《通玄真经[注](徐灵府)》Vol. 3

A ruler is like the heart of a state. When the heart is at peace, every part of the body is calm; when the heart is troubled, every part of the body falls into disorder. The key to governing a state lies in the ruler’s wisdom. When the ruler is wise, the people can live in peace and enjoy their livelihoods. The key to cultivating oneself lies in setting the heart right. When the heart is upright, every part of the body can settle into its proper place.

Thus, when a person is well cultivated, the limbs and all parts of the body work together with ease, free from illness and pain. When a state is well governed, ruler and ministers live in harmony and trust one another, free from anxiety and calamity.

Laozi said, “I once studied with Chang Cong.” Chang Cong was Laozi’s teacher. Laozi said that his teacher’s words meant, in essence: observe the tongue and you will understand the need to remain yielding. From this, one can also grasp why the ancient Dao esteemed weakness and the feminine position. In ancient times, the character for “tongue” was also written in a form associated with “yielding.” Looking up at buildings and trees, one laments that time does not stand still; watching the water flow by, one sighs that time gone never returns. Seeing shadows shift, one learns to stay behind and not rush ahead of all things. Thus the sage is empty, still, and practices Wuwei (non-action), following the course of things, often placing himself behind others and never competing to be first. This is like stacking firewood: the pieces added later are placed on top. That those who come later rise above, and those below come to be above, is a common pattern of things. If one is bent on getting ahead of others, one can never truly lead.

Laozi said: bells wear out from making sound, and oil lamps burn away from giving light. Tigers and leopards are hunted for their patterned coats; monkeys are captured for their agility. Thus, those who display courage and relish fighting may die because of their forcefulness, while those skilled in argument may fall into trouble because of their cleverness. Cleverness can help one understand some things, but it cannot necessarily reveal what one does not know. Excessive ability invites harm; without knowing how to restrain one’s abilities, one cannot protect oneself. Trusting in one’s own cleverness damages oneself; without knowing how to keep to simplicity, one cannot safeguard oneself. Therefore, showing off strength through a single skill or probing deeply into a single phrase may suit a limited discussion, but it is not enough to address broad questions. Mere personal courage cannot command a multitude, and clinging to a partial view does not make for a comprehensive and penetrating argument.

Laozi said: the Dao takes “nonbeing” as its ground—that is, it does not cling to concrete forms or possession. The Dao in its essence is empty, still, and without form.

Laozi says that the Dao has “nonbeing” and “being” as its underlying reality. To realize the Great Dao, one must enter a state of emptiness, stillness, and clear awareness. This is what is called the subtle. The eye cannot see its form, and the ear cannot hear its sound, so it is called the hidden and obscure. “Hidden and obscure” is simply a way of describing the Dao; it is not the Dao itself. A fish basket is used to catch fish, but it is not a fish. Words are used to speak about the Dao, but they are not the Dao.

To realize the Dao, one must look inward and reflect on oneself, listen inwardly, and examine one’s original mind. Only then can one gain insight within oneself. Someone who understands only a little of the Way but takes that little for the whole is like comparing a faint glow from a firefly with the sun. Is that not confusion? To mistake a Yan stone for a precious jade like the He Shi Bi is foolishness.

A mirror uses still water rather than flowing water, because still water remains settled and does not ripple outward. When the mind and spirit are disturbed by external things, they grow murky like muddy water. Water is naturally clear and open; once still, it can reflect all things. When the moon is full, its light makes the stars seem dim. Yin cannot sustain Yang, and once the sun rises, the stars cannot rival its radiance. Branches and twigs cannot outweigh the roots, nor can a branch grow thicker than the trunk. When the top is heavy and the bottom light, collapse is inevitable. This means that a ruler who holds authority over government should not appoint unsuitable petty men. If petty men are given power, it is like Yin overpowering Yang or starlight eclipsing the sun. Roots and branches must each occupy their proper place to prevent collapse.

A deep pool cannot contain two dragons, and a group cannot have two males as its leader. A situation is stable only when one takes the lead; when two compete for dominance, conflict follows. When a ruler’s purpose is single-minded, the state is at peace; when the ruler’s purpose is single-minded, the mind is calm. Jade hidden in a mountain nourishes the plants and trees; pearls born in the depths keep the banks from drying out. Mountains and rivers that hold pearls and jade appear moist and beautiful. A gentleman who accumulates virtue naturally shines.

An earthworm has neither strong sinews nor sharp claws and teeth, yet it can eat soil above and drink spring water below, simply because its attention is single-minded. If people devote themselves to the Dao, why must they rely on fame and profit to be content? A cup of clear water can reflect the eye, while a great river of muddy water cannot reflect even Mount Tai. A clear and bright mind, though subtle, can discern details; a murky mind, however vast, still cannot see what matters.

Orchids and angelica do not stop giving off their fragrance just because no one wears them. A boat does not sink into the river or sea simply because no one boards it. A gentleman who follows the Dao does not stop simply because no one knows of it. This is their nature: orchids and angelica are fragrant by nature, and a gentleman naturally does good and keeps to the Dao. The clear become constrained and disgraced when they enter a murky place; the murky overturn things when they mix with what is clear. The worthy and the foolish cannot easily stand together, and the clear and murky cannot be blended into one. When two kinds of Qi intermingle between Heaven and Earth, rainbows form in the sky, hidden things leak out from the earth, and illness arises when the Qi within the human body is out of balance. The Way of the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—lies in allowing life to grow as it should. Yin and Yang cannot remain in one state forever. The four seasons include both winter and summer; the moon knows nothing of daylight, and the sun knows nothing of night. Winter and summer each have their seasons, and day and night do not confuse one another.

A broad river allows fish to grow large; high mountains allow trees to grow tall; a vast territory allows virtue to grow deep. A river that is not broad cannot raise great fish. Without comprehensive wisdom, one cannot grasp the fundamental principles. So without deep virtue, it is difficult to understand profoundly and see far ahead. Fishing requires bait, and hunting wild beasts cannot be done with an empty vessel alone. Things do not come without cause; the Dao, too, needs someone to transmit it.

When fierce beasts live in the mountains, the trees are not cut down indiscriminately. When poisonous creatures live in a garden, the leaves of the sunflower and bean are not casually picked. When a state has worthy ministers, dangers can be averted even a thousand miles away. If fierce beasts and poisonous creatures can protect plants and trees, then worthy men and gentlemen can certainly assist the ruler and protect the people.

One who understands the Great Dao is like an axle turning in a wheel hub: without deliberately rushing about, it can carry a cart a thousand miles, turning again and again without end. How could things go smoothly if the ruler appoints crooked people and rejects the upright? When the upright are appointed and the crooked rejected, things will not go astray. This explains the meaning of the “Fu Yan” chapter. To catch birds, one must spread out the whole net; using only a single mesh cannot catch a bird. A ruler cannot govern a multitude by relying on the ability of just one person. Some things cannot be prescribed in advance, and some things cannot be predicted beforehand. The sage therefore cultivates virtue and waits for the right moment. The sage acts in accord with the Way of Heaven and moves in keeping with the times. Before the moment arrives, the sage keeps to the Dao; when it comes, the sage puts what has been learned into practice. King Wen of Zhou established the Way of the Zhou, and Liu Bang, the Han founder, laid the foundations of the Han dynasty: both waited for the right time and then acted.

To catch fish, first clear a channel in the water; to attract birds, first plant trees. When water gathers, fish gather; when trees flourish, birds settle in them. A fisherman does not need to carry fish into the depths, and one who wants to attract apes does not need to carry them up a tree. One need only provide the conditions they seek. The same is true when ruler and ministers help one another succeed: when the ruler creates suitable conditions, loyal ministers and worthy men come willingly, like fish entering water and birds returning to the forest. The places one can walk to are limited; by relying on paths one has not yet walked, one can keep going. What one already knows is limited; relying on what one does not yet understand expands one’s knowledge. The roads people have traveled are few, while those not yet traveled are many. What they already know is little, while what they do not know is much. By making good use of powers not yet put to use, one can extend one’s capacity; by acknowledging what one does not know, one can keep improving one’s understanding.

When rivers dry up, valleys become empty; when hills are leveled, deep pools silt up; when lips are lost, teeth grow cold. Deep waters moisten the soil on the mountains. These sayings show that ruler and people depend on one another, just as mountains and rivers are connected. When a ruler imposes excessive levies, the people’s wealth is exhausted. If those above keep taking, those below will be drained. When the people’s strength is spent, the ruler’s position is endangered. This is the meaning of “when the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold.”

When water settles, it becomes clear; when clear, it becomes still; when still, it readily reflects all things. The forms of things are all different, so water can serve as a means of distinguishing them. If a ruler is as clear and still as water, the ruler can understand human feelings in depth, see good and evil clearly, and issue peaceful and fair commands. Wind shakes leaves from the trees, and external things disturb water into murkiness. Without the wind’s shaking, leaves would not fall by themselves; without constant disturbance from external things, water would not clear itself.

Jade discs and other objects must be worked with a whetstone before they can be made. A precious sword like the Moye must be sharpened on a grindstone to become keen. Even jade and swords of fine quality must be honed before they become precious objects. Though gentlemen and worthy people have talent by nature, they need the guidance of teachers and skilled craftsmen to accomplish their work. Mosquitoes and gadflies, like fine horses, can travel a thousand miles without carrying their own grain to keep from going hungry. When a state entrusts itself to worthy people, its foundations become secure. When things depend on what suits them, they can travel farther and act swiftly without strain.

Once the hare is caught, the hounds are often cooked; once the birds are caught, the fine bows are put away. This is what commonly happens when a task is complete and one is no longer needed. Withdrawing after achieving success and fame is a natural rule of Heaven. One is called wise when one understands the right time to advance or withdraw, recognizes the changes between hardship and success, keeps to the Dao and preserves virtue, and safeguards oneself and one’s reputation.

Human nature is not angry by default; people become angry when something happens. By nature, they are without action; desire makes them act. Once one understands the harm caused by anger and reckless action, one can look inward at one’s nature and listen inwardly to one’s original mind. To see what has no form and hear what has no sound is to reflect on one’s nature and experience a state without form or sound, anger or forced action.

Birds return to their homeland, rabbits run back to their burrows, foxes face the hills where they were born when they die, and cicadas cling to trees. All things remember their roots, yet people sometimes turn away from the Dao. Water and fire naturally oppose one another, but if a cauldron and cooking pot are used to bring them together, they can produce the five flavors. Fathers and sons are naturally close, yet if slanderous words come between them, they may begin to suspect one another. The wise must see this clearly.

Pigs and dogs do not care what food they eat or what vessels they eat from. Though they may grow fat easily, they eventually come close to danger. This means that petty men who pursue fame and profit may gain power for a time, but in the end they often fare badly. The wise accumulate virtue and wait for their time; though they may be in difficulty for a while, they ultimately find a way forward. The phoenix flies in the highest reaches of the sky and cannot easily be summoned. A legendary great bird may have a huge body, yet still lack wings suited to flight. The eyes can see a hundred paces away but cannot see one’s own eyelashes. Those who pursue the grand may overlook the subtle; those who look too far away may miss what is right before them. Build a mountain on high ground and it will stand firm, hard to topple; let a deep pool form in a low place, and fish and turtles will gather there. When one follows conditions that are easy to fulfill, people succeed without tiring themselves. When one makes use of familiar habits, things come naturally.

Water that collects in ditches and ponds fills when it rains and dries up in drought. Rivers and seas do not easily dry up when their sources are deep. They do not overflow while storing water, nor run dry when it flows out; this is because their sources are deep. Turtles have no ears, yet nothing can block their sight; blind people have no eyes, yet nothing can block their hearing. Each relies on one sense, and the senses cannot replace one another. Murky water can wash the feet, and cool, clear water can wash the tassels of a hat. This shows that both the clear and the murky can be put to use, so long as their capacities are measured and their roles assigned appropriately. Silk may be made into a hat or a shoe, each with its own use. A hat is worn on the head and shoes are put on the feet. Things can each serve their purpose when their nature is not violated.

Metal overcomes Wood, but one knife cannot fell an entire forest. Earth overcomes Water, but a handful of soil cannot block a river. Water overcomes Fire, but a single dipper of water cannot extinguish a whole cartload of firewood. This means that one person’s uprightness can hardly reverse the crookedness of a crowd, and one person’s wisdom can hardly transform a group of confused people. Thunder may sound in winter and hail may fall in summer, but the seasons of cold and heat do not thereby change. When the sun comes out, frost and snow melt. Things that lean are easy to topple; things that rest against something are easy to push; steep terrain easily leads to accidents, and damp places easily bring rain. The worthy draw close to good people, and the foolish to bad ones; those who follow one another are easily influenced. Orchids and angelica are picked because of their fragrance. Toads are said to ward off weapons, yet they are hunted on the fifteenth day of the fifth month. All this shows that useful things sometimes suffer harm more readily. It is better not to seek fame, so as to preserve oneself.

