Thirty spokes join together in a wheel’s hub,
It is the center hole that makes the wheel useful.
We shape clay to fashion jugs;
It is the hollowness within that makes a jug useful.
We cut doors and windows in a house wall;
It is these empty spaces that make the house useful.

Thus things are valuable because of what they have
And they are useful because of what they lack.

-Translation by Agnieszka Solska

The usefulness of a thing depends on the differences between it and other things. In this case the contrast described is between solid things and empty space; for instance, a hammer would be useless if there was no empty space through which to swing it.

This observation applies to other things too–work would be useless if we spent all day every day working because we would have no time to enjoy the fruits of our labor, and happiness would be unappreciated if there was never a time when we were not happy.

The mind can only grasp the significance of things when it has something to contrast the thing to. This is why the meaning of life can only be grasped once we become fully conscious of death.

In holding the soul and embracing oneness
Can one be without straying?
In concentrating the energy and reaching relaxation
Can one be like an infant?
In cleaning away the worldly view
Can one be without imperfections?
In loving the people and ruling the nation
Can one be without manipulation?
In the heavenly gate’s opening and closing
Can one hold to the feminine principle?
In understanding clearly all directions
Can one be without intellectuality?
Bearing it, rearing it
Bearing without possession
Achieving without arrogance
Raising without domination
This is called the mystic virtue

-Translation by Derek Lin

This chapter deals a bit more with the mystical aspects of Taoism, about which I don’t know what to say. What is meant by opening and closing the gates of heaven? What is meant by holding the soul and embracing oneness? I really can’t say at this time, so I’ll just do my best to analyze the rest of this chapter.

Concentrating the energy and reaching relaxation refers, I think to breathing exercises which involve breathing more “naturally”, as we used to do when we were babies; deeply, slowly, and with the diaphragm rather than the chest muscles.

Cleaning away the worldly view means, I think, learning to look at everything as it is, without any preconceptions or expectations that change how we see things. This involves seeing everything as being part of the Tao. 

Ruling the people without manipulation–letting things happen as they will, without trying to force an outcome or impose one’s own will onto them.

Understanding without intellectuality–to understand without getting engrossed in the process of thinking, or reasoning. Reason is useful for some things, but it has a limited reach, thus one shouldn’t try to use it to understanding all things.

The last five lines more-or-less repeat some of what’s already been said in previous chapters. They describe that passive sort of action that doesn’t try to impose an outcome onto events, that lets things develops as they will, without worrying too much about how that will be.

 Better to stop short than fill to the brim.
Oversharpen the blade, and the edge will soon blunt.
Amass a store of gold and jade, and no one can protect it.
Claim wealth and titles, and disaster will follow.
Retire when the work is done.
This is the way of heaven.

-Translation by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English

A blade being sharp, a cup being full, owning a lot of gold; these things are generally considered “good,” yet to pursue these things beyond a certain point is counterproductive.

Sometimes we want things that are good in moderation, but because of our worries or insecurities, we go way overboard in these pursuits in an attempt to pacify these worries, and just end up hurting ourselves. Understand when enough is enough; better to show moderation and awareness in your pursuits rather than to mindlessly chase after something you think you should have.

 The highest good is like water.
Water give life to the ten thousand things and does not strive.
It flows in places men reject and so is like the Tao.

In dwelling, be close to the land.
In meditation, go deep in the heart.
In dealing with others, be gentle and kind.
In speech, be true.
In ruling, be just.
In daily life, be competent.
In action, be aware of the time and the season.

No fight: No blame.

-Translation by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English 

The Tao, or the flow of things, goes whichever way it “pleases,” not caring one whit whether people, plants or animals like how it flows. It blooms and withers, grows and dies. It is like water, which flows ever downwards, following its nature, bringing spring showers and hurricanes alike.

About the rest of the chapter I don’t know what to say, other than that it’s a fairly straightforward set of aphorisms. If there is any deeper meaning to it, I can’t see it, and if I tried to explain it in any greater detail I would just muddle it up.

 The Tao is infinite, eternal.
Why is it eternal?

It was never born;
thus it can never die.
Why is it infinite?
It has no desires for itself;
thus it is present for all beings.

The Master stays behind;
that is why she is ahead.
She is detached from all things;

that is why she is one with them.
Because she has let go of herself,
she is perfectly fulfilled.

-Translation by Stephen Mitchell

The Tao is eternal because it has no beginning. Things which have a beginning–which come into being–also have an end–they cease to be. Only that which has no beginning, that which has always been, can exist eternally, without end.

The tao is infinite because it has no selfish desires. Selfishness involves an idea of oneself as a thing separate from other things. Being selfless, the Tao does not distinguish between itself any anything “else”–it is everywhere because it is everything.

