Tao Te Ching 101 | Part 10 of 23: How Do We Hold to the One Without Becoming Rigid?
In the last three parts, we looked at wu wei, not contending, and having fewer desires. We can understand why forcing a situation, fighting over everything, and endlessly wanting more create problems. We can agree with the ideas and still find them difficult to practice.
Often, the problem is not that we do not know what to do. It is that something carries us away before we can do it. Desire, anger, comparison, or fear begins deciding for us. We think we have made a choice, but we have followed whatever pulled hardest at that moment.
This brings us to shou yi, or holding to the One. Before trying to define what the One is, I want to look at what it feels like to lose that continuity within ourselves.
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When Does Doing Something Well Become Having to Win?
We begin with an ordinary intention: do this job well, explain something clearly, or resolve a problem. As the situation develops, someone questions us. We become irritated. We start wanting to win, and eventually we feel that we cannot afford to lose.
The activity may look the same from the outside, but its purpose has changed. We are no longer asking what would help us do the job well. We are asking what would keep the other person from defeating us.
Imagine a restaurant owner responding to criticism of the food. At first, the owner wants to explain that the dishes taste good and are not simply prepared meals being reheated. As the argument continues, that explanation becomes a battle. The owner becomes more concerned with winning the dispute than with the food or the customers.
At that point, continuing to argue can feel like perseverance. Yet the original intention has already been displaced. The person is still putting in effort, but that effort now serves a different goal.
This is one way we get carried away without noticing it. Nothing dramatic needs to happen. A task becomes a test of our worth, a disagreement becomes a contest, and a result we wanted becomes a result we must obtain.
Are We Adjusting, or Just Being Pulled Away?
A single comment can make us doubt a path we had carefully chosen. One failure can make us want to dismiss everything we have done before it. We call this adjustment, but the reason for the change matters.
We may have been studying at a pace that suited us. Then we see a classmate finishing much faster and suddenly feel that our own pace is wrong. At work, someone earns more or gets promoted, and we begin looking for a shortcut. Advice promising rapid success becomes especially attractive when we are anxious about falling behind.
We can learn from other people. The difficulty is that comparison can replace the reasons we had for our own choices. We begin copying another person's direction without asking whether their circumstances or goals are ours.
The same thing happens with uncertainty. We commit to something that will take time, but once the outcome becomes unclear, we urgently want to change the plan. We tell ourselves we are looking for an opportunity. Sometimes, we are really looking for a way to stop feeling uncertain.
Changing course may be necessary. But a change made because we understand the situation better is different from one made simply because we cannot bear the feeling we are having. If every new fear produces a new direction, we can remain very busy while losing any continuity in what we are doing.
What Does It Mean to Preserve Softness?
The word shou means to guard or preserve. I read it here as protecting something, rather than controlling or suppressing it. It is not a demand to clench our teeth and force ourselves to be more disciplined.
Chapter 76 of the Tao Te Ching says:
At birth, a person is soft and yielding. At death, hard and stiff. The strong and hard are placed below; the soft and yielding above.
As we discussed earlier in the series, softness is not simply weakness. It can mean retaining the flexibility to respond, recover, and change.
Think of throwing a punch or swinging at a ball. Trying to force every part of the movement can interrupt its flow. The effort we feel is not always helping the action. Some of it may be our own tension working against it.
I connect this with preserving softness in ordinary life. When we tighten around a single result, we can make ourselves less able to respond to what is actually happening. Every difficulty becomes something to resist, and every adjustment feels like surrender.
Preserving softness means not turning ourselves into something that can only hold its position or break. We keep enough flexibility to reconsider, enough room to choose, and enough freedom not to turn every obstacle into a confrontation.
What Happens When We Lose Our Original Intention?
Chapter 16 describes the return of things to their root and says:
Returning to the root is called stillness.
For this discussion, I connect that return with remembering what we are doing and why. Often, the problem is not that our work has stopped. It is that we have lost the intention that gave it direction.
Someone starts making content because they want to make something worthwhile. When the audience does not grow, attention shifts toward traffic. Later, the question becomes how to make money, and then how to make money faster. The account is still active and the person is still producing content, but the work may now be organized around a very different purpose.
There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting an audience or earning a living. The question is whether these concerns serve the work or gradually replace what made the work worth doing.
We may keep defending what we are doing because it still has the same name. Yet the name alone does not tell us whether we are still doing it for the same reason.
Preserving the root means remaining able to recognize that change. It does not require treating every early idea as sacred. It requires noticing when the purpose we have consciously chosen has been replaced by something we simply drifted into.
Can We Change and Still Remain Ourselves?
Chapter 10 asks whether we can embrace the One without becoming separated from it.
There are different interpretations of the One. I am not trying to settle all of them here. For now, I want to stay with the experience the question points toward: circumstances change, other people act differently, fear or excitement spreads, and we do not lose ourselves in every movement around us.
This does not mean refusing to adjust. It does not mean being unable to admit a mistake. We can revise what we believe and still avoid being dragged from one direction to another by each passing emotion.
Consider an ordinary day. In the morning, we have a clear idea of what we intend to do. Then we are late on the way to work, receive a discouraging comment, or encounter a problem we did not expect. Our mood changes, and soon the plan disappears beneath our reactions.
Some events genuinely require a different plan. But sometimes the situation has not changed nearly as much as our feelings about it have. We have allowed frustration or fear to take over the day's direction.
The steadiness I am describing is not an absence of feeling. It is the ability to experience those feelings without having to rebuild our whole direction around each one. We can be affected by what happens and still remain able to choose our response.
What Makes a Changing Path Continuous?
Imagine someone walking toward a destination. Every interesting view and every side road draws them away. They keep moving, but much of that movement does not take them closer to where they intended to go.
Another person may also change direction. Their route may bend or zigzag as they respond to the terrain. But each adjustment remains connected to the journey. They do not have to walk in a straight line to keep going somewhere.
This is how I understand continuity here. A person can grow and correct themselves without becoming a completely different person every time they encounter a new influence. A manager can learn a new method without replacing the entire logic of the work whenever another method becomes fashionable.
The Tao Te Ching describes generation and change, including the Tao giving rise to One, One to Two, and Two to Three. Holding to the One need not mean freezing ourselves outside that movement. The point I am drawing out is that change does not have to become fragmentation.
Preserving softness keeps us able to respond. Preserving the root keeps us connected to what we are doing and why. Holding to the One brings these together as a sense of continuity through change.
This also connects with the earlier discussion of extremes. We can arrive at a position where no other choice seems possible because we have been pulled there gradually. Doing something well became having to win. Wanting something became having to possess it. Each step felt justified, while the original reason became harder to remember.
I have not yet fully defined what the One is. This part begins with the more immediate question: when circumstances, desires, and emotions pull at us, can we keep enough continuity to recognize where we came from and where we are going?
In Part 11, I will turn to the Tao itself.
I plan to keep this series going, and you can find the other posts on my profile. I’m also building Verso, a tool rooted in traditional Taoist divination that aims to offer another perspective when people feel stuck or unsure. It’s under development; stay tuned.
AI disclosure: English isn’t my first language, so I used AI to translate and help edit the English.