When vital essence is spent outwardly, the inside is easily harmed; when inner substance is revealed too soon, the branches and leaves may wither. Foods that are out of season should not be eaten, for they may cause illness; wealth gained unjustly brings trouble as well. Between the tongue and the teeth, which is damaged first? Between a rope and an arrow, which is straighter? Things that are hard and strong may break because of their very hardness, while soft things can bend and correct what is out of line. A shadow is crooked because its form is not straight; an echo is muddled because its sound is unclear. When one’s own conduct is upright, one’s shadow will not be crooked; when one’s words are good, the reputation they carry will not be bad. A good doctor can hardly cure a condition identical to a fatal disease; a loyal minister can hardly save a state already on the road to ruin.

Let musicians play mouth organs and instrument makers tune the holes. Even if the rhythm is in time, the work still cannot be properly judged if those in charge have lost their grasp of the whole. If the deaf do not sing, they cannot amuse themselves with song; if the blind do not watch, it is difficult for them to encounter external things through sight. Sounds that do not reach the ears cannot make one imagine the pleasure of hearing; colors that do not enter the eyes cannot form a corresponding image in the mind. A person walking through a forest cannot walk in a straight line; a person traveling a dangerous road cannot follow the standard of a taut cord. In crossing a forest, the first task is to get through; on a dangerous road, the first task is to escape danger.

The sea is vast because it receives a hundred rivers and can hold their waters. All things grow without end and can be drawn upon without being exhausted; this is why the sea is called vast. Two suns never appear at once; foxes do not have two male leaders; divine dragons do not come in pairs; fierce beasts do not mingle in herds; startled birds do not fly side by side. These beings stand apart from the crowd, and so they can lead the beasts and birds. A carriage canopy cannot shield against sunlight without its supporting ribs, and a wheel cannot turn quickly without its spokes. Yet the canopy and the wheel cannot perform every function on their own. Things depend on one another; no one thing can be relied upon by itself.

A bow cannot shoot an arrow without a bowstring, but shooting is only one part of archery. However strong a bow may be, without a string it cannot hit its target. However wise a ruler may be, without ministers the ruler will find it hard to accomplish anything. Many people shoot arrows, but few truly hit their targets. Many seek office and salary, but even fewer truly seek worthy people. A hungry horse stands quietly in its stable; put fodder nearby, and the urge to compete appears. Those who lack food contend for fodder, and those who crave rank contend for office. That is why gentlemen decline salary while petty men struggle for power.

A three-inch bamboo tube with no bottom cannot be filled with all the water in the world. A vessel with a bottom can be filled, even if its capacity is limited. The greedy are like vessels without bottoms: they are never satisfied. Cut along a marking line and the cut will not slant; suspend a balance and it is less likely to be wrong. Ancient laws can serve as standards, but they must be applied in view of the times. Applying them appropriately is sound judgment; applying them at the wrong time is disorder. Following a straightedge keeps an object from straying, and judging by a fair standard makes it easier to set things right. Conditions in the past and present differ, so laws must also be adjusted. Clinging to old laws can itself cause disorder.

Farmers work hard so that gentlemen can be supported; the foolish offer suggestions, and the wise select among them. The labor of cultivation brings a harvest, and study too brings salary and achievement. If something is clear and distinct, like jade, there is no need to hesitate. If what one hears is vague and difficult to understand, one should delay judgment and leave room for reflection. The light of a hundred stars is no match for the full moon; opening ten windows is no match for opening one that is bright. Petty men may be many, but they are not necessarily worth appointing. Worthy people may be few, but one is enough. King Wen of Zhou found Lü Wang, and Liu Bang found Zhang Liang. Did they succeed because they had a great number of people?

A viper cannot grow legs, and a tiger cannot be given wings. No person is skilled at everything, and no thing is perfect in every respect. It is not difficult to lie down and cross a six-foot mat, but it is difficult to step over it while standing. Different situations call for different skills. People’s abilities vary: some things they can accomplish, while others they cannot, because each person has a different field of strength. Those who help with a sacrifice may receive a share of the offerings, while those who try to mediate a fight may get hurt. Encountering something good may bring a benefit; encountering something bad may cause harm, and all the more so when one takes part directly. Someone who takes shelter beneath an inauspicious tree may be struck by lightning; someone who hides a wicked person will eventually face punishment under the laws of the state.

The sun and moon seek to shine, but drifting clouds cover them; rivers seek to be clear, but mud and sand pollute them; orchids seek to flourish, but autumn winds destroy them; human nature seeks to be still, but cravings harm it. One cannot cover oneself in dust and expect to remain clean. How can one see clearly when surrounded by darkness and obstruction? One who lives among cravings is inevitably influenced by them. When frost and snow fall thickly, orchids and angelica can hardly preserve their fragrance; when mud and sand wash into a river, the water can hardly remain clean.

A gold turtle clasp can serve as an ornament for a worthy person, while ordinary soil can become the wealth of someone capable. Without understanding how something can be used, one may treat even gold and jade as dirt; when one knows how to use it, even soil can become a treasure. Therefore, giving a foolish and weak person gold and jade is worse than giving them a length of cloth: the cloth may at least be kept, while the gold and jade may bring disaster. Petty men are also unsuited to high office; otherwise, they will bring danger and ruin upon themselves.

The hub of a wheel is hollow, and its thirty spokes each serve a purpose. If one used only a single axle and discarded all the spokes, how could the cart travel far? Building a cart depends on many spokes, and governing a state also depends on many kinds of talent if it is to remain secure for long. Oranges and pomelos each have their own growing regions, and reeds each have their own places to grow in clumps. Animals with matching feet travel together, and birds with matching wings fly together. Those of the same kind attract one another; those with the same Qi respond to one another. One cannot learn about the lands of the Nine Provinces without being willing to travel a thousand miles. One cannot govern the people without knowing how to govern. Both are difficult. To understand the world, must one not examine it for oneself? To manage complex affairs, can one do so without any method?

Evil people gather together and are eventually caught; when they gather in groups, they are easy targets for arrows. “Great whiteness seems tarnished” means that what is truly bright and white can appear stained. “Abundant virtue seems insufficient” means that those whose virtue is deep do not flaunt it, and so may appear to have little. When gentlemen drink too much, they are still at fault; when petty men beat a clay vessel, it is not worth imitating, yet it can serve as a warning. A gentleman should not use the faults of petty men as an excuse. People usually like wearing silk and padded clothes, but in wartime they put on armor. They wear silk when it is cold and armor when they go to battle; adapting to the times is a normal part of human life.

Each of the thirty spokes fits a particular opening; they cannot all crowd into one another. This is like ministers each keeping to their own duties. A skilled user of people is like a centipede: it has many legs, but they do not hinder one another. The user of people is also like the tongue and teeth, combining strength and softness, working together without destroying one another. One who appoints people should welcome different abilities, allowing both the foolish and the wise to keep to their proper roles and use their strengths. Stone is naturally hard, and angelica is naturally fragrant. These qualities are present from the beginning and become more evident as they grow. The wise are clever and the foolish are dull; each has its own nature, which often becomes more fixed with age.

Support and assistance, gratitude and modesty, gain and loss, acceptance and refusal differ greatly from one another; they cannot be called exactly the same. Trees that blossom a second time often bear no fruit; flowers that bloom too early wither before the frost arrives. Trying to cure the nose when the hand is diseased, or decorating the forehead when the nose is dirty, means using a method that does not match the problem. A rotten rat placed on the steps will burn and fill a hall with its stench. Jumping into water only makes one wetter; carrying something foul while seeking fragrance is difficult even for a capable person. The rotten rat is a metaphor for treacherous petty men. If a ruler draws close to them yet hopes to govern the state well, it is like carrying something foul while seeking fragrance; in the end, disaster will follow.

Winter ice can be broken, and summer wood can be bent and twisted, but an opportunity is hard to come by and easy to lose. Time is precious and opportunities are rare; gentlemen should wait for the right moment and act promptly when it arrives. When trees are flourishing, they can grow back even after being cut all day. When autumn winds and frost arrive, they can wither in a single night. Those who wish to establish achievements must not miss the moment. When a target is set up, arrows are shot at it; when a forest is dense, axes are brought to it. No one needs to summon them for this to happen; the circumstances themselves bring it about. A nursing dog may dare to bite a tiger, and a brooding hen may dare to fight a wildcat, because gratitude moves them to disregard their own strength. Those who have been raised and cared for may likewise forget their own safety in return.

A boat can float, but it can also sink; the foolish do not understand this. A boat floats because of water, and may also sink because of water. People may thrive through profit, yet they may also be overwhelmed by it. Only by knowing when enough is enough can one avoid the danger of being submerged. If a fine horse can no longer run and is still driven onward, how can one expect it to travel far? If the people are already exhausted and the ruler continues to impose levies without limit, how can the state be expected to remain secure? A level water surface still has waves; a balance may be set straight yet still have errors; measurements may be uniform yet still have discrepancies. Without rules and standards, it is hard to establish the square, the round, the straight, or the crooked. Yet those who hold the rules must also be fair. Even if those above issue impartial laws, those below may still act against them. If the ruler lets likes and dislikes determine rewards and punishments, disorder will follow.

Mount Tai is high, yet one may fail to see it if one looks in the wrong direction. A fine autumn hair is tiny, yet one can see it by looking closely. Fire is hidden in bamboo and wood but will not appear unless it is drawn out by drilling. Water is hidden in the earth but will not flow unless one digs. The Great Dao exists within people, but it will not be understood without learning. However fast an arrow flies, it travels only two miles. A lame turtle can reach a thousand miles if it never stops. A little earth, added without pause, can eventually build a mound or mountain. Learning is not about seeking speed from the start; with long persistence, one can travel a thousand miles and build a mountain from accumulated earth.

If you want to catch fish by the river, it is better to go home and weave a net. Fish in the river must be caught with a net; the Dao within oneself must be sought through the heart. A bow must first be adjusted before it can become powerful; a horse must first be trained before it can become a fine horse; a person must first be trustworthy before they can accomplish anything. Understanding these principles reveals the key to handling all kinds of affairs. Even a master metalworker cannot melt wood, and even an excellent craftsman cannot carve ice; some materials are simply unsuited to certain uses. Gentlemen should keep this in mind: what cannot be governed cannot be made into a useful object, and those unsuited to hearing the Dao cannot have their minds changed even by a sage.

One can keep people from crossing a river, but one cannot keep the river from making waves. Rivers will always have waves, and the world will always have troubles. It is easier to prevent people from provoking trouble than to keep a river forever calm. Do not assume that because you are innocent, you will never suffer a mishap; even a vessel may eventually fall into a well. Someone who criticizes my conduct may be hoping to become close to me; someone who criticizes my goods may be hoping to buy them. What one desires inwardly often shows on the outside.

A single move in a game of go cannot reveal a player’s skill, and a single plucked string cannot show the beauty of music. A single piece of burning charcoal can burn a finger when picked up, but thousands of coals burning together will not kill someone who stands ten paces away. This is because fire has different effects depending on whether it is concentrated or dispersed. Prosperity is followed by decline, and prominence is followed by hardship; rise and fall, flourishing and decay, take turns. If those above wear silk and fine garments, those below may lack coarse cloth. When a ruler lives in luxury and wastes resources, the people lack food and clothing; a ruler must keep this in view. The taller a tree grows, the deeper and wider its roots must be. The higher a mountain rises, the broader its foundations must be. The people are the roots of the ruler, and those in high office should take the people below as their foundation.

Laozi said, “A drum does not hide sound, so it can produce sound; a mirror does not hide images, so it can reflect them. Because the drum hides no sound and the mirror hides no image, each reveals sound and image in its own way. Metal and stone can make sound, but they remain silent unless struck. Flutes and pipes can produce notes, but they make no sound unless someone blows into them. Metal and stone, flutes and pipes cannot make sound by themselves; they depend on striking or blowing. All people, though endowed with the nature of Dao and De, will achieve nothing in the end if they do not learn.

“So the sage holds what is within and does not issue commands to the world. Only when something comes before him does he deal with it; only when something appears does he respond. The sage does not speak rashly or respond to matters without sincerity. The course of Heaven never stops; it turns and returns, and so it endures. A wheel can turn and travel far only when it is properly placed. The working of Heaven is mysterious, unfathomable, and without end; therefore it is called the ‘course of Heaven.’ It proceeds without error and so does not stray from the right path.

“When the Qi of Heaven descends and the Qi of Earth rises, the Qi of Yin and Yang meet, and all things can grow together. If the course of Heaven proceeds without error and a ruler governs without misjudgment, the Qi of Heaven and Earth can flow freely. All things then find what suits them; ruler and ministers are in harmony, and those above and below are at peace. When noble people hold power and act, petty people withdraw. This is the Way of Heaven and Earth. Removing the wicked and appointing the worthy accords with the Way of Heaven and Earth.

