Tao Te Ching – Chapter Seventy-One
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
Not-knowing is true knowledge.
Presuming to know is a disease.
First realize that you are sick;
then you can move toward health.
The Master is her own physician.
She has healed herself of all knowing.
Thus she is truly whole.
How I Read This Chapter
To not know is not weakness,
it is wisdom.
To assume I know,
is to become blind.
Only by admitting I am unwell,
can I begin to heal.
The Master does not gather facts,
but releases their opinions.
They do not cling to certainty,
but surrender to mystery.
They know they don’t know.
That is their strength.
In letting go of answers
What This Means To Me
This chapter speaks directly to the deepest turning point in my recovery: the moment I said,
“I don’t know how to live anymore.”
That confession – humbling, terrifying, and real – was the beginning of everything. I didn’t realise it then, but that moment of not-knowing was actually sacred. It was the first honest thing I had said in years.
I had spent most of my drinking life pretending I had it all together. I knew best. I didn’t need help. I had clever justifications, rehearsed excuses, and theories about why I drank the way I did. But all that knowledge was a mask. A disease, as the Tao says. It kept me from seeing the truth: I was lost. I was sick. And I needed help.
The Twelve Steps began with a truth I once rejected: “We admitted we were powerless…” Not-knowing. Not-controlling. Not being the expert of my own life anymore. That admission opened the door to healing. It was only when I surrendered what I thought I knew, that I became teachable.
I think of all the times I used to argue with reality – fighting against people, circumstances, my own emotions – because I believed I knew how things should be. But the more I insisted I was right, the more wrong everything felt. Recovery has slowly shown me the gift of not-knowing. Of saying, “I don’t know what’s next, but I trust the process.”
“The Master is her own physician.” That line reminds me that healing isn’t something done to me. It’s something that awakens within me, once I stop trying to fix myself with broken tools. I had to stop diagnosing myself with shame and treating myself with control. I had to stop relying on intellect and start listening to spirit.
In meetings, I began to see a different kind of wisdom – spoken not by those who had all the answers, but by those willing to share their deepest questions. They weren’t trying to impress; they were trying to stay sober. That honesty became my medicine.
Recovery doesn’t ask me to have it all figured out. It asks me to stay honest, open, and willing. Willing to say “I don’t know,” and then ask for help. Willing to sit in the mystery. Willing to trust a power greater than my thoughts.
Today, I try to live like the Master – not by knowing more, but by needing to know less. I let go of my need to control people, outcomes, and even my own healing. I show up. I listen. I respond. And I allow room for grace to do what my knowledge never could.
This is the paradox of recovery: The more I let go of what I think I know, the more I become whole