The last six lines express much the same sentiment in different ways. In general, they speak of achieving enlightenment or fulfillment through selfless action.

Fulfilling a selfish desire can make you happy for a while, but living with these desires positions you for disappointment and frustration when they’re not fulfilled. Even the idea of not fulfilling your desires can make you scared, so you spend a lot of time chasing after what you want and running away from what you don’t, which can leave you feeling stressed out.

The more one lets go of these desires, the more one can simply accept whatever comes and be relaxed, instead of being constantly on the run to/from the next desirable/undesirable thing.

 The valley spirit never dies;
It is the woman, primal mother.
Her gateway is the root of heaven and Earth.
It is like a veil barely seen.
Use it; it will never fail.

-Translation by Gia Fu Feng and Jane English

This one is short and sweet, and mostly metaphor. I don’t really have a lot to say about it at the moment.

From what I understand, valleys in Chinese culture are considered nourishing places; nourishing like a mother. The valley spirit is the Tao, from whose “gateway”, or womb, all things spring.

The Tao hangs over everything like a veil so thin it can barely be seen. Something you might just ignore if you don’t stop and look carefully.

One makes use of the Tao, not by trying to control it, but by going along with it, just as a ship’s captain makes use of the wind by unfurling the sails and letting the wind carry it forward.

 The Tao doesn’t take sides;
it gives birth to both good and evil.
The Master doesn’t take sides;
she welcomes both saints and sinners.

The Tao is like a bellows:
it is empty yet infinitely capable.
The more you use it, the more it produces;
the more you talk of it, the less you understand.

Hold on to the center.

-Translation by Stephen Mitchell 

The Tao contains both “good” and “evil” things. Life and death, saints and sinners, lush forests and barren wastelands, nourishing rains and destructive hurricanes, are all are as much a part of the Tao all the others are. The Tao doesn’t judge and say “these things are good and these other things are bad,” it treats them all the same. If the Tao itself doesn’t judge things, then what right does a human have to do so?

The first two lines of the second verse are reminiscent of the line from the previous chapter, “The Tao is an empty vessel; it is used, but never filled.”

A bellows works cyclically, by first sucking in air and then blowing it out. A lot of other things also behave cyclically: the sun, the moon, the planets, the tides, the turning of the galaxy, the cycle of life, the water cycle, the carbon cycle. Through the “infinitely capable” tao all things rise and then fall, grow and then shrink, live and then die.

The third line of the second verse means, I think, that the more one makes use of the Tao, the more one gets out of life. Swimming along with the flow of the water gets you farther and faster than swimming against the current.

The fourth line repeats an idea that’s been mentioned a few times already in previous chapters: The Tao cannot be grasped through language. The more weight you give to anything that is said about the Tao, the less you can understand it. That is not to say that language is useless in understanding Tao (if Lao Tzu believed that were so he wouldn’t have written a book about the Tao), just that it should be kept in mind that it’s a limited tool that can’t embrace the real Tao.

I believe the last line, “Hold on to the center,” has to do with the idea of the center as the place furthest from the extremes. Neither too hot nor too cold, neither too long nor too short, neither too much work nor too much leisure. Find a balance in life

 The Tao is an empty vessel; it is used, but never filled. 
Oh, unfathomable source of ten thousand things! 
Blunt the sharpness, 
Untangle the knot, 
Soften the glare, 
Merge with dust. 
Oh, hidden deep but ever present! 
I do not know from whence it comes. 
It is the forefather of the gods.

 -Translation by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English  

The first line can be seen as a callback to what was said in chapter 1 about how «The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao». The Tao can be described in any number of ways, yet no matter which words or how many words we use, they will never provide a full picture of what the Tao is.

On the other hand, the first line can also be interpreted a saying that the Tao can hold everything that there is yet even so it remains unfilled; it is greater than the universe. As the source of all things (so says the second line), it might even be capable of holding all that could possibly exist. In a sense, the Tao might be considered the fact of existence itself, or that which allows things to exist; a blank canvas on which any number of things might be painted.

"Blunt the sharpness, 
 Untangle the knot, 
 Soften the glare, 
 Merge with dust."

The Tao undoes all that is done, makes all that is so become otherwise. It is change and all things, both what we call «good» and what we call «bad».

"Oh, hidden deep but ever present! 
I do not know from whence it comes. 
It is the forefather of the gods."

These last few lines reiterate what came before: The Tao is hidden but always present, again like the canvas on which the universe is painted; though covered by the paint, it is nonetheless there. It precedes all things, even the gods, and if it has an origin of its own, it’s not something that anyone knows about.