“If the Qi of Heaven does not descend, the Qi of Earth does not rise, and the Qi of Yin and Yang do not communicate, all things cannot flourish. Petty people gain power while noble people withdraw; the grains cannot grow, and De is buried. The Qi of Heaven and Earth fail to meet and the Qi of Yin and Yang fail to flow because the rulers of the world do not put De into practice. They allow crooked and petty people to occupy official posts and leave noble people stranded among the common folk. Thus all things fail to flourish and the grains do not ripen.

“The Way of Heaven reduces what is excessive and replenishes what is lacking. The Way of Earth lowers what is high and raises what is low. This is the Way of Heaven and Earth. The way of ghosts and spirits suppresses arrogance and fullness, bringing them low. Circumstances also frustrate the self-satisfied and benefit those who are humble and lowly. The usual way of the human world, however, is to give nothing more to those who already have plenty, and to let those who already possess something gain no more. The way of the sage is to remain in a low position, so that no one can rise above him. The sage never vies for the highest place, and so people honor him all the more.

“Only when Heaven and the sun are bright can they illuminate the four quarters. Only when the ruler and ministers are wise can the state be secure. The world can endure only when light reaches all four quarters. To let light shine forth is to spread instruction; when instruction has reached all four quarters, the people can all be transformed by it.

“The Way of Heaven has the sun, moon, and stars as its ornament; the Way of Earth has mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas as its pattern. Yin and Yang join and blend into a harmonious Qi. The four seasons each have their appointed order, proceeding in season without confusion. From this, Heaven and Earth bring forth all things. This pattern of operation is called the Dao. The Dao gives life to and nurtures all things, yet does not take itself to be their ruler; therefore it is called the Dao.

“The Great Dao is broad and level, and is not far from people. Cultivate the Dao within yourself, and your De will be true and pure. Put the Dao into practice in your dealings with things, and De will endure. Inner cultivation that is true and pure is called ‘genuineness’; nurturing all things outwardly is called ‘De.’

“Heaven covers all things, bestows its blessings, and nurtures them. It gives without claiming ownership, so the spirits of all things return to Heaven. To give without demanding anything in return is the highest De; therefore Heaven has De. Nothing is higher than Heaven, and nothing lower than the earth. Heaven is high and Earth is low. The sage follows this order, giving each its proper rank, and the world can then be at peace. High and low each have their place, and noble and humble alike occupy their proper positions.

“Earth bears all things and makes them grow. It gives to all things and also takes what it needs from them. Thus the bones and remains of all things ultimately return to Earth. To give and then take in return is a lower kind of De. Though this way does not lack De, it cannot be called the De of Wuwei. When it is said that Heaven gives but does not take, this means that Heaven brings all things into being and nurtures them, but does not use their material; therefore the spirits of all things return to Heaven. Earth, by contrast, brings all things to maturity, and when they die, their forms and substance return to it. Thus their bones return to Earth. Earth gives and then takes back, so its De cannot be called the De of Wuwei.

“Earth receives Heaven’s support, and so is stable. Only when Earth is stable can all things take form. Because Earth is broad and deep, all things can gather upon it. It is stable, so there is nothing it cannot bear; it is vast, so there is nothing it cannot contain. Its deep terrain allows springs and waters to gather; the breadth of its way enables it to endure. The sage follows the example of Earth, making his De capable of embracing everything. This means that Heaven and Earth support one another to become vast and deep, while ruler and ministers must trust one another for the state to be governed in harmony.

“When the yielding Yin and the firm Yang work together, all things flourish. When Yang Qi harmonizes Yin Qi, all things are at peace. When all things flourish, provisions will not be scarce; when they are at peace, they can live contentedly. When all things are content, governance proceeds smoothly. If Yin Qi harms all things, Yang Qi is suppressed. Yin Qi rises and Yang Qi withdraws; petty people gain power, while noble people withdraw to avoid calamity. This is the natural course of things. When Yang Qi is restrained by Yin Qi, the world can be brought into harmony and order. But if ministers overpower the ruler, petty people will occupy official posts.

“When Yang Qi stirs, all things unfold and find their proper place. Therefore the sage follows the way of Yang. Respond to things, and they will respond in kind; go against them, and they will resist. In this way one does not violate their nature. When marshlands are full, all things are nourished appropriately and grow; when they dry up, all things wither. If rain does not come, the whole world falls into ruin. Yang Qi rises and descends, governing the growth of all things. It does not remain forever in one state, and so it can turn and return. Only what turns and returns can endure; what endures is the root of all things.

“The sage follows the course of Heaven and therefore practices Wuwei and endures. If one goes against the nature of things, one cannot hold onto one’s position, even if one occupies it. Yang Qi must accumulate before it can be put forth; Yin Qi must gather before it can transform. Nothing can change without first accumulating. Therefore the sage treats accumulation with care. Accumulating De brings blessings and good fortune; accumulating evil brings ruin.

“When Yang Qi prevails over Yin Qi, all things grow lush and full; when Yin Qi prevails over Yang Qi, all things decline. Thus when princes and nobles esteem the way of Yang, all things flourish; when they esteem the way of Yin, the world falls into decline. Yang represents uprightness and growth, so all things grow full and prosper. Yin represents crookedness and decline, so all things wither and perish.

“If Yang Qi does not draw near to Yin Qi, all things cannot mature. If a ruler does not humble himself before his ministers, the transforming influence of De cannot be put into effect. A humble ruler can hear clearly and see distinctly; one unwilling to lower himself becomes blind and obstructed. Unless a ruler is supremely wise, he cannot humble himself before his ministers; unless ministers are supremely worthy, they cannot assist their ruler. Yu Shun treated Bocheng with respect, and King Wen of Zhou took Shangfu—Jiang Taigong—as his teacher. Both may be called wise.

“The sun rises above the earth, and all things grow in abundance. Princes and nobles who stand above the people should make De shine forth. When the sun sinks beneath the earth, all things rest. If petty people occupy high positions, all things withdraw and lie hidden. This means that when Yang Qi does not draw near to Yin Qi, all things cannot flourish; when a ruler does not humble himself before his ministers, all things lie dormant.

“Thunder shakes the ground, and all things sprout. Rain moistens them, and all things unfold. When a great person acts, it is much the same. The movement of Yin and Yang follows fixed measures, and the actions of a great person do not press all things too hard. The rise of a great person is like the stirring of spring thunder. Issuing commands is like a warm spring breeze: it brings harmony into balance and does not harm all things.

“Thunder shakes the earth, and all things unfold; wind shakes the trees, and plants may be damaged. When a great person removes evil and upholds good, the people do not flee far away. People make choices: they leave what is especially bad and turn toward what is somewhat better. If a great person acts with goodness, the people will flock to him. When the ancient Duke Danfu left Bin, who among the people thought the journey too far?

“Without wind, fire will not ignite; if a great person does not speak, petty people have nothing to pass on. Fire needs fuel to burn, and the words of a great person must carry credibility. If words are true and trustworthy, what could one undertake and fail to accomplish? Once fire has caught, fuel passes the flame onward; once words have been spoken, trust makes them real. Thus, once a great person begins to act, he does not turn back lightly. His trustworthiness is as constant as the seasons.

“Rivers flow deep, soil rests on mountains, hills rise high, and low places open into abysses. When Yang reaches its height, it turns into Yin; when Yin reaches its height, it turns into Yang. Therefore desire must not be excessive, and pleasure must not reach its limit. The workings of Heaven are subtle; at times things rise high, at times they descend. Only by restraining desire and remaining balanced can one follow the principle of Heaven and keep things from reaching extremes.

“To feel anger yet speak no harsh words and show no angry expression is to know how to handle oneself well. Even if anger has not yet subsided, as long as rebellious words and an angry expression do not show, one is using the Dao within to steady oneself.

“Flames rise upward and water flows downward. The sage follows a similar principle: things close to one another attract each other. Draw near to the way of Yang, and the world will be harmonious and congenial; draw near to the way of Yin, and the world will sink into hardship. To draw near to the way of Yang is to draw near to loyal and worthy people; to draw near to the way of Yin is to draw near to the treacherous and fawning.”

Laozi says: Small accumulations grow abundant; what begins low can reach great heights. The noble person strives diligently each day, making their virtue increasingly evident. The petty person seeks only passing pleasure, and in the end falls into hardship and disgrace. The noble person diligently cultivates the Dao (the Way), and their virtue grows brighter day by day. The petty person indulges their desires in the dark, and ultimately brings hardship and shame upon themselves. Though this change may not be visible at once, when you see good conduct, you should hasten to follow it; when you encounter what is bad, be as alert as if facing an ill omen.

If one is wholeheartedly committed to goodness, even one’s faults need not give rise to resentment toward others. But if one refuses to pursue goodness, even actions done out of loyalty may invite aversion. So it is better to examine oneself than to resent others, and better to seek earnestly within oneself than to seek from others. Sound comes from what one utters; things of the same kind attract one another; reputation is determined by one’s conduct, and a person’s position is brought about by their own performance. Nothing is not caused by oneself. If you take a sharp point and stab someone, or wield a blade and cut them, how can you blame someone else? Thus the noble person is careful even about the smallest things. To be careful about the subtle means that cultivation is not only a matter of great undertakings; one must also attend to the smallest details.

If one is wholeheartedly committed to goodness, there is no need to seek blessings from others: strive to find them within yourself. If one refuses to pursue goodness, misfortune will fall upon oneself—whom, then, can one blame? Doing what is bad is like cutting oneself with a knife or feeding a fire until it blazes. Whom could one hold responsible?

All things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang. The Qi (vital energy) of Yin and Yang blends and harmonizes, forming a gentle Qi. Harmony resides within all things. Thus the fruits of trees develop from the centers of flowers, and the fruits of grasses and plants grow within pods. Creatures born from eggs and those born from the womb develop within the mother’s body. Beings that have neither egg nor womb must also wait for the proper time to grow. Though all things are different in kind, they take shape through the harmony of Yin and Yang within them. Some lives must also pass through stages such as the egg, coming into being in accordance with change; this is why they need time.

When the ground is level, water does not rush along. When the two ends of a balance beam carry equal weight, the scale does not tilt. On level ground, water has no force driving it into a rapid current; when a balance is level, there is no imbalance in the weight of its objects. The growth and transformation of all things are brought about by some form of resonance. Each thing comes into being in response to the resonance that corresponds to it; nothing happens without cause.

Laozi says: Where mountains rise to great heights, clouds and rain gather; where waters run deep, dragons take shape. When a noble person cultivates the Dao to a profound level, the blessings of De spread in turn. Those who accumulate hidden De through good deeds unknown to others will surely receive visible blessings; those who act in obscurity will surely leave behind a shining reputation. A mountain imbued with spiritual energy naturally brings down clouds and rain; one whose Dao practice is profound naturally bestows kindness. There is no principle by which one can receive a reward without first doing what merits it. Sow millet and you will not harvest panicled millet; sow resentment and you will not receive a reward of De. Sowing millet yet harvesting panicled millet is a metaphor for sowing resentment yet receiving a reward of De.

This concludes Volume Six of the Wenzi: Understanding the Mysteries.

Volume Seven of the Wenzi: Understanding the Mysteries, with commentary by Zimozi.

Subtlety and Illumination

The Dao extends beyond the myriad things and is called “subtlety”; De lies concealed in the depths of the unseen and is called “illumination.” From this we know that without reaching the subtle level, one cannot investigate the root; without inner discernment, one cannot grasp the essential meaning. “Subtlety and Illumination” refers precisely to these two aspects: substance and function.

Laozi says: The Dao may be soft and yielding, or firm and strong; it may be gentle or rigid, Yin or Yang, dark or bright. It can embrace Heaven and Earth, adapt to things as they change, and respond to circumstances without end. What is said here means the same as the chapter “The Origin of the Dao.”

A shallow understanding cannot see what lies deep. Knowing only what is external leaves the inner unknown; grasping only what is coarse fails to comprehend what is subtle. Those who truly understand know that they do not know everything. Those who think they know nothing may sometimes be close to genuine understanding. Who can see that what is called “knowing” may itself be not-knowing, and what is called “not-knowing” may be true knowing?

The Dao cannot be heard with the ears. If you think you have heard it, what you heard is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen with the eyes. If you think you have seen it, what you saw is not the Dao. Nor can the Dao be fully expressed in words; once spoken, it cannot be equated with the Dao. Who can recognize an existence whose form is formless? Thus, when everyone under Heaven takes goodness to be good, badness appears alongside it. Few truly understand the Dao. Those who love to speak often do not understand it. The Dao transcends form and sound, so how could it be discerned simply by hearing or seeing? De (Virtue/Power) does not depend on ornament or embellishment, so how could judgments of good and bad explain it? This is the meaning of “Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know.”

Wenzi asked, “Can the Dao be expressed in subtle words?” Laozi replied, “Why not? Yet those who truly understand the function of words do not necessarily say everything they understand. ‘Subtle words’ means words of the utmost refinement. Only with someone who is not attached to words can one discuss the Dao.”

