《通玄真经[注](朱弁)》Vol. 1

Whether we explain things by tracing them to their origin or verify principles by reference to their underlying reality, we ask where they come from and where they return. The Great Dao has no origin that can be traced, and ultimate principle has no fixed destination. Yet when we investigate the matter, the Dao’s origin is found within all things. Restore each thing to the nature it originally possesses, and its source proves boundless and far-reaching.

Laozi says:

As if it had been there since the birth of a white-haired elder, it is older than all things and precedes the beginning of events.

There is a being, whole and undivided,

The fundamental principle of the Dao takes nature as its guiding principle. Its underlying reality is empty and still, unlike concrete things, which have visible forms. If so, why use the expression “a being”? Calling it “a being” is meant to show that in truth it has neither form nor substance. “Undivided” means it can unite clear Qi with turbid Qi; “whole” means it extends everywhere and leaves nothing out, even the tiniest thing.

It existed before Heaven and Earth,

Heaven and Earth have the colors of dark and yellow, and the forms of square and round. How could the Dao have come into being only after these colors and forms appeared?

It seems to leave traces, yet has no form; it is dark and obscure,

It can be understood only through reason; it is difficult to see with the eyes.

Still and empty, detached and free of action, it makes no sound,

It responds, but leaves no echo. Even when one listens, no sound can be heard.

I reluctantly give it a name and call it “Dao.”

Since it has neither form nor sound, no name or words can describe it accurately. To convey its meaning, one can only explain it as best one can in language. The sages call it “Dao,” meaning that it reaches everywhere and is suited to everything.

The Dao is so lofty that its summit cannot be reached, so deep that it cannot be fathomed,

Looking up at it, one finds it ever higher; probing downward, one finds it ever deeper. From this we know that what can be reached at its summit is not truly high, and what can be measured to its bottom is not truly deep.

It embraces Heaven and Earth and perceives what has no form. It joins Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang—the two fundamental forces of the cosmos—enabling the myriad things to grow, yet leaving no trace that can be followed.

The myriad things flow from its source, surging like water, yet it never fills to overflowing. It wells up from the depths, its source never running dry. Empty in itself, it can contain the myriad things without being filled by anything outside it.

When water is turbid, it gradually clears if left to settle. To be mixed with the myriad things is what is meant by “turbid.” If it remains unpolluted, keeping its original state, and then calmly follows the way things unfold, its original clarity will emerge. “Calmly” means holding to what is true without haste or agitation.

Its function is inexhaustible. It is used as needed and never runs dry.

It is not bound by day or night, or by time. It has continued from antiquity to the present and will continue into the future.

It manifests, yet cannot be grasped in one hand, because its true substance has no visible form or shape.

It seems simple, yet can extend without limit: rooted in what is exceedingly simple, it unfolds to reach the myriad things.

It is deep and still, yet can become clear and respond to things. It is gentle and does not contend, yet is never overcome; in this sense, it may also be called strong.

When it gathers its workings, it belongs to Yin; when it manifests its creative power, it belongs to Yang, bringing forth the radiance of the sun, moon, and stars—the “Three Lights.”

Mountains rise through it, and abysses deepen through it. Beasts run through it, birds fly through it, qilin roam through it, phoenixes soar through it, and the stars move through it.

All of this arises from the Way of Nature. High mountains and deep valleys each have their proper place; birds in flight and beasts on the ground each have their own power; swimming and soaring each have their subtle excellence; crisscrossing paths each have their own patterns. None of this was arranged in advance, nor did it come about because things had been agreed upon. No one arranged it on their behalf, yet each thing took shape in its own way. All things each receive their conditions, find what suits them, and come into being together. This is therefore called the Great Dao.

By means of perishing, one brings about lasting existence:

Nothing with physical form fails, in the end, to perish. Now, through the perishing of what is formless and without substance, one brings about the lasting existence of the body of emptiness and stillness.

By means of lowliness, one attains honor:

No one who holds a position fails to be removed from it. Now, through the lowliness of having no position and remaining below, one attains the honor of being beyond removal.

By means of yielding, one takes the lead:

No one who contends for something fails to fall behind and yield. Now, through yielding without contention, one attains a lead that none can surpass.

In ancient times, the Three Sovereigns—the Heavenly Sovereign, the Earthly Sovereign, and the Human Sovereign—held the essentials of attaining the Dao and occupied the center. This describes rulers who have realized the Great Dao. Their minds were pure and harmonious; they did not govern by force, and the world naturally turned toward them. Their De accorded with Heaven and Earth, and in governing the myriad things, they brought them into unity. They occupied the central position and acted with flexibility, allowing things to develop in every direction without losing their roots.

They followed the principles of wondrous transformation, bringing themselves into accord with change and bringing peace to the four quarters. The people of each quarter could then each abide in their own nature.

Thus Heaven moves, while Earth remains still and bears all things. Yang is firm and active, moving onward; Yin is yielding and still, remaining at rest.

Heaven and Earth revolve like a wheel without pause. Water flows without end, passing through beginnings and endings together with the myriad things. Winds rise, clouds gather, thunder sounds, and rain falls. The many transformations respond to one another, endlessly.

When De accords with Nature and governance follows the principle of smooth and unobstructed flow, Heaven and Earth suffer no نقصان, the patterns of movement meet no obstruction, and wind and rain do not fall out of order. Dryness and moisture each arrive in their proper season; the Five Phases do not harm one another, and all responsive transformations continue without end.

When people’s virtue aligns with nature and governance is clear and follows the Great Dao, the workings of Heaven and Earth do not fall into disorder. Wind and rain do not go awry; dryness and moisture each remain within their proper bounds; the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) do not overcome one another; and the Six Qi—the natural influences of Yin, Yang, wind, rain, darkness, and brightness—are in harmony.

The sage acts ceaselessly, like Heaven in motion, and rests in stillness, as steady as Earth. The sage issues commands like wind and thunder and bestows blessings like clouds and rain. All things continually grow and change, with no end in sight. The sage grasps the root, follows things as they are, and moves together with all things.

What has been carved and adorned should return to simplicity.

Let all things recover their own nature.

Acting through Wuwei (non-action) brings one into accord with the Dao.

When all things are left to develop according to their own nature, nothing remains unaccomplished. Thus, each thing unfolds its nature while I remain in Wuwei, and I can be in accord with the Dao.

Speaking with a mind free of action brings one into accord with De (Virtue/Power).

De is the functioning of the Dao; speech is the means by which people express their thoughts. When one speaks without private motives, one’s words reach what matters, allowing all things to find their proper place and flourish in peace. In this way, even when speaking throughout the day, one never departs from De.

A calm and joyful heart, without boasting or self-importance, brings harmony:

by letting go of self-regard, one becomes aligned with great harmony.

Let the myriad different things find conditions suited to their lives.

Since things are all distinct, each should be allowed to grow in comfort according to its own nature.

Bring Yin and Yang—the two complementary natural forces—into harmony,

so that the two powers of Heaven and Earth mingle and flow freely.

Regulate the four seasons,

so that they follow their course without losing their proper measure.

Harmonize the Five Phases,

so that they do not overcome or harm one another.

Moisten plants and trees, and soak metal and stone,

so that blessings extend widely to all things, nourishing even hard metal and stone.

Birds and beasts grow strong, their coats sleek; eggs do not spoil, and young in the womb are not lost.

This shows that all things have fully received the Qi of growth and transformation.

Fathers need not fear their sons dying young, nor brothers grieve for younger brothers who perish too soon; children are not left without their kin.

People do not meet untimely deaths.

Women are not left widowed,

for spouses are able to remain together instead of being parted.

Rainbows do not appear,

a sign that the Qi of Yin and Yang is in harmony.

Thieves and bandits do not cause disorder,

for people no longer covet gains they have not worked for.

All these are the results of cultivating De.

How well the Three Sovereigns (Sanhuang), the legendary sage rulers of antiquity, governed! They brought Yin and Yang into harmony, so that men and women each found a suitable partner and no one was left alone without a mate. People formed well-matched unions, each finding their proper place.

Rainbows and solar halos did not appear because the Qi of Heaven and Earth was harmonious.

Bandits and thieves no longer ran rampant because people no longer coveted gains obtained through chance. These were all the results of De held within.

How well the Three Sovereigns governed! They kept the movement of Yin and Yang within its proper measure, and all things followed their natural course. People were in accord with the Dao, living and transforming along with change in ways too subtle to describe in words.

Some say: In ancient times, a profound and unadulterated way of life prevailed. The people lived in accord with nature, and their tools retained their plain simplicity. Thus, the Five Phases did not contend with one another; spring, summer, autumn, and winter each fulfilled their proper role. People kept their Qi undivided, their bodies and minds were gentle, and they lived out the full span of their years. This was possible because the ruler was wise and governed well, and the people were guided by his example. Surely this was the result of the Three Sovereigns’ De.

Let us try to explain. The world is like a person’s body, and the ruler is like the person’s heart. When the heart and spirit are disturbed, the body falls ill; when the ruler is quiet and practices Wuwei (non-action), the state can be at peace. In governing a state and preserving life, credit must always be assigned somewhere. Yet the Three Sovereigns were born in the simple, unadorned age of antiquity; that was what the times called for. They governed by following nature, and that was the true Way of governance. If one fails to follow the natural state of things and instead imposes governance by force, temptations gradually arise and the nature of all things is increasingly harmed. The various methods of governing used today in fact stem from the far-reaching effects of the sage rulers of antiquity. Their achievement lay in Wuwei: they did not display their De. This is governing by not governing deliberately, or achieving governance without governing by conventional means.

The Way of Heaven is the principle by which all things are brought forth and nurtured. If one fails to follow the natural state of things, temptations gradually arise and the nature of all things is increasingly harmed. The various ways of governing used today stem from the far-reaching effects of the sage rulers of antiquity. Their achievement lay in Wuwei: they did not display their De. This is governing by not governing deliberately, or achieving governance without governing by conventional means.

The Way of Heaven brings forth and nurtures all things, yet does not claim them as its own. It brings about their transformation and growth, yet does not rule over them.

The Way of Heaven does not set out with intention to bring things forth and nurture them, yet all things grow naturally; therefore, it does not possess them. It does not set out with intention to bring about change, yet all things come into being naturally; therefore, it does not rule over them.

All things depend on the Way of Heaven for their life, yet do not know to give thanks for its De. All things also follow the Way of Heaven in dying, yet cannot therefore resent it.

The Way of Heaven has no preference or aversion in these matters. How, then, could it be credited or blamed?

The Way of Heaven stores and gathers all things, yet does not thereby grow richer. It gives to all things and lets each find its proper place, yet does not thereby grow poorer.

In winter, Yin Qi gathers and is stored; in spring, Yang Qi spreads and brings forth life. Whether things grow or decline, the Qi of Heaven and Earth neither increases nor diminishes.

The Great Dao is elusive and formless; it cannot be portrayed by any fixed image. It moves between being and nonbeing and operates amid the transformations of all things, so it cannot be grasped through any single image.

The Great Dao is subtle and difficult to fathom, yet its workings are inexhaustible. Profound and mysterious, it manifests as things change, though it has no fixed form of its own. When something responds to it, an image appears. It moves between being and nonbeing, amid transformation, and so cannot be understood through a single image. Its workings are endless, profound and subtle, appearing as things change; when something responds, it takes shape, yet leaves no trace.

