Impartial Heaven, Straw Dogs, and the Sage
Heaven and Earth are not benevolent: they regard the myriad things as straw dogs; the sage is not benevolent: he regards the common people as straw dogs.
The Shock of Non-Benevolence
At the outset, the line jars modern readers because “not benevolent” seems to deny ordinary morality. In the Daodejing (ch. 5), however, the phrase points less to cruelty than to an unpartisan stance: Heaven and Earth do not favor this creature over that; they allow processes to unfold without sentimental interference. The cosmos, in this view, is not a parent dispensing rewards—it is a field of arising and passing where value is contextual and transient. By echoing this stance, the sage resists the urge to manage others through pity or attachment, preferring alignment with the larger pattern (dao) over personal preference.
What Straw Dogs Really Signify
To grasp the metaphor, we need ritual history. In Zhou rites, straw dogs were ceremonial stand-ins: treated with reverence during the sacrifice, then discarded. Zhuangzi (4th–3rd c. BC) notes that they are honored when needed and trampled afterward—useful precisely because nobody mistakes them for permanent objects of devotion. The Daodejing’s image therefore underscores non-attachment: things deserve appropriate regard in their time, but clinging beyond their moment distorts the way. Thus, Heaven and Earth—and by extension the sage—do not confuse temporary roles with enduring worth, and so they avoid partiality.
Beyond Ren: Impartiality over Kindness
From here, the text deliberately contrasts Confucian ren (benevolence) with a broader impartiality. Confucius prized ren as humane concern, but Laozi warns that moral programs can slip into favoritism or display. He underlines this elsewhere: “When the great dao is abandoned, there is benevolence and righteousness” (Daodejing, ch. 18), implying that elaborate virtue-talk often compensates for lost naturalness. Later, Wang Bi (3rd c.) glossed “not benevolent” as “without partiality,” indicating a clarity that helps rather than a coldness that harms. The point is not to suppress kindness; it is to prevent kindness from becoming a tool of vanity, coercion, or selective compassion.
Sage Governance and Wu-Wei
Consequently, the sage governs through wu-wei—action that does not contend. Right after the straw dogs line, the text compares the world to a bellows: empty yet inexhaustible, moving without strain (Daodejing, ch. 5). In practical terms, this means creating conditions where people and things can self-organize, rather than micromanaging outcomes. A ruler who treats roles as straw dogs grants space for emergence, corrects gently, and avoids binding society with moral theater. This does not eliminate guidance; rather, it prefers unobtrusive adjustments to heavy-handed regulation, so that order arises from alignment rather than fear or flattery.
Compassion Without Favoritism
Yet the Daodejing also lauds compassion: “I have three treasures… the first is ci (compassion)” (ch. 67). The transition from non-benevolence to compassion is not a contradiction but a refinement. Compassion here is not sentimental identification with a few; it is a wide, ungrasping care that does not cling. Heshang Gong (Han-era commentary) interprets the sage’s stance as giving life without possessing, assisting without claiming. In this light, “not benevolent” rejects showy virtue and selective pity, while “compassion” names an even, non-appropriating concern that helps all by not privileging some. The result is humane action without self-congratulation.
Cosmic Cycles and Human Expectations
Stepping back, the straw dog image also trains our expectations about change. As seasons rotate and roles expire, what was once honored must be released. Laozi ties longevity to not living for oneself (Daodejing, ch. 7), implying that resilience comes from riding cycles rather than trying to fix them. Seeing people and positions as time-bound prevents both idolatry and despair: we honor what is fitting now and relinquish what no longer serves. In doing so, we align with the same expansive impartiality that keeps Heaven and Earth unexhausted.
Modern Echoes of an Ancient Lesson
Finally, this teaching has contemporary resonance. Institutions that enforce rules consistently—courts, scientific peer review, triage protocols—aim for impartiality to avoid favoritism, even as they remain guided by humane ends. Likewise, ecological policy works best when it respects systemic limits rather than indulging short-term preferences. The warning is twofold: do not mistake impartiality for indifference, and do not mask bias as kindness. Properly understood, the sage’s perspective balances clear-eyed detachment with capacious care, enabling actions that are firm, fair, and genuinely helpful in a world of constant change.