Those who compete to catch fish get their clothes wet; those who chase wild animals run in haste. They do not do this because they enjoy getting wet or running, but to obtain fish and animals. From this we can understand that the highest form of speech is not attached to words, and the highest level of action is not attached to action. People of shallow insight know only how to dispute over words; they do not understand that what they are disputing is merely incidental.

Words have a foundation, and affairs have a governing principle. If you insist on regarding yourself as all-knowing, you will never truly understand me. The Dao is nameless and subtle; words are a fundamental means of reaching the highest principle. Those who understand the subtle Dao are not confined by words; those who understand the foundation to which words point do not contend with others. When words reach their utmost, one can grasp what lies beyond them. When action reaches its utmost, one can act without attachment to action. In the end, understanding must come through one’s own realization. Who can abandon this understanding of mine?

Wenzi asked, “Is there a set way to govern a state?”

Laozi replied, “When people pull a cart, the person at the front calls out, ‘Xieyu, huohu!’ and those behind join in. This is a song used to rally the strength of the cart pullers and help everyone work together. The music of Zheng, Wei, Hu, and Chu each has its own character, but none is as effective as this song at accompanying the work at hand and spurring people to exert themselves. Governing a state, too, calls for fitting rites and laws; it does not depend on elegant words or elaborate argument. The denser and more conspicuous the laws and commands, the more thieves there will be. The methods adopted must suit the circumstances and address what matters in each case. When pulling a cart, for instance, people need a rousing work song; it would be out of place to perform the “Xianchi” (a legendary ancient musical piece) to accompany them. In governing a state and bringing peace to the people, one should esteem simplicity and plainness. Why insist on elaborate, ornate embellishments?”

Laozi said, “The Dao has no fixed form, yet it can serve as the fundamental principle. A forest, for example, can yield timber, but timber cannot contain the whole forest; the forest, in turn, cannot contain clouds and rain; clouds and rain cannot contain Yin-Yang; Yin-Yang cannot contain harmony; and harmony, too, cannot contain the Dao. The Dao is what is called ‘the form without form, the image of no concrete thing.’ Its meaning is hard to express fully in words, yet between Heaven and Earth it molds all things and brings about their transformations. The great Dao has no fixed form. All things arise from the Dao, just as the forest itself is not timber, though timber comes from the forest. Clouds and rain, Yin-Yang, and harmony are said to fall short of the Dao because the Dao has neither form nor image, and so can encompass all things and govern every direction. Only those who observe and follow the Dao know that transformation has no end.”

Laozi said, “When sages establish teachings and issue commands, they must…”

Laozi says: When a sage establishes instruction and issues decrees, he must examine the causes and consequences of events and see clearly the benefits these measures produce. Here, “producing benefits” means devising and implementing instruction.

Thus, when the people understand written rules and clauses, their simple, wholesome virtue declines. When they understand calculation and measurement, their benevolence declines. When they understand contracts and agreements, the custom of keeping faith with one another as a single community declines. When they understand mechanical devices and techniques, the custom of plain sincerity declines. These things arose only after people had lost the Dao (the Way). As circumstances change, systems are devised; the more closely those systems regulate people, the more seriously people tend to violate them. We can therefore see that mechanical devices are introduced only after genuine, sincere trust has declined; and once decrees and instruction arise, deceit and transgression grow more prevalent.

A se (an ancient stringed instrument) makes no sound by itself. Its twenty-five strings each respond in turn, producing different notes. An axle does not turn by itself. The thirty spokes—the wooden rods connecting the axle to the rim—each bear their share of the load, allowing the wheel to rotate. The strings must be taut in some places and slack in others for a melody to be played; a vehicle must bear strain and find rest in turn to travel far. What allows sound to arise is the se’s own silence; what allows a wheel to turn is the axle’s own stillness. Though the body of the se makes no sound, the strings produce one; though the axle does not turn, rotation takes place in the wheel. What seems silent can produce sound; what seems motionless can set a wheel in motion. Thus, because the se’s body is silent, melody and rhythm can take shape; because the axle does not turn, the wheel can carry a vehicle far.

When those above and below each follow their own course, governance can easily fall into disorder. Those in high positions must follow a broad course if those below are to obey. Those entrusted with great affairs but guided only by narrow understanding invite calamity. A hat must not be trampled underfoot, and a minister must not rise above the ruler. When the relationship between high and low is thrown into disorder, the state soon perishes.

Minor virtue can hinder great righteousness; small acts of goodness can obstruct the Dao; petty argument can undermine governance; and harsh, trivial demands can damage virtue. Those who merely boast of small, immediate favors obscure the Dao; those who indulge a passing anger injure lofty virtue. Truly impartial governance does not take a crooked or perilous path, so the people are easy to guide. Governance that reaches perfection is generous and composed, so the people do not harm one another. The truly loyal return to simplicity, and so the people have nothing to conceal or falsify. When those above are fair and peaceful, those below have no need for deceit or crookedness; when those above are clear-minded and restrained, those below have no need for cunning or pretense.

Laozi says: When laws are established that punish people by association, the people grow resentful. When commands are issued to strip people of their ranks, meritorious officials lose their loyalty. Lawsuits implicating many people cause even the innocent to suffer resentment; when ranks are taken away, those who have earned merit become dissatisfied and turn against the court. Thus, those who know only how to study legal documents do not understand the roots of bringing disorder under control. Those who know only how to fight in military formations likewise do not understand the key to planning victory and defeat at court.

The foundation of governing the world lies in presiding at court and ruling through stillness and Wuwei (non-action). This is beyond the understanding of officials who know only how to inspect and assign blame. The key to planning victory and defeat at court lies within the decision maker’s own mind; this, too, is beyond the understanding of ordinary soldiers. The sage seeks blessings before calamity appears and considers possible disasters in places too obscure to discern. “Within the inner gates, beyond the darkness” refers to a state in which fortune and misfortune have not yet become manifest. To put an end to scattered thoughts and enter the profound, hidden realm—who but a sage could perceive what lies there?

The foolish are often beguiled by small, immediate gains and forget greater dangers. They act for the benefit of a small part while harming the whole, seeing what they gain here and forgetting what is lost elsewhere. To focus on a small part and forget the larger picture, to seek gain while ignoring harm—this quickly leads to ruin. Is that not foolishness? The greatest benevolence is to care for others; the greatest wisdom is to understand them. If you care for others, you will not impose punishments recklessly and make people resentful. If you understand them, you will not let government fall into disorder. Treat others as you treat yourself, and punishments will not be abused; understand people sincerely, and government will not be thrown into confusion.

Laozi says: When rivers rise, however great their waters, they do not flood for more than three days. Fierce winds and torrential rain may come suddenly, but they soon cease once the sun appears. This means that even if someone acts violently for a time, it cannot last long. Like a fierce wind raging across the land, it will soon die down. Those who have not built up their De (Virtue/Power) yet feel no concern about it are perhaps already close to ruin. Anxiety can rouse people to vigilance and lead them toward prosperity, while settling into pleasure and indulgence may bring ruin. Therefore, those skilled in handling affairs can turn weakness into strength and transform calamity into good fortune. The Great Dao seems empty, yet its workings are inexhaustible and it is never depleted. The foolish remain stubbornly unaware, treating calamity as joy, and soon come to ruin. Those who can turn calamity into good fortune will in time prosper.

Laozi said: Quietude, contentment, and calm are part of human nature; proper bearing and measured conduct are the principles for handling affairs. When you understand human nature, self-cultivation will not go against your original nature. When you understand the principles for handling affairs, your actions and decisions will not become confused. Contentment and calm are the foundation for following one’s nature; rules and standards serve to restrain excessive desires. If you are drawn along by desire and gain, then even if you appear quiet, your heart will often go against its nature. If you understand the rules and standards, then even when you act, you will not lose your sense of measure.

A single command can end the heart’s striving and bring its many thoughts into unity. To gather the myriad things within one heart is called “the heart.” Seeing the root allows you to infer the details; grasping one principle allows you to respond to all affairs. This is called “method”—the way of handling affairs. When the heart is free of contention, it can return to wholeness. When every part of body and mind returns to the root, you can meet all things in accord with the Dao. This is method.

In stillness, know what you rely on; in movement, know where you are going; in handling affairs, know what conditions to follow; in every action, know when to stop. This is called the Dao: the principle of following the fundamental patterns of things. The actions, words, advances, and retreats of a perfected person—one who understands the Great Dao—each have their basis. If they did not, how could they be said to accord with the Dao?

Having others praise or promote you results from what takes place in your own heart. Having others scorn or slander you may also arise from your own failings. Once words leave your mouth and others hear them, you cannot take them back. An action may begin nearby, yet its effects can reach far away. Good and evil depend on you; blame and praise are carried by others. Once people’s talk has spread, it is hard to stop. A single misstep in conduct can send its consequences far and wide.

Affairs are hard to bring to completion but easy to ruin; a reputation is hard to establish but easy to destroy. Ordinary people often dismiss small dangers and treat minor matters as unimportant, until they eventually give rise to great calamities. People bring calamity upon themselves; blessings, too, must be brought about through one’s own efforts. Calamity and blessing often arise from the same source, and benefit and harm often accompany each other. Without insight into subtle distinctions, it is hard to tell them apart. Thus, thought is the gateway through which calamity and blessing arise, while action and stillness are the turning points where benefit and harm change. These must be examined with care.

One who understands the Great Dao always plans before acting and can reason from beginning to end. Once fame and profit arise, they open the way for calamity and blessing to enter. Therefore, cut off the pursuit of fame and profit at its source, and close the gateways through which calamity and blessing enter. Then clever schemes will naturally subside, and action and stillness will no longer stir up confusion.

Laozi says: Everyone knows how to quell disorder and restore stability, but no one knows how to preserve life. Therefore, the sage examines the conditions of the world and acts accordingly, weighing how affairs and the pursuit of fame and profit arise, for these are the gateways through which misfortune and good fortune enter. When the sources of fame and profit are blocked and the gates of misfortune and good fortune are closed, schemes naturally subside, and neither action nor stillness is thrown out of balance.

Laozi also says: Everyone knows how to quell disorder, but no one knows how to preserve life. Therefore, the sage examines the conditions of the world, weighs the times, and plans how to respond. The sage can discern the underlying principles in secret, be gentle or firm, weak or strong. Acting in accordance with the times and drawing on their own abilities, they establish their achievements. By observing how things develop, they know how they might turn around; from a single event, they can discern the signs of change. When things change, they take on the forms suited to the moment; as circumstances unfold, the sage responds appropriately. Thus, throughout life, they never find themselves in a dead end.

Everyone can recognize the signs of order and disorder, yet cannot preserve themselves amid their shifts. The sage, however, examines the conditions of the world, weighs each matter, and responds to change without limit. Acting in accord with the moment, they remain free from humiliation throughout life. Some things can be spoken of but not put into practice; some can be put into practice but are not suitable to speak of; some are easy to begin but hard to complete; and some are hard to complete yet easy to fail at. What can be put into practice but is not suitable to speak of is deciding whether to advance or withdraw. What can be spoken of but not put into practice is deceit and falsehood. What is easy to begin but hard to complete is practical work. What is hard to complete yet easy to fail at is the pursuit of reputation. The sage keeps these four situations in mind, and only the wise can discern them for themselves. To examine the right moment for advancing, withdrawing, acting, or remaining still, and to distinguish the causes of success and failure—only the enlightened can see these things clearly.

Laozi said: “Those who embody the Dao attend to what is subtle and act without missing the right moment. They remain cautiously prepared for every possibility, so troubles do not take root. When planning for good fortune, do not look only at what you can gain in the immediate future. When considering dangers, think them through thoroughly. When frost falls, those with shelter are unharmed; even a dull-witted person who makes preparations can achieve the same result as someone clever. If a wise person ignores the consequences, they are no better than a fool; if a fool makes preparations, they can act like a sage.

“Accumulated affection brings good fortune; accumulated hatred invites trouble. Everyone knows that when trouble strikes, one must try to remedy it, yet few understand that trouble can be prevented from arising in the first place. Preventing trouble is easy; remedying it after it has begun is difficult. People today make no effort to prevent trouble before it arises, but busy themselves only with remedying it afterward. Even someone with divine powers would find it hard to devise a way for them. The causes of trouble take countless forms and are difficult to predict.

“Sages dwell in quiet stillness to avoid trouble. They remain calm and speak little, waiting for the right moment. Small-minded people do not understand how good fortune and trouble come about. They act rashly and eventually fall under punishment. Even if they take precautions at every turn, they may not be able to protect themselves. Thus, those of high cultivation first avoid trouble, then seek advantage; first distance themselves from disgrace, then seek renown. Sages always deal with things before they become evident. They do not focus their minds only on what has already taken shape. In this way, trouble has no chance to arrive, and neither praise nor blame can disturb them.

“People become caught up in gain and loss, advantage and harm, often because of affection and hatred. If affection and hatred do not arise, where could blame or praise come from? A noble person can see the first signs of trouble before it appears, and so can deal with it easily. Though small-minded people may bend every effort to guard against it, they still end up inviting trouble. Once trouble has appeared, trying to remedy it is difficult; once things have taken shape, it is hard to escape.”