The Great Dao moves freely and without obstruction, but it does not act arbitrarily or without cause. Its workings begin only in response to what meets it. It changes with the bending and extending of firmness and softness, and with the rise and fall of Yin-Yang; adapting to things, it brings their forms to completion.

Laozi says, “the great man”: this is a name for one who finds fulfillment in the Dao. He is quiet and serene, free of deluded thoughts and worries, so external things cannot disturb his state of mind.

Take Heaven as the canopy and Earth as the carriage, and together they cover and support all things. Take the four seasons as horses and Yin-Yang as the driver, and ride in accord with them. Travel where there is no road, yet find passage everywhere; wander without ever tiring, for the workings of the spirit have no end. Enter and leave without a gate, and without following any fixed path.

With Heaven as the canopy, nothing is left uncovered; with Earth as the carriage, nothing is left unsupported. With the four seasons as horses, nothing is beyond their command: this is the ceaseless operation of growth and transformation. With Yin-Yang as the driver, all transformations of the myriad things are encompassed, and the principles of waxing and waning are made complete.

Thus it moves swiftly without confusion and travels far without weariness. Though its limbs do not move, the spirit can journey freely without being shaken. One who follows nature’s course feels neither fatigue nor weariness. The ears remain keen and the eyes clear without being depleted, and one can still behold all under Heaven because one has grasped the essentials of the Dao and can contemplate realms without end.

If private desires remain, the myriad things become tangled and endlessly change. Only by attaining inner equilibrium can one see clearly in all directions between Heaven and Earth and understand how the myriad things connect with one another. This shows that the range in which the body and nature make contact and respond cannot be confined to one place. Only by letting the spirit roam freely can one illuminate all under Heaven. Is this not the key to grasping the Dao (the Way)? The Dao’s movement has no end; this is simply how it must be.

Therefore, affairs under Heaven cannot be forced forward by subjective will. They must be guided in accordance with things as they are.

Affairs are vast and complex; strength alone cannot accomplish them. Only by following the natural course of things can one move along with them.

The transformations of the myriad things are endless and cannot be investigated one by one. One must grasp their essential point and use it to encompass their many changes.

The world’s transformations have no end, and no amount of intellect can exhaust them. Only by grasping the enduring, unchanging foundation can one understand the pivot of change.

Thus, the sage gives priority to cultivating the inner foundation and does not embellish superficial details. Following one’s nature is the root; circumstances and outward appearances are the branches.

The sage tempers the spirit and reins in cleverness and subjective opinions, making the spirit pure and clear so that nature can unfold and flow freely. The sage does not let the mind chase after sights and sounds, nor allow external things to hold it in their power.

Thus, the sage seems detached and inactive, yet nothing fails to come about in accordance with the course of things. The sage does not govern by imposing plans, yet nothing fails to be well governed.

When one shares the nature of the myriad things, each can fulfill its own capacities.

Set aside self-assured cleverness, and one can join the myriad things, letting them regulate themselves naturally.

“Wuwei (non-action)” means not acting ahead of things. It does not mean doing nothing; it means acting in step with how things develop.

“Non-governing” means not altering the natural state of things. It does not mean refraining from governing altogether; it means governing in accord with nature.

“To leave nothing ungoverned” means following the way the myriad things respond to one another.

When the myriad things and I are connected and in harmony, this is what “mutual accord” means.

Laozi said, “To govern the people by grasping the Dao is to respond to each affair as it arises and to follow things as they change.”

Govern by following each affair; respond as things change. Then the transformations of the myriad things can all be met, and every shifting affair can be brought into accord with them.

Only by having no selfish motives can one fully grasp these principles.

The Dao has five qualities: emptiness, simplicity, purity, softness and humility, and unadorned plainness. Together, they express the Dao. The Dao’s changes appear as forms, while its fundamental principle is its underlying substance.

Emptiness is the Dao’s dwelling place. With no obstruction, the Dao can gather. Simplicity is the Dao’s natural state: it follows what is natural and so needs no embellishment. Purity is the Dao’s clear mirror: luminous and upright, it can illuminate what is there. Softness and humility are how the Dao acts: by adapting to things, it passes freely everywhere. Returning to one’s nature is the Dao’s constant law. Turn back from desires and return to one’s nature, and constancy can be attained. Within softness lies strength: what is soft is not easily broken; what is weak is difficult to overcome. Unadorned plainness is the Dao’s foundation, and should serve as the basis for one’s life.

Emptiness means having no burdens in the heart; evenness means having no entanglements there. To be untouched by cravings and desires is the height of emptiness; to have no likes or dislikes is the height of evenness; to remain single-minded and unwavering is the height of stillness. When all things change, one may naturally need to act, but to remain unmixed with external things is the height of purity. Neither sorrow nor joy is the mark of virtue brought to its utmost. Those whose virtue is complete follow the Way of Heaven and so have no anxiety. They regard all things as equal and therefore feel no joy born of favoritism.

When cultivating themselves, realized people must cast aside the discriminating mind that takes itself to be wise. There are things the eyes cannot see and things the ears cannot hear. Merely bringing the eyes and ears to the limits of their abilities does not amount to reaching the highest state. The eyes and ears may encounter external things, yet the heart is not enslaved by them or driven by them: this is self-cultivation brought to its utmost. Remove artificial embellishment and ostentation.

When people have not yet made their plain and natural nature their own way of life, how much less should they pursue outward embellishment?

Follow the level, natural Dao and discard the clever schemes that create divisions and manipulate others. Hold to an impartial heart alongside the people, without private motives. Restrain what you uphold, keeping only to what is simple and essential. Lessen your desires and let your heart grow calm and detached. Keep away from temptation and the longing for admiration; do not use cleverness to lead the people, and do not covet the achievements of the sages. Cast off cravings and desires, and set aside tangled thoughts.

By keeping to what is simple and essential, you can see clearly; by having few desires, you can attain something. Because you do not grasp greedily, you can always have something to gain. Thus, when inner balance governs outward affairs, everything can be handled well. Once your heart is grounded, you can govern external things. Those whose spirit is whole and whose nature and emotions are settled understand how to nourish the body and master external things.

When the heart is grounded, the five organs are at peace and thought is calm. The breath flows without disorder, and the nature is undisturbed. The sinews and bones are strong, and the ears and eyes are clear. The great Dao is level and wide, and it is not far from us. The Dao is everywhere—how could it be far from me?

Those who seek in distant places must eventually return after setting out. The bewildered search outward and go astray; those who truly attain the Dao return to themselves.

Laozi said: The sage does not concern himself with governing others, but focuses on governing himself. To make governing others the way of governance is often just to use one affair to deal with another, and never truly to arrive at a state of non-action. It is better to cultivate one’s nature inwardly until it reaches its natural state. Then all under Heaven can follow their own nature and each set their life and nature in order. Hence it is said: “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform of themselves.”

The sage values forgetting power and status and giving attention to inner contentment. When the sage is content within, all under Heaven can find peace.

When cultivation reaches a state of single-mindedness and contentment, nothing in the world can fail to find its proper place. Letting all things govern themselves according to their nature allows them to attain the freedom I have attained. When the mind and external things are connected without barriers, all things under Heaven can find their proper place. Is this not better than gaining honor through power and high position?

True happiness does not lie in wealth and status, but in inner peace.

The wealthy and eminent often bear worries and responsibilities along with their status. How can they be called happy? Only those who are inwardly peaceful and at ease walk the path of lasting happiness.

Knowing how to value oneself and regard the world as less important brings one close to the Dao (the Way).

One who prizes inner ease and does not concern oneself with governing others is therefore close to the Dao.

Thus it is said: “Bring the mind to utmost stillness and emptiness, and hold firmly to deep serenity. As all things grow and change together, I observe how they return to their root.”

All things in the world grow and change in profusion, yet all return to the source of stillness and emptiness. Therefore, one whose nature is open and still can model the highest state of Heaven’s way; one whose body and mind are calm and settled can accord with Earth’s profound De (Virtue/Power).

The Dao gives life to all things and runs through them from beginning to end, yet has no fixed form.

All things in the world grow and change in profusion, yet all return to the source of stillness and emptiness. Therefore, one whose nature is open and still can model the highest state of Heaven’s way; one whose body and mind are calm and settled can accord with Earth’s profound De.

The Dao gives life to all things as a potter shapes vessels, yet it has no form.

Clay is kneaded and made into vessels; their making has a beginning and can reach completion. Form and number arise through particular causes, so the traces of things’ beginnings and endings can be clearly seen. But the Great Dao uses Yin-Yang as its furnace to give life to all things. We cannot see where its creation begins, yet all things continue to flourish; nor can we discover where its transformations end, yet all things keep changing and flowing without pause. Thus the traces of the Great Dao’s beginnings and endings in bringing forth all things cannot be traced.

It is still and without action, yet nothing fails to pass through it. It is blended and obscure, difficult to distinguish.

“Hunming” resembles a state in which Yin and Yang intermingle. Whatever moves will come to rest; mere stillness is not endless. Only complete stillness and nonmovement are the root of growth and change.

It is deep, vast, and boundless; nothing lies beyond it. Yet even when divided down to the finest hairs and particles, nothing lies within it.

The Great Dao is vast, broad, and boundless. It cannot be placed outside; even when divided down to the finest detail, it cannot be placed inside. Its inner and outer limits cannot be defined simply by what is large or small. It has no fixed spatial boundaries and cannot be confined within the six directions of heaven and earth. It is the common source of both being and nonbeing. Though we cannot see where it comes from or where it goes, it works through being and nonbeing.

A True Person, one who has realized the Great Dao, can understand this. Thus they are empty and still, free of desire, even-tempered and clear-minded, gentle and humble; their heart is pure and simple, undisturbed by external things. Because they can embody the Dao, they possess these virtues. The highest virtue is the Great Dao of all under heaven; this is why such a person is called a True Person. Human beings are one of the three powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Endowed with a pure and harmonious nature, they can unite with Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. Such a person is a True Person.

A True Person values cultivating the self and gives little importance to managing the affairs of all under heaven; the relevant principles have already been discussed above. They do not let external things disturb inner peace or desire unsettle their nature, and so they preserve their true nature. They conceal their name and do not seek to make their actions known. When the Dao prevails, they withdraw, for those of deep virtue do not boast or seek acclaim. When the Dao does not prevail, they appear instead, because they have not yet forgotten their virtue and so make it manifest of their own accord.

They act with Wuwei (non-action), without deliberate interference or insistence on results, while outwardly bringing things under order and restraint. Those whose spirit is whole and whose temperament is settled can fully grasp the principles of nourishing the body and directing external things. With inner cultivation, the five organs become peaceful and thoughts grow calm; the breath flows without disorder, nature remains undisturbed, the sinews and bones are strong, and the ears and eyes keen.

The Great Dao is level and wide, and it is not far from oneself. The Dao is everywhere—how could it be far from me? Those who seek it in distant places will eventually reach the end of their journey and return to themselves.

When people seek outside themselves in confusion, they only travel farther and farther away. Understanding things from within is the way to return.

Laozi says: The sage does not set his mind on governing others, but on cultivating himself.

Governing the world by governing other people often means using one task to deal with another, so there is always more to handle. It is better to cultivate one’s nature inwardly and let it accord with what is natural. Then people throughout the world can do the same, each setting their nature and allotted life in order. This is what is meant by “I practice Wuwei (non-action), and the people transform of themselves”: when I do not impose actions, the people change naturally.

