《通玄真经(河北定县汉墓竹简本)》Vol. 2

“Those above” serve as examples for “those below.” Whatever the people in high positions consider good, those beneath them will imitate. When those above are virtuous, those below will speak of benevolence and righteousness; when benevolence and righteousness take hold, the world will no longer be given over to licentiousness and wrongdoing. By accumulating Virtue, one can establish a royal enterprise; by accumulating resentment, one invites ruin. Stones piled up become a mountain, and water gathered together becomes a sea. There has never been a case of accomplishing something without accumulation.

Those who accumulate Virtue receive Heaven’s gifts, Earth’s support, and the aid of spirits and deities. Phoenixes alight in their courtyards, qilin roam their outskirts, and jiaolong make their homes in their ponds and marshes. Thus, governing the world by the Dao brings Virtue to the world; governing it without the Dao brings calamity upon the world. If a person makes an enemy of everyone in the world, they cannot hope to hold out for long. This is why Yao and Shun flourished, while Jie and Zhou perished. King Ping said, “I will follow your instruction.”

Scroll Six: Superior De

Laozi said: The ruler is the heart of the state. When the heart is at peace, every part of the body is at ease; when the heart is disturbed, every part of the body falls into disorder. In the same way, when the body is well governed, its limbs coordinate with one another without deliberate intervention; when the state is well governed, ruler and ministers each fulfill their duties without suspicion or wariness toward one another.

Laozi once studied with Chang Cong. Seeing Chang Cong extend his tongue, he understood that one must preserve softness and weakness. Looking up at the roof and the trees, then stepping back to watch flowing water, he learned from the changing shadows the principle of staying behind and remaining humble. Thus, sages do not rely on themselves or strive to be first; they tend to remain behind rather than take the lead. It is like stacking firewood and then lighting it: the wood added last ends up on top.

Laozi said: A bronze bell is destroyed for the sound it makes, and a lamp burns itself away by giving off light. Tigers and leopards are hunted for their markings, and monkeys are captured for their agility. Thus, those who display courage and strength die through their own aggression, while those skilled in argument are brought into difficulty by their cleverness. Understand this: some things can be known through wisdom, while others cannot be understood through wisdom alone. Someone who is brave in only one skill and prizes only one point of view may discuss a particular matter with them, but cannot be expected to respond broadly to every kind of principle.

Laozi says: “The Dao takes Wuwei (non-action) as its underlying nature. It has no visible form and no audible sound, so it is called the hidden and obscure. ‘Hidden and obscure’ is simply a way of speaking about the Dao; it is not the Dao itself. What is meant by the Dao is to look inward and reflect on oneself. Such a person will neither overlook what is small nor fall into great delusion; neither covet petty favors nor become utterly confused.

Do not take flowing water as a mirror; look into still water, for it stays steady and does not ripple outward. When the moon is full, the sun loses its brilliance; Yin energy cannot overcome Yang energy. After the sun rises, the stars remain visible, but they cannot rival its light. The tips cannot be stronger than the roots, nor the branches thicker than the trunk. When the top is heavy and the bottom light, collapse is inevitable. A deep pool cannot hold two dragons, and a group cannot have two leaders. Once one side is established, the two cannot stand together without coming into conflict.

Where jade lies in a mountain, the plants and trees appear lush. Where pearls form in a deep pool, the banks are less likely to dry out. The earthworm has neither strong muscles and bones nor sharp claws and teeth, yet it can eat soil above and drink groundwater below. This is because its attention is wholly undivided.

Clarity lets people see distinctly: a cup of water can reveal the pupils of the eyes. Turbidity obstructs sight; when a river is muddy, even Mount Tai cannot be seen. Orchids and angelica do not lose their fragrance because no one wears them. A boat on rivers and seas does not sink simply because no one is aboard. When a person of noble character practices the Way, they do not grow resentful because no one understands them. This is simply their nature.

When clear Qi enters a murky place, it will surely be constrained and humiliated; when murky Qi enters a clear place, it will surely be overturned. When the two kinds of Qi in Heaven meet, they form a rainbow; when the two kinds of Qi on Earth meet, they bring obstruction; when the two kinds of Qi in the human body fall out of balance, illness follows. Yin and Yang cannot remain in one state forever: the sun has its winter and summer, the moon knows nothing of daylight, and the sun knows nothing of night.

Where a river is broad, fish grow large; where mountains rise high, trees grow tall; where land is extensive, De (Virtue/Power) should also be deep. Therefore, one cannot fish without bait, nor summon wild beasts with an empty vessel. Where fierce animals inhabit the mountains, the trees are not cut down indiscriminately; where poisonous insects live in a garden, the leaves of mallow and beans are not picked. When a state has capable ministers, …

Where a river is broad, fish grow large; where mountains rise high, trees grow tall; where land is extensive, De (Virtue/Power) should also be deep. Therefore, one cannot fish without bait, nor summon wild beasts with an empty vessel.

In the mountains, fierce beasts keep the trees from being cut down. In a garden, stinging insects keep people from picking the greens and bean leaves. A state with capable ministers can repel incursions from distant lands. One who understands the Dao (the Way) is like a wheel turning around its hub: without driving the cart himself, he can travel by means of the wheel and reach a thousand miles away. The wheel turns round and round, repeating its course without end.

Therefore, appointing crooked people to assist the upright often leads to failure. If upright people are appointed to assist the crooked, they must not be allowed to follow them all the way. When birds are about to fly in, set a net and wait. Catching a bird depends on the mesh; but if you make a net with only one opening, you will never catch a bird. Some things, then, cannot be handled by simply repeating past methods, and some things cannot be predicted in advance. The sage holds to the Dao and waits for the right moment.

To draw fish together, first clear the channels; to attract birds, first plant trees. When water gathers, fish naturally congregate; when trees grow thick, birds naturally settle there. Once you have caught a fish, you need not carry it into deep water; once you have caught an ape, you need not carry it up a tree. It is enough to act in keeping with the environment suited to each.

The ground within reach of your feet may be shallow, but you can continue walking only when the ground beyond your steps extends ahead. The range of what the mind already knows may be broad, yet further understanding still depends on what remains unknown.

When the rivers dry up, the streams and valleys are emptied; when the hills are leveled, the deep pools silt up. When the lips lose their protection, the teeth grow cold. Though a river is deep, its source is still in the high mountains. When water settles, it becomes clear; once clear, it can reflect things evenly. When its surface is still, it is easy to see the shapes of things. Since different shapes cannot be confused with one another, they can be used to distinguish things and establish standards.

The wind that shakes a tree makes its leaves fall; what stirs the water makes it murky. Jade discs and other objects reveal their luster only after being polished and worked. The Moye sword can cut through things because it has been sharpened on a whetstone. A fine horse can run a thousand miles, but cannot fly; a person without stored grain will go hungry. When the cunning hares are all caught, the hounds are cooked; when the high-flying birds are all captured, the fine bows are put away. To withdraw once one’s work is done and one’s name established is a pattern of Heaven.

Anger can arise from the absence of anger, and action can arise from Wuwei (non-action). Only by observing where there is no form or image can one see; only by listening where there is no sound can one hear. Birds return to their homeland, rabbits run back to their burrows, foxes die with their heads turned toward the hills where they were born, and cicadas in cold weather cling to trees. All things return to the places where they grew.

Water and fire overcome one another, but when a cauldron—a vessel for cooking food—is placed between them, the five flavors can be brought into harmony. Family members may love one another, but if slander comes between them, even father and son may grow suspicious of each other and fall into danger.

Dogs and pigs are not particular about their food; the more they eat, the fatter they grow, and the nearer they come to death. The phoenix flies high above the clouds, beyond the reach of anyone trying to lure it down. People can reason about many things, yet may not understand themselves. The eyes can see a hundred paces away, but cannot see their own eyelashes.

Build a mountain by adding to high ground, and it will stand firm without danger of collapse. Dig a pond in low ground, and when its waters grow deep, fish and turtles will gather there on their own. Ditches overflow in floods and dry up in drought; rivers and seas have distant, deep sources, so their waters never run out. A turtle has no ears, yet its eyes are not easily obscured, because its sight is keen. A blind person has no eyes, yet their ears are not easily deceived, because their hearing is keen.

Can muddy water wash my feet? Can cool, clear water wash the cords of my hat? Silk woven into white cloth may be made into a hat or used for something else. As a hat, it is worn on the head; thrown on the ground, it is trampled underfoot.

Metal is stronger than wood, yet a single blade cannot fell an entire forest. Earth is stronger than water, yet a handful of soil cannot block a river. Water can overcome fire, yet a ladleful cannot put out a cartload of burning firewood. Thunder may sound in winter, and hail may fall in summer, yet cold and heat still alternate in their proper seasons. Even thick frost and snow melt and run off when the sun comes out.

Things that lean are easily toppled, and things that depend on support are easily overturned. Small branches are easily propped up, and damp places are prone to rain. Though fragrant, orchids and white angelica cannot withstand frost. When a toad is used to coat weapons, its life lasts only until the fifteenth day of the fifth month. Those whose vital essence and energy have dissipated are prone to decline before their time; flowers that bloom out of season cannot be eaten.

Between the tongue and the teeth, which wears down first? Between the rope and the arrow shaft, which becomes straight first? A shadow is crooked because the body is not upright; an echo is muddled because the sound is unclear.

Someone suffering from a grave illness can hardly become a skilled physician. One who follows the same path as those who have lost their kingdom cannot offer a ruler loyal counsel.

Let a singing girl blow the yu, while a musician plays by covering and uncovering its holes: even if the performance keeps time, the yu itself does not thereby become something else. Each object has a form suited to its own use; their functions must not be confused. A deaf person cannot sing for pleasure, and a blind person cannot see things outside. In a forest, one cannot walk in a straight line; along a dangerous path, one cannot tread by the straightedge. The myriad things within the seas each have their own origins, and so Heaven and Earth are vast. Two suns do not rise at once; a fox cannot have two chiefs; divine dragons do not form pairs, fierce beasts do not gather in herds, and birds of prey do not fly in pairs. Without rafters, eaves cannot shield one from the sun; without spokes, a wheel cannot turn swiftly. Yet rafters or wheels alone are not enough to provide support. A bow can shoot arrows, but without a string it cannot release one. The actual release of an arrow accounts for only one tenth of the act of archery; all the other steps are equally necessary.

A hungry horse is quiet and still in its stall, but place some fodder beside it and the urge to compete appears. A pipe three inches long with no bottom cannot be filled even with all the water in the world; a vessel holding ten shi, if it has a bottom, can be filled to capacity. Cut along an ink line and the cut will not stray; suspend a balance and weigh, and there will be no error. Applying ancient rules to similar situations may sometimes work; correcting things with a rod and a measuring frame may also sometimes be effective. But to follow these methods in every case without considering the actual circumstances is misgovernment.

The farmer works hard so that the gentleman may be provided for; the foolish offer opinions, and the wise choose among them. When a matter is clearly understood, handle it with care, as one would a piece of jade. When it is unclear, hold back your plans and observe cautiously. The light of a hundred stars cannot match that of a single moon; opening ten windows wide cannot provide light as concentrated as that from a single window. A viper cannot be given legs, and a tiger cannot be given wings. A distance of six feet lies before you: lie down and cross it, and even someone of modest ability finds it easy; leap across it while standing, and even someone exceptionally capable may struggle. This is because the circumstances and the way one exerts force are different.

Those who assist at a sacrifice may receive a share of the offerings; those who step in to stop a fight may instead be injured. Take shelter beneath an inauspicious tree, and you may be struck by lightning. The sun and moon would shine, but dense clouds hide their light. Rivers would run clear, but silt and sand muddy their waters. Orchids would flourish, but autumn winds ravage them. Human nature would be calm, but excessive desires damage it. If dust covers your whole body, you cannot keep your eyes clear and unobstructed.

The worthy wear a gold seal with a turtle-shaped knob, while capable people can regard the soil beneath their feet as wealth. So, rather than give gold and jade to someone weak and incapable, it is better to give them a length of white silk, something they can put to use. The wheel’s hub is hollow, and thirty spokes converge there, each serving its purpose. If only one spoke were allowed to enter while all the others were excluded, how could the wheel carry anyone far?

Orange and pomelo trees each have places suited to their growth; reeds and rushes each have their own marshes. Beasts with the same kind of claws travel together, and birds with the same kind of wings fly together. It is hard to understand the land of the Nine Provinces without having traveled a thousand miles, or to lead the people without understanding the foundations of government and moral instruction.

Those who flaunt their power easily invite trouble, while those who are humble and reserved may suffer attack. Thus, the purest white can seem stained, and the greatest De can seem deficient. A gentleman has wine, while a petty man can only beat on an earthenware jar. Though this is nothing to envy, it is enough to show the difference between them. Human nature favors soft silk and cotton garments; when arrows are flying, however, one must put on armor. It may be uncomfortable, but it meets the need.

Thirty spokes converge on a single hub, each aligned with its own hole; they cannot be inserted wherever one pleases. This is like ministers, each keeping to their own duties. A person skilled at using others is like the “●’s feet” mentioned in the text: many in number, yet none hindering the rest. They are also like the tongue and teeth, whose hard and soft parts rub against each other without causing mutual harm. Stone is hard by nature, and fragrant herbs are fragrant by nature. These qualities are present from the beginning and become more pronounced as they grow.

Support and assistance, refusal and deference, gain and loss, agreement and rejection lie far apart. Trying to make things grow again does not necessarily bring the desired result; a flower that blooms too early may wither before the frost even arrives.

A measuring cord is soiled, then powder is smeared on the forehead; a rotten rat is placed on the hall steps, while foul things are burned in the hope of making the hall fragrant. Even the most skilled craftsperson could not set these things right. Winter ice can be broken, and summer trees can be climbed and bent together. Opportunities are hard to come by and easy to miss. While trees are thriving, they keep putting out new branches even if people cut them all day long; after the autumn winds bring frost, they wither in a single night.

When a target is set up, arrows come flying toward it; when a forest grows dense, axes and saws enter it. No one deliberately summons this; it follows naturally from the circumstances of things. A nursing puppy dares to bite a tiger, and a brooding hen dares to attack a wildcat because, after receiving favor, they no longer judge the limits of their own strength.

Those who board a ship on the verge of sinking to chase profit will eventually sink with it. A ship can float or sink, but the foolish do not know when they have enough. A fine horse will not move when driven with a whip, nor stop when pulled by the reins. If a ruler does not understand how to act in accordance with circumstances, he too will face danger, like someone who boards a ship about to sink. A ship can float or sink, but the foolish do not know when they have enough. A fine horse will not move when driven with a whip, nor stop when pulled by the reins. If a ruler does not understand the principles that govern the Way and the course of events, he will find it hard to accomplish anything.

The surface of the water may look calm, yet waves still arise; a balance beam may be level, yet still have some error; a ruler may look straight, yet still lack precision. Without a compass and a square, one cannot determine what is round or square; without a plumb line, one cannot correct what is crooked or straight. Those who use the standards must also keep standards in their hearts.