Laozi says: In conducting oneself, one should be cautious in thought, broad in aspiration, flexible in wisdom, upright in conduct, rich in abilities, and sparing in affairs.

To be “cautious in thought” means to consider matters thoroughly before trouble arises, preventing problems before they occur; to remain alert even to the smallest details and not indulge one’s desires. To be “broad in aspiration” means to embrace all the lands under Heaven, allowing people of different customs to live in harmony; when opposing views and disputes gather, one remains at the center, bringing them into balance like the hub of a wheel. To be “flexible in wisdom” means to see things from beginning to end without fixating on any single point, like water flowing in every direction or a deep spring that never runs dry. To be “upright in conduct” means to stand straight without bending, to remain pure and unstained; to hold fast to one’s principles in hardship and not let one’s will run unchecked in times of success. To be “rich in abilities” means to possess both civil and military skills, to act and rest in accordance with proper standards, and to handle or suspend affairs, appoint or dismiss people, with sound judgment. To be “sparing in affairs” means to direct many matters by grasping their key points, to govern a broad sphere by attending to what is essential, and to meet agitation with calm.

Thus, those who are cautious in thought can prevent mistakes at their earliest signs; those broad in aspiration can embrace all things; those flexible in wisdom can see clearly whatever arises; those upright in conduct know what they must refrain from doing; those rich in abilities can handle all kinds of affairs; and those sparing in affairs can grasp the essentials and keep their commitments within bounds. Only the highest sages and perfected beings—the realized ones honored in Daoism—can embody all these qualities.

Sages never fail to do a good deed, however small, and never fail to correct a fault, however slight. They do not need to rely on spirit mediums—people who communicate with spirits through divination, prayers for protection, and similar practices—and even the spirits dare not act against them first. This may be called the highest dignity. Only the highest sages and perfected beings can attain this. Yet they remain constantly cautious, growing more vigilant with each passing day. In this way, through Wuwei (non-action), they bring body and mind to unity. They do not fail others outwardly, nor do they betray their own conscience inwardly. Why, then, would such people need to rely on spirit mediums, or fear the spirits? It is precisely by remaining mindful of danger and cautious at every turn that they preserve themselves to the end.

Foolish people have little wisdom, yet undertake too many things, so they easily fall into difficulty as soon as they act. Guide people with proper laws and instruction, and follow the natural course of things, and success comes readily. Guide them with crooked teachings, and the task is bound to be difficult and ultimately to fail. To abandon what can succeed easily and insist instead on a difficult course destined to fail is the result of foolish delusion. Those who do not weigh gains and losses simply wait for ruin to arrive. When affairs are complicated and hard to accomplish, toil may still end in failure. When matters are clear and easy to carry out, success comes readily; to refuse even then to act accordingly is the height of foolishness.

Laozi said: Good fortune forms through gradual accumulation, while calamity often arises from a tangled web of causes. The signs of change between fortune and calamity are extremely subtle and difficult to detect. The sage can see both the beginning of events and their final outcome, so must observe them closely. Good fortune is as light as a feather, yet only the sage can see it coming; calamity is as heavy as Mount Tai, yet fools often fail to see it drawing near.

An enlightened ruler rewards and punishes not according to personal likes and dislikes, but for the sake of the state. If something pleases him but brings no benefit to the state, he does not reward it. If something displeases him but benefits the state, he does not punish it. The enlightened ruler’s rewards and punishments may seem weighty, yet fools cannot see the reasoning behind them. They are determined according to what is fair: actions that benefit the state and serve the people are carried out; those that benefit only oneself and do no good for others are stopped.

Thus, one who upholds the Way of right conduct and acts appropriately is called a gentleman; one who abandons the Way of right conduct and behaves improperly is called a petty person. The boundary between gentleman and petty person is not fixed: conduct that accords with reason makes one a gentleman, while conduct that violates the standard makes one a petty person.

Those who have attained understanding know how to follow the way things are, without feeling wearied. This is the highest level of insight into the mysterious principles. Those at the next level exert themselves, but are not exhausted; ordinary people work diligently and do not slacken; those at the lowest level are both weary and exhausted. The minds of people at the lowest level are clouded and sluggish, and their spirits are disordered, so the more they do, the wearier and more exhausted they become.

The ancients could experience the Dao without claiming it as their own; people today abandon the Dao without ever truly experiencing it. “Not claiming it” means neither possessing it nor taking pride in it; “experiencing the Dao” means coming to know it through experience. The ancients experienced the Dao without boasting of it, while people today lack the Dao yet boast of themselves.

King Zhou made chopsticks of ivory. The worthy minister Jizi of the Shang dynasty sighed at this, for he saw that extravagance would continue to spread. The state of Lu buried wooden figures with the dead. These figures were carved in human form and placed among the burial objects; Confucius, too, sighed at this, because it violated ritual propriety. By seeing how something begins, one can infer where it will eventually lead. Petty people saw the ivory chopsticks and burial figures and thought they were signs of honor in life and grandeur after death. The gentleman, however, saw in them the decline of the age and the eventual loss of good fortune.

Laozi says: “Humaneness is what people admire, and rightness is what they esteem. Yet sometimes a person may be admired and praised, only to bring about his own death and the ruin of his state. This is because what he does does not suit the times. So if one understands humaneness and rightness but not how to adapt to the circumstances of the world, one cannot grasp the Great Dao. If one upholds only the customs of humaneness and rightness, without understanding how timing and circumstances change, one cannot save what is collapsing. How could this be called understanding the way things work?

“The Five Emperors governed through De, allowing things to follow their natural course and intervening little. The Three Kings acted through rightness, punishing violence and bringing peace to the people. The Five Hegemons relied on force and strategy. To apply the ways of governing from the age of emperors to the age of the Five Hegemons would be out of step with the times. Whether the same action is praised or condemned changes with social custom; whether the same conduct is suitable also shifts with the times. Different ages require different methods of governance. To put the ancient way of governing into practice in the age of the Five Hegemons would be like fixing the strings of a zither before tuning it, or drinking poisoned wine when thirsty. It truly would not work.

“Only those who understand the workings of Heaven and human conduct can govern the affairs of the world. Here, ‘ordering’ means managing the ordinary affairs of the world. One who understands Heaven’s way but not human feelings cannot live among ordinary people. One who understands human feelings but not Heaven’s way cannot accord with the Great Dao. Only by understanding both Heaven’s way and human affairs, as well as worldly customs and the conditions of the times, can one govern the world’s affairs and roam freely in the Dao.

“If you attend only to your own intentions and feelings, you will clash with others and meet resistance from those who are hard and unyielding. If you continually drive yourself to pursue external things, you will wear down your body. Like ice and charcoal set against each other, you will also be affected by the changes of Yin and Yang.

“One who has attained the Dao can adapt outwardly to changing events while remaining inwardly unchanged. By adapting outwardly, he understands human feelings; by remaining unchanged inwardly, he preserves himself. His inner resolve is firm, yet outwardly he can bend or yield, acting as circumstances shift. He can do many things without falling into difficulty. What is precious about the Great Dao is its ability to transform without limit, like a dragon.

“The actions of one who has attained the Dao accord with Heaven’s way; in stillness, he rests securely like the earth. He decides for himself when to act and when to be still, when to draw back and when to advance. Thus worldly conventions cannot harm him, and the affairs of the world cannot bind him. After meeting Laozi, Confucius exclaimed that he must be like a dragon, whose transformations cannot be fathomed.

“If one clings to a single principle and follows only one course, refusing to change even after taking it to the utmost, one becomes bound by a partial preference and loses access to the Great Dao. If one is confined to a corner, how can one speak of the Great Dao?

“The Dao is still, empty, and ungraspable. It does not deliberately interfere with external things, nor does it constrain itself through deliberate action. The boundary between things and oneself therefore dissolves; within stillness and emptiness, subtle power appears naturally. So when one follows the Dao, events do not arise from personal exertion but are the natural workings of the Great Dao. The Dao has no fixed form, and events do not always go smoothly. If one insists that one’s own way of doing things is the Dao, conflict and calamity will follow. The commentary says that ‘setting forth’ means establishing or putting into practice: rules established externally are only the outward appearance of the Dao, not its true substance, and one must not cling to them. Clinging leads to loss; forcing things makes failure likely. This principle is clear.

“Heaven and earth cover and support all things; the sun and moon shine upon them; Yin and Yang nourish them; rain and dew moisten them; De sustains them. These functions all belong to a single harmony. With the vast sky overhead and the broad earth beneath your feet, you dwell between Heaven and earth. If your heart is like a bright mirror reflecting the Great Clarity, you can see the sun and moon. To live in an age of great peace is like residing in a spacious hall. Those who can roam in the depths of the mysterious and far-reaching can share the radiance of the sun and moon. Though formless, they can appear amid what has form. Thus the True Person entrusts his spirit to the numinous terrace, the clear place within the heart, and returns to the beginning of all things—that is, to the root that existed before birth.

“The True Person observes in the depths and listens where there is no sound. In darkness and distance, he alone understands; in stillness, he alone sees clearly. Dwelling between Heaven and earth, he observes the brightness of the sun and moon and roams in an age of peace, at ease wherever he goes. Though he lives between Heaven and earth, he can contain all things. In silence he perceives clearly, and the many sounds settle into quiet; gazing upon the formless, he brings the forms of all things into view. In this way, he endures with Heaven and earth and shines with the sun and moon. The True Person entrusts his Shen to the numinous terrace and holds his Jing and Qi within; this is why he is called a True Person.

“The Dao’s function may appear to be doing nothing, yet it is precisely because it does not act deliberately that it can accomplish its work. The Dao’s wisdom may appear to know nothing, yet it is precisely because it does not cling to knowledge that it truly knows.

“The Dao is the root followed by all things. De is the power that supports the growth of life. Humaneness is the expression of accumulated kindness. Rightness is a standard that accords with one’s heart and is also fitting for the people. These four are all needed to conduct oneself in the world and cultivate oneself; none can be dispensed with. Only when the Great Dao declined did De flourish; only when De declined did humaneness and rightness appear. Thus in ancient times, people honored the Dao without speaking especially of De. In the middle ages, people upheld De but did not truly embody it. Later generations observed these principles everywhere, afraid above all of losing humaneness and rightness.

“Therefore, without rightness, a noble person cannot establish himself; to lose rightness is to lose the very basis on which he lives. Without benefit, a petty person cannot survive; to lose benefit is to lose what sustains his life. The noble person fears losing rightness, while the petty person fears losing benefit. By seeing what each fears losing, we can understand that they have different ideas of what counts as disaster and blessing. When the Dao and De decline and disappear, humaneness and rightness also fade and are cut off. Without rightness, a noble person cannot preserve his Dao; without benefit, a petty person struggles to support himself. The noble person regards losing rightness as a calamity; the petty person regards gaining benefit as a blessing.”

Laozi said: Some actions intended to benefit oneself end up bringing on precisely the calamity one fears. People see calamity and good fortune differently. When the Great Dao is lost, De (Virtue) disappears; when benevolence is abandoned, righteousness grows faint. Without righteousness, a gentleman cannot preserve his Way; without profit, a petty person struggles to support himself. The gentleman fears losing righteousness and regards this as a calamity. The petty person seeks profit single-mindedly and regards gaining it as good fortune.

Laozi said: Some actions intended to benefit oneself end up harming oneself; others intended to harm oneself end up bringing benefit. Someone suffering from a damp illness who forces themselves to eat warming foods, or someone who is thirsty and forces themselves to drink cold beverages, may be thought by ordinary people to be caring for their health. A skilled physician, however, would see that this could worsen the illness. What pleases the eyes and caters to one’s desires seems beneficial to the foolish, but those who follow the Dao avoid it.

The sage foresees how things will change, then adapts in accord with their course. Ordinary people follow the situation before them and only afterward encounter change. So the origins of calamity and good fortune, and the transformations of benefit and harm, must be examined carefully. When someone is thirsty, even drinking water may sometimes be judged by a skilled physician to bring harm. When someone in poverty acquires wealth through unrighteous means, a gentleman regards this as harmful. First going against what is reasonable and only later coming into accord with it is a mistake the foolish readily make. First conforming to the situation at hand and later going against what is reasonable is what the sage abhors. Benefit and harm oppose one another, while calamity and good fortune can transform into each other; these principles must be examined carefully.

Laozi says: Those who have achieved merit but depart from benevolence and righteousness are instead met with suspicion; those who have erred but act in accord with benevolence and righteousness are more readily trusted. Benevolence and righteousness are therefore the proper principles to follow in one’s conduct, and the most esteemed standards under Heaven.

Even after fame and merit have been established, one must not abandon benevolence and righteousness. Abandon them, and blame will follow; follow them, and rank and stipend become worthy of respect. Even when a plan has succeeded, one should consider ending the struggle for gain and turning instead toward honor grounded in benevolence and righteousness.