Rather than value power and status, value inward contentment. When I understand something for myself, the world, too, can find its proper place through me.

Once one has truly attained contentment, there is nothing in the world that cannot find its proper place. Let all things govern and develop themselves, and they can each attain the freedom I have understood. When the inner and outer accord with the mysterious Dao, all things in the world find their proper place. Is this not more precious and more splendid than the honor brought by power and status?

Be willing to forget wealth and rank; what matters is harmony within.

Wealth and rank often come with worry and toil. What is there to be happy about? Only those whose hearts are harmonious and who are content with themselves can wander along the path of enduring joy.

Knowing how to enrich and value your inner self, and not to regard the world as supreme, brings you close to the Dao.

To enrich oneself inwardly and find contentment is to value what is within. Not setting one’s mind on governing others is to let go of external control. This is why such a person is close to the Dao.

Thus it is said: “Attain the utmost emptiness and stillness; hold fast to deep quiet. All things grow together, and from this I observe how they return to their source.”

Though all things grow in profusion, in the end they all return to the empty and still source. Thus, one whose mind and nature are empty, still, and clear can model the highest reach of the Way of Heaven; one whose body is settled and tranquil can accord with the Earth’s deep De (Virtue/Power).

The Dao shapes and nurtures all things, yet has no beginning or end that can be pointed out.

When clay is made into a vessel, the process has a starting point and reaches a moment when the vessel takes shape. Its form and measure also have their causes, so the beginning and end of the process are clear. The Great Dao, by contrast, nurtures all things like a furnace, with Yin-Yang as its flames. We cannot see where creation begins, yet all things continue to generate and regenerate. We cannot fathom the ultimate purpose of change, yet change flows on without cease. Thus the traces of the Dao’s transformation of all things cannot be followed from beginning to end.

In stillness and Wuwei (non-action), without movement, one connects with the Dao (the Way), vast and far-reaching, formless and darkly mysterious. Nothing can exhaust the limits of its workings. The myriad things continually come into being and change, and this flow never ceases. Thus the beginning and end of all things can no longer be found.

“Dark mystery” is like Yin-Yang mingling together. When movement arises, it will eventually cease; mere stillness is not the root. Only stillness and Wuwei are the source from which the myriad things come into being.

The Dao is deep and immense: it is so vast that nothing can be regarded as outside it, yet so subtle that even the finest hairs and tiniest filaments can be examined, with nothing that can be regarded as within it. This is not a distinction between inside and outside based on size.

The Dao has no clearly bounded space that can be enclosed, and the four directions of Heaven and Earth cannot contain it. It is the collective source of both “being” and “nonbeing.” Though its comings and goings leave no visible trace, it works through being and nonbeing.

A perfected person—one who has realized the Great Dao—can embody the Dao and therefore possesses the qualities of emptiness, simplicity, purity, gentleness, and unadorned naturalness, remaining unmixed with external things. The highest De (Virtue/Power) is the Dao followed by all things under Heaven; hence the name “perfected person.” Human beings are one of the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity. One who is naturally pure and harmonious, able to unite with all things under Heaven, is a perfected person.

The perfected person values self-cultivation and regards affairs of the world as less important; they focus on cultivating themselves and do not make governing others their priority. This point was explained earlier. The sage is the same: they do not let external things disturb the peace of their heart, nor let desires disrupt their nature, and so they preserve their true nature. The sage does not set out to govern others, but concentrates on cultivating themselves.

The perfected person conceals their name and does not wish to make their presence known. When the Dao prevails, they withdraw: a person of the highest De does not consider themselves virtuous and so does not show themselves. When the Dao does not prevail, they appear in the world: one who has not yet forgotten their own De will make it visible.

“To act through non-action and attend to affairs without contrivance” means to act with Wuwei, without deliberate fabrication. Laozi says that to act is to respond to change: when external things change, I act in response, and affairs arise from this. Change emerges with the times; one who understands the times acts without being confined to a fixed method.

Thus, a Dao (the Way) that can be spoken is not the constant Dao. The Dao encompasses all things, but it cannot be reduced forever to any one account.

A name that can be used to designate something is not a constant name. Names are used to refer to things, so they cannot be fixed forever as a single name.

Writing arises from speech and serves to record it; speech, in turn, comes from human understanding. People frame statements according to what they know, then record them in books.

If you take what you know to be the whole of things, you cannot understand the constant Dao. If you record only limited understanding in words, without knowing that things differ as they change, you cannot grasp the transformations of all things.

Not everything that can be named can be gathered into books. Books record only the statements people know; and since the names of things are not fixed, books cannot include them all.

Hearing a great deal yet becoming caught up in layer upon layer of discourse and books will ultimately lead to difficulty. It is better to keep to inner balance, and so remain open and responsive.

Set aside worldly learning, and you will have no worries. Worldly learning uses the classics and ritual principles to instruct people. It can lead them to value outward refinement and to judge one another as wise or foolish; it also urges them to admire what is called great achievement, which may cause them to lose their nature. The sages established instruction to preserve human nature. For this reason, such learning must be cast aside if one is to be free of worry.

Abandon practices that put the sages’ laws first and begin with schemes and clever devices, and the people’s well-being will increase a hundredfold. These practices create all manner of artificial rules, disrupt the myriad things, and thereby damage the foundation of life. Only by casting them aside can these benefits be attained.

Human beings are born in a state of stillness; this is the nature bestowed on them by Heaven. The Dao of Heaven is tranquil, and so all things can grow. Human nature comes from Heaven and is therefore tranquil in its original state.

To act only after being stirred by external things is a sign that one’s nature has been harmed.

When external things arrive, people respond; this is the arising of cognition. As things multiply in kind, so too do people’s distinctions and acts of discernment.

When human understanding encounters external things, likes and dislikes arise. Using the mind to distinguish among things gives rise to affection and aversion. Once these take hold, the mind is pulled by the outside world: it judges things and develops desires for what it likes and dislikes, while external things move the mind and present images of beauty and ugliness. When the heart becomes attached to these distinctions, it eventually loses itself among external things.

If one cannot turn inward and reflect on oneself, the principles of Heaven—the natural order inherent in things—will disappear. These principles are a person’s nature. Thus, the sage does not let human desires replace what is natural, nor allow desire to alter one’s nature. Though the sage adapts outwardly to changing things, inwardly the original nature remains intact. The “feelings” spoken of here still refer to human nature.

Thus, those who understand the Dao return to stillness and quiet; those who investigate things to their depths ultimately arrive at Wuwei (non-action, following things as they are without forcing them). By returning to one’s nature, one can connect with the Dao; by practicing Wuwei, one can truly investigate the myriad things.

To cultivate wisdom through calm stillness is to see oneself clearly, naturally, in quiet. To cultivate the spirit through detachment and emptiness is to make the mind open and clear, so that the spirit can be brought into balance. The meaning conveyed by “no gate” has already been explained above.

Those who follow the Way of Heaven walk alongside the Dao. Letting nature run its course, their spirit wanders with the transformations of the myriad things, never departing from the Dao. Those who conduct themselves by following worldly conventions, by contrast, move among the common ways of the world: they comply with human affairs and respond emotionally to external things, engaging only with prevailing customs.

Therefore, the sage does not let human distinctions disturb natural nature, nor let desire disrupt one’s true feelings. In this way, the unadorned nature is preserved.

Without planning in advance, one can still respond appropriately: because nothing is predetermined, one can respond suitably to the actual circumstances. Without speaking much, one can still earn people’s trust: because one responds at the right moment, one can be true to one’s word without relying on speech. Without deliberate thought, one can still understand: because the mind is empty, quiet, and clear, it naturally comprehends how things are. Without forcing action, one can still accomplish things: because one rests in acceptance and lets things follow their course, the myriad things each come to fulfillment.

Thus, when the sage occupies a high position, the people do not feel burdened; when the sage walks ahead of them, they are not hindered. When the Dao shelters all things, every kind of life can be at peace; when De guides the people, each person’s nature can unfold, and so they are not hindered. As long as one follows the course of the myriad things and lives with ease, things will come to completion of their own accord.

Thus, when he occupies a high position, the people do not feel weighed down by him; when he stands before them, they do not feel obstructed. He covers and nourishes all things with the Dao, allowing every kind of life to dwell in peace, so the people do not feel burdened. He guides them through De, allowing their innate nature to unfold, so they do not feel obstructed.

People throughout the world turn to him, while the wicked and corrupt hold him in awe: people turn to his De, and the wicked and corrupt revere his selflessness.

Because he does not contend with anything, no one dares contend with him. He brings all things into accord through gentleness and, by means of the Dao, prevails over the things of the world. Whose De could compare with his?

Laozi said: Once people act according to their desires, they lose their innate nature, and their conduct often becomes improper. Cultivating oneself in this state of mind harms both body and mind. Desire lodged within a person makes the body weary and taints their actions. When desire enters the governance of a state, it brings disorder; when it fills the state, the people are worn down and government falls into confusion.

Therefore, those who do not understand the Dao cannot return to their innate nature. The Dao brings that nature to light, and innate nature returns people to the state before desire arose. Those who do not understand how things work cannot attain clarity and stillness. Understanding brings insight; freedom from disturbance brings stillness.

On close examination, human nature is originally free of partiality and defilement; it is received from Heaven. When people remain immersed in external things for a long time, they are easily changed. Once changed, they forget their original nature and follow external things, giving rise to desire.

Water is clear by nature, yet sand and stones can make it muddy. Human nature is peaceful by nature, yet likes and desires can damage it. Only sages can abandon the external things and desires that ensnare people and return to their own still, pure nature.

Thus, sages do not let external things control them. Those who have realized the mysterious Dao are not burdened by external things, so how could they willingly be driven by them? They do not let desire disturb the peace of their hearts. In the face of joy, they do not become so delighted that they lose themselves; in the face of worry, they do not lament in grief. Therefore, though they occupy high positions, they are not in danger; they live in peace without being brought down.

Forget your own status and treat the people as equals, and you will not be endangered by high position. Forget your own status and share hardship with everyone, and you will not be brought down by comfort and ease.

When people hear useful advice and sound plans, even the foolish know to approve of them. When they hear of the conduct of the wise and enlightened, and of noble deeds, even those of poor character feel drawn to them. Many approve, but few truly adopt them; many feel drawn to them, but few put them into practice. This is because people are pulled along by external things and bound by worldly habits.

No one living in the world does not wish to understand all things, preserve their own integrity, follow teachings that encourage goodness, and hope for methods that are reliable and workable. Even those sunk in ignorance and narrowness must have such aspirations. Yet people change with external things day after day, and in time they conform to worldly ways. The sense of right within them is not strong enough to overcome these outside influences, so they are led along by external things and bound by worldly habits.

Thus it is said: “Through Wuwei (non-action), the people transform of themselves.” When a ruler governs in accord with the people’s natural way of life, without imposing needless interference, the people change of their own accord, each at ease in their own nature.

“I take no action, and the people enrich themselves”: when the people are not burdened with affairs of government such as taxation, they naturally become prosperous.

“I love stillness, and the people set themselves right”: when the people are not guided and constrained by intricate laws and doctrines, they can follow their nature and remain upright.

“I have no desires, and the people become simple of themselves”: when the people are not unsettled by private desires, they can preserve the natural simplicity within them.

Stillness and purity are the highest attainment of De (Virtue/Power). The highest De does not deliberately display itself as virtue; thus it remains clear and tranquil.

