What cannot be seen,
still changes everything.
The Master teaches by example,
not argument.
He acts without forcing,
and so nothing is left undone.
What This Means To Me
There was a time in my life when I believed that only power could change things. I thought I had to push, control, demand, or escape. When that didn’t work, I drank – to overpower my thoughts, numb my feelings, and override the quiet truth that kept trying to speak to me. I didn’t yet know the wisdom of this chapter: that gentleness is stronger than force, that silence can teach more than noise.
“The gentlest thing in the world overcomes the hardest thing in the world.” I’ve seen that in recovery. Not in dramatic moments, but in quiet ones. Like when someone sits beside me in silence, and I feel less alone. Or when a newcomer cries in a meeting, and no one tries to fix them – we just let them be. There’s power in that. A soft, sacred power.
I used to think I had to say the right thing, give the perfect advice, share the cleverest insight. But the Tao and recovery both teach a different way: Teaching without words. Performing without actions. Presence over performance. Listening over lecturing. Leading with humility, not with noise.
In Step Twelve, we carry the message – not by preaching, but by living. We don’t convince others to get sober. We live sober, honestly and gently, and let that speak for itself. That’s how the Master teaches – through quiet integrity. Through being.
“That which has no substance enters where there is no space.” That line reminds me of grace. Grace is invisible. You can’t hold it. You can’t make it happen. And yet, it enters the tightest, most locked places – into shame, regret, grief, and transforms them. It enters where nothing else can go.
In my drinking days, I was all hardness. I resisted help. I armoured myself with pride. But recovery softened me. Not all at once, but slowly. A sponsor’s kindness. A stranger’s hug. A step worked honestly. A Higher Power I couldn’t see, showing up anyway. These gentle things moved where my strongest defences had failed.
Now, I try to live that way. I don’t need to win arguments. I don’t need to be impressive. I just need to show up – with love, with truth, with gentleness. I trust that what’s real will move through the cracks.
This is what the Tao calls “non-action” wu wei 無為. Not doing nothing, but not forcing. Letting things unfold. Letting recovery take root in its own time, not on my schedule. Trusting the invisible to do what my willpower never could.
Today, I honour the quiet. I value the soft. I embrace the subtle ways that healing arrives.
Because the gentlest thing in the world, changed the hardest heart I ever knew: my own.