Mount Tai may be high, but if you move twice as far away, you can no longer see it clearly. An autumn hair—the fine hair newly grown in autumn—may be tiny, yet seen up close it is clear. Fire lies within bamboo and wood, but without drilling and rubbing it cannot be drawn out; water lies in the earth, but without digging it will not flow. However swiftly an arrow is shot, it cannot travel more than two li; step by step without stopping, even a lame turtle can travel a thousand li. Keep piling up earth, and hills and mountains can be formed. If you want to catch fish by the river, you are better off going home to weave a net. A bow must first be adjusted before one can seek strength; a horse must first be tamed before it can be called a fine steed; a person must first keep faith before seeking further ability.

Even the most skilled smelter cannot melt wood, and the finest carpenter cannot carve ice. Everything has things it cannot do. How could a gentleman fail to pay attention to these principles? One can stop someone from crossing a river, but one cannot stop the river from making waves. Without the moon, a pottery steamer from ancient times would not fall into a well for no reason.

Those who criticize my conduct wish to associate with me; those who disparage my goods wish to buy them. A single move in a board game is not enough to reveal a person’s skill, and plucking a single string is not enough to express sorrow. There is a piece of charcoal that will burn your hand if you pick it up. Bring it close, and many stones will be blackened by its smoke; move ten paces away, and its heat can no longer harm you. This is because their energies resonate, though they gather to different degrees.

Where there is prosperity and advancement, there must also be decline and sorrow. Fine silk gauze worn above must be set against coarse hemp cloth beneath. The taller a tree grows, the more its roots bend; the higher a mountain rises, the broader and deeper its base.

Laozi says: A drum does not conceal sound, and so it can sound; a mirror does not obscure the form of objects, and so it can reflect them. Metal and stone can produce sound, but without being struck they do not ring; pipes and flutes can make music, but without being played they are silent. Therefore, the sage keeps wisdom and strength within and does not rush to issue commands. When something happens, the sage handles it well; when something appears, the sage responds appropriately.

The movement of Heaven never ceases; it comes around again and again, and so it endures. A wheel keeps turning back to its starting point, and so it can travel far. The Way of Heaven moves with perfect precision and therefore makes no mistakes.

The Qi of Heaven descends, and the Qi of Earth rises. Yin and Yang interact, allowing the myriad things to grow together. At such a time, the noble person can put their abilities to use, while the petty person loses power. This is the pattern of Heaven and Earth. If the Qi of Heaven did not descend and the Qi of Earth did not rise, Yin and Yang could not communicate, and the myriad things would not flourish. The petty would gain power and the noble would fall into hardship; the grains could not be sown, and virtue would lie hidden and unseen.

The Way of Heaven reduces what is full and adds to what is lacking. The Way of Earth restrains what is high and supports what is low. The way of spirits and ghosts brings loss to the arrogant and overfull, and benefit to the humble and lowly. The usual way of human society, by contrast, is for those with more than enough to refuse to share with those who lack enough. The sage’s Way is to remain humble; therefore, no one can rise above the sage.

The sun and moon in the sky must shine brightly to illuminate the four directions. A ruler must see clearly, and officials must be worthy, for the state to be at peace. Only when those above and below, in all four directions, understand matters clearly can the state endure. Understand the principles of carrying out instruction, and you will also understand how it affects the myriad things.

The Way of Heaven is the standard; the Way of Earth is the pattern. The myriad things are harmonized by the Qi that forms one whole and set in motion by the four seasons; from this, all things come into being. This is called the Dao. The Great Dao is broad and level, and it is not far from people. Cultivate the Great Dao within yourself, and your virtue will be genuine and unwavering. Apply the Great Dao to the myriad things, and your virtuous conduct will continue without end.

Heaven covers all things, bestows its kindness upon them, and nurtures them. It gives without demanding anything in return, and so the spirits of all things turn toward it. To give without demanding anything in return is the highest virtue; thus, Heaven possesses true De.

Among heaven and earth, nothing is higher than Heaven, and nothing is lower than the marshy earth. Heaven is high and the marshy earth is low. The sages took this as their model, arranging the honored and the humble in proper order, so that the realm could be at peace.

The earth bears and nourishes the myriad things, then returns what it has nourished to them. When they die, their bones, too, return to the earth. To take from the earth without giving anything back is a sign of shallow De (Virtue/Power). The saying “Lower De does not lose De, and so has no De” means that although De at a lower level does not visibly fail, it cannot therefore be called true De.

The earth receives Heaven and is thus steady and still. Because the earth is steady, the myriad things can take shape; because it is vast and substantial, they can gather upon it. Being steady and still, it can bear anything; being vast and substantial, it can contain anything. Where the land lies deep, springs and waters gather; the earth’s breadth allows things to endure. The sages modeled themselves on the earth, making their De broad enough to embrace the myriad things.

Yin and Yang restrain one another, and the myriad things flourish as a result. When Yang follows Yin, the myriad things grow in peace. When they flourish, nothing is left unnourished; when they grow in peace, nothing is left stifled. When all things are at ease, the realm can be well governed.

When Yin harms the myriad things, Yang withdraws of its own accord. As Yin advances and Yang recedes, petty men gain power while gentlemen avoid harm. This is how the Dao of Heaven operates. When Yang stirs, the myriad things unfold and grow, each finding its proper place; therefore, the sages follow the Way of Yang. Those who accord with the myriad things are met with accord in return; those who oppose them are met with opposition. In this way, one does not violate the nature of the myriad things.

When marshes and wetlands hold abundant water, the myriad things grow and ripen in season. When they dry up, the myriad things lack timely nourishment. Thus, when rain and water fail to flow as they should, famine afflicts the realm.

Yang rises and then descends, and so it can govern the myriad things. It does not claim the work of growth as its own forever, and so, having reached its end, it can begin again. What can end and begin again can endure; what endures becomes the root of everything under Heaven.

Yang can gather and then spread outward; Yin can gather and then transform. Without prior accumulation, transformation cannot arise. Therefore, the sages are careful with what they accumulate, whether things or strength.

When Yang waxes and Yin recedes, the myriad things prosper; when Yin waxes and Yang wanes, they decline. Thus, when rulers and nobles esteem the Way of Yang, the myriad things flourish; when they esteem the Way of Yin, the realm moves toward ruin.

When Yang Qi does not descend and meet Yin Qi, the myriad things cannot come into being. When a ruler does not treat his ministers with humility, virtuous governance and moral instruction cannot be put into practice. A ruler who humbly receives his ministers can see and hear clearly; one who holds himself high and refuses to heed their counsel becomes benighted and closed off.

When the sun rises above the earth, the myriad things flourish and grow. A king who stands above the people should make his virtue shine clearly, like the sun illuminating all things. When the sun sinks below the horizon, the myriad things rest and recover. If people of poor character are placed in high positions, the myriad things will flee and hide.

Thunder shakes the world, and the myriad things sprout; rain nourishes them, and they unfold. When a great person issues commands, they too should accord with the moment. The changes of Yin and Yang follow a set rhythm. Those who govern should not force the myriad things or go against their natural patterns.

Thunder shakes the earth, and the myriad things grow gently; strong winds buffet the trees, harming the plants. A great person should turn away from evil conduct and draw near to the good Way, so that the people need not travel far and resettle. People always make choices: they leave what is bad and choose what is better. The more they choose what is good, the more they leave behind what is bad.

Without wind, fire will not catch; if a great person does not speak, those of lesser standing have nothing to pass on. For fire to burn, it needs firewood; for a great person’s words to carry weight, they must be trustworthy. When words are faithful and true, whatever one undertakes can succeed.

In the depths of a river, earth gathers into mountains; on high hills, water flows down into ravines. When Yang Qi grows strong, it turns into Yin Qi; when Yin Qi grows strong, it turns into Yang Qi. Desire should not be indulged to excess, and joy should not be taken to its utmost. To avoid wounding words in anger and a distorted expression when enraged is to understand balance and respond with discernment.

Fire rises, and water flows downward. The sage acts in accordance with the patterns of things, so that things of like nature respond to one another. When the sage follows Yang Qi, all under Heaven is harmonious and united; when he follows Yin Qi, all under Heaven sinks into decline.

Laozi says: By gradually accumulating what is slight and weak, one can make it substantial; by taking step after step from a low place, one can reach a high place. The exemplary person works diligently day after day, making their De increasingly evident. The petty person seeks only immediate pleasure each day and ultimately heads toward disgrace. The changes brought by good and evil may not be visible at first. So when you see a good deed, act as though you cannot catch up; when you encounter what is bad, treat it like an ill omen and turn away in time. If you set your heart on goodness, even your mistakes will not bring resentment or blame. If you refuse to pursue goodness, even acts done out of loyalty may invite aversion. Therefore, it is better to examine yourself than to blame others, and better to demand something of yourself than to impose it on others.

You bring fame upon yourself, seek out your own companions, determine your reputation through your conduct, and earn your position through your performance. There is nothing that has no connection to you. If you take a sharp point and stab someone, or wield a blade and strike them, whom can you blame for the consequences? Thus the exemplary person is careful even in the smallest matters.

All things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang. The Qi of Yin and Yang blends and harmonizes, bringing about harmony. This harmonious Qi lies at the center of things. The fruits of trees form at the heart of the flower, and the fruits of grasses and plants form within their blossoms; eggs develop at the center, and fetuses grow within the mother. Without an egg, nothing can hatch; without conception, no fetus can form. The generation of life, too, must await the right time. Where the ground is level, water does not flow; when weights are balanced, the steelyard does not tilt. The generation and transformation of all things occur in response to what they encounter.

Laozi says: Where mountains rise high, clouds and rain gather; where water runs deep, dragons grow. When exemplary people cultivate the Great Dao, the benefits of their De spread far and wide. Those who cultivate De in secret will surely receive a reward in public; those who quietly do good will in time win an honored name. Sow millet and you will not reap panicled millet; plant resentment and you will not receive the reward of De.

Volume Seven

Subtle Illumination

Laozi said: “The Dao can appear as soft and yielding, or as firm and strong; it can appear as gentle, or as hard and unyielding; it can dwell in darkness, or manifest in the light. It can encompass Heaven and Earth and respond to every kind of change, yet it has no fixed form.

“Understanding the Dao has degrees of depth and shallowness, inwardness and outwardness, refinement and coarseness. Those who think they already know often do not; those who admit they do not know may have genuine understanding. Who can grasp the proper measure between knowing and not knowing? The Dao cannot be heard with the ears: what is heard is not the Dao. It cannot be seen with the eyes: what is seen is not the Dao. Nor can it be fully expressed in words: what is spoken is not the Dao. Who can understand that the root of things with form may itself be formless? Thus it is said: ‘When everyone under Heaven knows what is good and recognizes it as good, this gives rise to what is not good.’ Those who understand the Dao speak little; those who speak much often do not understand it.

“Wenzi asked, ‘Can the Dao be expressed in subtle words?’

“Laozi replied, ‘Why not? The key is understanding the principles of language. Those who truly understand language do not rely on words alone to express themselves. People who compete to catch fish get wet; people who chase wild animals have to run. They do not enjoy getting wet or running; they do it to reach their goal. So the highest form of speech does not cling to words, and the highest form of action does not rely on contrivance. Those with shallow understanding compete over trivial details. Words have their roots, and affairs have their governing principles. If you insist that you know everything, no one will truly understand me.’

“Wenzi asked, ‘Is there also a way to govern a state?’

“Laozi replied, ‘Those who pull a cart call out at the front, and those behind answer them. This is a work song that builds strength and helps them pull together. Even the music of Zheng, Wei, Hu, and Chu is less practical than this song. Governing a state means following proper rites; it does not depend on ornate language or elaborate argument. As the old saying goes: “The more numerous and strict the laws and ordinances, the more thieves and bandits there are.”’

“The end of the original text repeats the passage about the cart pullers calling and answering, governing a state without relying on fine words, and the saying, ‘When laws and ordinances grow more numerous, thieves and bandits abound.’”

Laozi says, “The Dao has no fixed form or standard, yet it can serve as the measure for all things. It is like a mountain forest that provides timber, though the timber is not as vast as the forest; the forest is not as vast as clouds and rain, clouds and rain are not as encompassing as Yin-Yang, and Yin-Yang is still not as encompassing as harmony. Yet harmony, too, falls short of the Dao. The Dao is ‘the shape of what has no shape, the image of what is no particular thing.’ Its meaning is difficult to explain fully, yet between Heaven and Earth it nurtures and transforms the myriad things, bringing about their ceaseless change.”

Laozi says, “When sages establish teachings and issue commands, they must examine how things begin and end, and see how they bring benefit. Thus, when people rely too heavily on written records, virtue declines; when they rely too heavily on numerical calculation, benevolence declines; when contracts and written proofs are introduced, trust declines; and when mechanical devices are introduced, practical skill declines.

“Even when no one plucks it, the twenty-five strings of a se (an ancient stringed instrument) can each resonate with the others at different pitches. The axle itself does not turn, yet the wheel’s thirty spokes rotate through its action. The strings must vary in tension to produce a melody; the wheel and axle each have their role for the cart to travel far. What makes the strings sound is the silent body of the instrument; what makes the wheel turn is the axle, which does not itself turn.

“When those above and below each follow their proper way, governance is easy; when their order is disrupted, society falls into chaos. Those in high positions bear a greater moral responsibility. Those entrusted with great affairs invite calamity if the principles they uphold are shallow. Minor virtues may obstruct great righteousness; small acts of goodness may obstruct the Great Dao; petty arguments may obstruct good governance; and harsh, fussy practices damage virtue. Truly upright governance is free of partiality, so the people are easy to guide. The highest form of governance is generous and composed, so those below do not harm one another. The deepest loyalty leads people back to simplicity, so the people no longer deceive or conceal.”

Laozi said: “Once the system of collective punishment is established, the people will grow resentful; once an order to reduce ranks is put into effect, meritorious officials will rebel. Thus, those who know only documents and laws do not understand the roots of governing a state or causing disorder. Those who know only marching and battle formations do not understand how to weigh the plans for war in ancestral temples and court. The sage seeks blessings in advance within the most heavily guarded passes, and considers dangers beforehand in places hidden from view. Fools are dazzled by small gains before them and forget the great harms that lie ahead. Some things seem beneficial in the moment but prove harmful in the long run: gaining one side, they forget the other. Therefore, no virtue in humaneness is greater than caring for others, and no wisdom is more important than understanding them. Care for others, and you will not invite resentment or punishment; understand them, and affairs of state will not fall into disorder.”

Laozi said: “However great the rivers, their floods do not last more than three days; neither do violent winds and rainstorms last long. When the sun is directly overhead, wind and rain soon cease. If Virtue has not been accumulated and this causes no concern, calamity is close at hand. Worry can bring a person to prosperity, while pleasure and ease can lead to decline. Therefore, those skilled in handling affairs can turn weakness into strength and disaster into good fortune. The Dao seems empty, yet it can be used without end; it is never filled.”

Laozi said: “Stillness, ease, and peace are human nature. When one acts in accordance with rites and rules, one’s undertakings can prosper. Pleasure and ease can lead to decline, so those skilled in handling affairs can turn weakness into strength and disaster into good fortune. The Dao seems empty, yet its use never runs dry, nor is it ever filled.”

Laozi said: “Clarity and stillness, calm and simplicity, are the nature of human beings. Rituals, models of conduct, and rules are the standards for handling affairs. When you understand human nature, you can cultivate yourself without violating it; when you understand the standards for handling affairs, your actions and arrangements will not become chaotic.