Softness and weakness are how the Dao (the Way) acts. When the strong and violent can be brought to yield, the Dao’s power is made manifest.

Emptiness, serenity, and joyful ease are the source of all things. All things arise from emptiness and grow in harmony.

When these three are put into practice, they return to formlessness. Though they are described separately as three, in their root they are one. And this one has no fixed trace, which is why it is called formless.

What is called formless is “the One.” The One has no limit and can unite with all things under heaven.

Before boundaries have been established, the underlying nature of all things is one. Yet this “One” is not any particular thing, so it may be said to abide in the formless.

The “formless” is the state referred to by the “One.” The formless Dao is expressed through the idea of the “One.” The One has no boundaries and can therefore unite with all things under Heaven.

If one has not yet reached a state free of all constraints, one remains bound by physical form and naturally cannot reach through to, and join with, the myriad kinds of things.

The Dao continually bestows De (Virtue/Power). The One enables each thing to fulfill its own De. Since things are inexhaustible, the Dao’s bounty of De likewise never ceases.

To make use of it requires no effort, and it never stops. Look for it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard.

Though the Dao itself is formless, it can give rise to things with form; though it is silent, it can bring forth the Five Tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu; though it has no taste, it can bring forth the Five Flavors—sour, bitter, sweet, pungent, and salty; though it has no color, it can give rise to the Five Colors—blue-green, red, yellow, white, and black. Thus, things with form arise from the formless, and tangible substance comes from the void.

The Dao’s underlying nature is empty and void. It can give rise to forms, sounds, colors, and all other things; there is nothing that does not come from it.

The basic notes of musical pitch number no more than five, yet their variations are inexhaustible to the ear. When gong and zhi, among other notes, intermingle in a melody, they unsettle the ear.

The basic kinds of taste number no more than five, yet their variations are inexhaustible to the palate. When sweetness is mixed with sourness, the palate loses its clarity.

The basic kinds of color number no more than five, yet their variations are inexhaustible to the eye. When dark and yellow are mingled, they dazzle the eye.

Once gong is established, the Five Tones can take shape; gong is the guiding note among all notes.

Once sweetness is established, the Five Flavors have a standard; sweetness is the guiding taste among all tastes.

Once white is established, the Five Colors can take shape; white is the root of all colors.

Once the Dao is established as the One, all things arise from it.

The “One” refers to “nothingness.” Every number, however large, begins with one; things, however great or small, ultimately arise from nothingness. By tracing things back to nothingness, one can grasp the source of all forms under Heaven; by holding fast to the One, one can govern the roots of the names of all things. Thus, the One serves as their name, and all things arise from it.

Thus, the principle enacted by the One—the fundamental principle of the Dao—extends throughout the four seas. Those who grasp the One can examine the things between Heaven and Earth. Near or far, great or small, all things arise from nonbeing. By probing this nonbeing, one can grasp the forms of all things under Heaven; by abiding in the foundation of the One, one can gather together the source of all things. It is therefore called the One: all things arise from it.

The principle of the One extends throughout the four seas. Grasping the One enables one to see clearly the workings of Heaven and Earth. Nothing, near or far, lies beyond its reach; nothing, above or below, lies beyond its understanding.

When the Dao is whole, it is plain and sincere, naturally complete and without ornament. When it spreads through the world, it becomes turbid and mixed, as though stained by the common dust along with all things. Within turbidity, it gradually clears; within emptiness, it gradually fills. This meaning has already been explained above.

The Dao is serene and vast, like deep water. It drifts without fixed direction, like floating clouds; its depths and breadth have no bounds, and its coming and going are unrestrained. It seems formless, yet truly exists; it seems to disappear, yet can still appear. That is, it has no fixed shape, yet is actually present; though its traces cannot be seen, it responds to things and makes itself known.

Laozi said, “The source of all things passes through the same aperture.” Here, “aperture” means the passage through which the Dao gives birth to all things. “The root of all affairs emerges through the same gate”: nothing comes from anywhere but the Dao.

Therefore, sages follow a consistent standard. They do not alter the root or depart from the constant Dao. They follow the course of Heaven and do not lose their enduring nature amid the changes of things.

Sages set aside the ruler and act in accordance with the proper measure. The twists and turns of things must be understood through their inherent straightness, while their straightness takes the constant Dao as its standard. Each thing has its own fitting way. Sages do not abandon the Dao’s guiding principles and measures, so they can respond to the nature of all things and allow each to reach its fullness.

Joy and anger are emotions inherent in human nature, but excessive reactions depart from the right way. Worry and grief show that Virtue has been impaired, because one cannot be at peace with oneself. Favor and aversion arise from excessive attachment in the mind. Cravings and desires become burdens on life, caused by striving too hard to preserve and nourish it.

Excessive anger harms Yin Qi; excessive joy causes Yang Qi to lose its proper bounds. Yin governs severity and decline, while Yang governs harmony and ease. Only when joy and anger are expressed in due measure do they accord with the Dao of the world. Fixating on one extreme leads to the loss of balance.

Without a place to rest or return to, one becomes confined to the realm of form and cannot join with all things in harmony and unity.

The dispensation of benevolence has no end.

This means that all things receive the Dao and thereby fulfill their own De. Since the transformation and generation of all things never cease, the workings of De are likewise inexhaustible.

Using the Dao brings no weariness.

It requires no labor and never ceases.

Look for it, yet it cannot be seen,

because it has no form that can be viewed.

Listen for it, yet it cannot be heard,

because it has no sound that can be heard.

The Dao itself is formless, yet it can give rise to things with form; it is soundless, yet it can make the five notes ring out; it is tasteless, yet it can give rise to the five flavors; it is colorless, yet it can bring forth the five colors. Thus, what has form comes from the formless, and actual things emerge from nothingness.

The Dao’s original nature is empty, yet it can give rise to forms, sounds, colors, and all other things. Nothing is not produced by it.

There are no more than five basic kinds of sound, yet the variations of the five notes are endless, too many to hear in their entirety. If notes such as gong and zhi are combined improperly, they throw the sense of hearing into confusion.

There are no more than five basic kinds of taste, yet the variations of the five flavors are endless, too many to taste in their entirety. If sweetness and sourness are blended out of balance, they impair the sense of taste.

There are no more than five basic kinds of color, yet the variations of the five colors are endless, too many to see in their entirety. If colors such as black and yellow are mixed in disorder, they dazzle the eyes.

Sound takes the gong note as its root, from which the five notes are formed; gong is the master of all notes.

Taste takes sweetness as its root, from which the five flavors are established; sweetness is the master of all flavors.

Color takes white as its root, from which the five colors are formed; white is the source of all colors.

The Dao takes “the One” as its root, and through it all things come into being.

“The One” here refers to the undifferentiated, unmanifest source. All quantities, great or small, begin with “the One”; things of every size originally arise from the formless source. By tracing things back to this formless source, one can grasp the forms of all things under Heaven; by holding fast to “the One,” one can encompass the roots of all things. It is therefore called “the One”: all things arise from it.

Thus, the principle of “the One” extends throughout the Four Seas, and its meaning can be used to examine Heaven and Earth. Whether near or far, everything can be reached; whether above or below, everything can be understood.

The Dao in its complete state is generous and simple, like an uncarved block of wood: naturally formed and without adornment.

When the Dao disperses, it is turbid like the undifferentiated sea of primordial chaos. The Dao, unified and unobstructed, can see through Heaven and Earth: it reaches everywhere, near or far, and sees clearly in every direction, above and below.

When the Dao is whole, it is simple and substantial, like an uncarved block, naturally formed and without adornment. When it disperses, it is turbid like water, mingling with all things and blending into the dusty world. Though water is turbid, it gradually clears when left still. Though Qi (vital energy) is empty, it gradually fills and becomes abundant. This meaning has already been discussed above.

The Dao is tranquil and vast as water, drifting like clouds in the sky. It is deep and expansive, without bounds; it comes and goes freely, bound by nothing. It seems not to exist, yet it is truly present; it seems to vanish, yet its power remains. That is, its form cannot be seen, though it certainly exists; its traces seem to disappear, yet its responses and effects remain.

Laozi said, “The guiding principle of all things runs through a single aperture; the Dao is the passage through which all things come into being and change. The source of all affairs emerges from one gate.” Nothing does not come from the Dao.

Therefore, sages follow a single principle and course. They do not alter what is fundamental or depart from the constant Dao. This means that sages act along the course of Heaven’s Dao and do not lose their enduring nature as circumstances change. They act according to principles and measures: to bend is to accord with what is straight, while to remain straight is to follow the constant Dao. Things each have their own nature. If they do not depart from the Dao’s guiding principles and measures, they can follow the situation and fulfill their respective natures.

Joy and anger are natural expressions of the Dao in the human heart, but when they exceed proper bounds, they depart from the right path. Anxiety and sorrow show that De (Virtue/Power) has been diminished; one can therefore no longer be at ease and content. Likes and dislikes arise from inner partiality; clinging to them is a failing. Appetites and desires burden life and result from poor practices of nourishing life.

Great anger injures Yin, while great joy depletes Yang. Yin governs stillness and contraction; Yang governs harmony and ease. Their transformations are the subtle roots of joy and anger. When the spirit penetrates what is subtle and hidden, it can unite with fundamental reality. The Dao brings forth what people already possess within themselves and leaves them free of even the slightest desire. Is this not the attainment of the utmost truth?

Keep the mysterious De within the heart, and let the spirit move freely.

Through Wuwei (non-action), all things are nurtured and transformed, and the traces of De (Virtue/Power) remain unseen; hence it is called “the Mystery.” The perfected person, one who has attained the Dao (the Way), holds no fixed opinions or selfish aims. All things naturally respond to him, so his influence may seem neither hurried nor forceful, yet in practice it takes effect swiftly.

Thus the Dao, whose traces are not revealed, is vast and boundless; teachings imparted without words have a profound and far-reaching influence. In the end, issuing commands and changing customs depend on transforming people through the De within the heart.

The reason commands can be carried out is that they are rooted in moral cultivation and teaching. The mysterious De nourishes all things: without waiting for instructions, customs change of themselves. We can therefore see that the mysterious Dao transforms customs without relying on commands, through the influence of inner De.

Each thing has its own source of growth; only one who keeps to the Dao can understand its origin. Every undertaking has its own cause; only one who keeps to the Dao can hold fast to its essential point.

When the heart is still, one can understand the roots of all things. By following what is natural, one can grasp the causes of events.

In this way, one can investigate the principles of things without limit and reach the boundless. Only when the heart is calm and clear, unburdened by external things, can one exhaust the principles of things and reach their furthest point.

Observe all things without becoming confused, and respond to events without exhaustion. Empty, still, and free of selfishness, one can reflect all things like a clear mirror and respond appropriately to change.

Laozi says: “The person who has attained the Dao is gentle and yielding in purpose, yet firm and effective in action.” The heart follows what is natural and may seem weak; yet things are brought to completion, and so appear strong.

With an empty and still heart, one can respond appropriately to external things. When the mind holds no prior opinions, its responses are free of bias.

The most yielding state is like soft, fine down: quiet and pliant. The person who has attained the Dao is resolved to keep to the Dao without wavering and does not rely on force to display strength. He is as gentle as the down close to the body, without drawing attention to himself.

One restrains oneself from daring to act recklessly, and does not presume to show off one’s abilities in carrying out tasks.