A state may continue to exist, yet if its ruler’s conduct departs from benevolence and righteousness, his achievements will ultimately be hard to secure. Even if a strategy misses its mark and brings no benefit to the state, a minister who is wholly devoted to the ruler and acts in accord with benevolence and righteousness can preserve himself. Thus, a hundred remonstrances and a hundred plans that are always mistimed are no match for setting aside the urge to succeed at once and carefully examining benevolence and righteousness.

When a minister makes plans for the state and resolves its dangers, yet focuses only on indulging the ruler’s pride and advancing himself, his efforts will ultimately fail because he has departed from benevolence and righteousness. Others may have sound advice that is ignored, or ingenious schemes that cannot be carried out. Still, they continue to serve the ruler and devote themselves fully. Even when unrecognized, they hold fast to benevolence and righteousness and never dare forget them for a moment; therefore, they too escape harm.

Laozi said: Education takes the exemplary person as its foundation, yet even ordinary people can benefit from it. Although profit may begin with ordinary people, exemplary people can also enjoy its fruits. When exemplary people and ordinary people each receive a fitting place and share of the benefits, and contribute to one another and share the harvest, the Way can be made to flow freely. The ruler extends kindness to the people, and the people sustain the ruler with stipends and benefits. In this way, order can arise naturally even without officials to govern; affairs can proceed on their own without being driven by commands, and everyone can settle into their proper place. This is what it means for the Way of governance to flow freely. A state is well governed because its ruler follows the Way of governance; it becomes tyrannical and falls because its ruler gives free rein to desire. Water flows to low places, and so river channels grow broad. A ruler who takes a humble position among his ministers can hear clearly and see well. When the ruler does not contend with his ministers for power, the Way of governance can run its course. The ruler is like the root of a tree, and the ministers are like its branches and leaves. If the root is poor, the branches and leaves cannot flourish. In governing the state, the sage observes widely and listens to opinions from all sides, removes the wicked and treacherous, and appoints the worthy and capable. Then the ruler can sit back with hands folded, following the natural course, while the state educates itself; the ministers, too, devote themselves fully to their duties. How could there be any reason for them to struggle against one another? In this way, the roots grow ever stronger, and the branches and leaves ever more luxuriant.

Laozi said: A loving father cares for his children not to demand repayment; his love springs from within and cannot be restrained. A wise ruler cares for the people not for his own benefit, but because it is his nature and he cannot cease. If a ruler relies on his authority and achievements to assert himself, and demands that the people repay him in a particular way, his kindness cannot truly reach them. Does a father love his children, or a ruler govern the people, in order to demand repayment? These are natural bonds and part of the Way of Heaven. If a ruler or father flaunts his achievements and authority, acting arrogantly toward his ministers or children, their affection cannot pass between them. Therefore, use what people like, and you can gain their strength; put into practice what they willingly accept, and you can win their hearts. See where a matter begins, and you can know where it will end. If a ruler cares for everyone under Heaven, then however vast the realm may be, it will be like one family. If he does not care for the people, even a lowly commoner may become a danger that brings calamity far and wide. From this, one can foresee a matter’s outcome from its beginning and see whether a state will endure or perish.

Laozi said: People care for one another through the Dao, and groups grow strong through unity. In this way, even those of low status can join together like the myriad directions converging, forming a vast power. From this, one can foresee the rise and decline, beginning and end of things, and discern changes in their survival and extinction.

Laozi said: People draw close through the Dao, and groups grow strong through unity. Thus, the wider the reach of benevolence, the farther power can extend; the less the Dao is put into practice, the smaller the area that force can control. This means that when the benefits of De (Virtue/Power) are bestowed without favoritism, many people will align themselves with you. If you abandon the Dao and rely on force alone, you will be able to hold on to little.

Laozi says: Those who acquire wealth through improper means and refuse to give any of it away will ultimately bring calamity upon themselves. They can neither help others nor truly find security for themselves, and may be called fools. They are like owls that dote on their young without knowing that this love will bring disaster. To acquire wealth unjustly, hoard it, and refuse to share it is like nurturing one’s own calamity and raising an owl that will bring disaster.

Therefore, holding on until one is full is not as good as stopping in time. Sharpening a blade too keenly makes it difficult to keep its edge for long. Even if wealth is locked securely in chests and coffers, it may eventually become a target for great thieves. How could anyone possess it forever?

De contains Dao, and Dao contains De; their transformations have no end. Those who have Dao must have De, and those who have De also have Dao. When Dao and De are complete and abundant, they can respond to transformations without end. Yang contains Yin, and Yin contains Yang; all things are like this, and no account could fully describe them. When good fortune arrives, auspicious signs appear. When calamity is approaching, there are often signs beforehand. If one sees an auspicious sign but does not do good, good fortune will not arrive. If one sees an inauspicious sign and then does good, calamity may be avoided. Benefit and harm often arise from the same source, and calamity and good fortune lie close beside each other. Only a sage can see how they transform. As the saying goes: “Calamity! Good fortune leans upon it. Good fortune! Calamity lurks within it.” Who can know where their transformations will end?

Yang containing Yin and Yin containing Yang means that good fortune exists within calamity, and calamity within good fortune. When good fortune appears, one should not assume it is auspicious, for it may also be the beginning of calamity. When misfortune strikes, one should promptly do good, understanding that calamity may also foreshadow good fortune. Calamity and good fortune follow one another and are intertwined. Unless one has reached the highest sagehood, one cannot see where they will ultimately lead.

When a person is about to fall ill, they often first become greedy for the delicacies of fish and meat. When a state is about to perish, it often first grows weary of its loyal ministers’ advice. A gravely ill person who cares only for food and flavor shows signs of approaching death. A state in turmoil that detests honest counsel and trusts slander shows signs of approaching ruin. When a person is so ill that death is near, even a skilled physician cannot save them. When a state is on the verge of collapse, even a loyal minister’s earnest remonstrations may not turn it around. Physicians and loyal ministers should assess the illness and the condition of the state: if they know there is no hope of recovery, they should not make futile efforts; if recovery is still possible, they should devise a way to bring it about.

Only by cultivating oneself can one govern the people; only after putting one’s household in order can one extend its methods of governance to public office. Cultivating oneself makes one’s De genuine; cultivating one’s household allows De to accumulate; cultivating the state makes De more abundant still. Whether one extends one’s influence from oneself to others, to the household, or to the state, the essential task is to cultivate one’s nature and preserve one’s De.

The people depend on clothing and food for their livelihood. Governance succeeds when it meets these needs and fails when it does not. Without effective governance, benevolent rule cannot last. Clothing and food are tied to the people’s very lives, and the people are the foundation upon which rulers and ministers govern the state. Only when the people have secure clothing and food can the state’s political order remain stable over time.

If acting in accordance with the times still brings no success, do not keep changing the laws. If following sound principles still brings no success, do not readily replace the principles of governance. Times of fortune will rise again; this is the order by which Dao operates. Eras have periods of flourishing and decline, and fortune has periods of ease and hardship. The elaborate regulations of the past cannot be used as the standard for governing in the present. Yet punishments must not be abolished, and the basic principles of governance must not be changed at will. To understand this is to grasp the essentials of Dao.

An emperor makes the people prosperous by attending to their foundations; a hegemon expands territory by focusing on enlarging the land. A state is in danger when it seeks only to enrich its officials and increases taxes, leaving the people destitute. When a state cannot provide even for its basic needs, this is a faint sign that disorder is about to arise. At the fall of a state, its storehouses are empty. Expenditure goes unchecked, granaries grow emptier by the day, the ruler neglects affairs of state, and the people are worn down. What more could it take for the state to perish? Thus, when those above impose little upon the people, the people naturally prosper; when those above refrain from acting recklessly, the people naturally return to simplicity. Let the people live in peace and contentment, without needless disturbance.

Raising an army of a hundred thousand soldiers incurs enormous daily costs, and famine often follows in the wake of war. Weapons are therefore inauspicious instruments, not things a noble person cherishes. War comes first, and disaster often follows close behind. The state spends enormous sums, while the people are exhausted by conscription and service. For this reason, the sage does not treat weapons as treasures.

To dispel deep-seated resentment often leaves lingering resentment behind; this is the result of poor governance. An unenlightened ruler dismisses ministers who have rendered meritorious service and strips fiefdoms from the feudal lords. Refusing to yield even for a moment leaves troubles for the future. When a ruler above flies into a rage and ministers below respond with resentment and arrogance, how can anyone say that this does not build up even more resentment?

The ancients believed that those nearby need not be enticed with words, and those far away need not be compelled to submit by orders. When people nearby are pleased, those far away will come of their own accord. The arrival of distant people in response to the contentment of those nearby depends on De, not persuasion. Shared aspirations bring harmony with the people; shared protection of their interests makes the state secure. To understand what is in the people’s hearts is true insight. Winning the people’s support makes the state prosperous; winning their praise brings honor and distinction.

Actions may attract bandits, and words may bring disaster. Do not speak hastily and then wish afterward to take your words back. Even whispers into someone’s ear can spread everywhere. “Speaking into someone’s ear” means whispering close beside it; even if something is first told to only one person, it may travel a thousand miles. Words can bring disaster; the tongue is a trigger that sets calamity in motion. Once the wrong thing has been said, even a team of four horses cannot catch up with it and bring it back. Bandits often come in search of profit, while calamity often arises from words. Words have no feet, yet travel far; they have no wings, yet fly everywhere. If a white jade has a flaw, how can one catch up with words that have already spread? This shows how quickly words can bring disaster.

Long ago, Zhonghuangzi said: Heaven has five directions—the four cardinal points and the center. Earth has the Five Phases: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth. Sound has the five notes: gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu. Things have the five flavors: sweet, bitter, pungent, sour, and salty. Colors have the five hues: blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black. People, too, have five levels, reflected in the different kinds of people represented by the Five Constant Virtues. Thus, the people of Heaven and Earth can be divided into twenty-five grades, each with its own character and abilities.

The highest five grades are the Spirit Person, the True Person, the Daoist, the Perfected Person, and the Sage. What transforms unpredictably is called spirit; what is pure and without admixture is called true; what is unobstructed in understanding is called Dao; what sees deeply into hidden subtleties is called perfected; and wisdom that reaches across all things is called sagehood. The next five grades are the person of De, the worthy person, the wise person, the good person, and the discerning person. To contain and accumulate is called De; humaneness is called worthiness; clear understanding joined with compassion is called wisdom; gentleness is called goodness; and skill in distinguishing principles is called discernment. The middle five grades are the public-spirited person, the loyal person, the trustworthy person, the righteous person, and the courteous person. To be impartial is to be public-spirited; loyalty to one’s ruler is loyalty; not deceiving others is trustworthiness; acting appropriately is righteousness; and respectful gentleness is courtesy. The next five grades are the scholar, the artisan, the steward of natural resources, the farmer, and the merchant. One who serves those in high positions is a scholar; one who makes tools is an artisan; one who manages mountains, forests, and marshes is a steward of natural resources; one who cultivates fields is a farmer; and one who trades and circulates goods is a merchant. The lowest five grades are the common people, the servant, the fool, the dull-witted person, and the petty person. Ordinary people are the common people; those made to serve others are servants; those benighted and ignorant are fools; those lacking wisdom are dull-witted; and those with narrow understanding are petty. The difference between the highest and lowest grades is immense, like the difference between people and cattle or horses. This explains that people vary in worthiness and folly.

The sage sees with the eyes, hears with the ears, speaks with the mouth, and walks with the feet. A sage living in the world remains subject to certain limits of the senses and mind, and must rely on external things to understand and act. A True Person, by contrast, can perceive without relying on the eyes, hear without relying on the ears, accord with what is right without walking there in person, and act justly without speaking much. This refers to someone who has gone beyond worldly limitations and whose inner mind is empty, still, and unobstructed. Therefore, the methods a sage uses to influence all under Heaven may not be needed by a True Person; the measures a worthy person uses to correct worldly customs may not even concern a sage. Governing the world means preserving true nature, with each person acting according to their own station: Tang Yao matched Heaven through sage virtue, while Zhongwu upheld purity to correct worldly customs.

What is called Dao has no distinctions of before and after, left and right. All things within it are blended into one, with no distinction between right and wrong. Face toward it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot find its end. Who can point to it on the left, and who knows where it is on the right? All things blend together within it, beyond words, so we can only provisionally call it “Dao.”

“Naturalness” is the hardest way to describe the Dao in words. All things operate in this way without knowing it. This is neither deliberate nor entirely without cause. All things follow this state and cannot do otherwise; yet their naturalness is not brought about deliberately by some force, nor does it rely on anything or take anything as its basis. Hence it is called “naturalness.”

Laozi says: Clarity, stillness, and emptiness are the bright nature of Heaven. Following things as they are, without forcing action, is the constant Way of governing all affairs. The void contains subtle wonder; even in darkness there is light. Who can perceive it? Only those in accord with the Dao can experience it. Follow Wuwei (non-action), and things will order themselves; all beings will thereby come into being.