“Issuing a single command can quell disputes. To oversee many affairs and grasp their essentials is called ‘the mind.’ Seeing the root allows you to understand the details; grasping the principle of unity allows you to respond to myriad changes. This is called ‘skill.’ Knowing what to do when settled, where to go when acting, what means to rely on when handling affairs, and when to stop—this is called the Dao.

“Being praised and regarded as wise is the result of the mind’s workings; being scorned and slandered means something has gone wrong in the mind. Once words leave the mouth, you cannot prevent others from hearing them. Once an action begins nearby, you cannot prevent it from affecting distant places. Affairs are often hard to bring to completion but easy to ruin; a reputation is hard to establish but easy to destroy. People often disregard small misfortunes and treat minor matters as easy, only to bring calamity upon themselves.

“Calamity often comes about through one’s own actions; blessings, too, must be brought about by oneself. Misfortune and blessing arise from the same source, while benefit and harm lie close together. Unless one’s mind is exceptionally discerning, they are difficult to distinguish. Thus, deliberation and decision are the gateway through which misfortune and blessing arise; action and stillness are the turning point at which benefit and harm change places. These must be examined with care.

“Laozi said: ‘Everyone knows the keys to bringing order out of chaos, yet no one understands how to preserve life. Therefore, the sage observes the state of the world and acts accordingly; weighs affairs and plans accordingly. The sage can adapt to the changes of Yin-Yang, use firmness and yielding together, and adjust between softness and strength. The sage acts or remains still in response to the times, and builds achievements by relying on what is already available. Seeing how something has developed, the sage can foresee its turn toward the opposite; facing the same matter, the sage can also discern its changes. As things change, they take on corresponding forms; as circumstances unfold, the sage responds accordingly. Thus, throughout life, the sage acts without falling into difficulty.

“Some things can be spoken of but not put into practice; some can be done but are not fit to be spoken of; some are easy to begin but difficult to complete; some are difficult to achieve but easy to ruin. ‘Can be done but is not fit to be spoken of’ refers to choosing and rejecting. ‘Can be spoken of but not put into practice’ refers to deceit and hypocrisy. ‘Easy to begin but difficult to complete’ refers to practical affairs. ‘Difficult to achieve but easy to ruin’ refers to reputation. These four situations are matters to which the sage pays special attention, and which only the discerning can see clearly for themselves.”

Laozi said: Some matters cannot be made clear through words; the key lies in how one chooses. Some matters are easy to talk about but impossible to carry out, because they involve deception and hypocrisy. Some matters are easy to do but hard to bring to completion; this is due to the nature of the matter itself. Some matters are hard to bring to completion yet easily end in failure; this is the burden that reputation brings. These four situations are what sages take particular care to observe, and what only the discerning can see for themselves.

Laozi said: Those who follow the Dao (the Way) attend to the smallest details and never let their conduct fall short of proper etiquette. Even when shooting a hundred arrows, they remain cautious and prepared; in this way, troubles do not take root. When planning for good fortune, do not focus only on what lies immediately ahead. When considering danger, think through every possibility. Even when events occur on the same day and are linked to one another, those who are blinded by ignorance may still escape harm. Even a foolish person, if prepared, can achieve the same results as a wise one.

As affection accumulates, it brings good fortune; as resentment accumulates, it invites calamity. Everyone knows that when calamity strikes, one should try to remedy it, but few understand how to prevent it from arising in the first place. Preventing trouble in advance is easy; remedying it after it has occurred is difficult. People today make no effort to prevent trouble before it begins, but busy themselves with remedies afterward. Even a spirit endowed with divine power could not devise a way to help them.

The causes of calamity take countless forms and are hard to predict. Sages keep to themselves and avoid unnecessary outings to evade trouble; they remain quiet and silent as they wait for the right moment. Petty people do not understand how fortune and calamity arise, and a single action may land them in punishment. Even if they guard against danger at every turn, they cannot thereby preserve themselves. Thus, the cultivated person first avoids calamity, then seeks advantage; first keeps clear of disgrace, then pursues renown. Sages always act while matters have yet to come to light, rather than setting their minds only on what has already happened. In this way, calamity has no opportunity to arrive, and neither praise nor criticism can cling to them or unsettle them.

Laozi says: In conducting oneself and dealing with the world, one’s thoughts should be cautious, one’s aspirations far-reaching, one’s wisdom adaptable, one’s conduct upright, one’s abilities varied, and the affairs one undertakes few.

To be cautious in thought is to consider matters thoroughly before trouble arises, guard against calamity, stay alert to the smallest signs, and refrain from indulging one’s desires. Far-reaching aspirations mean keeping the whole world in one’s heart and bringing different customs into harmony. Opinions about right and wrong gather together, while one holds the center, like the spokes of a wheel meeting at its hub.

Adaptable wisdom means understanding how things unfold from beginning to end, without fixed boundaries, like water flowing in every direction—deep, expansive, and never exhausted. Upright conduct means standing straight and refusing to yield, keeping one’s character pure and unsullied. One does not abandon one’s principles in hardship or let one’s ambitions run unchecked in times of success. Varied abilities mean possessing both civil and military skills, and acting or remaining still in accordance with proper standards. Every measure, implementation, or repeal can then be made appropriately. To undertake few affairs is to grasp the essentials when responding to many matters, govern broad concerns through simple principles, and use calm composure to restrain agitation.

Thus, those who are cautious in thought can guard against trouble while it is still slight; those with far-reaching aspirations hold all things within their hearts; those with adaptable wisdom can discern anything; those of upright conduct know that some things must not be done; those with varied abilities can govern all kinds of affairs; and those who undertake few affairs know how to bring what needs attention under a few simple principles.

When the sage encounters good deeds, no matter how small, he carries them out. When he encounters a fault, no matter how slight, he corrects it. Without relying on spirit mediums—people who communicate with spirits through divination, sacrifice, and prayer—he can still keep spirits from daring to act first and cause harm. This may be called the highest form of nobility. Yet he remains wary and vigilant, growing more careful day by day. In this way, he does not act recklessly and brings the myriad things into unity.

Fools have little wisdom, yet undertake far too much, so whenever they act, they easily fall into difficulty. Guide people with upright laws and teachings, and matters are easy to bring to success; guide them with crooked teachings, and conditions become difficult, ending inevitably in failure. To abandon the upright path, which leads readily to success, and instead pursue what is difficult and certain to fail is the result of ignorance and delusion.

Laozi said: “Good fortune takes shape and continues quietly, while calamity often arises amid confusion and disorder. The signs of fortune and calamity are so subtle that they are hard to perceive. Sages can see where they begin and where they end, so we must observe them carefully.

“An enlightened ruler gives rewards and punishments for the sake of the state, not for himself. If something pleases him but brings no benefit to the state, he should not reward it. If something displeases him but benefits the state, he should not punish it.

“Thus, those who act according to what is fitting and keep moral principle in mind are called exemplary people; those who abandon moral principle and act against what is fitting are called petty people.

“To understand the Way and put it into practice without effort is the highest level. To make an effort without becoming distressed is the next. The lowest is to be distressed in body and mind and still fail to put it into practice. The ancients tasted its truth and would not abandon it; people today abandon it and no longer savor its meaning.

“When King Zhou of Shang had chopsticks made of ivory, Jizi, his uncle, sighed. When the state of Lu buried wooden figures with the dead, Confucius lamented. From the first signs of these events, they could already see what they might eventually lead to.”

Laozi said: “Benevolence is a virtue people admire; righteousness is a standard people esteem. Yet being admired and esteemed can still lead to death and the ruin of one’s state. This is because one does not understand how to adapt to changing times. Those who speak only of righteousness but do not understand the changing circumstances of the world have not yet grasped the Great Dao.

“The Five Emperors prized De; the Three Kings practiced benevolence and righteousness; the Five Hegemons relied on force. To apply the way of governing from the age of the emperors to the time of the Five Hegemons would be out of step with the times. Good and bad, right and wrong, praise and blame, popular trends and conduct, compliance and resistance, left and right—all must be judged in light of the particular circumstances. Only those who understand both the workings of Heaven’s Dao and the changes in human affairs can act in the world by a reliable standard. Those who understand only Heaven’s Dao, but not human customs and relationships, cannot engage with ordinary society. Those who understand only human affairs, but not Heaven’s Dao, cannot accord with the Great Dao.

“If the will is unyieldingly rigid and seeks only to satisfy one’s feelings, one will be harmed by stubbornness. If one lets external things drive oneself, one will be worn down by the changes of Yin-Yang. Those who have attained the Dao can adapt outwardly to their surroundings while remaining inwardly unchanged. Outward adaptation allows them to understand human relationships; inward constancy allows them to preserve themselves. Thus, they hold firm principles within while remaining flexible without, adjusting as things change, and so avoid becoming trapped whatever they do. What makes the Great Dao precious is its elusive transformations, like those of a dragon. If one clings to a single principle and follows only one course of action, refusing to change even after achieving some success, one becomes confined by narrow preferences and blocks the way to the Great Dao.

“The Dao is still and empty. It does not deliberately control external things, nor does it insist on seeking anything for itself. What accords with the Dao does not arise from a person’s contrived efforts; it is the result of the Dao’s natural activity. Heaven and Earth cover and bear all things; the sun and moon shine upon them; Yin-Yang nourishes them; rain and dew moisten them; Dao and De sustain them. All of this belongs to a single harmony.

“Only one able to bear the vast, rounded Dao can practice vast, square integrity. Only with a mind clear as a mirror can one see clearly. Only by establishing peace can one dwell in a broad and secure place. Those able to roam in the depths of mystery can shine alongside the sun and moon. The Dao has no form, yet it brings forth all formed things. Thus, the Perfected Person, one who has attained the Dao, entrusts the spirit to the Numinous Terrace, the dwelling place of the spirit, and returns to the beginning state of all things: seeing in darkness and listening where there is no sound. In the depths, there is clarity; in stillness, there is insight.

“To truly put the Dao into practice is precisely not to cling to its use. Only by refraining from deliberate application can one make its power fully effective. To truly know the Dao is precisely not to assume that one knows it completely. Only by not relying on one’s supposed knowledge can one truly understand. The Dao is the path followed by all things; De is the power that sustains life; benevolence is the embodiment of accumulated kindness; righteousness is a standard that accords with one’s heart and is also fitting for others.

“Only when the Great Dao declined did De flourish. When the ways of the world deteriorated, people upheld De but no longer held it in their hearts. In a still more degenerate age, people clung tightly to benevolence, afraid to lose it. A noble person cannot establish himself without righteousness; to lose righteousness is to lose the foundation on which he stands. A petty person cannot live without profit; to lose profit is to lose the means of living. Thus, the noble person fears losing righteousness, while the petty person fears losing profit. Observe what each fears losing, and you will see that the misfortunes and blessings they face are not the same.”

Laozi said: Some things intended to benefit people end up harming them; other things that appear harmful eventually bring good. When someone with a febrile illness forces themselves to eat, or someone who is thirsty drinks cold water, they are doing what ordinary people consider beneficial, but what a skilled physician recognizes as likely to worsen the illness. Seeking only what feels pleasant to the eye and satisfying to the heart is what a foolish way of thinking calls beneficial, but what someone who understands the Great Dao avoids. At first, the sage may seem to go against what everyone wants, yet later proves to accord with what is right. Ordinary people may initially follow the crowd, but later find themselves moving away from what is right. Thus, one must carefully discern how calamity and good fortune transform into one another, and how benefit and harm can reverse.

Laozi said: Those who have merit but act against benevolence and righteousness are immediately met with suspicion; those who have faults but act in accord with benevolence and righteousness are instead sure to gain trust. Benevolence and righteousness are the enduring principles to follow in dealing with affairs, and the most honored standards under Heaven. Even if one plans wisely and thinks with loyalty, finding a way to rescue the state from danger and preserve it, one’s achievement cannot ultimately be realized if one’s methods violate benevolence and righteousness. Conversely, even if one’s words miss the point and one’s plans do not benefit the state, one can still preserve oneself so long as one is loyal to the ruler at heart and acts in accord with benevolence and righteousness. So rather than devising countless plans that often go astray, it is better to let go of the pursuit of schemes and examine benevolence and righteousness carefully.

Laozi said: Education takes the exemplary person as its foundation, and even the petty person can benefit from it. Material benefit takes the petty person as its foundation, and the exemplary person can also enjoy the results. Ensuring that both exemplary and petty people each find their proper place is a sign of a clear understanding of benevolence and righteousness.

Laozi said: Education takes the exemplary person as its foundation, and even the petty person can benefit from it. Material benefit takes the petty person as its foundation, and the exemplary person can also enjoy its results. When exemplary and petty people each find their proper place, share what they produce, and exchange what they need, the way of governance can run smoothly. When people have too many desires, they damage their sense of what is right; when they have too many worries, they hinder their wisdom. Thus, when governing a state, the people’s well-being allows the state to endure; ruling through brutality leads the state toward ruin. Water flows downward and so gathers into great bodies of water. A ruler must treat ministers with humility to understand the views of all sides. Only when the ruler does not compete with ministers for authority or credit can the way of governance run smoothly. The ruler is like the roots of a tree, and ministers like its branches and leaves. It has never happened that the roots are weak while the branches and leaves flourish.

Laozi says: A loving father cares for his children not to receive anything in return, but from a love that wells up inside him and cannot be contained. A wise ruler nurtures the people not to make them serve him, but because it is in his nature and he cannot do otherwise. If a ruler relies on the people’s strength and uses the achievements they have made to pursue private gain, he will ultimately fall into hardship. Once he acts with an ulterior motive, his kindness can no longer reach the people. So by responding to what the people love, he can gain their strength; by fulfilling what they desire, he can win their hearts. Thus, by observing how something begins, one can foresee how it will end.

Laozi says: People draw close through righteousness, and a group grows strong through unity. The more widely one’s kindness reaches, the farther one’s authority can extend; the less righteousness is put into practice, the smaller the territory that force can control.

Laozi says: If one acquires something through injustice, then by observing how things begin, one can foresee how they will end.

Laozi says: People draw close through righteousness, and a group grows strong through unity. The more widely one’s kindness reaches, the farther one’s authority can extend; the less righteousness is put into practice, the smaller the territory that force can control.

Laozi says: When people acquire wealth by improper means yet refuse to share it with others, calamity will befall them. Unable to help others or truly bring security to themselves, such people may be called foolish, like owls that care only for their own young. As an old saying goes: “Rather than clutch something tightly and guard it, let it go in good time. Sharpen a vessel too keenly, and it will not stay that way for long.”

De contains the Dao, and the Dao contains De; their transformations are without end. There is Yin within Yang and Yang within Yin. This is true of everything in the world, and no account could encompass it all. When good fortune is about to arrive, auspicious signs appear first; when calamity is near, there are signs of it as well. If people see auspicious signs but do no good, good fortune will not come. If they see ominous signs and promptly do good, calamity may be averted. Benefit and harm often share a source, and calamity and good fortune often accompany one another. Only the wise can discern how they change. Thus it is said: “Calamity! Good fortune rests within it. Good fortune! Calamity lies hidden within it. Who can know where their transformations will end?”

When people are about to fall ill, they often first grow attached to the rich taste of fish and meat. When a state is about to perish, its rulers often first come to resent the counsel of loyal ministers. Thus, when illness has become critical, even a skilled physician may be unable to save the patient; when a state is near its end, the plans of loyal ministers may likewise go unheeded.