In every movement and pause, one acts without contrivance and leaves no trace of artifice.

Quiet and unassuming, one acts without forcing things, yet never misses the right moment. If action arises only in response to what things require, what could go wrong?

Thus, honor has lowliness as its root, and high position rests on what is low; by means of what is small, one can encompass what is great. All these sayings teach that one should dwell in lowliness, gentleness, and smallness, acting through Wuwei and responding to the moment. In this way, one attains lofty virtue and realization.

Only by keeping the Dao within can one master external things. When the Dao is understood in the heart, external things will naturally accord with it.

Act with gentleness, yet strength will become apparent; no force will be impossible to overcome, and no opponent impossible to defeat. By holding fast to gentleness, one’s upright heart will not be subdued.

Respond to change and assess the moment, and nothing will be able to harm you. This does not mean planning every detail in advance. Rather, respond as circumstances unfold; then you will neither miss the moment nor be harmed by external things.

To become strong, one must be guarded by gentleness; to become powerful, one must be preserved by weakness. When gentleness accumulates to a certain point, it can turn into strength; when weakness accumulates to a certain point, it can turn into power. By observing the direction in which things accumulate, one can judge whether they will endure or decline. This follows inevitably from the nature of things and the force of circumstances.

The strong can overcome those weaker than themselves. Against an equal, they can only hold their ground; against one exactly like themselves, neither side can gain the upper hand.

Gentleness can overcome those stronger than itself, and its power cannot be measured. Who can resist what gentleness can do? That is why it can overcome an equal. The strong overcome only those weaker than themselves, while the gentle can overcome their equals. This shows how much greater the advantage of gentleness is. How could the strength of the strong compare?

Thus, an army that grows too powerful will perish: power breeds arrogance, and arrogance brings ruin. A tree that is too rigid will break; leather stretched too tightly will split. Teeth are harder than the tongue, yet they are often lost before it. Weakness, then, is the foundation of life, while strength readily leads toward death.

Qi should be balanced through gentleness; if the body becomes too rigid, it too can fall ill. The same is true of human conduct and preferences: their gains and losses, their benefits and harms, can all be seen from this.

Those who rush to act are likely to fall into difficulty; acting afterward is instead the root of success. Taking the lead in everything often brings obstruction; acting in step with the changes of things often allows one to move forward freely.

With the Dao as your guide in responding to change, you can act either before others or after them. Why? As long as you do not lose the foundation for governing the situation, others cannot turn around and govern you.

By grasping the root of the Dao (the Way) and maintaining the center, one can face the constantly changing outer world, respond in accordance with circumstances, and bring oneself back into proper alignment. Thus, if one can discern change in stillness, one can prepare in advance and guide what follows; if one can return to stillness after observing change, one can seize the initiative once events have unfolded. In each case, one has mastered the way of responding and is no longer led about by the opinions of worldly people.

To dwell “behind” means to follow the natural course of things and act when the right moment arrives. Only then can one grasp the subtle art of responding from a position of being behind.

The moment shifts with extraordinary speed, almost without pause. Things are changing at every instant, and the principles that govern them never rest; there is no gap between one change and the next.

Act too early, and one goes too far; act too late, and the opportunity has passed. If one tries to control things before they have changed, the moment has not yet appeared, and measures are unlikely to work. If one waits until after things have changed, the situation has already taken shape.

The sun moves in its course and the moon turns through the sky; time does not stop to wait for anyone. Therefore, the sage does not prize a jade disk a foot across, but cherishes even a brief inch of time, for an opportunity is hard to obtain and easy to miss. Only the sage can grasp the right moment to act. Thus the sage always acts in step with the moment and builds achievements from the conditions at hand: whatever can be done is brought to completion, and whatever achievement can be established with ease is sustained.

Hold fast to the Dao of purity and stillness, and keep to the principles of yielding and humility. By remaining empty and still, one can discern the moment; by adopting a yielding manner, one can accord with things. Respond to change by following the underlying principles, generally taking the position behind rather than rushing ahead, and act with calm and composure through gentleness and stillness.

When one’s achievements are strong and nothing can destroy them, no one can contend with them. Though one possesses something inwardly, one appears empty and free from self-satisfaction; then external things will accord with one.

Laozi says: “When the mind harbors clever schemes, its pure nature is harmed and ceases to be pure.”

By following the changes in things, one can accomplish what needs to be done, and the effects are inexhaustible. Keep the heart-mind empty and still, free from distracting thoughts, and act in accordance with one’s nature; only then can one preserve simplicity. When one relies on cleverness and contrivance, the heart-mind cannot be still and instead becomes confused.

Those who cannot preserve the integrity of their spirit and De (Virtue/Power) do not know how to settle their intentions at a distance.

Only when the spirit is complete can one fathom the principles behind the changes in things; only when De is complete can all things find their proper place. In the end, great beauty is not outside oneself but within.

If the heart-mind holds no thought of harming others, one may approach a hungry tiger or follow behind it without coming to harm—how much more so with other people?

When one is at one with all things, there is no opposition between them. The moment one deliberately avoids something, distinctions arise in the heart-mind. Now, when the mind is spacious and free of desire, sharing one body with the transformation of Heaven and Earth, even the fiercest and most forceful people will not harm you when provoked.

Thus, those who realize the Great Dao are at ease and never exhausted; those who rely entirely on techniques of calculation and planning toil without achieving results.

Strictly imposing laws and resorting to punishments at every turn are not the foundation of an emperor’s governance. Harsh laws and severe punishments show that spirit and De are not complete enough to win the people’s willing allegiance and bring them naturally to transform.

Whipping a carriage frequently will not make it travel farther. Excessive use of the whip shows that the driver has failed to follow the nature of the carriage and cannot let it complete a long journey by its own strength.

Excessive love and aversion bring calamities one after another. The laws of the former kings, therefore, were not invented out of thin air but established in response to actual circumstances. They were adjusted as the times changed, to implement laws and teachings—not to display the ruler’s abilities.

Prohibitions and punishments, too, were not created arbitrarily, but to uphold established standards. Maintaining prohibitions so that the people know what to fear was not a way to impose punishments in order to display authority.

Thus, following the nature of things enables great achievements, while deliberate contrivance diminishes them. Holding to what is appropriate makes the foundation firm; forcing action at every turn makes failure more likely. A ruler who relies only on the ears and eyes to investigate and observe may exhaust himself and still fail to see clearly. Governing the world through personal schemes likewise brings painstaking effort without results.

Only when a ruler listens widely to different views and clearly observes conditions in all directions can Wuwei (non-action) governance be achieved: the ruler sits at ease and intervenes little, while the world is well governed.

Governing a state cannot rely on one person’s ability alone. One person’s eyes, ears, and judgment are not enough to bring peace to the world. A person who cannot even manage a three-mu homestead has limited strength and understanding to begin with.

If one follows principle and natural order, and accords with the way of Heaven and Earth, then even though the world is vast, there is no need to exhaust one’s intellect. All things can naturally find their proper order and settle into balance.

If one relies only on the ears to hear others’ opinions, one will be confused by blame and praise. If one relies only on the eyes, one will become absorbed in colors and fail to see things clearly. Ritual cannot truly express love; only sincerity can move people far away. Those who are skilled at discerning ritual often manage only to regulate outward appearances. To give genuine expression to care for others, sincerity must be put into practice throughout the world; only then can it touch people’s hearts.

Among weapons, none harms harmony more than evil intent in the heart; the mo-jie, an ancient weapon, is comparatively minor. Among calamities, none is more serious than disharmony between Yin and Yang; the trouble caused by the bao drum, used in military settings or processions, is a small matter. The greater calamity lies in joy and anger coming into conflict.

A “great bandit” is one whose commands are unchecked, leaving the people as though fallen like corpses, with no one to care for them. A “middle bandit” is a robber who hides in the mountains, using the rugged terrain to lie in wait and attack when the opportunity arises. A “small bandit” is someone who secretly steals among the people.

Thus, the more clever and resourceful the people become, the more readily strange things arise. Excessive cleverness leads to trickery, and trickery makes people rely on their own abilities. They embellish what is simple and conceal their true feelings, only to be misled by external things. The more elaborate and conspicuous the laws and commands, the more thieves there are. If one does not remove the incentives for theft, but merely adds complicated laws and severe prohibitions, people will find loopholes in the laws, and theft will increase.

Abandon contrived cleverness and complex laws, and take simplicity and Wuwei (non-action) as one’s model; then disasters sent by Heaven will not arise. Governing a state by strategy and cleverness alone will instead make one a calamity to the state.

Governing a state without relying on cleverness and ingenuity is the state’s good fortune and virtue. In this way, calamities arising from a failure to follow the Dao of Heaven will no longer occur. If one governs a state solely through clever schemes, however, one will bring harm upon it; relying only on one’s own cleverness and ingenuity will surely injure the people.

Governing a state without clever contrivance is its good fortune and virtue. Govern in accord with the natural patterns of things, and all beings can each preserve their own nature.

The formless is vast; the formed is small. The formless leaves no trace and undergoes wondrous transformations without fixed limits, so it is vast. Concrete things each have their boundaries, so they are small. The formless is abundant; the formed is scarce. What cannot be measured counts as abundant; what can be seen counts as scarce. The formless is strong; the formed is weak. The formless can govern things, so it is strong; formed things are subject to it, so they are weak. The formless is real; the formed is insubstantial. What endures unchanged is real; what shifts and changes is insubstantial.

Formed things are the results left once a process is complete; the formless is the source from which it begins. When a result takes shape, it becomes a concrete object; at the beginning, it remains in a simple, undivided state. Formed things have sound; the formless has none.

When the Dao disperses and transforms into concrete objects, they can be given names. When they return to the Dao, their names can no longer be grasped.

Formed things arise from the formless, so the formless is their beginning. Abundance, prosperity, and renown have names; what is renowned appears noble and substantial. Thrift and simplicity are modest and without renown; what lacks renown is regarded as lowly and insignificant.

Abundance and prosperity are celebrated by the world as fine names; thrift and simplicity are the Daoist virtues of quietude and detachment. People of the world value certain things and make their names known. The sage, by contrast, lets go of renown and holds fast to what is real. The sage keeps to the Dao, humble and detached, taking this as the foundation for achieving abundance and prosperity. By holding to De and remaining unchanged by external things, the sage instead makes it the root of achievement and renown. The lines that follow convey this same idea.

Even amid material plenty and prosperity, the virtues of quietude and detachment are present. People of the world value certain things and make their names known. The sage, by contrast, lets go of renown and holds fast to what is real. The sage keeps to the Dao, humble and detached, taking this as the foundation for achieving abundance and prosperity. By holding to De and remaining unchanged by external things, the sage instead makes it the root of achievement and renown. The lines that follow convey this same idea.

The wealthy and prosperous often gain a reputation; those with a reputation are honored and favored. The poor and lonely often have no reputation; those without one are placed in a low position and treated with contempt. The strong and vigorous often gain a reputation, which makes them prominent and visible; the soft and yielding have little reputation and often remain hidden from view. Those who possess a surplus gain a reputation and are regarded as wise and worthy; those who lack something have no reputation and remain in a lower position. Accomplishments bring a reputation; without accomplishments, there is none.

Abundance and prosperity are effects produced by “being”; frugality and poverty are effects produced by “nonbeing.” A reputation arises only after deeds have come to light. “Nonbeing,” by contrast, leaves deeds faint and hidden, beyond the reach of reputation. So the ordinary world regards achievement and fame as good, while the Dao regards not seeking fame as De.