Cast aside private favors and clever schemes. Let go of the self-important wisdom of the sage; do not exalt yourself for your abilities. Abolish the labels of benevolence and righteousness, eliminate contrived deeds, abandon clever speech and debate, and prohibit deceit and hypocrisy. Then the worthy and the unworthy will have no rank before the Dao. Once these distinctions are removed, the wise will have nothing to boast of, and the foolish need not feel ashamed. All people will return to the Great Dao and recover their natural state.

When the mind is still, it can accord with the Dao; when it is empty, it can comprehend all things. The highest De (Virtue/Power) lies in Wuwei, and so all beings can be embraced within it. The Way of emptiness and stillness endures and moves on, like Heaven and Earth. Its spirit is subtle and hidden, yet it fills all things; it does not control them as a ruler. When the mind is empty and still, nothing lies beyond its reach; when De is abundant, nothing lies beyond its embrace. Thus it works its subtle wonders without claiming to rule, and moves everywhere without weariness.

The twelve months turn without ceasing and return to their beginning: this is the movement of Heaven’s Way. Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—the Five Phases—restrain one another and also depend on one another. As they alternate in their courses, one flourishes while another declines. Cold and heat take turns, and the advance and retreat of all beings each have their season. Life and death both follow the Dao and never lose their proper measure. Severe cold harms living things, yet Heaven and Earth cannot be without cold; intense heat harms living things, yet Heaven and Earth cannot be without heat. Thus what is permitted and what is not each have their proper place.

The Great Dao has nothing it absolutely cannot accommodate; what matters is whether something accords with reason. When something is feasible, there is no need to rush to embrace it; when it is not feasible, there is no need to reject it rashly. What is permitted and what is not permitted support one another, like left and right, inside and outside. The alternation of cold and heat is the pattern of Heaven and Earth; rites and punishments are the methods sages use to govern the realm. Even harsh cold and heat cannot be abolished; when they follow the seasons, they cause no harm. Punishments, though severe, cannot all be discarded; when applied appropriately, they are not harmful. Do what should be done, and stop when it should not be done.

In all affairs, the essentials begin with the root and take the sequence of time as their standard. From antiquity to the present, this standard has never changed: it is the principle of Heaven. “The One” is the root of the Dao and the authority by which a ruler governs the realm. Times may differ, but the principles of how things operate do not change. It is like an axle turning a wheel: grasp the root within, and one can influence what is outside, setting things in motion without end and remaining in accord with Heaven’s Way.

The ruler holds the guiding principle above and puts its workings to use below. The Dao generates all beings, harmonizes Yin-Yang, transforms the four seasons, divides into the Five Phases, and gives every being its proper place. All beings move with the seasons, each according to its constant order. From those of limited ability to those in the highest positions, all are governed by this Great Way. Its movement is impartial and balanced; the ministers work together with one heart. This is the Way of Heaven and Earth: through Wuwei, all affairs are fulfilled; without seeking, something is gained. Thus one can see that Wuwei is not without benefit.

Heaven reveals celestial signs and shines upon the four quarters; the ruler establishes laws and governs the realm. Even tiny creatures stir back to life, and the people receive its blessings. Yin and Yang move without straying from their proper course, and all beings follow their own order. Without following the Way of Wuwei, one cannot truly benefit the state. In ancient times, Yao governed the realm while also cultivating himself.

Laozi says: “What is most unadorned and vast has no fixed shape. The Dao is vast beyond limit, and there is no measure by which to gauge it. Thus, although the sky is round, it was not drawn with a compass; although the earth is square, it was not measured with a carpenter’s square.

The span from past to future is called ‘zhou’; the expanse from the four directions to above and below is called ‘yu.’ The Dao is within the universe, yet no one knows precisely where it is. Therefore, those whose insight does not reach far are not fit to discuss what is vast, and those whose knowledge is not broad are not fit to discuss the highest Dao.

Those who receive the Dao and can connect with all things do not reject one another. Dao and De (Virtue/Power) are boundless and have no fixed form; Heaven and Earth are vast without limit and cannot be measured. The Dao is as near as a fine hair, yet cannot be seen; it extends across the whole universe, yet is difficult to fathom. Unless one has broad experience and understands the myriad things, one cannot grasp the foundation of the highest Dao or comprehend a realm beyond distinctions between right and wrong.

The systems and laws established by the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors differed, yet each won the people’s hearts. Their ways of making laws were different, but they shared one thing: respect for the people.

The compass, carpenter’s square, corner square, and ink line are all tools by which artisans apply their skill, but they are not the skill itself. A zither’s strings are tools for playing, but they are not the source of its music. Even though Shiwen was skilled at playing the zither, without strings he could not perform a tune; strings alone would not produce mournful music of their own accord.

All things seem to operate naturally, yet each depends on certain conditions and cannot function entirely by itself. Tools such as cords and lines can help an artisan make objects true and regular, but they are not the artisan’s ingenuity. What matters is the person: even without cords or ink lines, a highly skilled artisan can make things straight. The zither’s strings are the means for producing mournful music, but they are not the mournfulness itself; without strings, of course, no music can be played.

As for that mysterious harmony, it moves between the mind’s intention and the fingers. The musician follows the mind’s direction, entrusting spirit and feeling to the music, while change takes form on the strings. Even the closeness of father and son cannot make this ability transferable: a father cannot teach it to his son, nor can a son learn it directly from his father. This is a truth that cannot be conveyed in words.

When Shiwen played the zither, his fingers plucked the strings and he poured his spirit into the performance, bringing mind and fingers into accord. He followed the rhythms of Yin-Yang, letting the pitch change with the seasons and his breath respond to the myriad things. Even father and son cannot pass on this subtle ability to each other; it is refinement at its utmost. Here, too, playing the zither serves as an analogy: the Dao cannot be transmitted directly to another, nor can another receive it in precisely the same way.

Thus it is said that stillness is the master of form, and silence is the root of sound. Stillness means quiet: form takes shape in quiet, so quiet is its master. Sound arises from silence, so silence is its master.

Laozi says: The fundamental principle by which Heaven and Earth operate centers on De. The Dao gives life to all things, and De enables each to grow upright in its own way. The workings of Dao and De are subtle and hidden; they do not rely on outward achievements to appear noble. Thus, things can be established without claiming credit, dignity does not depend on rank, one need not wait for fame to spread in order to be recognized, solemnity does not depend on ritual, and people can be brought back into alignment and strength attained without resorting to weapons.

The Dao gives life to all things; De nourishes them and lets each find its proper place. If a person can cultivate the balanced Qi within, set their nature and life in order, preserve the subtle Qi inside, and cast off disturbance and burden outside, why would they need fame or rank to elevate themselves? Nor need they rely on arms and armor to win people’s trust.

Thus the Dao establishes the foundation of all things, yet does not rule them by force of command. Its light illuminates all things, yet does not scrutinize every detail. The Dao does not govern by command because it does not deprive things of their capacity to grow in their own way. It sees clearly without scrutinizing because it does not obstruct the way things move of themselves. When the Dao is present within all things, deliberate instruction can be dispensed with; when understanding reaches its utmost, there is no need to scrutinize everything. In this way, one can take on great responsibilities without causing harm.

If commands are treated as the way to govern, they will violate De and harm all things. Yin-Yang, the four seasons, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) all arise from the Dao, yet each follows its own patterns of movement. The natures of all things are connected, but their forms differ. Therefore, the wise should not force knowledge upon others, and the capable should not conceal their abilities. The sage establishes laws to guide the people, so that each person can follow their own nature. In this way, the living do not boast of having benefited others, and the dead do not resent their fate.

To “violate De” means that, once De has declined, intricate commands are introduced. To “harm all things” means first to diminish one side, then to compensate by benefiting another. The Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—each have their own qualities; all things take different forms; instruction has its own sequence and levels; and people differ in wisdom and ignorance. The sage therefore establishes laws and carries out instruction, awakening those who are confused and guiding those who are unenlightened. The wise pass on what they know, and the capable do not conceal their abilities. Each person does what they can, and in the end all return to what is natural. In life, they do not boast of their benevolence; after death, they do not blame Heaven or fate.

The Dao De Jing says: “Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs. The sage is not benevolent; he treats the people as straw dogs.” This means that Heaven and Earth give life to and nurture all things, and the sage cares for the people, without favoring anyone out of partiality. Heaven and Earth and the sage regard all things and the people alike, letting them follow their natural course, like the straw figures used in ritual offerings, which are neither specially favored nor cherished before or after the ceremony.

Ideas such as compassion and benevolence belong to a narrower understanding of the Way. A narrow path leading toward a broad expanse is easy to lose one’s way on; taking a shortcut to a distant destination can also bring confusion. The sage’s Way reaches far and wide without losing its way, and travels a long course without obstruction. By keeping to emptiness and stillness, the sage reaches the utmost; this is called “Heavenly De.” Dao and De are profound and subtle, while benevolence and righteousness are more shallow and narrow. Ordinary people who follow only a narrow path easily lose their way, whereas the highest sage walks the broad, open Way without hindrance. Without inner clarity and constant wakefulness, how could one accord with the Way of Heaven and reach its utmost?

Laozi says: The sage covers and sustains the myriad things like Heaven and Earth, and shines in every direction like the sun and moon, bringing Yin and Yang into harmony and setting the four seasons in motion. The sage embraces the myriad things without treating them as all the same, and shows no favoritism because one thing is new or old, or because a person is close or distant. This is the sage’s virtue.

The sage embraces the myriad things like Heaven and Earth, shines upon all beings like the sun and moon, and drives the growth and change of all things like the four seasons. People of different customs, beings of every kind, plants, and insects can all dwell in their proper places and follow their natures. The sage does not distinguish between them as new or old, close or distant.

Those who are skilled at taking Heaven and Earth as their model understand that Heaven does not move through just one season, Earth does not produce only one kind of material, and people do not perform only one kind of work. Thus there are many paths to achievement and different directions for action. If Heaven had only one season, a complete year could not take shape. If the land produced only one material, its uses would be limited. A person with only one ability cannot be called valuable.

Among those who wage war, some are swift and bold, while others are cautious and steady. Some covet the spoils of battle; others remain upright and take nothing. These temperaments differ, so there is no reason to demand that everyone be the same. The swift want to attack at once; the steady want to hold their position. The covetous want to seize wealth; the upright refuse to take what is not theirs. An army needs to act in concert, but if the steady are driven to attack hastily and the swift are made to stand still, or if each person acts only as they please, the army will lose its unity. Without unity, it is easily defeated when it meets the enemy.

If each person’s abilities and strength are assessed and they are given suitable tasks, so that the swift and the steady each make full use of their strengths, victory can be assured. The brave can be sent into the charge, but are not suited to holding a position for a long time. The steady can be sent to defend a position, but are not suited to pursuing the enemy. The covetous can be sent to seize territory, but are not suited to distributing wealth. The upright can be entrusted with guarding their duties, but are not suited to competing to take things. The trustworthy can be relied upon to keep agreements, but are not suited to adapting to sudden changes.

The sage makes use of all five kinds of people and assigns each a task suited to their abilities. Only the sage knows how to put everyone’s capacities to use and place each person where they belong. For this reason, there is no one under Heaven who can stand against the sage.

Heaven and Earth do not exist for the sake of just one kind of thing, and Yin and Yang do not give life to only one kind of being. The sea does not reject the rainwater that flows into it, and so it can be vast. The mountains and forests do not exclude trees that are crooked or slanted, and so they can grow high. The sage, too, does not reject suggestions from people of low status, and so their reputation spreads far and wide.

If one clings to a single place and abandons the four directions, or takes one thing and discards everything else, one will gain little and have only a limited reach in governing. If the Dao is not broad, it cannot embrace the myriad things. If the sage’s virtue is not deep, it cannot welcome even the smallest suggestions. Therefore, one cannot rely on a single ability or hold to just one direction. In doing so, what one can protect remains narrow, and the strength one can draw upon remains shallow.

Laozi said: Heaven covers all things, Earth bears all things, and the sun and moon shine upon all things. Things take different forms and have different natures, and each has a way of life suited to it.

What brings people joy may also become the source of sorrow; what gives them security may also bring danger. Imposing on others what you yourself like may instead make them sorrowful; arranging things according to their own preferences is what will make them happy. Making others secure by your own standards may instead put them in danger. Only when their nature is followed and they are settled in a life suited to them can they truly be secure.

Therefore, when the sage governs the people, each person can follow their nature, live in a suitable place, occupy an appropriate position, do what they are able to do, and receive the living conditions suited to them. Arrangements are made according to each person’s needs. In this way, all things find their proper place and are brought into accord, without overstepping one another. The sage governs the people so that those with different natures and forms can each follow their nature and live in peace. Though things are many and varied, they can form a whole, each at ease in its proper place and none surpassing another. This is called “equality.”