Only after cultivating oneself can one govern the people; only after putting one’s family in order can one take office and govern a region. Thus it is said: “Cultivate yourself, and your De will become sincere. Put your family in order, and your De will have abundance. Govern the state, and your De will grow still greater.”

The people depend on clothing and food for their livelihood. If governance can meet these needs, it may be counted successful; if it cannot, it has not succeeded. Without effective governance, De can hardly endure. Therefore, if adapting to the times has not yet brought success, do not hastily change the laws; if following the seasons has not yet brought success, do not hastily change the principles of governance. The opportunity will come again: this is the guiding order of the Dao’s operation.

An emperor makes the people prosperous; a hegemon makes the territory prosperous; a state in disorder enriches only its officials. When governing a state, if the ruler is always dissatisfied with the amount of wealth, the state will move toward ruin and its storehouses will be emptied. Thus it is said: “When those in high positions create fewer disturbances, the people naturally prosper; when coercion is used less, the people are naturally transformed.”

Mobilizing an army of a hundred thousand requires enormous expense each day. After the army returns victorious, a year of famine often follows. Thus it is said: “Weapons are ill-omened instruments, not treasures prized by a gentleman.”

Even when deep-seated resentment has been calmed, a residue of ill will remains. How can this be called good? Raising an army of a hundred thousand costs a thousand gold pieces each day. When the troops return victorious, a year of famine is sure to follow. Weapons are therefore inauspicious things, not treasures a gentleman should cherish.

In ancient times, those nearby were not won over by persuasive words, nor were those far away summoned by them. Instead, people close at hand were made content, and people in distant places were willing to join. When the people shared a common desire, they could live in harmony; when they jointly guarded what they relied upon, their bonds grew firm. Only by being in tune with the people could one understand them. With the people’s strength, one could become prosperous; with their praise, one’s standing could be raised. Actions may bring enemies, and words may invite disaster. Do not rush to speak before others. Even when those who come later have already acted, speak with care. A whisper spoken close to the ear can travel a thousand miles. Words can bring calamity; the tongue is like a trigger for misfortune. Once something ill-judged has been said, even a team of four horses cannot catch it.

Long ago, Zhonghuangzi said: Heaven has five directions, Earth has the Five Phases, sound has five tones, food has five flavors, color has five hues, and people have five ranks. Thus, the people between Heaven and Earth can be divided into twenty-five kinds. The highest rank consists of spirit-like people, perfected people, Dao practitioners, people of the utmost attainment, and sages. The next rank consists of people of De, worthy people, wise people, good people, and eloquent people. The middle rank consists of public-minded people, loyal people, trustworthy people, righteous people, and courteous people. Below them are scholars, artisans, foresters, farmers, and merchants. The lowest rank consists of common people, servants, fools, mere flesh-and-blood people, and petty people. The difference between the highest five kinds and the lowest five is like the difference between human beings and cattle or horses.

Sages see with their eyes, hear with their ears, speak with their mouths, and walk with their feet. Perfected people—those who have realized the Great Dao—can discern clearly without looking with their eyes and distinguish things without hearing with their ears. Without walking in person, they can bring matters into accord with principle; without speaking at length, they can handle affairs fairly. The methods sages use to influence the world are never surpassed by perfected people. The practices worthy people use to correct worldly ways are things sages need not even make a point of noticing. The so-called Dao has no distinctions of before and after, left and right. All things become equal within the profound and mysterious, and there is no absolute right or wrong.

Laozi says: Clarity, openness, and stillness are Heaven’s clear discernment; following what is natural and refraining from contrived action are the constant principles of governance. Remove favors based on private preference; do not rely on the cleverness of sages, give no special prominence to the talented, and make no deliberate display of benevolence and righteousness. Do not stir up trouble, engage in verbal contention, or permit deceit and falsehood. Then the worthy and the unworthy alike can return to one and the same path. When the heart is still, it can accord with all things; when the mind is empty, it can move freely without obstruction. When De (Virtue/Power) reaches its utmost, one does not act presumptuously, yet can encompass all things. The Way of emptiness and stillness endures without decline. It is wondrous and vast, filling everything everywhere, yet it does not rule over the myriad things.

The twelve months cycle and return again and again. The forces of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) constrain one another, while their movements also depend on one another. Thus extreme cold harms the myriad things, but they cannot do without cold; extreme heat harms them, but they cannot do without heat. What is permissible and what is not each have their merits. The Great Dao can therefore contain nothing that lies beyond it; what matters is whether each thing accords with reason. When something can be done, do not follow it blindly; when something cannot be done, do not hastily flee from it. What is permissible and what is not depend on each other, like left and right, inside and outside.

The essentials of all things begin from a single root; the sequence of the seasons is their guiding order. This principle has never changed from antiquity to the present, and is called the law of Heaven. The ruler grasps the luminous and expansive Dao, then applies its light below. The Dao brings forth the myriad things, which move according to the pattern of Yin-Yang, change through the four seasons, and divide into the Five Phases. Each thing takes its place, comes and goes with the seasons, and follows constant laws. From those of limited ability up to the ruler, none should violate the Great Dao. When ministers are united in purpose, the Way of Heaven and Earth is complete through Wuwei (non-action): without seeking, there is attainment. Thus we know that Wuwei is beneficial.

Laozi also says: Simplicity is so great that it has no shape; the Dao is so great that it has no boundaries or measure. Thus the roundness of Heaven does not perfectly conform to a compass, and the squareness of Earth does not perfectly conform to a carpenter’s square. Since ancient times, when people could keep their minds unified, the Way of Heaven and Earth was complete through Wuwei: without seeking, there was attainment. Thus we know that Wuwei is beneficial.

Laozi said: “The uncarved Block is so vast that it has no fixed shape; the Dao is so vast that no measure can contain it. Thus, though Heaven is round, it does not fully conform to the circle drawn by a compass; though Earth is square, it does not fully conform to the square drawn by a carpenter’s square.

“Time from antiquity to the present is called ‘the cosmos’; space extending in the four directions, above and below, is called ‘the universe.’ The Dao runs through them, yet no one knows exactly where it is. Therefore, those whose understanding does not reach far cannot discuss what is vast, and those whose knowledge is not broad cannot explore the Dao’s most subtle principles.

“The Dao can connect with all things, so it does not judge them as mutually opposed. Thus, the laws and texts adopted by the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors differed, yet each won the people’s hearts.

“The compass, square, carpenter’s marking tool, and plumb line are instruments used in skilled work, but they are not skill itself. Without strings, even the renowned musician Shi Wen could not play a tune; yet strings alone cannot produce a mournful sound. Strings, then, are only a means of expressing sorrow, not sorrow itself.

“As for the harmony between the heart and the performance: when intention moves freely within the heart and through the hands, giving full expression to feeling and entrusting one’s inner spirit to the strings, neither father can teach this understanding and expression of emotion to his son, nor can a son learn it from his father. This is a principle that cannot be transmitted in words. Solemn attentiveness governs the body, while stillness and openness are the root of sound.”

Laozi said: The fundamental principle governing the movement of Heaven and Earth is De (Virtue or Power), which follows the natural workings of the Dao (the Way). The Dao gives life to the myriad things, and each grows upright according to its own nature. The Dao is exceedingly subtle and hidden within; it does not depend on external things to become manifest. Thus it needs no accomplishments to establish itself, no rank to appear noble, no reputation to be revealed. It is solemn without ritual and powerful without force.

The Great Dao is established but does not deliberately instruct; its light shines upon all things but does not scrutinize them. It does not deliberately instruct because it does not deprive things of their own capacities. It does not scrutinize because it does not hinder each thing’s growth. To impose rules in the name of teaching the Dao would instead violate De and obstruct the myriad things. Thus Yin-Yang, the four seasons, and Wood, Metal, Water, Fire, and Earth follow the same principle, yet each moves in its own way. The natures of the myriad things are connected, but their forms differ. The wise do not become wise by imparting wisdom to one another, and the capable cannot simply pass their abilities on to others.

Therefore, the sage establishes laws and measures to guide the people’s hearts, so that each may follow its own nature. Then the living do not imagine they have received a favor, and the dead harbor no resentment. Heaven and Earth show no partial affection: they regard the myriad things as straw dogs used in sacrifice, offerings discarded once the ceremony is over. The sage, too, is impartial and regards the people as straw dogs. Fixating on kindness, benevolence, and righteousness is a narrow, short-sighted path. Whoever takes a narrow path into a vast realm will lose the way; whoever looks only nearby will be bewildered when traveling far. The sage’s Way enters the vast realm without losing the way and travels far without confusion. By remaining empty and still, and holding fast to oneself, one can reach the highest state. This is called “Heavenly De,” the Virtue that accords with the Way of Heaven.

Laozi says: The sage covers all things like Heaven and bears all things like Earth. Like the sun and moon, the sage shines in every direction, harmonizing Yin-Yang and setting the four seasons in motion. All things are allowed to grow in their own way, without favoring one over another because they differ. The sage clings neither to the old nor to the new, and neither distances himself from anyone nor shows anyone special favor. Thus, those who take Heaven and Earth as their model understand that Heaven does not move through only one season, Earth does not bring forth only one kind of produce, and people do not perform only one kind of task. There are many strands to an undertaking, and many paths for action.

Among those who wage war, some are quick-moving and others cautious; some crave spoils, while others remain upright and restrained. These temperaments differ, so they cannot all be dealt with in the same way. The quick-moving want to strike swiftly, while the cautious tend to hold back. The greedy want to seize, while the upright refuse to take what is not theirs. Thus, the brave may be sent to charge into battle, but should not be expected to hold their position without moving. The cautious may be sent to defend a stronghold, but should not be expected to press the enemy of their own accord. The greedy may be sent to capture goods, but should not be expected to distribute them fairly. The upright may be sent to uphold their duties and boundaries, but should not be expected to compete for spoils. The trustworthy may be sent to honor their commitments, but are not suited to adapting to unforeseen circumstances. The sage makes use of all five kinds of people, assigning each task according to the person’s abilities.

Heaven and Earth do not contain only one kind of thing, and Yin-Yang does not bring forth only one kind of being. The sea becomes vast because it does not refuse the rain and streams that flow into it; the mountains and forests seem lofty because they do not reject crooked trees. The sage, too, expands his reputation by refusing to dismiss a person’s words simply because they come from someone of low status, such as a woodcutter. If one clings to a single place and abandons the four directions, or takes one thing and rejects the rest, one gains little, and one’s governance remains shallow.

Laozi said: Heaven covers all things, Earth bears all things, and the sun and moon shine upon all things. Things differ in form and disposition, and each has a way of life suited to it. What one person finds joyful may also become a source of sorrow; a situation that seems secure may turn dangerous.

Thus, when a sage governs the people, he lets each person follow their own nature, live peacefully in a place suited to them, take up work within their abilities, choose a fitting way of life, and receive an appropriate arrangement. In this way, all things find their proper place and do not compete with or try to surpass one another. Nothing in the world is absolutely noble or base. If we value things according to their own qualities, everything has something worthy in it; if we judge them by another standard, anything may be looked down upon. So when it is said, “Do not exalt the worthy,” it means not to put fish in trees or sink birds beneath the water, forcing them away from the places suited to them.

In ancient times, when Yao governed the world, he appointed Shun as Minister of Instruction, responsible for education and civil affairs; Xie as Minister of War; Yu as Minister of Works, responsible for construction, land, and water; Houji to oversee agriculture; and Xizhong as Director of Crafts, responsible for artisans and the making of tools. They guided the people to adapt their work to the land: those living by the water fished, those near the woods gathered wild produce, those in the valleys raised livestock, and those on the hills cultivated the soil. They assigned each place the work suited to it, and chose suitable materials for the tools each task required. People wove nets beside lakes and marshes, and tilled fields on hillsides. In this way, they could trade what they had for what they lacked, and exchange the skills they knew for those they did not.

As a result, few rebelled or resisted, and many were willing to follow. This way of governing was like the wind passing through bamboo: all things responded, each giving voice in its own way. Every thing moved toward what benefited it and away from what harmed it. Neighboring states could see one another and hear each other’s roosters and dogs, yet the people’s footsteps did not cross the borders between feudal states, and cart tracks did not stretch a thousand miles, because everyone lived contentedly in their own place.

Thus, a disordered state may appear populous and powerful, while a well-governed state seems quiet and empty. A state headed for ruin may seem always to lack enough, while one that endures seems to have a surplus. “Empty” does not mean that there are no people, but that each person keeps to their own duties. “Abundant” does not mean that the population is large, but that everyone pursues what they have not yet obtained. “Surplus” does not mean having many possessions, but keeping desires restrained and affairs few. “Lack” does not necessarily mean having no possessions, but having few people and many expenses. The laws of the former kings were not invented out of thin air; they were established in accordance with the principles already inherent in things. Nor were prohibitions and punishments imposed arbitrarily; they were set according to the standards people were meant to observe. This is the way of High De.

Laozi says: To govern the realm by the Dao (the Way)—the principles of nature and governance—is not to change people’s nature, but to work with the conditions they already possess and let them unfold. Thus, by following the nature of things, one can accomplish great deeds; forced action only diminishes them. The ancients dug waterways in the direction the water flowed. Those who planted crops cultivated according to the land’s particular conditions. Those who led armies acted in keeping with the people’s wishes. Whoever can follow the conditions at hand will have no rival under Heaven.

Each thing has its own nature, and human affairs also require governance. For this reason, the former kings established laws based on the people’s nature, giving it suitable limits and guidance. Without the corresponding inborn nature, people cannot be brought to follow instruction; without the corresponding capacities, they cannot easily be led along the right path. People are born with the capacity for benevolence and righteousness, but unless the sages establish standards to guide them, it is difficult for them to follow the right path. Prohibitions against wrongdoing should be based on what people themselves abhor. Then punishments can be used sparingly, while the authority of government commands becomes as evident as the spirits. When people’s nature is followed, all under Heaven will obey; when it is opposed, even strict laws are difficult to enforce.

Dao and De (Virtue/Power) are the foundation of achievement and reputation, and what the people hold dear in their hearts. Only when the people value Dao and De can achievement and reputation be established. The rulers of old who were skilled at governing modeled themselves on rivers and seas: rivers and seas make no forced effort, yet gather into vast expanses; they occupy low places, yet can receive the waters of many streams. Thus they endure, becoming the place where all the valleys under Heaven converge. They make no forced effort, yet receive the waters of a hundred rivers; they do not deliberately seek to gain, yet gain; they do not set out to summon the rivers, yet the rivers return to them. In this way, they can govern the realm without disturbing the people.

By not seeking wealth for oneself, one becomes wealthy; by not striving to display oneself, one becomes clear-sighted; by not praising oneself, one can endure. By occupying a humble, non-contentious position, one can become the ruler of all under Heaven. When one does not contend, no one can contend with them. By never making oneself great, one achieves true greatness. Rivers and seas are close to the Dao, and so they endure, existing alongside Heaven and Earth.

Cultivate the Dao with an impartial heart. When achievements are complete, do not claim them as your own; by not claiming them, one’s foundation grows firm. With a firm foundation, one does not use power to oppress others. The Dao then runs deep; when the Dao runs deep, De grows deep, and achievement and renown can be attained. This is called “Mystic De”—profound virtue that remains unseen: vast and far-reaching, yet contrary to the ordinary course of things.