Fame comes from obscurity; obscurity is the root of fame.

When one lives frugally and simply, without seeking a reputation, dignity and fulfillment emerge naturally from within.

In the Dao of Heaven—the fundamental pattern by which Heaven and Earth operate—“being” and “nonbeing” give rise to each other, and difficulty and ease bring one another to completion.

Form and nature embody the mutual arising of “being” and “nonbeing”; things and principles embody the way difficulty and ease bring each other to completion. These phenomena occur naturally, though people may not know why. This is called the Dao of Heaven.

Therefore, the sage holds to the Dao and cultivates De through an attitude of emptiness, stillness, and subtlety. This means that by holding to the Dao of not seeking a reputation, one can cultivate great De.

With the Dao comes De; with De comes achievement; with achievement comes fame. Once fame has been gained, one returns to the Dao—forgetting the reputation earned by helping the world through one’s achievements, and returning to the Dao of Wuwei (non-action).

If achievement and fame can endure, one can live a whole life without fault. “Achievement without achievement” means achieving without clinging to credit, and so the achievement can endure. “Fame that forgets fame” means gaining a reputation without seeking one; what fault could there be in that?

Princes and dukes have achievements and fame, while the lonely and bereft have neither. That is why the sage calls himself “lonely” and “bereft”: by doing so, he returns to the root. Those who help the world through powerful achievements and make their names widely known invariably take humility and self-effacement as their foundation. When princes and dukes call themselves “lonely” and “bereft,” they are making humility their basis.

Having achieved something, one does not claim it as one’s own. Thus, one can act without claiming credit, and still make an impact; one does not seek fame, and yet can still be effective.

To accomplish works that benefit and aid all things, one must act through living beings. The nameless Dao, too, must find expression in the practice of those who possess De before it can fully unfold its power.

In ancient times, people were guileless and simple, and did not distinguish east from west. Their simplicity reached its utmost: their appearance accorded with their inner nature, and body with spirit; their words never strayed from their actions, and what they said matched what they did.

They made no deliberate display in their bearing and dispensed with adornment. They gave no special polish to their speech, letting it follow its natural course. Their clothes served only to keep them warm, without colored decoration. Their weapons were blunt and without edges, for they did not yet know how to use cunning schemes to harm others. They walked with an unsteady gait and a hazy expression. They dug wells for water and farmed for food, seeking nothing recklessly from outside themselves. They neither bestowed favors in expectation of repayment nor demanded anything from others; each was content with what they had.

People did not jostle one another over differences in rank, nor compare one another’s strengths and weaknesses, because their hearts held no disputes over right and wrong. Customs were shared, and everyone could live in accord with them. Tasks suited each person’s abilities, so they were easy to carry out.

If a ruler flaunts false practices to disrupt governance and instruction, then uses aberrant behavior to mislead the people, the sage does not treat these as customs for the people to follow. Such conduct divides customs and throws instruction into disorder, making it difficult for affairs to proceed smoothly. Therefore, the sage does not make it the foundation of governance.

End of Chapter One of the Tongxuan Zhenjing.

Zhu Bian wrote this commentary while serving as magistrate of Jinyun County in Kuozhou.

On Essence and Sincerity

“Essence” means probing deeply into the subtle changes in things until one reaches their inherent nature. “Sincerity” means preserving one’s original simplicity until one attains clarity. With both essence and sincerity, one can respond to things and become attuned to the Dao (the Way).

Laozi said: Heaven naturally reaches its vast heights; Earth naturally reaches its deep depths. The sun and moon shine, the stars gleam, and Yin-Yang is harmonized. None of this is the result of deliberate action.

This is the responsiveness brought forth by the subtle Dao. People do not know why things are so, as though some unseen ruler were directing it all.

Make yourself upright and follow what is right, and all things will proceed naturally.

Each thing has its own inborn pattern. If we follow these patterns without going against them, things can preserve their nature and each proceed in peace.

Yin-Yang and the four seasons do not deliberately create the myriad things, and rain and dew do not deliberately nourish plants. This is the constant De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven’s Dao, and the ordinary way in which all things grow naturally. People do not know what brings them forth; the myriad things simply grow of themselves.

The spirits respond to one another, Yin-Yang joins in harmony, and the myriad things arise from this. When spirit and Qi (vital energy) interact, vitality is stirred; when breaths unite, forms take shape. To investigate the subtle source of this process, one can see it through essence and sincerity.

The Dao stores essence and Qi within the heart, so that a person is no longer given over to sights and sounds. It settles the spirit in the heart, freeing a person from burdens. The mind becomes quiet and detached, the heart peaceful and at ease—calm, without attachment.

The heart is broad and does not cling to bodily form; the inner mind is still and undisturbed by sound. One who realizes the Great Dao can bring forth and transform the myriad things without form, and teach without words.

The offices seem to have no affairs, and the court seems to have no one governing it. This is because everyone carries out their duties, and affairs remain orderly; governance follows Wuwei (non-action), so no trace of deliberate rule can be seen.

There are no recluses or people withdrawing to live apart, because governance accords with the Great Dao, leaving people with nothing to flee or hide from.

There is no corvée labor and no unjust punishment.

When the ruler governs through Wuwei (non-action) and shows no favoritism, how could unjust cases and corvée labor arise?

Everyone in the world admires the ruler’s De (Virtue/Power) and follows his aim of having no desires. When the sage is in a position of authority, everyone respects his virtue of stillness and follows his intention to be free of desire.

Even distant foreign lands with different customs spare no effort to travel here through many interpreters and submit. This is not because the ruler personally visits every household to meet everyone. Rather, his virtue accords with the way things are and brings things to fulfillment naturally, so people near and far are transformed.

It is enough to extend a sincere heart throughout the world. When the heart is sincere, all things respond; when the ruler treats people sincerely, none fail to respond.

Rewarding the good and punishing the violent is the substance of government orders. What enables those orders to be carried out is sincerity of heart.

When trustworthiness is consistently evident, government orders can be put into effect. When rewards and punishments are impartial, the people naturally know how they should encourage themselves. Even when government orders are clear, they cannot be carried out by themselves; they must also rely on sincerity. Thus, even when principles are explained and instruction is proclaimed, if the people do not obey, it is because sincerity has not reached them all.

Those who are pure in essence are surely good; those who are sincere surely receive a response.

Laozi said: Heaven sets the sun and moon in place, arranges the stars, orders the seasons, and harmonizes Yin-Yang. These three sources of light—the sun, moon, and stars—and the Qi of the four seasons do not depend on one another to operate. Observe their natural courses and you will see that each transforms and generates things independently.

By day, sunlight shines on all things; at night, all things rest. Wind dries them, while rain and dew moisten them. As all things grow, we cannot see precisely what nourishes them, yet they continue to grow. Each receives its nature from the natural order and comes to life; no external agent specifically nourishes it.

When all things perish, we cannot see precisely what drains their vitality, yet they continue to wither and die. They disappear in accordance with natural change; no external agent specifically kills them.

This is called the numinous and the bright. “Numinous” means that its origin cannot be fathomed; “bright” means that the principles of change necessarily follow this course.

Therefore, the sage takes nature as his model. When he brings blessings, people cannot see how those blessings come about; the blessings of the world arise because the sage’s Dao is put into practice. When virtue accords with the times, what trace is there of deliberate action? When he dispels calamities, people likewise cannot see how they are dispelled.

Even when one intends to preserve and follow the blessings of the Dao, deal with the misfortunes brought by delusion and hardship, or govern affairs of state through the achievements of a sage, the results may not be visible. When De aligns with the times, what obvious traces could remain?

When misfortune is dispelled, people cannot see how it was dispelled. Investigation yields no definite cause, yet close scrutiny confirms that the result is real: the specific causes behind the waxing and waning of misfortune cannot be found, but the fortunes and misfortunes themselves can be seen to have occurred.

Measured over a single day, the results seem insufficient; measured over a year, gains become visible. Examining the effects in the moment often makes them difficult to verify. Only when the undertaking is complete does it resemble the passing of a year, after which De has gradually borne fruit.

When things happen, they do so in silence, producing resonance unseen. A single utterance can greatly move all under Heaven: this is the power of utmost sincerity, an inner state of undivided and genuine intent. It is the result of Heaven’s heart being moved and setting change in motion. Without calculation or selfish intent, one can instead resonate with Heaven.

Inner sincerity manifests as Qi and moves Heaven. Auspicious stars, yellow dragons, and phoenixes then appear; sweet springs well up and fine grain grows. Rivers do not overflow, and the sea does not surge. These are the many responses that arise when sincerity reaches luminous purity.

If one goes against the Way of Heaven and harms living things, the sun and moon may be obscured in eclipses, the Five Planets may depart from their proper courses, and the seasons may fall into disorder. These occur when the movement of Qi exceeds its proper measure. Darkness in daytime, light at night, mountains collapsing, rivers drying up, thunder in winter, and frost in summer are abnormal changes observed after Qi has surged upward.

Heaven and humanity are connected; calamities and auspicious signs alike arise through resonance. Thus, when a state declines and falls, celestial signs change, the world falls into disorder, and anomalies such as rainbows and halos appear. All things are linked to one another, and their vital essences also clash. Connections among physical forms and disturbances among breaths are all signs that order has been disrupted.

Therefore, the workings of the spirits cannot be achieved through cunning calculation or force. Only the utmost purity and sincerity can serve to govern them.

Thus, a person of great De (Virtue)—whose conduct accords with Heaven and Earth—has conduct that accords with Heaven and Earth, radiance that accords with the sun and moon, spiritual subtlety that accords with spirits and ghosts, and trustworthiness that accords with the cycles of the four seasons. They hold in their heart the mind of the Dao, without partiality or self-interest. They receive the breath of the Earth, taking stillness and gentleness as their foundation. They uphold the way of emptiness, stillness, and harmony, using it to settle all affairs and bring all things into accord.

They need not leave their hall for their beneficence to reach the four quarters. They can transform customs and guide the people toward goodness, as though these changes arose from within them. This is teaching the people through the subtle power of spiritual influence. The responsibility for governing affairs rests with me; if I do not rely on this power of influence, what else can I rely on?

Laozi said, “Those who live in accordance with the constant Dao can preserve their nature and keep to their original simplicity without harming themselves. This is the constant way that people should follow. When faced with urgent danger, they should also be wholly sincere and single-minded, thereby reaching up to Heaven.”

The supreme and mysterious Dao sees all clearly; it is impartial and utterly clear. If one reaches it through utmost sincerity, nothing will fail to receive a response. Thus, even amid disputes and danger, one can use sincerity to communicate with the Dao of Heaven. Although this has not yet fully attained the state of following nature spontaneously, it is still an achievement one can attain for a time.

If one has never departed from the root of the Dao, what cannot be accomplished? To say that utmost sincerity is the foundation means that nothing cannot be accomplished.

When death and life belong to the same sphere, death cannot be used to threaten or oppress others. Those who regard life and death as equal cannot be intimidated by death.

How much more so for those who govern Heaven and Earth, encompass the myriad things, turn the transformations of creation, and contain the Qi (vital energy) of utmost harmony? They have never truly died. Those who understand that life and death belong to one body are already not easily afraid. How much more so for cultivators who have realized the Great Dao, encompass Heaven and Earth, return to transformation, and unite with harmonious Qi, moving together with the transformations of creation—how could the end of their lifespan be an issue?