Among the things under Heaven, none has a fixed status as noble or lowly. If we look at each thing in light of what is valued in it, then all things are precious; if we look at each in light of what is scorned in it, then all things are lowly. Nobility and lowliness have no fixed standard, and adversity and success have no constant rule. What matters is whether the right moment arrives and whether one is given a role.

Thus, “not honoring the worthy” means not placing fish in trees or sinking birds into the depths. One should follow the nature of fish, which swim, and birds, which fly, and put them in fitting environments. Then birds can fly and fish can swim beneath the surface. The same applies to employing people: those with great ability and those of more ordinary ability should each be allowed to make full use of what they can do.

In ancient times, when Yao governed the realm, Shun served as Minister of Instruction, responsible for education and civil affairs; Xie served as Minister of War, responsible for military affairs; and Yu served as Minister of Works, responsible for engineering, land, and water management. These three high officials jointly planned the way to govern the state and set its affairs in order, serving as the Son of Heaven’s arms and voice. Houji oversaw agriculture and taught the people to sow seeds. Xizhong served as Master of Craftsmen, making tools to meet the people’s needs. This is how the sage employed people. Yao’s achievements reached across Heaven and Earth, and his De (Virtue/Power) extended throughout the four seas. Heaven is supreme, and Yao modeled himself on the Way of Heaven.

Yao guided the people to make their living according to the conditions where they lived: those by the water fished, those in wooded places gathered, those in valleys raised livestock, and those on hillsides farmed. They did what the land was suited for; they were supplied with tools suited to their work, and the tools were made to fit the materials available locally. People by lakes and marshes wove fishing nets, while those in hilly country cultivated the fields. In this way, the people could trade what they had for what they lacked, and exchange the skills they had mastered for those they had not. Thus, few turned away and many followed, like wind passing through pipes and naturally producing sound. Things of every kind respond to the world according to their different natures, drawn toward what benefits them and avoiding what harms them.

Thus, neighboring states could see one another and hear the crowing of their chickens and the barking of their dogs, yet people’s footsteps did not cross the borders between the feudal states, and carts did not travel a thousand miles away, because everyone was content in their own home. The sage governs the people by arranging their dwellings in accordance with local conditions and settling each person where they are best suited. Then what one place has and another lacks can make up for each other, and skill can complement awkwardness. Just as wind passing through pipes produces sound, and rain nourishes all things and makes each grow, sound arises wherever it is stirred, and things grow wherever conditions benefit them. In this way, neighboring states could see one another without taking up arms against each other, and the people lived in their own places until old age and death.

Therefore, a disordered state may appear crowded and powerful, while a well-governed state may appear quiet and sparsely populated. A state on the verge of ruin always seems to lack enough, while one able to endure seems to have plenty to spare. “Sparse” does not mean there are no people, but that everyone attends to their own duties. “Crowded” does not mean there are many people, but that people are all chasing secondary pursuits. “Plenty to spare” does not mean there is an abundance of goods, but that desires are restrained and affairs are few. “Lacking enough” does not mean there are no goods, but that the population is small while expenses are great. Understand these four conditions, and you can see the roots of order and disorder and discern the course toward survival or ruin.

Thus, the laws of the former kings were not invented from nothing; they followed circumstances already in place. Their prohibitions and punishments were not meant for arbitrary use, but to safeguard order. This embodies the Way of the highest De. The former kings made laws not to kill people, but to prevent calamity. The foolish do not obey the laws and repeatedly break them, thereby setting themselves on the path to their own destruction.

Laozi says, “Governing the world by means of the Dao does not mean changing people’s nature. It means working with the conditions people already possess, ordering and guiding them. So when things follow their natural course, they can grow and flourish; when they are forced into artificial forms, they instead diminish.”

The ancients cleared waterways by following the flow of water, planted crops according to what the land was suited to grow, and undertook military campaigns in accordance with the will of the people. By guiding affairs in line with the circumstances, one can remain invincible in the world. All things have a nature of their own. Good governance of human affairs begins by observing and following that nature. Understand the nature of things and act in keeping with what suits them; follow the people’s wishes, and tasks become easier to accomplish, with fewer setbacks.

For this reason, the sage kings of antiquity made laws and regulations according to the people’s nature. Without the corresponding natural disposition, a person cannot be made to follow instruction; even when that disposition is present, without the necessary conditions, a person cannot be made to follow the right path. Wood cannot be made to grow out of water, nor can metal be made to produce fire. People have an innate capacity for benevolence and righteousness, but without a sage king to establish laws and guide conduct, they cannot be led onto the right path. If prohibitions against wrongdoing are based on what people naturally dislike, punishments can be used sparingly, while the authority of government orders becomes strikingly clear, as if by divine power. When governance follows human nature, the people of the world will obey; when it goes against their nature, even the strictest laws are difficult to enforce.

Although moral virtue, benevolence, and righteousness are rooted in human nature, laws and regulations must still be established, and rewards and punishments put into effect. Only by teaching through virtue, restraining through ritual, and deterring through punishment can people return to their natural nature and follow the right path. When governance follows human nature, the people respond as if by some subtle power; when it goes against their nature, they will not obey, even when orders are issued.

Moral virtue is the foundation for establishing achievements and a good name, and it is what the people take to heart. Only when the people are devoted to a ruler can achievements and renown be established; without moral virtue, neither can be achieved.

The rulers of antiquity who were skilled at governing the state took the rivers and seas as their model. The rivers and seas do nothing, yet they gather all waters and become vast. They occupy low places, and this is precisely why they are so expansive. Thus the rivers and seas can remain the gathering place of all the world’s streams, and their virtue is thereby abundant. They do not actively seek anything, yet they can receive the hundred rivers; they do not deliberately pursue anything, yet they gain what they need; they do not rush about in search of anything, yet the waters come to them of their own accord. For this reason, they can guide all under Heaven.

They do not regard themselves as noble, and so they are rich; they do not make a show of themselves, and so they see clearly; they do not boast, and so they endure. By occupying a position of non-possession, they become masters of all under Heaven. They do not contend, and so no one can contend with them. They never presume to be great, and so they accomplish greatness. The rivers and seas are close to the Dao, and can therefore endure and exist alongside Heaven and Earth. One cultivates the Dao impartially, completes one’s work without claiming it, and by not claiming it makes it firm and enduring. Being firm does not mean treating others with force. The deeper the Dao, the deeper the De, and achievements and renown come about naturally. This is called “Mysterious De”—profound and subtle virtue. It is deep and difficult to fathom, seemingly contrary to worldly ways: the world honors high status, while I willingly remain low; the world prizes boasting of one’s achievements, while I do not contend. It remains for a long time in a position of non-possession; therefore, it is said to run counter to worldly ways.

All things in the world have a beginning, but few understand the principle at their root. Only the sages can comprehend it. The Dao is neither male nor female, and does not belong to any recognizable image of Yin-Yang, yet it enables the ceaseless generation of all things. Heaven and Earth take shape through it; Yin and Yang appear through it; all things grow through it. The changes of Yin and Yang are expressed as round and square, short and long, existence and extinction; all are governed by the Dao. The Dao is deep and still, making nothing by force. It is exceedingly subtle in the heart, yet perfectly fitting in principle. Life and death follow the same principle, and the transformations of all things return to a single Great Dao. If one takes life and death lightly and lets go of attachment to death, what place could not be peaceful for a long time?

Set aside burdensome affairs and talk, and take care not to act rashly. Hold firmly and carefully to the Great Dao, without ruling over the ten thousand things. The Dao is so small that it has no visible form, yet it reaches everywhere and looks after all things. It is so vast that it has no bounds, and can therefore contain all things; it is so subtle that it has no inner boundary, and can therefore become the root that all things cherish. The Dao sustains life, and De keeps the body secure. To act in accordance with the Great Dao, one should cast off preferences and aversions, avoid being clouded by preconceptions, keep the heart-mind at peace, and not let private intentions go against the Dao.

The beginning of Heaven and Earth is the Dao. Most people cannot recognize it, because the Dao cannot be distinguished by male and female, shape, or color. Though one searches for it, it seems nowhere to be found; though one tries to explain it, it cannot be fully expressed. Yet it endures. Heaven and Earth have their positions of height and depth; the sun and moon follow the rhythms of day and night; Yin and Yang have their laws of firmness and softness; and the ten thousand things have forms of varying length and shape. The Dao, however, is neither dark nor bright, neither present nor extinguished, neither great nor small, neither round nor square. Its movement has no end, and its transformations have no fixed form.

Those who understand how to honor the Great Dao can preserve life and keep the body secure. They set aside complicated affairs and talk, rest in Wuwei (non-action), and follow nature. In this way, they can return to their original state of simplicity and enter a condition of benevolence and longevity.

When Heaven and Earth are united, they are One. When divided, they become the two Qi of Yin and Yang; when Yin and Yang are brought together again, the positions of Heaven above and Earth below remain in order. The One divides into Five: this refers to the Five Phases. When they are brought together again, they accord with the proper order. The One is the distribution of Qi; the two are the transformations that flow through forms; the Five are the Five Phases; and above and below refer to Heaven and Earth. People live between Heaven and Earth. If they can bring their own De into accord with Heaven and Earth and devote themselves to holding fast to the One, they will accord with the proper order and return to the original state of life.

The Dao is closest to people, yet this is no reason to distance oneself from it; it is nearest to people, yet it should not be treated as something remote. If one searches for it in distant places, one must ultimately return to oneself. To seek the Dao in external things without knowing that it must be sought within oneself is to search in the wrong place.

Laozi says: Although an emperor bears the title “Emperor,” people may not understand his true nature. An emperor prizes De (virtue and power); a king upholds the Way and righteousness; a hegemon concerns himself with practical principles and adapts to the times. De nourishes all things; righteousness rescues those in peril; practical principle means acting in accordance with the moment and the natural order.

The sage governs all things without using authority to force his will upon them. If he insists on deploying clever schemes, people will each pursue their own calculations. When moral instruction grows weak, he will resort to punishments; when his understanding is shallow, he will scrutinize and make excessive demands. Relying on cleverness throws the heart into confusion; relying on punishments breeds resentment between those above and below. Relying on harsh scrutiny leads subordinates to put on a show of virtue to please their superiors, which only gives rise to abuses. Cleverness disturbs people’s true nature; punishment encourages fraud and loophole-seeking; calculated goodness easily turns into affectation. Once these three practices become commonplace, the sage forbids them. If they are allowed to spread, they become difficult to stop. The harm that comes from turning away from the Dao begins in this way.

Therefore, the sage follows the transformations of Heaven and Earth in putting De into practice. Like Heaven covering all things and Earth supporting them, he guides the people in step with the seasons and ensures that they are amply nourished. When people are well nourished, society can be at peace. In times of order or disorder, how much can even a divinely wise person change? Remove scheming and cleverness, reduce punishments, and return to stillness: then all things will gradually set themselves right.

When the Dao serves as ruler, it is like the ritual effigy who receives offerings on behalf of an ancestor: it remains composed and silent, without presumptuous action, and all under Heaven can receive its protection. It follows the seasons in guiding all things and ensures that they are amply nourished, bringing peace to society. In times of order or disorder, how much can even a divinely wise person change? Remove scheming and cleverness, reduce punishments, and return to stillness: then all things will gradually set themselves right. When the Dao-ruler is silent and practices Wuwei (non-action), all under Heaven can receive its blessings. Whether one person benefits or ten thousand, the benefit is neither excessive nor insufficient. Thus, both excessive generosity and excessive violence violate the Dao.

The “bestowal of benefits” mentioned here means giving out favors and rewards. The sage observes the ills of the times and understands that when rulers govern through cleverness and political manipulation, they must use moral virtue to restore stability, return people to stillness, let all things correct themselves, and hold fast to deep silence. Only then can people recover their simplicity: favors are not handed out arbitrarily, punishments are not imposed arbitrarily, disorder does not arise, and society can follow the Dao.

If people receive generous rewards without having earned merit, or high rank without having labored, those who do their duty will grow lax, while the idle will eagerly seek advancement. When the violent are free to kill at will, even the innocent lose their lives. When those who follow the right path are punished, people lose their incentive to cultivate themselves and do good, while wrongdoers come to scorn the law and defy their superiors. Thus, wrongly bestowed favors breed treachery, and tyranny brings about disorder. A climate of treachery and disorder is a sign that a state is nearing its fall.

Punishment should not be imposed on those who follow the Dao, nor rank bestowed on those who have earned no merit. Otherwise, those who do their duty will show signs of slackness, while those who follow the Way will feel slighted and oppressed. This is a climate of treachery and disorder, and a sign that a state is nearing its fall. Therefore, when the state carries out punishments, the ruler should not act out of anger; when the court grants rewards, the ruler should not treat them as personal favors. Those who are punished do not resent it, because they know the punishment matches their offense. Those who are rewarded do not credit the ruler with the favor, because what they receive is the result of their own achievements. When the people understand that punishment and reward both follow from their own actions, they will strive to accomplish worthy deeds and practice their proper occupations, without viewing what they receive as something granted by another. For this reason, the court…