All things under Heaven share a common beginning, but few understand its principle. Only the sage can comprehend how it works. The Dao is neither biased toward strength nor toward weakness, and it distinguishes neither male nor female, yet it enables all things to grow without bringing about their own ruin. Heaven and Earth take shape through it; Yin and Yang emerge through it; all things are born through it. As Yin and Yang alternate and transform, things become round or square, long or short, alive or dead. All this is governed by the Dao. The Dao is hidden in the depths, yet its effects become apparent; it is hard to perceive in the heart, yet its workings are perfectly fitting. Life and death follow the same pattern, and the transformations of all things ultimately return to the one Dao.

View life and death lightly. Do not cling to life, and wherever you go, you will remain at ease and endure. Lessen your attachment to affairs and words; act with care and do not act recklessly. Guard the Dao with care, and do not try to control the things of the world. The Dao is so subtle that it has no form; it is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. All things come from the Dao, yet take on different forms. The Dao is so small that it has neither shape nor substance, and so it can nurture all things completely; it is so vast that it has no bounds, and so it can encompass all things; it is so fine that it has no inner limit, and so all things esteem it.

The Dao sustains life, while De steadies the body. To follow the measure of the highest Dao, one must set aside likes and dislikes, let go of fixed opinions, keep the mind at peace, and avoid acting against the Dao. At first, Heaven and Earth were undivided and whole. Later they separated into Yin and Yang, then interacted and blended, sustaining the movements above and below without disorder. The Qi of Heaven and Earth gathered as one, then divided into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). As they cycled and harmonized, they came into accord with the proper order. The Dao is most intimate, yet cannot be neglected; it is nearest at hand, yet cannot be treated as something remote. Seek the Dao close by, and even if you travel far, in the end you must return to yourself.

Laozi says: Although those called “Emperors” have a title, others do not understand their true nature. Emperors value De; kings uphold righteousness; hegemons act under pressure from circumstances and the way things stand.

The Sage’s way of governing does not lie in using various methods to interfere with the myriad things. Only after the Great Dao loses its grounding do people rely on clever schemes; only after De has grown weak do they rely on punishments; only when understanding becomes shallow do they rely on close scrutiny. Relying on clever schemes disorders the heart. Relying on punishments breeds resentment between those above and below. Relying on close scrutiny leads those below to find ways to cater to those above, and affairs are thereby corrupted.

Therefore, the Sage follows the transformations of Heaven and Earth. His De covers the myriad things like Heaven and supports them like Earth. He guides them in accordance with the seasons, allowing them to be fully nurtured. When nourishment is abundant, society can be at peace. Even a divine person cannot easily alter this principle.

The Sage follows the transformations of Heaven and Earth. His De covers the myriad things like Heaven and supports them like Earth. He guides them in accordance with the seasons, allowing them to be fully nurtured. When nourishment is abundant, society can be at peace. Even a divine person cannot easily alter this principle.

Cast aside clever schemes, and punishments will naturally diminish. Return to stillness and clarity, and the myriad things will put themselves in order. When the Great Dao governs the realm, it is like the ritual figure who sits solemnly to receive offerings in an ancient sacrifice, representing the deity: grave and still, it brings blessings to the whole realm. A single person who receives its blessings feels no lack; a multitude of people who receive them do not feel they have been given too much.

Thus, excessive kindness and excessive harshness both violate the Dao. Excessive kindness means giving indiscriminately: granting generous rewards without merit and high office without achievement. Then officials neglect their duties, while idle wanderers grow eager to seek advancement. Excessive harshness means imposing punishments arbitrarily: the innocent are killed, while those who act in accordance with the right way are punished. Then people who cultivate themselves are no longer encouraged to do good, while those who do evil scorn the laws and defy their superiors.

Excessive kindness therefore breeds treachery, while the indiscriminate use of harsh rule brings disorder. A climate of treachery and disorder is a sign that a state is headed for ruin. When the state imposes punishments, the ruler should not act out of personal anger; when the court grants rewards, the ruler should not claim the credit for himself. Those who are punished do not resent the ruler, because their punishment fits their crime. Those who are rewarded do not attribute the favor to the ruler, because the reward comes from their own merit. When the people understand that both rewards and punishments arise from their own actions, they strive to earn merit and do their duties well rather than depend on what others bestow. The court is then quiet and simple, leaving no trace of turmoil; the fields are cultivated, with no wasteland overgrown with weeds. This is the highest form of governance: the people know that there is a ruler, yet do not feel that he interferes in their lives.

A ruler who follows the royal way handles affairs of state without arbitrary action and teaches through silence. His mind is still, he does not act rashly, and he holds firm to his principles without being disturbed by external things. He follows the natural course of events and appoints his subordinates, allowing each to take responsibility for their own work; he need not labor over every matter himself. His plans are free of miscalculation, and his actions free of error. His words are not deliberately embellished, and his conduct does not rely on formal display. He advances and withdraws at the proper times, and acts or remains still in accordance with what is fitting. He neither favors nor dislikes people because of their beauty or ugliness, nor gives rewards or punishments out of joy or anger.

Each thing has its own basis for being named, and each category has its proper place. Matters unfold according to their own natural patterns, rather than being forced into submission by the ruler. If he tries to confine them too narrowly, he will make them depart from their nature; if he tries to embellish them deliberately, he will damage them.

The breath of Heaven forms the human hun (ethereal soul), while the breath of Earth forms the po (corporeal soul). Let the hun and po return to their mysterious nature, settle each in its proper place, and guard them carefully so they do not scatter; then they can rise and connect with the Great One, the source of all things and the supreme, all-embracing Dao. The refined Qi of the Great One accords with the Dao of Heaven.

The Dao of Heaven is profound and silent, with no fixed appearance or rule. It is vast without limit and unfathomable, continually changing together with people and all things. Human wisdom cannot grasp it. It cycles and returns without beginning, and its transformations are swift as spirit. Empty, still, and formless, it follows nature and always stays behind rather than taking the lead.

When hearing matters of government, the ruler should be receptive, restrain his personal will, and remain clear-minded rather than clouded. Then his ministers will gather to serve him like the spokes of a wheel converging at its hub. People of every kind—foolish or wise, capable or ordinary—will each be able to put their abilities to use. In this way, the ruler masters the art of guiding his ministers, while the ministers understand their duty to serve the ruler. This is why the way of governing the state can remain clear.

Laozi says: Only those who have knowledge and enjoy asking questions can be called wise; only those who are brave and enjoy asking questions can prevail. One who is skilled at drawing on the wisdom of many will find nothing beyond their ability; one who is skilled at bringing together the strength of many will find no difficulty they cannot overcome. Relying on one’s own strength alone is not enough, even for Wu Huo, the legendary strongman. But one who is skilled at following the strength of others and the circumstances at hand will find nothing in the world whose power cannot be put to use.

If one does not understand the actual conditions of things and does not follow the patterns that govern them, even a divine sage cannot accomplish great deeds or earn a reputation. That is why the sage, when putting things into practice, always makes use of the conditions each person possesses: someone with a particular strength is placed in a suitable position; someone with a particular skill is given a fitting task. When a person’s strength is sufficient for the work entrusted to them, the effort does not feel burdensome; when their ability is sufficient for the task they undertake, it does not feel difficult. The sage makes use of all kinds of people and abilities, abandoning no one and wasting no talent.

Laozi says: “Wuwei (non-action)” does not mean that something will not come when drawn, will not go when pushed, will not respond when pressed, or will not act when moved. Nor does it mean being rigid and stagnant, refusing to flow, or gripping something tightly and refusing to let go. Wuwei means not letting private interests intrude upon what is just, and not allowing personal desires to obstruct proper principles. It means acting in accordance with the patterns of things, accomplishing work on the basis of existing conditions, following the natural course of things, and allowing no crooked or improper methods. When a task is complete, one does not boast of oneself; when an achievement is made, one does not claim it as one’s own.

This is like using water to move a boat, tools to cross a river, a chūn—a vehicle for traveling over muddy ground—in the mud, and a lěi—an implement for climbing—in the mountains. In summer, one clears waterways; in winter, one builds dikes. On high ground, one shapes the land into hills; in low places, one stores water in ponds. None of these things is forced into existence from nothing; each makes use of conditions as they are. The sage is not ashamed of holding a lowly position; what concerns them is that the Great Dao cannot be put into practice. They do not worry about a short lifespan; what concerns them is that the people are trapped in hardship. Therefore, they remain empty and still, follow what is natural, hold fast to simplicity and authenticity, and do not become entangled in the bustle of external things.

Laozi said: In ancient times, emperors were established not to satisfy their own desires. Sages took the throne not to enjoy a life of ease. They acted for the people of the world. The strong oppressed the weak; those with greater numbers bullied those with fewer; the cunning deceived the dull-witted; and the bold harmed the timid. People kept their plans and deceptions to themselves instead of sharing them, and hoarded wealth instead of distributing it among one another. So the Son of Heaven was established to bring unity to the world.

No one person can attend to every part of the world, so the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers—the ancient central officials responsible for assisting the ruler and administering the state—were appointed to support the Son of Heaven. Distant states and regions with different customs could not receive his benevolence, so feudal lords, rulers appointed over local territories, were established to guide and reassure them. In this way, the workings of Heaven and Earth and the changes of the four seasons could follow their proper patterns; government offices had no concealed affairs, and the state’s resources were not neglected. People had clothes when they were cold and food when they were hungry; the old and the weak were cared for, and the weary were given rest. No matter affecting people’s livelihood went unattended.

Shennong grew haggard while governing; Yao grew thin; Shun’s face grew dark; and Yu the Great wore thick calluses from controlling the floods. Yi Yin carried a cauldron on his back to seek an audience with Tang of Shang. Lü Wang once worked as a butcher, later taking office in the Zhou dynasty. Baili Xi was sold from one owner to another, and Guan Zhong was bound in chains. Confucius had no steady cooking fire, and Mozi had no mat that kept him warm for long. They endured such hardships not out of greed for a salary or envy of high office, but because they wanted to benefit the world and rid the people of calamities. From the Son of Heaven down to ordinary people, no one has ever been known to achieve good results and make life prosperous without working with their limbs or exerting their minds.

Laozi said: The Son of Heaven is one who governs the world by following the Way of Heaven. To establish the fundamental way of governing the world, one must grasp the Dao (the Way) as the root and use it to safeguard the world. Return to the root, follow what is natural, and govern through Wuwei (non-action); keep the mind empty and still, without clinging to particular things. The Great Dao is elusive and subtle, without bounds and deep beyond measure. Look for it and no form can be seen; listen for it and no sound can be heard. This is the constant principle of the Great Dao.

Laozi says: The Dao’s underlying reality is whole and perfectly integrated, while the principles it follows are upright and orderly. It turns its back on Yin and embraces Yang; on the left it is yielding, on the right firm. It moves through darkness and appears in the light. Though it changes without fixed form, it grasps the common source of all things and responds to every kind of circumstance. This is called the numinous and mysterious—the subtle and unfathomable.

Heaven is round and has no boundary, so it cannot be seen in its entirety. Earth is vast and has no end, so its gateways cannot be discerned. Heaven’s transformations proceed without fixed form, and the growth of all things on earth follows no fixed pattern. This is called the numinous and mysterious. Heaven is round and boundless, beyond complete view; earth is vast and endless, its gateways beyond sight. Heaven’s transformations have no fixed form, and the growth of things on earth cannot be measured.

Everything has something it can overcome; only the Dao has nothing that can overcome it. The Dao cannot be overcome because it has no fixed form or momentum. It circulates invisibly, like the movements of the sun and moon, the changing of spring and autumn, and the alternation of day and night: ending and beginning again, brightness turning into darkness. It can shape forms without having a fixed form of its own, and thus bring achievements to completion. It gives rise to all things but is not made their servant; so, though it can prevail, it cannot be subdued.

A ruler skilled in planning warfare can establish an emperor’s dominion; a ruler skilled in governing the world through numinous transformations can establish a king’s dominion. The first models his plans for warfare on the Way of Heaven; the second observes the transformations of the four seasons. When affairs are put in order within the realm, people in distant lands are moved by its virtue. Advantage is secured before war begins, and the various lords come to submit.

Those of ancient times who had attained the Dao followed Heaven and Earth in stillness, and in action accorded with the movements of the sun and moon. Their joys and anger, too, were in harmony with the four seasons. Their commands carried the force of thunder; their words and bearing did not go against the eight winds—the winds from the eight directions, which the ancients used to signify the rhythms of nature. Their bending and straightening, advancing and withdrawing, never departed from the five measures, the standards that conduct should follow. They responded to the people’s wishes and drew on the people’s strength to rid them of tyranny and harm.

Those who share an interest are willing to sacrifice for one another; those who share an affection help one another flourish; those who act in unison support one another. If everyone acts only according to personal wishes, the world becomes a field of strife. Thus, a skilled commander can make others willingly serve his purpose; an unskilled one can only force them to do his bidding. When people are moved to serve willingly, everyone in the world can become a source of support. When all one knows is how to force others to do one’s bidding, no one is truly of use.

Laozi says: In governing oneself, the highest approach is to cultivate the spirit; caring for the body comes second. When the spirit is clear and the mind at peace, every part of the body is tranquil. This is the root of preserving life. Making the skin supple and the stomach full, and satisfying tastes and desires, are merely the lesser concerns of preserving life.

In governing a state, the highest approach is to cultivate moral instruction; setting laws and regulations in order comes second. The people yield to one another, each striving to take the lower place. Faced with wealth and advantage, each strives to take less. When work must be done, each strives to shoulder the hardship. Every day they receive moral guidance from those above and become better, without knowing why. This is the root of good governance. Using rewards and benefits to encourage good conduct, making people fear punishment and dare not do wrong, and having those above issue just laws that the people below obey—these are merely the lesser concerns of governance. The ancients valued the root; later generations cared only for the lesser concerns.

Laozi says: Rulers skilled in governing a state are rare in the world, and ministers capable of helping them govern are rarer still. To rely on a ruler who appears only once in a great while and seek a worthy minister found once in ten thousand means that truly peaceful governance may come only once in a thousand years. The achievements of kingship and hegemony cannot be established for long. Follow the people’s inclination toward goodness and prevent evil thoughts from taking root. When ruler and people follow the same right path, the people can become good and customs can improve.

What makes a sage worthy of esteem is not that they wait for crimes to occur before establishing punishments, but that they understand where disorder begins. If people are allowed to start with small evil thoughts, to stray into reckless conduct and sink into desire, and are punished by law only at the end, then even severe punishment across the realm cannot put a stop to wrongdoing.

Laozi said: Although a person may live beside rivers and seas, the heart can still remain attached to the court (the “palace towers,” a reference to the palace or imperial court). This is what it means to value life. One who values life will regard wealth and profit lightly. If you still cannot overcome your desires, follow them in your actions, and your spirit will not be harmed. But if you cannot overcome desire and yet force yourself to suppress it, this is called severe injury. Those who suffer such grave injury will find it difficult to live long.

Thus, knowing how to harmonize is called preserving constancy; knowing how to preserve constancy is called wisdom. Nurturing life brings good fortune. When the will drives the breath, this is called forced exertion. By knowing how to harmonize and follow nature, one can attain “mysterious sameness” (a state of merging with the Dao). Use the light within yourself, then return to inner awareness.