Utmost sincerity arises within and manifests outwardly, touching the hearts of others. This is the Dao that cannot be conveyed through words. When the heart is filled with utmost sincerity, it naturally accords with the hearts of others. This resonance comes from deep within; from the beginning, it has been beyond the reach of words.

The sage occupies the ruler’s position and holds fast to the Dao in his heart, yet does not rely on words to teach the people. His beneficence reaches all the people, so this teaching without words can be widely understood in people’s hearts. This is the great Dao that needs no verbal instruction.

Sincerity within naturally shows itself outwardly and accords with the hearts of others. This influence arises from deep within; it was never something words could convey.

The sage occupies the ruler’s position, embraces the Dao, and speaks little. His beneficence reaches all the people, so the influence of teaching without words is boundless.

When the mind is empty and still, things in the world can follow their natural course. When one’s own conduct is upright, the people will take it as their model. Is this not how the influence of everyday guidance spreads far and wide?

When ruler and ministers are divided in heart, and betrayal of the right way and mutual deception appear, these signs become visible in the heavens. The vital energies of the human world and the celestial signs respond to one another in subtle ways.

The ruler is responsible for governance and instruction, while the ministers assist him in carrying out affairs of state. They share responsibility for public matters, and their honor, disgrace, fortune, and misfortune are bound together. If they turn against one another and deception grows, sending discordant Qi rising upward, then the wondrous Way of influence cannot naturally accord with Heaven and Earth.

This is discernment without relying on words, and the great Dao that does not need deliberate proclamation.

What came before describes teaching without words; what follows describes conveying the Dao without deliberate proclamation.

To draw people from afar, keep laws and directives simple and let things follow their natural course. To bring those nearby closer, avoid creating needless disturbances.

When laws and instruction are complicated and change frequently, and taxes and labor duties are imposed again and again, those nearby cannot devote themselves to their livelihoods, while those far away will not sincerely submit. Thus Heaven’s Dao follows its natural course: it need not summon things, for all things respond of their own accord. The sage does not intervene recklessly; he need not go in person, for people naturally draw near.

Only those who put this principle into practice unseen can accomplish it.

To put the Dao to work silently and cultivate De in secret is to come closest to the great Dao.

Therefore, let the warhorses be retired to plow fields and spread manure.

Human desires surge without end, like charging warhorses. “Manure” means fertilizer, used to nourish new plants. Thus the wise ruler stops the warhorses from charging outward, allowing the fields to be cultivated and nourished; inwardly, he removes desires that surge without pause, nurturing the Dao and De.

The tracks of the carriage wheels need not extend to distant places. This is called “sitting in motion and sinking into the land”: though seated in court and governing the world, one’s influence can quickly reach distant places. To put the great Dao into practice silently, leaving no conspicuous trace, is like being on land yet moving beneath its surface without a trace.

Heaven’s Way has no private interests. It neither favors anything and preserves it, nor dislikes anything and casts it aside. It makes no distinctions between those who are close and those who are distant, and so does not decide what to accept or reject on that basis.

Those with skill often have more than enough, while the inept often feel they lack what they need. Following the patterns of nature brings benefit; going against them brings danger. When one acts in accord with nature’s principles, one has room to maneuver and gains from one’s actions. But when one goes beyond what plans and calculations can grasp, one becomes helpless and may even meet with danger.

For this reason, governing a state by relying on cleverness alone is difficult to sustain for long. Only by aligning with Great Harmony—the natural state in which all things live in accord—remaining empty and still, and acting in response to things, can one govern the world. When Heaven’s original intent and its underlying patterns of operation accord with one another, this is called “Great Harmony.” A ruler can take on the responsibility of safeguarding the world only by setting aside cunning and cleverness, aligning with Great Harmony, and responding to all things with an impartial heart.

Laozi said, “The relationship between the Dao and De is like that between tanned hide and raw hide: they seem far apart, yet are close; they seem close, yet draw apart. Try to examine them, and you cannot grasp them; look closely, and you still cannot see any definite form.”

The workings of the Dao and De reside between the formed and the formless. The sounds made by tanned and raw hide, meanwhile, arise between silence and sound. Things respond naturally when they are moved; if one deliberately pursues a response, there is no fixed way to bring it about. If even the human mind cannot measure the Dao and De, how much less can the eyes and ears perceive them?

Thus, the sage is like a mirror: things do not arrive before they come, and when they depart, the sage does not hold them back. The sage reflects whatever comes into view, yet does not keep its image in the heart. In this way, no thing is harmed. The sage allows all things to develop in their own way, without selfishness, and responds to their changes and comings and goings. By responding to them as they arise, the sage does them no harm.

If you cling to what you have already obtained, you will lose it. If you store what you have gained in your heart, you lose the subtle workings of the Dao. Conversely, only by letting go of what you have gained can you truly gain. Only when the heart becomes empty and still can it reflect all things like a mirror.

Thus, one who has attained Great Harmony seems drunk, yet is not constrained by external things; the mind and spirit roam freely within it. One also seems never to have left the root of the Dao. This is called “Great Permeation.”

After drinking sweet wine to his heart’s content, one can still rest in peace. With the mind quiet and secluded, one accords with changes within and without, and naturally connects with the Qi of Heaven and Earth. If one can let go of attachment, abide contentedly in the Way of self-sufficiency, and let the mind and spirit roam in a realm of undifferentiated Chaos, then what hindrance is there in living among the world and engaging with the myriad things?

This means that by not deliberately putting something to use, one can instead fulfill its true function.

People commonly regard kindness and clever schemes as useless. Now, this seemingly useless state is precisely what enables one to respond to things as they change in countless ways.

Laozi said: In ancient times, when the Yellow Emperor governed the world, he regulated the courses of the sun and moon, ordered the Qi of Yin and Yang, arranged the seasons, corrected the notes of the musical scale and the numbers of the calendar, distinguished men from women, and established the ranks of social status. These were all measures for setting up rites and institutions.

In the age of the Yellow Emperor, the people lost their simple and genuine nature, and desires and deceit arose; cleverness and force followed in their wake. The Yellow Emperor therefore observed the heavens above and examined the earth below, governing the changes of worldly affairs. This way of governing through Wuwei (non-action) was indeed beneficial at the time, yet no one knew that it would bring disadvantages in later generations.

Under this governance, the strong did not oppress the weak, and the many did not bully the few. The people could preserve their lives and did not die prematurely; harvests were abundant and famine did not strike. Officials were upright and impartial, and those above and below lived in harmony without resentment. Laws and orders were clear, not vague or obscure; those who assisted in government were fair, without favoritism or self-interest. Farmers yielded to one another over field boundaries; no one picked up lost goods along the roads, and merchants did not raise prices in advance at the markets.

These were all clear signs of successful governance.

At that time, the sun, moon, and stars followed their proper courses; wind and rain came in season; the five grains grew lushly and yielded abundant harvests; phoenixes alighted in courtyards, and qilin appeared in the countryside.

Yet these auspicious signs were responses to the virtuous governance achieved through deliberate action.

When Fuxi, the legendary ruler of high antiquity, governed the world, he rested his head on a block of wood and slept on a rope bed. In autumn he gathered things in and exercised restraint; in winter he imposed limits…

The sage who understands the profound mysteries does not act beyond the laws of Heaven and Earth, so even in daily life follows proper rules. In autumn, all things bear fruit; in winter, all things withdraw and rest. Both return to their roots. The sage therefore follows the season’s autumnal and wintry stillness and concealment, restrains desire, and preserves De (Virtue/Power). This is the virtue of returning to the root.

Bearing the square Earth beneath and embracing the rounded vault of Heaven, the Dao (the Way) extends throughout the space between them, with Yin-Yang energies revolving within it. Wherever things have stagnated and become obstructed, the sage makes them flow freely. When one’s De accords with the most harmonious state between Heaven and Earth, Qi (vital energy) naturally comes into balance.

Actions that disrupt the flow of Qi, go against the myriad things, harm the people, and pile up calamities should be stopped. Once Heaven and Earth are at peace, disasters naturally fade away.

At that time, the people were as simple and unknowing as children. They could not distinguish east from west, walked unsteadily, and had dim eyes. They were content in their natural state and did not know where they had come from. This passage also appears in the chapter “Daoyuan.”

They drifted and wandered, unaware of where their roots lay or where they were headed. They had nothing to rely on or sustain them, and did not know where to return. Before the people had grown close to their own kin, they took things outside themselves as their support. Since they relied on external things, their roots had nowhere to return. “Drifting without support” describes precisely this state of wandering without anything to depend on.

In that age, birds and beasts, insects and snakes all drew in their claws and fangs and concealed their venomous spines; people had not yet learned to trust one another.

The merit accomplished through Wuwei (non-action) can be compared with that of Heaven and Earth.

In the end, the Yellow Emperor humbly placed himself beneath the Great Ancestor, neither displaying his achievements nor proclaiming his fame. To “not display one’s achievements” means that one’s achievements have already become evident; to “not proclaim one’s fame” means that one’s fame has already spread. Moreover, the Yellow Emperor once fought Chiyou in the fields of Zhuolu. Though he did so to remove a threat, he later credited the Great Ancestor instead. His humility was thus made known to later generations. “Yaomiu” describes a humble, lowly bearing.

The Daoist path of the Hidden Perfected is to follow the patterns inherent in Heaven and Earth.

Heaven is high and Earth is low; in spring, all things grow, and in autumn, they wither. These are the laws of nature. The Yellow Emperor modeled clothing on the order of rank between Heaven and Earth, and took military action according to the seasons, thereby making the Way of the Perfected shine forth. Meanwhile, the virtue of the sages gradually faded from view, as the world continually renewed and changed.

Why did this happen? When the Dao and De (Virtue) prevail above, the fashion for cleverness and contrivance recedes.

If people can share Heaven’s De, they will naturally abandon schemes and clever stratagems.

Laozi said, “If Heaven is not at peace, the sun and moon have nowhere to rest; if Earth is not at peace, plants and trees cannot grow; if the human mind and spirit are not at peace, right and wrong cannot appear.”

Only when body and mind are still can people set themselves straight and then discern the principles of right and wrong.

Thus, the Perfected comes first; only then can true understanding arise.

When worldly, deluded knowledge is cast aside, true understanding becomes clear.

If the standards on which I rely are themselves unclear, how can I know whether what I call “knowledge” is not, in fact, a failure to know?

It is difficult to use worldly, deluded knowledge to distinguish true understanding. True understanding does not cling to distinctions between right and wrong. If so, how can the worldly kind of knowledge that distinguishes right from wrong count as true understanding? Is that not a failure to know?

Accumulating wisdom and amassing wealth, bringing joy to the people and making them glad to live: this is benevolence.

Spending sparingly allows wealth to accumulate; extending generosity allows De to grow.

Achieving great deeds and making one’s name shine; establishing relations between ruler and ministers according to ritual, setting the order between those above and below, distinguishing degrees of kinship and distance; helping those in danger and hardship; continuing family lines that have been severed; and appointing heirs for those without descendants: this is righteousness.

These practices all involve making judgments according to particular circumstances, so that each response is fitting.

Close the nine apertures—the senses of the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose—and gather in the mind. Abandon cleverness and return to a state free of knowledge and desire.

This is to fully master the way of nourishing life and preserving one’s nature.

