---

Introduction

Most people treat this verse as a political strategy: lead without dominating, act humbly so people follow you, and win without fighting. That’s tactics. Weaving the Way is not about tactics.

Verse 68 picks up right where Verse 67 left off. The Three Treasures don’t just stabilize internal Integrity; they generate the capacity to move within the field of relationship.

Each line of this verse builds out what that looks like. Non-combative. Non-reactive. Attuned to where we disengage. Power doesn’t descend from above, or manipulate from below. It is a supportive receptivity that “becomes underneath.” These are technical descriptions of what Weaving the Way looks like.

A truly Fertile Heaven is not one of leaders and followers. It is life unfolding according to its own kosmic, natural order. 

Translation

Therefore,
The best knights,
  do not fight.

The best fear,
  does not react. 

The best sign of enmity,
  is non-engagement.

The best use of people,
  is becoming underneath them.

This is called:
  “Integrity of Non-Contention”

This is called:
  “Using People.”

This is called:
  “Fertile Heaven, Ancient’s Polaris”

Commentary

Therefore,

This verse continues with a relational “therefore,” signaling a continuation from the Three Treasures of verse 67. 

The best knights,
  do not fight.

‘Knight’ is a partial translation. The original term 士 (shì) referred to a military-literate class of retainers and advisors that were closer in function to samurai than to medieval European knights. They were families whose power emerged from martial competence and who served as the structural interface between war, governance, and ritual.

The direct statement that someone with military prowess doesn’t fight creates interesting tensions in our consciousness. Far from the machismo we typically associate with knights, this text tells us that the best use is the least amount of force required. They just don’t fight; they don’t struggle to impose their will on others.

Having trained in martial arts for over 30 years, I’ve recognized this development in me: the more capable I am of force, the less inclined I am to use it. The more fluent I become in the interpersonal strategies that can get me what I want, the more I respect others’ capacity to choose. The most formidable people I’ve met—whether warriors, teachers, or leaders—are consistently quiet, respectful, and unshakably peaceful.

The best fear,
  does not react.  

One challenge of working with these texts is that ancient scribes often used simplified glyphs, phonetic loans, or context-dependent shorthand. This line has a great example of that with 單 (dān), which now appears in many more specific characters with diverse meanings. Conventional translations treat this character as 戰 (zhàn), meaning “to fight a battle, war.” In a certain way, this makes sense because it continues the theme of knights and fighting. Certain aspects of the assumptions in the commentary made me question and research this very carefully. 

As a result, I am departing from standard treatment and reading 單 (dān) as 憚 (dàn). First, if a major argument for character substitution is phonetic loan, then this is phonetically closer. Second, it produces a teaching that is more aligned with what we’ve seen in the text up to this point and supports the internal development of the verse. 

Being a “Knight who doesn’t fight” is to be non-reactive in the face of fear. The untrained impulse of fear is some form of reactivity, such as lashing out, collapsing, internal conflict, or becoming defensive. But fear itself doesn’t require either of these actions. 

Fear is simply a strong call to pay attention. Whatever is happening is high stakes and the results matter. A central capacity for Weaving the Way is habituating our system to respond to fear with grounded clarity instead of instinctive impulsivity.  

The best sign of enmity,
  is non-engagement. 

As mentioned, reactive fear can trigger a range of instinctual responses. One result, regardless of whether we lash out or collapse, is disconnection. Wherever we disengage, in whatever form, there is enmity. That enmity may take the shape of vague distaste or overt hostility. But the field fracture is the same.

Often, we fight out of fear, then disengage as a consequence: we withdraw, they withdraw, or we internally disconnect to keep the relationship viable. Our social nature leads us to instinctively preserve important relationships, even if they are fractious or unhealthy. This isn’t always interpersonal. In fact, it’s most consequential when we disengage from our own deeper truth (see Verse 67) and preserve outdated belief structures within.

Look closely and you’ll see signs of enmity everywhere. We unfollow accounts that challenge us. We curate communities to echo our preferences. We pull back from situations that disrupt our certainty. We disown emotions and childhood experiences that destabilize us. It goes on and on. 

There’s nothing wrong with this kind of psychic hygiene. In many cases, it’s essential. But when fear unconsciously drives these withdrawals, we compromise our Integrity and, ultimately, bring disharmony to the world we help shape.

So I invite you to examine what you avoid. Do you avoid from alignment or fear? Do you set boundaries as a sovereign act or as a buffer against discomfort?

There are many valid reasons not to engage. But non-engagement always reveals a decision of enmity. When made consciously, it’s not a fight against reality; it’s a mark of Integrity.

The best use of people,
  is becoming underneath them.

To our ears, this sounds strange, which is good. It prevents us from defaulting to familiar conceptual frameworks. Spend time with it, allow it to reorganize you, and sink into the ideas presented here.

Most translations of the Dao De Jing render this line through the lens of performative humility, often implying a kind of Machiavellian manipulation. Bow low to rise high. If you’re not intimidating and the people love you for your humility, then it’s easier to get them to do what you want. 

But in Weaving the Way, we repeatedly see that the most powerful structures are always “below.” River valleys. Downstream cities. The Ocean. Leading by example, not by “do what I say, not what I do.”

These are not metaphors of performative, manipulative submission. They frame “below” as the position of supportive receptivity. Being “below” is to rest in the foundational presence that enables harmony to arise.

If we wish to engage others, including the parts of ourselves, we must first become underneath them. That is, we must receive everything there is to receive through the Three Treasures (verse 67), and only then choose What Must Be for the relationship to proceed harmoniously.

From that field of conscious contact, a different kind of efficacy emerges; a relational, harmonious, and structurally superior way of engaging, beyond reactivity or contention. 

This is called:
  “Integrity of Non-Contention”

Non-striving, non-contention are frequent phrases in the text, which now point us back and say, “Do you get it yet?” Hopefully, this updated description that builds on all the other context has made it click for you. If not, don’t worry, Weaving the Way is a lifelong joy. 

This is called:
  “Using People.”

Not in the way we typically think, and likely uncommon in feudal China! Truly, “using people” is adapting ourselves to lift them up. As Presence surrounds us and Heaven builds us up, we experience gratitude for the capacity to adjust according to life’s unfolding and respond skillfully. When we fully embrace this way of life, we create conditions for everyone to thrive. When individuals thrive together, harmoniously, Weaving the Way, the impossible becomes possible.

This is called:
  “Fertile Heaven, Ancient’s Polaris”

“Fertile Heaven” is clear. “Ancient’s Polaris” may not be. 

In Daoist cosmology, the Dao is likened to the North Star: the still, unmoving axis around which all else transforms.

To embody the Three Treasures is to become the center.