Laozi says: Nothing under Heaven is easier than doing good, and nothing is harder than doing what is bad. Doing good means keeping the mind calm and not acting rashly; following one’s nature and letting go of excess desires; resisting the allure of external things; following one’s natural disposition, preserving one’s true nature, and not changing oneself lightly. That is why doing good is easy.

Doing what is bad is difficult because usurpation, killing, deceit, and restless, excessive desire all run counter to human nature and are therefore hard to sustain. People today see life as full of great troubles because they lack lasting contentment and restraint. Thus, when benefit and harm intersect and fortune shifts into misfortune, one must observe carefully.

The sage neither covets nor deliberately avoids things. The more one tries to obtain certain things, the more likely one may be to lose them; the more one tries to avoid certain things, the more likely one may be to gain them as a result. Fixating on a desire makes one forget what one originally set out to do. The sage therefore carefully handles the shifts between action and stillness, weighs what to accept and what to give, steadies feelings of liking and dislike, and brings joy and anger into proper measure. When action and stillness are fitting, trouble will not intrude; when acceptance and giving are appropriate, blame will not attach; when liking and dislike are handled well, anxiety will find it hard to draw near; when joy and anger are kept in balance, resentment will not be stirred up.

Those who embody the Dao (the Way)—who realize and put the Dao into practice—do not seek gain carelessly or shift misfortune onto others. They do not lightly discard what is theirs, nor forcibly take what is not. They remain full without overflowing, keep themselves empty and still, and are readily content. Measured by the principles of the Dao, food that satisfies hunger and clothing that keeps out the cold are enough to sustain the needs of this seven-foot body. If one does not restrain desire according to the Dao and devotes oneself to seeking rank and status, even the power of a ruler over ten thousand chariots may not bring satisfaction; even possession of all the wealth under Heaven may not bring joy. The sage’s mind is therefore at peace and the will at ease; the spirit is gathered within and not confused by external things.

Laozi says: To surpass others shows strength; to overcome oneself is true power. One who can make oneself powerful must know how to draw on the strength of others. One who knows how to draw on others’ strength must be able to win their hearts. One who can win their hearts must first be able to govern oneself. Without first cultivating oneself, it is difficult to avoid being confused by external things.

Laozi said, “To overcome others is strength; to conquer oneself is true power. The truly powerful must be skilled at drawing on the strength of others. Those skilled at drawing on others’ strength must be able to win people’s hearts; those who can win people’s hearts must first be able to steady themselves. No one can lose people’s hearts without first losing their own steadiness, nor can anyone win people’s hearts after losing their own.”

Thus, the foundation of governing the realm is to give the people security. The foundation of giving them security is to provide them with sufficient means of livelihood. To ensure adequate provision, one must not disrupt the seasons for farming. To avoid disrupting the farming seasons, one must reduce government business and compulsory labor. To reduce government business and compulsory labor, one must cut expenses. The foundation of cutting expenses is to do away with arrogance and extravagance; the foundation of doing away with arrogance and extravagance is to keep the mind empty and still, unpulled by desire. Therefore, one who understands the nature of life will not insist on things that life does not contain; one who understands the limits of fate will not worry over what cannot be changed.

When the eyes covet every kind of color, the mouth pursues delicacies, and the ears lose themselves in every kind of sound, the eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and other senses contend with one another and damage a person’s nature. As misguided desires grow day by day, they exhaust the peace with which people are born. If one cannot even govern oneself well, how can one govern the realm?

To possess the realm does not mean holding power and high office or bearing an honored title. It means being able to rally the hearts and efforts of the people and win their support. To have only the title of ruler of the realm, with not one person praising you, is to have lost the realm. Thus, even though Jie and Zhou were called kings, they were not true kings; and even though Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou raised armies to overthrow tyrants, they did not usurp the throne or murder a ruler. When the Way prevails in the realm, a ruler’s defenses can extend to the borders in every direction. When the Way does not prevail, those defenses must rely on the feudal lords. When the feudal lords follow the Way, defenses can rest on the borders; when they do not, they can rely only on the ruler’s close ministers.

So, do not depend on others being unable to take your position from you. Make your position impossible to take. If the Way you follow is inherently easy to take away, then even refraining from usurping the throne or murdering a ruler will not help you preserve the realm.

Laozi says: Those skilled at governing a country do not alter its existing institutions or casually change its established customs.

Anger goes against De, weapons are ill-omened tools, and conflict throws people into chaos. Secretly plotting against De while favoring the use of weapons to quell disorder among the people is the most thoroughly contrary to the Dao. If no one brings calamity upon themselves, calamity has no means to take shape. It is therefore better to restrain one’s sharpness, resolve disputes, let one’s radiance remain hidden, and blend with the world. These words emphasize easing conflict through gentleness rather than using strife and military force to subdue people.

People often want to surpass others and dislike being inferior to them. The desire to come out ahead gives rise to competition; the dislike of being inferior gives rise to resentment and conflict. Once resentment and conflict arise, the mind becomes unsettled and the flow of Qi (vital energy) becomes irregular. For this reason, the sage kings of antiquity dispelled the desire to compete and the feeling of resentment. When contention and resentment do not arise, the mind can be at peace and Qi can flow in harmony. As the saying goes: “When the reputation of the worthy is not held in high esteem, the people will not compete for recognition.”

Laozi says: To govern the myriad things, follow their inherent natures rather than force them into harmony by imposing external things upon them. To govern the way of harmonizing, take human nature as your guide rather than using any one person’s likes and dislikes as the standard. To govern people, follow the ruler’s principles rather than looking only to individuals. To govern the ruler, begin by restraining desire. To govern desire, follow human nature. To govern human nature, take De (Virtue/Power) as the standard. To govern De, take the Dao (the Way) as the standard.

The Dao is the source of human nature and is originally free of evil and impurity. When people remain immersed in external things, they forget their roots and can no longer accord with their nature. Food, clothing, and social customs are not part of human nature; they are acquired from the outside. Human nature originally seeks calm, and excessive appetites and desires damage it. Only those who have the Dao can let go of their attachment to external things and return to themselves. Those who use themselves as a mirror do not lose sight of things as they truly are. But if they are captivated by external things, they forget their nature and find it difficult to follow things as they are. Food, clothing, and social customs are not part of human nature; they are acquired from the outside. Human nature originally seeks calm, and excessive appetites and desires damage it. Only those who have the Dao can let go of their attachment to external things and return to themselves. Those who use themselves as a mirror do not lose sight of things as they truly are. Without this kind of self-reflection, their actions become confused and disorderly.

Indulging desire causes people to lose their nature and makes it difficult for them to act rightly. Seeking to preserve life in this state instead harms oneself; governing a state in this way throws the people into disorder. Thus, those who do not understand the Dao cannot return to their nature. The sages of antiquity drew their foundation from within themselves. As a result, when their commands were issued, people obeyed, and when prohibitions were announced, people stopped breaking them. In all undertakings, one should first make the mind calm and the spirit clear. Only with a clear spirit and a calm mind can one deal with things properly. Hearing is easily swayed by praise and blame, and the eyes are easily captivated by brilliant colors. Once people are moved by these things, it becomes difficult to handle matters well. That is why sages value emptiness and stillness. When water is violently disturbed, waves rise; when the breath is disordered, the mind becomes clouded. A clouded mind cannot judge things rightly, just as choppy water cannot remain still. Therefore, sage kings hold fast to the One—the root and unified Dao—and through it grasp the circumstances and nature of the myriad things. The One is supremely noble; nothing under Heaven can rival it. The sage king relies on this Way of ultimate unity and is therefore able to serve as a model for all under Heaven.

Laozi says: Yin-Yang gives birth to and nurtures the myriad things, and each thing comes into being by following its own unified nature. The One is supremely noble; nothing under Heaven can rival it. The sage king relies on this Way of ultimate unity and is therefore able to serve as a model for all under Heaven.

Laozi said: The Qi of Yin and Yang shapes and nurtures the myriad things, and all things receive the same primordial Qi in order to be born. When those above and below are divided in heart and virtue, Qi rises and steams upward; when ruler and ministers are at odds, the Five Grains fail. Spring turns deadly, while autumn brings flourishing growth; thunder sounds in winter, and frost falls in summer. All these arise from disordered, deviant Qi.

The space between Heaven and Earth is like a person’s body; within the Six Directions—Heaven, Earth, and the four quarters—is like a person’s physical form. Thus, one who understands human nature is not coerced by changes between Heaven and Earth, and one who can examine signs is not misled by strange phenomena. The sage infers the distant from what is near, seeing that lands ten thousand li away are connected at their root. When Qi fills the space between Heaven and Earth, if people do not observe ritual propriety, righteousness, integrity, and a sense of shame, they will harm one another and treat one another with cruelty. This occurs amid confusion and darkness.

When the age declines and the sense of integrity and shame grows faint, calamities increase while material goods diminish. People labor hard, yet what they earn is not enough to sustain life. The people become poor and distressed, and resentment and conflict arise; only then is benevolence held up as an ideal. People’s conduct becomes base and unequal; they form factions for private gain, show favoritism toward one another, each puts forward those close to them, and their hearts harbor cunning and deceit. Only then is righteousness held up as an ideal. Men and women mingle and live together without boundaries; only then is ritual propriety held up as an ideal. Human desires run unchecked, people press upon one another, and circumstances leave them no choice; harmony is lost, and only then is music held up as an ideal. The “music” spoken of here means the musical instruction prescribed by the system of ritual and music.

Benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and music are remedies for a deteriorating situation; they are not the fundamental way of effective governance. If the spirits could truly be settled throughout the world and people’s hearts returned to their original state, the people’s nature would turn toward goodness. As the people became good, the Yin and Yang of Heaven and Earth would respond in harmony, material goods would be plentiful, and everyone would live in abundance. There would then be no cause for greed and baseness, resentment and conflict.

When benevolence and righteousness no longer obstruct governance, and De can bring peace to the world, the people will not become enamored of ornate colors and decoration. Thus, only after De declines is benevolence and righteousness deliberately promoted; only after harmony is lost is music brought into accord; and only when ritual has become excessive are appearances refined. Those who understand De know that benevolence and righteousness need not be deliberately imposed. Those who understand benevolence and righteousness know that ritual and music need not be deliberately embellished.

Laozi says that governing through quietude means remaining still and detached with a peaceful, accommodating attitude, taking simplicity and sincerity as one’s foundation, and being composed and unhurried. The heart-mind accords with the Dao, and dealings with external affairs also accord with what is right. Words are brief and reasonable; actions bring people delight and accord with human feeling and reason. The heart-mind is peaceful and free of pretense, and one acts simply, without embellishment. One does not plan in advance how matters should begin or discuss how they will end.

When settled, one rests at ease; when stirred into action, one responds. One brings body and mind into communication with Heaven and Earth, harmonizes them with Yin-Yang, and aligns them with the four seasons, shining clearly like the sun and moon. One lives in accordance with the Dao’s transformations, without harboring cunning, deceit, or pretense.

Thus Heaven covers all things with its De, and Earth bears all things in ease. The four seasons proceed without disorder; wind and rain bring no calamity. The sun and moon shine with clear and tranquil radiance, and the five planets follow their courses without straying. These are the results manifested by governance through quietude.

Laozi said: The duties involved in governing society are easy to grasp, affairs are easy to manage, rites are easy to put into practice, and responsibility is easy to assess and reward. Therefore, people should not hold several offices at once, and officials should not also serve as scholars. Scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants each have their own work, just as villages and provinces each have their distinct roles. Farmers discuss storing grain with other farmers; scholars discuss conduct with other scholars; artisans discuss their craft with other artisans; and merchants discuss trade and calculation with other merchants. In this way, scholars do not neglect their principles, artisans are not burdened by difficult tasks, farmers do not waste their labor, and merchants do not suffer losses of goods. Each can settle into their proper role. People differ in appearance and kind, yet their work can be coordinated easily without conflict. In an unsuitable position, a person is of low standing; in a suitable one, they are honored.

Those with foresight who can anticipate how things will unfold have exceptional intelligence, but a good ruler does not demand that everyone possess this ability. People who have broad knowledge, strong memories, and quick tongues surpass others in learning and talent, yet an enlightened ruler does not expect every minister to be like this. Looking down on worldly conventions, taking external things lightly, and refusing to follow common custom are proud and unyielding qualities of a scholar, but a ruler cannot make them the standard for teaching the people. A height no one can reach cannot serve as a measure for ordinary people; conduct that is hard to emulate cannot be established as the custom of the state. Thus, one cannot rely solely on a few exceptional talents, while standards and methods of governing can be passed down from generation to generation.

Therefore, a country can be governed and preserved even by people of ordinary ability. An army, too, can be managed according to shared rules and need not depend on outstanding figures from antiquity. If people are assigned and put to use according to the abilities they already have, there will be enough talent for what is needed.

Some later laws set standards too high to enforce their penalties; they assign tasks so heavy that punishments cannot be carried out; and they make affairs so perilous that the people dare not accept the penalties. Driven into hardship by these three kinds of demands, the people show off their cleverness, deceive their superiors, and engage in crooked and dangerous acts. Even severe laws and harsh punishments cannot stop wrongdoing. Beasts cornered will charge; birds driven to desperation will peck; people driven to desperation will deceive. That is the point.

Laozi says: The sound of thunder can be imitated with bells and drums; changes in wind and rain can be discerned through musical pitches. Whatever is large enough to be seen can be measured; whatever is bright enough to be seen can be screened off; whatever sound can be heard can be modulated; whatever color can be distinguished can be differentiated.

What is truly vast beyond all measure cannot be contained even by Heaven and Earth; what is minute beyond all measure cannot be seen even by the spirits. When people began setting standards for pitch and the calendar, distinguishing the five colors, separating clear from turbid, and tasting sweetness and bitterness, the original, whole simplicity began to break apart and become all kinds of implements. When benevolence and righteousness were established and ritual and music cultivated, De (Virtue/Power) also changed, turning into contrived ornamentation. The people dressed up their cleverness to deceive the foolish and devised schemes to manipulate those above them. Though someone in the world might keep this state of affairs going, no one could truly govern it well. The more elaborate the devices of wisdom, the more De declined. Therefore, the Dao’s perfected person, one who has reached the highest state, preserves deep simplicity and does not let it fragment.

In governing the world, the perfected person remains inwardly empty, still, and quiet, revealing nothing that might stir desire. The heart and spirit rest at ease, while the body and nature are in harmony. In stillness, De is embodied; in action, things proceed according to their own patterns. They follow the natural Dao and respond to what must be done. They are calm and practice Wuwei (non-action), and the world is harmonious; they are plain and free of desire, and the people return naturally to simplicity. When there is no contention, goods are sufficient. Those who seek do not obtain, and those who receive make no show of yielding. De thus returns, yet no one deliberately bestows kindness.

A debate without words, a principle never put into words: if someone can grasp these, it is called the “Heavenly Treasury,” like a natural storehouse bearing the Great Dao. Draw from it and it does not diminish; ladle from it and it never runs dry. People do not know where it comes from, so they call it the “Wavering Light.” Originally the name of a star in the Northern Dipper, here it refers to the source that nourishes all things. The Wavering Light is the wellspring from which all things receive their nourishment.

Laozi said: Heaven cherishes its vital energy, Earth cherishes its own balance, and people cherish their nature and emotions. Heaven’s vital energy appears as the sun, moon, and stars, and as thunder, lightning, wind, and rain. Earth’s balance appears as Water, Fire, Metal, Wood, and Earth. Human nature and emotions appear as thought, intelligence, and feelings such as joy and anger.

Thus, by closing the four gates and stopping the five activities, one can become one with the Dao. The “four gates” are the channels through which the senses and mind reach outward; the “five paths” are the activities associated with them. The spirit within is concealed in the formless, and vital energy returns to its original state. The eyes are bright but do not insist on looking; the ears are keen but do not insist on listening; the mouth can speak but does not speak carelessly; the mind is clear but does not think recklessly. One follows what is natural without deliberate action, and understands without taking pride in one’s knowledge. In this way, one follows the nature of life, leaving no opening for cleverness and reckless action to harm it.

When vital energy is present in the eyes, vision is clear; when it is present in the ears, hearing is keen; when it gathers in the mouth, speech is fitting; when it gathers in the mind, thought is clear. Therefore, by closing the four gates, one can live without worry. The limbs and the nine openings—the body’s sensory organs and apertures—are undisturbed by the changes of life and death. Such a person is called a True Person.

The Earth produces material wealth, and its foundations lie entirely within the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The sage regulates the Five Phases and ensures that they move in proper measure; thus, governance is never neglected.

Laozi says: When a balance weighs an object, it favors neither side, and so can be fair. When a carpenter’s ink line is used to judge what is inside or outside, straight or crooked, it favors no side, and so can set things straight. When a ruler acts according to law and precedent, without partiality born of personal likes or dislikes, his decrees can be carried out.

Virtue is not established through partiality, and so resentment has nowhere to hide. This is to follow the Great Dao and weigh things appropriately, thereby being fair; to judge what is inside or outside, straight or crooked, without bias, thereby setting things straight; and for a ruler to act according to law and precedent, free of private likes and dislikes, thereby carrying out his decrees. When Virtue is not established through partiality and resentment has nowhere to hide, one follows the Great Dao and accords with the human heart.

Therefore, those who govern a state should not impose their own clever schemes upon it. Raging water can smash a boat; a collision with wood can break an axle. People do not blame the wood or stone, but ask whether the driver handled the vehicle properly, because the driver’s judgment and skill failed to do their work. In the same way, the Great Dao becomes chaotic when mixed with clever contrivance, Virtue becomes endangered when mixed with selfish intent, and the mind becomes confused when fixated on making distinctions and judgments.

Balances, compasses, and squares each have fixed standards that do not change lightly. They remain consistent, neither deviating nor going astray; when applied according to their standards, they do not fail. Once these standards are established, they can be passed down through generations. This is accomplishing things through Wuwei (non-action). People often say, “A state may lose its ruler, but the world will never lose the Great Dao; a person may fall into difficulty, but the principles of things never fail to hold true.” Thus Wuwei is the foundation of the Great Dao.

Grasp the foundation of the Great Dao, and you can respond to endless change. You will then depend neither on fixed principles and established methods nor solely on your own abilities; relying only on yourself will eventually lead to difficulty. A ruler can know the world without leaving his doors by observing things to understand them and learning about others to understand them. Gather the strength of many to act, and nothing cannot be overcome; bring together the wisdom of many to plan, and nothing cannot be accomplished.

An army of a thousand will not run out of provisions, and a group of ten thousand will not fall behind in its work. Craftspeople need not each master several trades, and officials need not each hold several offices. Everyone should attend to their own duties without taking one another’s place; each person does work suited to them, and each thing finds its proper place. Then tools will not be neglected, and duties will not be left undone.

When responsibilities are few, they are easy to fulfill; when a role is simple, it is easy to carry out well. With a lighter burden, those who do the work are also easier to encourage. When those above hold only a few, simple responsibilities, those below can do work that is easy to put into practice. In this way, even after spending a long time together and in their posts, they will not grow weary of one another.

Laozi said: The sovereign should take the Great One (Taiyi), the fundamental Way before Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things had differentiated, as his standard. A king should model himself on the transformations of Yin and Yang; a hegemon should follow the course of the four seasons; and an ordinary ruler should apply the Six Pitch Standards (liulü), ancient measures for determining musical tones that also came to signify standards of law and government orders.

One who takes the Great One as his standard understands how Heaven and Earth truly operate and is versed in the principles of Dao and De. His wisdom shines like the sun and moon, and his spirit reaches through the myriad things. His movements and stillness accord with the changes of Yin and Yang, while his anger and joy follow the rhythms of the four seasons. The benevolence he extends is like Heaven covering and Earth bearing: it reaches everywhere without favoritism. All living creatures, from flying insects to crawling things, rely on his De to survive. His beneficence travels far, and his reputation endures for later generations.

One who models himself on Yin and Yang receives the harmonious Qi of Heaven and Earth, and his De stands alongside theirs. His radiance is like that of the sun and moon, and his spirit communicates with the spirits. Outwardly yielding, inwardly principled, he acts in accordance with standards. He can cultivate himself and win the people’s confidence. When he issues orders in accord with the principles of Heaven and Earth, people throughout the realm follow him like grass bending in the wind.

One who follows the four seasons brings forth life in spring, encourages growth in summer, harvests in autumn, and stores away in winter. He gives and takes with restraint, and keeps expenditure and income within set limits. His joy and anger, firmness and gentleness never depart from what is right: he is gentle without being weak, firm without breaking, generous without being lax, and strict without becoming harsh. Calmly following the circumstances, he nurtures living beings. His De is broad and generous; he can make room for the foolish and the unworthy without favoring either side.

One who applies the Six Pitch Standards commands the means of nurturing and destroying, rewarding and punishing, giving and taking away. These measures are indispensable to governing a state: suppressing rebellion and prohibiting violence, appointing the worthy and dismissing the unfit, correcting what is crooked and setting it right, making what is dangerous more secure, and restoring what is bent to straightness. He must understand how orders are to be carried out, when to permit or forbid, and guide the people’s hearts in step with the moment and the circumstances.

If a sovereign knows only how to model himself on Yin and Yang but does not cultivate himself, he will decline. If a king models himself only on the four seasons, he too will grow weak. If a hegemon knows only how to wield government orders and use the moment to drive the people’s hearts, he will suffer humiliation. If a ruler loses his standard, he will be cast aside. Thus, when someone of low status undertakes acts beyond his position, he falls into difficulty and loses those close to him; when someone of high status does only narrow, limited things, he appears cramped and cannot make room for others.

Laozi says: Vast territory and a large population are not enough to prove that a state is powerful. Nor can a state rely on sturdy armor and sharp weapons to win. High walls and deep moats cannot guarantee a city’s security, and harsh punishments cannot establish genuine authority.

A well-governed state can endure even if it is small; a poorly governed state will eventually perish, however powerful it may be. Thus, those skilled at defense can hold their ground without fighting, and those skilled at warfare can win without engaging the enemy in direct combat. By adapting to the times and following the people’s wishes, one can bring all under Heaven into submission.

Those skilled at governing place great importance on cultivating De (Virtue and Power); those skilled at warfare know how to build up strength and fighting spirit. When De is deeply cultivated, the people can be entrusted with responsibilities. When strength and fighting spirit are built up, the army’s authority can be established. The more deeply civil virtue is practiced, the greater its power to win people’s trust; the farther its benefits extend, the wider the reach of its influence. As that influence spreads, our side grows strong and the enemy appears weak.

Those skilled at warfare first find a way to put the enemy at a disadvantage, and only then engage in battle. They thus expend less than half the effort while achieving ten times the result. A small state with a thousand chariots can become a kingly power if it practices civil virtue. A great state with ten thousand chariots will eventually perish if it is devoted to warfare. A victorious army first secures the conditions for victory and only then goes to battle; a defeated army goes to war first and seeks victory afterward. This is what it means not to understand the principles of the Dao.

Volume Ten: “Superior Benevolence” (On the Highest Virtue of Benevolence)

Laozi said: In governing oneself and handling affairs, a noble person should cultivate stillness and preserve life through frugality. When the ruler’s mind is calm, those below are not disturbed. When the people are not disturbed, they do not grow resentful. Disturbing the people throws the state into disorder, while their resentment shows that the ruler’s De is shallow. In a state thrown into disorder, the worthy will not offer the ruler counsel; when his De is shallow, even warriors will not fight for him.

Confused and disorderly rulers act otherwise. They command all the wealth and authority of the realm, exhausting the people’s strength to satisfy their sensual desires. They devote themselves to building palaces and towers, canals and ponds, gardens and parks, and gathering fierce beasts and rare treasures. The people are poor and hungry, while even tigers and wolves have had their fill of fine meat. The people are freezing, while palaces are decked with luxurious silks. When rulers amass such useless things, the people of the realm cannot live in peace.

Laozi said: “Without detachment and quietude, one cannot make one’s De (Virtue/Power) shine. Without calm and steadiness, one cannot achieve lasting aims. Without an open heart, one cannot embrace all things. Without fairness and integrity, one cannot make sound judgments.

“One must observe with the eyes of all under Heaven, listen with the ears of all under Heaven, think with the minds of all under Heaven, and act with the strength of all under Heaven. Then commands can reach the lowest levels, and the truth of affairs among the ministers can be reported upward. Communication among the officials will flow freely, and the ministers will gather like spokes converging at the hub of a wheel.

“A ruler does not hand out rewards on a whim when pleased, or impose punishments on a whim when angry. The laws and orders are clear but not harsh; the ruler’s ears and eyes are alert and open. Each day, reports of what is good and what is bad can reach the ruler without obstruction. Then the capable can fully exercise their wisdom, while those less capable can still do their best. Those close to the ruler can be content in their proper roles, and those far away will also feel gratitude for the ruler’s De. This is the way to make good use of people.

“One who rides in a carriage can travel a thousand miles without exerting themselves; one who travels by boat can cross rivers and seas without swimming. Likewise, a sound proposal should not be rejected even if it comes from a merchant or woodcutter; a mistaken one should not be adopted even if it comes from a ruler or high minister. Right and wrong must be judged without regard to a person’s rank or status.

“If a plan is useful, one should not dismiss it because its proposer is low-ranking. If an argument is workable, one should not value it only because its speaker is eloquent. A foolish ruler, however, does not act this way. Ministers who serve with wholehearted loyalty are rarely appointed, while the ruler’s intimates and familiar associates are often crooked and corrupt, making it hard for the worthy to be recognized. The ruler also fails to hear the views of those who are distant and low in status but strive to serve faithfully. When someone speaks up, the ruler cross-examines them with sharp words; when someone offers remonstrance, the ruler punishes them on some charge. To hope in this way to bring peace to the realm and preserve the myriad states is to be far from understanding how things stand.

Laozi said: Those who know how to value life will not harm their bodies for the sake of lavish provision, even when they are wealthy and honored. Nor will they burden their bodies for the sake of profit, even when they are poor and lowly. Now that you have inherited rank from your ancestors, you should cherish the source of life all the more. To lose your life lightly—is this not foolish? Only someone who puts his own person first in governing the world can be entrusted with the world. Only someone who cherishes his own person in governing the world can be given the world. Entrusted with the rank and authority of the world, you should cherish the source of life all the more. To lose your life lightly—is this not foolish?

Wenzi asked what was fundamental to governing a state.

Laozi said: The foundation lies in cultivating and ordering oneself. I have never heard of someone who governed himself well while his state fell into disorder, nor of someone whose own life was in disorder while his state was well governed. Thus it is said: “Cultivate yourself, and your De will become pure.” The subtle mysteries of the Dao cannot be taught by a father to his son, nor directly received by a son from his father. Thus it is said: “A Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao; a name that can be named is not the constant name.”

Wenzi asked: What must be done for the people to draw close to their ruler?

Laozi said: Put the people to work in season, and treat them with reverence and care, as though facing an abyss or walking on thin ice. Among all the things under Heaven, the good are my companions, and the bad are my enemies. In ancient times, the people of the Xia and Shang turned away from Jie and Zhou and submitted instead to Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou. The people of the Sushu clan attacked their own ruler and submitted to Shennong. Thus it is said: “What people fear, one cannot fail to fear.”

The bad are my enemies. In ancient times, the people of the Xia and Shang turned away from Jie and Zhou and submitted instead to Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou. The people of the Sushu clan attacked their own ruler and submitted to Shennong. Thus it is said: “What people fear, one cannot fail to fear.”

Laozi said: The principles on which a great state is governed must not be narrow. When a territory is vast, its system of government must not be cramped. The higher one’s position, the less complicated the affairs one should handle. The more numerous the people, the less harsh their instruction should be. Complicated affairs are difficult to govern; harsh laws and commands are difficult to enforce; excessive demands are difficult to meet. Measure with cun, and by the time you reach a zhang, errors are easy to make. Weigh in zhu, a very small unit, and by the time you reach a shi, a much larger unit, it is easy to get the weight wrong. Use shi to weigh and zhang to measure length: the method is straightforward, and mistakes are fewer. Grasp the broad principles, and wisdom becomes evident in how things are handled. Keep arguing over minor details, and it is hard to claim wisdom.

Therefore, the sage does not undertake things that do no good for governing and instead encourage disorder. The wise do not undertake things that offer no practical benefit and only increase expense. Achievements need not be elaborate, affairs need not be numerous, and needs need not be excessive. Simple achievements are easy to accomplish; streamlined affairs are easy to govern; modest needs are easy to meet. When tasks are entrusted to everyone to share, they too become easier to accomplish.

Petty disputes harm what is of great importance; fixation on minor principles obstructs the Great Dao. Principles that are too narrow cannot reach far; principles that truly reach far must be clear and simple. Rivers wind and bend, and so they can flow to distant places. Mountains rise gradually, and so they can form high peaks. The Great Dao moves with ease and spaciousness, and so it can nurture and transform the myriad things.

Those who master only one skill, know only one matter, or perceive only one ability can explain one aspect thoroughly, but cannot respond broadly to all kinds of circumstances. When tuning a stringed instrument, thin strings must be taut and thick strings relaxed. In building an enterprise, those of low rank take on more of the labor, while those of high rank enjoy greater ease.

The Dao is vast and profound, difficult to perceive. It follows Heaven’s might and shares Heaven’s Qi. Those who share Heaven’s Qi can become emperors; those who uphold the same right principles can become kings; those who achieve comparable deeds can become overlords. If they cannot do these things, they will come to ruin. Thus, trust can be won without persuasion, benevolence can be shown without bestowing favors, and authority can be commanded without anger. This is because they accord with Heaven’s heart and thereby transform all things. If benevolence depends on bestowing favors, trust on words, and authority on anger, these arise from sincerity. But if favors are bestowed without benevolence, words are spoken without trustworthiness, and anger is shown without authority, they are merely outward appearances.

Therefore, when a person who has the Dao governs a state, even a small number of laws and commands is enough to bring the state stability. When a person without the Dao governs a state, even a great many laws and commands are enough to bring the state into disorder.

Laozi says: When a whale leaves the water, it becomes subject to the whims of ants. When a ruler abandons the duties he ought to uphold and competes with his ministers to handle specific affairs, he too becomes constrained by the officials in charge of them.

A ruler should maintain his position through Wuwei (non-action), letting officials carry out their assigned duties and earn recognition for their work. If ministers conceal their abilities and leave them unused, the ruler may end up deciding every matter himself. When he fails to appoint capable people and insists on handling everything personally, his judgment grows ever more constrained, and every responsibility falls on him. If ministers keep affairs under their own control, the ruler cannot uphold justice. If his conduct is improper, he cannot maintain the authority befitting his position. Without enough ability to govern the state or enough authority to enforce punishments, the ruler will also find it difficult to deal properly with his ministers.

When a ruler displays his likes and dislikes in his mood and expression, and makes his desires and preferences plain, officials responsible for their duties will stray from the proper course to please him. Those in charge will bend the law and act according to the prevailing winds. Rewards will no longer match merit, and punishments will no longer match offenses. Those above and below will grow estranged, and ruler and ministers will resent one another. The work of the officials will fall into disorder, while the ruler’s judgment will be unable to set it right. Rumors and undeserved praise will arise, and the ruler will be unable to discern the truth. He will blame himself for faults that were never his, growing ever more burdened as his ministers grow ever more at ease. That is why someone who takes the place of a master carpenter to chop and shape wood rarely avoids injuring his own hand.

Even if a ruler has horses, relying only on his own cleverness to understand how to drive them may not help him distinguish right from wrong. If rumors and empty praise spread and he cannot see through them, he will blame himself for faults that were never his, leaving himself more burdened and his ministers more at ease. This is like taking the place of a master carpenter to chop wood: few escape without injuring a hand. A man who runs after a horse while leading it will tire himself out and still fail to catch it; but one who sits in a carriage and takes the reins may find the horse crushed beneath the crossbar. Bole, who could recognize fine horses, identified them; Wang Liang, who could drive them, drove them. A wise ruler knows to seek out such people. He need not strain to inspect or drive horses himself, yet can make a carriage travel a thousand miles. This is how to draw on the abilities of the worthy.

The ruler’s way is to accomplish things without handling every matter personally, and to establish institutions without clinging to his own preferences. Personal intervention invites criticism; revealing one’s preferences invites flattery. Criticism can strip the ruler of his authority, while flattery may lead others to manipulate him. If he relies on building achievements and controlling affairs by himself, he will instead become subject to others and be unable to safeguard the state. Thus, one skilled at establishing institutions creates things that are firm and difficult to overturn. This means that the foundations of the institutions do not reveal themselves as the ruler’s personal control. Only upon reaching a state of wondrous transformation can one ensure that nothing in the world can overcome it.

When inner desires are not revealed outwardly, this is called “”; when disturbances from the outside are kept from entering the mind, this is called “closing.” If both inner and outer realms are kept closed, how could one’s actions fail to accord with proper measure? If external disturbances are kept at bay and the mind’s inner ruler remains undisturbed, what task could not be accomplished?

Therefore, the ruler need not exercise his own judgment or handle affairs personally, yet can put judgment and administration to use. He does not boast of his own words or take over his ministers’ duties. He checks actual results against the responsibilities assigned to each office and holds the officials in charge accountable. He makes it his way of governing not to assume that he knows everything, and makes preventing burdensome and excessive policies his chief concern. In this way, the affairs handled by the officials each correspond to their assigned duties, and all can be assessed.

Laozi says: Food is the foundation of human survival, and the people are the foundation of the state. Therefore, when a ruler governs a state, they should follow the seasons, make use of the land’s advantages, and bring people’s efforts into play. Then all things can grow and flourish, and the people can reap their benefits: in spring, they cut deadwood; in summer, they gather all kinds of fruit; in autumn, they store vegetables; and in winter, they use firewood. These provide for the people’s daily needs, so that the living do not lack what they need and the dead do not leave behind a plight with no means of continuation.

The laws laid down by the former kings were these: do not catch whole herds of animals in a single net, fish recklessly in ponds and marshes, or burn forests to hunt. Before jackals and wolves begin to hunt, do not set traps in the open country; before otters begin to fish, do not place nets in the water; before hawks and falcons begin to hunt, do not spread nets by the water’s edge. Before plants and trees have shed their leaves, do not enter the forests to cut them down; before insects have gone into hibernation, do not burn the fields. Do not herd or kill pregnant livestock, take young birds or their eggs, catch fish shorter than one foot, or slaughter dogs and pigs less than a year old.

Thus, all things grow and flourish, rising like steam. The former kings arranged production and storage in accord with the seasons; this was the way to enrich the state and benefit the people. Those who wish to benefit the people must not only see these practices with their own eyes and put them into effect themselves, but keep them constantly in mind. Then the people will naturally be prepared.

Laozi says: Wise rulers of ancient times imposed limits on how much they collected from the people and set a clear measure for their own consumption. They calculated each year’s harvest, assessed the grain the people had stored, and learned how much was surplus and how much was lacking before making their collections. In this way, rulers could receive the resources provided by Heaven and Earth, while the people were spared hunger and cold. Wise rulers cared for the people: if anyone in the state went hungry, they did not feast on a variety of delicacies; if anyone was cold, they did not wear furs in winter. They shared the people’s hardships and comforts, and so no one under Heaven harbored resentment.

Incompetent rulers acted otherwise. They took the people’s property without considering what they could bear, and demanded contributions without assessing what they had stored. Men and women alike labored in the fields and at the loom to meet the ruler’s demands. Their strength was exhausted and their resources spent, leaving them unable to make ends meet; ruler and subjects alike grew resentful. Moreover, the harvest from one person’s hard work could not support ten people. A middling field yielded no more than four shi of grain in a year, yet a man had to support his wife and children, the elderly, and the weak. Sometimes disaster struck as well, but he was still required to provide grain to satisfy the ruler’s demands. A ruler ought to have compassion for the people in such circumstances. Yet greedy rulers and cruel governors strip the people of all their resources to satisfy their endless desires, leaving them unable to enjoy Heaven’s harmonious Qi or live securely amid Earth’s bounty.

Laozi says: Among the forces of Qi between Heaven and Earth, none is more important than harmony. Harmony means that Yin and Yang are in balance, and that day and night each have their proper share. Thus all things grow at the spring equinox and ripen at the autumn equinox; both growth and ripening depend on the subtle workings of harmonious Qi. When Yin Qi gathers to its extreme, things cannot grow; when Yang Qi gathers to its extreme, things cannot develop. Only when Yin and Yang meet can harmonious Qi arise.

The way the sage conducts himself is therefore generous yet grounded in principle, firm yet gentle, yielding yet upright, strong yet benevolent. What is too rigid will break; what is too weak will bend. The principle lies between hardness and softness. A cord can be coiled and tucked away, or drawn out and laid flat. Stretched to a certain length, it does not veer out of line; made short, it remains useful. It can be straightened without becoming stiff, and so the sage takes it as a model. Excessive kindness makes one weak, and weakness brings no authority. Excessive severity turns into ferocity, and ferocity destroys harmony. Excessive favor leads to indulgence, and indulgence is hard to restrain. Excessive punishment invites calamity, and calamity can sever close bonds. What matters, then, is maintaining harmony and measure.

Laozi says: Excessive sternness becomes fierceness, and fierceness makes people discordant. Excessive indulgence becomes permissiveness, and permissiveness makes people disobey commands. Excessive punishment brings calamity, and calamity turns people away from loyalty and virtue. Therefore, what matters is keeping the various forces in harmony.

Laozi says: A state endures because it accords with the Dao (the Way); it moves toward ruin because its governance is obstructed. Thus, the sage observes how things change and reads the signs in those changes. Virtuous governance has its periods of flourishing and decline, and the prevailing mood is often the first to reveal what is coming. A state that follows the path of vitality can grow strong even if it is small. A state already showing signs of ruin will ultimately fail, even if it achieves some success for a time.

When a state is on the verge of ruin, a vast territory cannot be relied upon. When the Dao is put into practice, a small state should not be dismissed. A state endures because it has attained the Dao, not because its territory is small; it perishes because it has lost the Dao, not because its territory is large. A benighted ruler is intent on expanding his territory but does not devote himself to benevolence and righteousness; he seeks high rank but does not cultivate virtue. This means abandoning the foundation on which the state depends for its survival and turning instead to the very things that bring about its ruin. If those above disrupt the celestial order symbolized by the sun, moon, and stars, and those below lose the people’s trust, who will come to join them? Thus, one who is skilled at examining himself does not lay all blame on others.

What the ancients called “the Dao and De” was the profound practice of the Great Way. “Benevolence and righteousness” were a shallower form of practice, while “ritual and wisdom” were more superficial still. These six—Dao, De, benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom—are the guiding principles that sustain a state. The deeper the practice, the greater the blessings it brings; the shallower the practice, the fewer the blessings. If all are put fully into practice, the people of the world will submit. In ancient times, cultivating virtue could set the world in order; cultivating benevolence and righteousness could set a state in order; and cultivating ritual and wisdom could set a community in order. The deeper one’s virtue, the wider its influence; the shallower one’s virtue, the narrower its reach.

The Dao is not established through displays of force or military might, nor does it prevail through hardness and aggression, nor is it attained through greed and grasping. Its establishment comes from the people of the world choosing to uphold it; its victory comes from the people naturally submitting to it; and its gains come from what the people willingly give, not from what it forcibly takes. Thus, gentleness and humility can sustain one’s position; weakness can prevail; and practicing benevolence and righteousness can bring gains. By not contending, one leaves no one able to contend with them. The Dao’s work throughout the world is like the rivers and seas receiving the waters of a hundred streams.

The pattern of Heaven is this: forceful action tends toward failure, and determined grasping tends toward loss. If one seeks fame and makes a great affair of striving for it, I believe it will ultimately remain out of reach; even if gained for a time, it cannot be held for long. Fame cannot be won by striving for it; it is bestowed by the people of the world. When people are willing to bestow it, they will submit. Those to whom the world submits are people of virtue. Thus it is said: the highest virtue draws the people of the world; the highest benevolence draws the people within the Four Seas; the highest righteousness draws the people of a state; and the highest ritual order draws the people of a community. Without these, people will not submit.

When the people do not submit and force is used against them, the course is perilous. Thus it is said: “Weapons are inauspicious things and should be used only when there is no other choice.” One should not take pride in having killed or wounded people. Even in victory, one should feel sorrow. Thus it is said that thorns and brambles grow where people have died, and that the dead should be mourned with grief and the war treated according to the rites for mourning. For this reason, the gentleman devotes himself to cultivating virtue and does not lightly resort to military force.

Wenzi asked, “Why are benevolence, righteousness, and ritual shallower than the Dao and De?”

Laozi replied, “Those who speak of benevolence often express it through sorrow and joy; those who speak of righteousness often show it through giving and taking. But the world is vast, and sorrow and joy cannot reach everyone. Even if the wealth in the state storehouses were exhausted, it would not be enough to provide for all the people. It is better, then, to cultivate the Dao and practice De, following the nature of Heaven and Earth. In this way, all things will naturally be set in order, the people of the world will naturally be provided for, and benevolence and righteousness will follow. This is how the great person takes their stand on what is fundamental and does not linger on the surface.

“Ritual is the outward adornment of inner truth; benevolence is what appears after kindness has been shown. Ritual should therefore be shaped by human feelings and should not exceed what is truly reasonable. When matters are handled appropriately, the people of the world can be provided for, and benevolence and righteousness will follow. The great person takes their stand on what is fundamental and does not linger on the surface. Ritual should be grounded in truth, and benevolence should be rooted in kindness. Ritual must not go beyond human feeling, and benevolence must not exceed the kindness actually given. Sorrow should arise from the heart, and funeral rites should accord with humane feeling.

“In caring for life, do not demand of others what they cannot do, and do not forbid what they cannot stop doing. Weigh and arrange everything with due measure. Then there will be no ground for slander or praise to arise without cause. Music is made so people can live together in harmony; joy should not depart from harmony. One must also understand the boundary between life and death, and know the proper measure between extravagance and frugality.

“In the declining age, things are different: words and deeds contradict one another, and inner feelings do not match outward appearances. Ritual becomes elaborate and burdensome; music grows excessive and disturbing; customs become steeped in worldly concerns; and praise and blame ring out noisily and superficially in the court. Therefore, those who have attained the Dao discard these practices and no longer adopt them.

“If a fine horse and a person race, the person cannot match the horse. But when the person rides in a carriage, the horse cannot match the person. One who is skilled in using the Dao accomplishes things by relying on the abilities of others: they bring out what others do well and entrust to others what they themselves cannot do.

“When a ruler undertakes works in response to the right moment, the people repay them with their wealth; when a ruler treats them with courtesy, the people repay them with their lives. Thus, a troubled state has no secure ruler, and a ruler beset by worries has no contented ministers. When one’s virtue exceeds one’s rank, one’s position is held in respect; when one’s stipend exceeds one’s virtue, misfortune will eventually follow. The worth of virtue does not lie in high rank, and acquiring what accords with the Dao does not lie in gaining a great deal. One must not use the name of noble virtue to usurp a position, nor invoke righteousness to seize wealth.”

Sages are content with simplicity and take joy in the Dao. They do not let desire damage their lives, nor let profit become a burden, so they will not violate what is right in pursuit of comfort.

In ancient times, appointments and rewards were governed by clear rules: those without virtue were not honored, those without ability were not appointed to office, those without merit were not rewarded, and those who committed offenses were punished according to the law. Appointing someone in accord with ritual was proper; dismissing someone in accord with righteousness was just. When petty men held power, however, people were elevated to the highest positions when appointed, then cast down to the lowest when dismissed. The classic invokes events of old to criticize the conditions of its own time.

If you judge a horse only by whether it is thin, you may overlook a fine horse; if you choose scholars only by whether they are poor, you may overlook worthy talent. Fat pigs are sent to the kitchen, while lean, weak livestock are passed over. A gentleman should examine the facts and not trust slander. If a ruler makes mistakes and his ministers do not remonstrate, they are not loyal ministers; if they remonstrate and the ruler will not listen, the ruler lacks discernment. And when the people are caught in hardship, failing to feel concern is no mark of wisdom. Thus, it is a minister’s duty to hold fast to his principles and risk his life for the state; a father’s loving care is shown by keeping his children warm and fed.

For a great state to bully a small one is to violate the constant Way; for a small state to offend a great one is to defy Heaven. Even if one has first offered sacrifices to Heaven, disaster may still follow. In the village, people honor one another according to age, and the elderly are not abandoned even when poor; at court, rank distinguishes those above from those below. The eminent are honored because they are close to the ruler; the elderly are respected because they are close to one’s parents and kin; those older than oneself are respected as one would respect an elder brother.

Those born to high rank are prone to arrogance, and those born wealthy are prone to extravagance. So when the rich and powerful do not examine themselves in the light of clear principles, few can avoid wrongdoing. To study without weariness is to cultivate oneself; to teach others without slackening is to govern the people. With wise teachers and good friends, people are less likely to stray onto the wrong path.

Knowing who is worthy is wisdom; cherishing the worthy is benevolence; honoring benevolence is righteousness; showing respect to the worthy is ritual; taking joy in the worthy is joy. Those who governed the world well in ancient times followed nature and did not act rashly, yet left nothing undone. Therefore, governing the world requires a heart broad enough to embrace all things. With such breadth, one can accomplish things through Wuwei (non-action); without it, one’s actions readily invite misfortune.