Then one can roam freely beyond the dusty world and live at ease in a realm of doing nothing.

With a calm and unknowing mind, one is unmoved by fame and profit. Whatever one’s circumstances, one can remain at ease and content; neither gain nor loss can burden or entangle oneself.

Holding Yin within and breathing out and taking in Yang, one is wholly in accord with all things. This is De (Virtue/Power): following nature and allowing each thing to fulfill its proper course.

Following the constant course of Yin and Yang, one accords with the nature of all things and lets each find its proper place. This is De. Thus, when the Dao spreads throughout, it is called De; when De expands further outward, it becomes benevolence and righteousness. Zhu Bian explains that “overflow” can also mean deviation or loss.

Once benevolence and righteousness are established, the Dao and De decline. Human nature departs from its simple truth, and all things are left to bear the loss of the Dao; this is what is called “De.” Only by acting naturally can one occupy the position of the Supreme Ruler, the highest state of governance. When De is set up as an explicit standard, forms and signs appear. Once they appear and are clung to, deviation is inevitable. From this, we can see that error arises from benevolence and righteousness. If benevolence and righteousness are used to govern all things, exhortation and admiration will flourish throughout the world, and the natural Dao and the De that lets each thing fulfill its proper course will inevitably be harmed.

Laozi says, “When the spirit wanders beyond itself, words become ornate; when De drifts away, conduct becomes false.” The spirit serves to illuminate all things, while De brings conduct to completion. So when the spirit grows distracted and wanders, speech becomes untrue; when De drifts away, conduct departs from what is genuine.

When inner sincerity disappears, while speech and conduct are put on display for others, one is bound to be driven by external things. When the spirit wanders and De drifts, there is no truth within; one attends only to outward appearances, and speech and conduct become affected. Such a person is controlled by external things and cannot preserve themselves.

The commentary adds that when there is no inner sincerity and words and actions are meant only to cater to others’ impressions, rulers use deceit to mislead the people, making them obey orders devoid of De and imitate methods that seek only immediate gain. The worthy then resort to many evasions and conceal their traces; the foolish grow accustomed to these practices and eventually take them for their nature. This is what happens when those in positions of authority fail to stay alert and instead allow themselves to be driven by external things.

Essence and Qi are depleted through expenditure, but human activity has no end. When the mind cannot remain settled, it is influenced by the customs of the world.

Here, “sorrow” means depletion. When people are driven by external things, their Essence and Qi will eventually be exhausted. The activities of the world arise one after another—how could anyone possibly finish them all? Trying to handle every affair with insufficient Essence and Qi, one’s will is already hard to settle. How, then, could one avoid being influenced by worldly ways?

Therefore, sages cultivate the Dao inwardly rather than deliberately adorning their outward appearance with benevolence and righteousness. They understand the proper functions of the nine orifices—the two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, mouth, and front and rear openings—and the four limbs, allowing the spirit to be calm and at ease. This is the sage’s wandering.

Those who realize the Great Dao and make the mind inwardly full will naturally manifest the effects of benevolence and righteousness outwardly. Those who preserve their Essence and Qi and meet things with the spirit will find that every part of the body is naturally at ease. If even one aspect remains out of harmony, this cannot be called true wandering. Only when things are smooth both inwardly and outwardly is it the sage’s wandering.

Laozi said: “When the perfected person wanders, their actions are in a state of utmost emptiness and stillness, and they know of no obstruction. Their mind and spirit roam through a vast, boundless emptiness, and they feel they possess nothing. They race beyond the world of convention, unaware of any burden. They walk where there are no gates, unaware of where they have passed. To hear the sound that has no sound, to see what has no form, to be still and silent—this is true wandering. Such a person is not constrained by worldly affairs or bound by worldly ways.”

Those who are bound by external things do not truly wander. Thus, the sage can transform the affairs of the world, and the perfected person is no exception.

Relieving people’s hardships and educating the people may appear to involve action, but does not guiding people toward De and helping them correct their faults amount to transforming the world? So those who realize the true Dao can do no more than this.

The methods the worthy use to correct worldly customs are not valued by the sage. Deliberately displaying noble conduct and spotless integrity, dressing up one’s nature for all to see, and using it to guide those above and discipline those below—is this not an attempt to correct worldly customs by force? Therefore, the sage who can nurture all things everywhere does not focus on such methods.

Once people are constrained by worldly customs, their bodies are held in check by external things, and their spirits are depleted along with them. They inevitably become burdened.

When the body is constrained, it is confined by rites and institutions; when the spirit dissipates outward, it is scattered by all kinds of anxious thoughts. If the spirit continues to scatter, Shen and Qi will be depleted; if the body remains constrained, body and mind will grow weary. If a person is both weary and drained of spirit, is that not a harm to the root of life?

If rites and institutions can constrain me, it must be because my fate is governed by things outside myself. Indeed, if I am destined to be constrained by rites, then Heaven’s mandate is entirely at the mercy of external things.

Laozi says: When a ruler gives thought to affairs, his spirit does not scatter beyond his breast, nor does he flaunt his cleverness in every direction. If the ruler remains calm and follows things as they naturally unfold, the people will transform themselves. But if he displays his cleverness at every turn, the people will grow crafty.

When a ruler holds benevolence and trustworthiness in his heart, timely rains fall, and the five grains grow abundantly. They sprout in spring, grow in summer, are harvested in autumn, and stored in winter. Each month, matters are reviewed and assessments made at the proper time; at year’s end, the people present their tribute.

The ruler’s trustworthiness moves Heaven, and his benevolence blesses the people. Thus Heaven sends auspicious signs, and the people submit willingly. The officials each fulfill their duties, and the nine provinces present annual tribute according to the products of their regions.

To nurture the people with a just heart: this is Wuwei governance. Though the ruler does not wield stern authority, people still hold him in awe. His laws are clear and simple, not cumbersome, and his instruction works with a subtle, natural power. The laws are lenient and punishments light; the prisons are empty, customs throughout the realm become harmonious, and people harbor no deceitful intentions.

This is because governance follows the people’s nature and lets them be content with their ordinary livelihoods. How, then, could deceit arise? The sage bestows kindness on the people; this, in broad terms, is the way to govern them.

If the ruler’s greed knows no bounds, his ministers will compete for merit and rewards, unwilling to yield to one another. If the ruler’s desires have no limit, his ministers will take credit and steal renown. When the people live in poverty and hardship, conflict follows. When taxes are numerous and levies unlimited, the people suffer, and conflict arises from this.

When a ruler pursues endless fame and achievement, his ministers seize the chance to claim credit and compete for rank.

When the people live in poverty, they are easily driven to fight one another. A proliferation of taxes and levies makes the people poor, and poverty naturally leads to rivalry.

The people labor hard yet reap no reward because they are forced to make useless things.

Deceitful thoughts arise, and thieves become more numerous. Deceit appears because those in power prize profit. The pursuit of profit has no end; if the people do not steal, they can scarcely make a living.

When those above and below resent one another, commands can no longer be carried out. In muddy water, fish open their mouths and thrash about, trying to breathe. When policies are harsh, the people cannot earn a living in peace, and they too fall into unrest in their struggle to survive.

When those above have many desires, those below resort to more deception to satisfy them. When those above burden the people with too many affairs, those below cannot find stability; when those above demand too much, those below compete with one another.

To neglect the root and patch things up only at the branches is like digging a channel in the hope of stopping the water, or carrying firewood to put out a fire.

To govern without De (Virtue), relying instead on punishments and laws, only fuels disorder.

Thus, when the sage reduces government business, the world becomes settled; when he reduces demands, the people become prosperous. With simple government, people can readily comply and rule becomes easy. With fewer desires, what people have is often enough, and everyone becomes well provided for.

The sage does not deliberately bestow kindness, yet the people care for one another, because he is calm and does not disturb them, allowing each person to preserve their own life.

The sage issues few commands, yet people naturally trust him, because he follows the way things are and the people respond.

The sage does not deliberately seek to take, yet he is able to receive, because contentment does not provoke rivalry.

The sage does not deliberately act, yet things are accomplished, because he follows what is natural and all things come to fulfillment in their own way.

The sage embraces what is natural, preserves what is genuine, takes the Dao as his foundation, and puts sincerity into practice. Then the people of the world turn toward him, as an echo answers a sound and a shadow follows a form. This is because he cultivates the root.

When a ruler cultivates himself, the people become upright. When his inner sincerity is genuine, it finds a response in the world around him.

Laozi said: When the spirit is dissipated outward and the mind is troubled within, one cannot govern oneself well.

People rely on the body and breath to sustain life: the body stores and nourishes Jing and Qi, while the breath steadies the spirit. If we are constantly driven by external things, we instead harm the spirit; if we rely entirely on clever schemes and calculations, we also deplete the body. This, then, is how the Way of nourishing life should be practiced.

When the spirit is occupied with distant things, what is near is easily overlooked. If we let the spirit roam endlessly afar, we neglect to care for our own bodies.

Thus, “without leaving the doorway, one can understand all beneath Heaven; without looking out the window, one can comprehend the Way of Heaven” means that the spirit is complete and the heart-mind clear. By using the breath to perceive, one can understand the conditions of the myriad things; by using the spirit to observe, one can confirm the principles behind their changes. Among the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, once there is a sincere connection, why must one peer outward through doors and windows?

The farther one travels, the less one knows. When constantly driven by external things and rushing about, one increasingly loses genuine understanding. This means that inner sincerity can resonate with the myriad things, and that spirit and Qi can respond throughout the world.

Laozi said, “In winter, things turn toward the sun; in summer, they turn toward the cool. The myriad things naturally move toward these, yet no one urges them on. The subtle responses of nature arrive without being summoned and depart without being driven away.”

“Frequently” means often, or repeatedly. In winter, things turn toward the sun; in summer, they turn toward the cool. The seasons change time and again, yet this pattern remains constant. It embodies the principle by which things in nature respond to one another.

It is profound and mysterious, beyond measure. No one knows who brings it about, yet its effects arise naturally.

If one can explain how it comes about, then it is not profound and unfathomable. This means that the effects of Yin-Yang renew themselves day after day and cannot be measured.

If everything must wait until the eyes have seen it before it is understood, or until someone has spoken before action is taken, governing a state becomes difficult. Gao Yao, the legendary ancient judicial official, could not speak, yet served as chief justice, and there was no abuse of punishment throughout the realm. This shows that good governance depends on what is appropriate and does not necessarily rely on words. Shi Kuang, the musician of the state of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period, was said to be blind, yet served as Jin’s chief minister, and the state’s affairs did not fall into disorder. This shows that governing a state does not necessarily depend on sight.

Without issuing commands in words, one can still have people comply; without inspecting matters with one’s own eyes, one can still understand them clearly. These are qualities of the sage that can serve as a model.

Treat people with sincerity, and they will respond without being summoned. Appoint capable people, and affairs of government will be orderly without having to inspect everything yourself. In governing all beneath Heaven, the sage honors…

The sage can give direction without words and see clearly without looking for themselves. This is why the sage serves as a teacher and exemplar for all.

Those who can put trustworthiness into practice need not summon people for them to respond. Those skilled at employing capable people need not inspect everything themselves to understand what is happening. The sage who governs the realm should take this as a foundation.

The people are transformed by those above them not because they have heard their words, but because they have seen their conduct.

Conduct is the outward expression of trustworthiness, so the people accept the instruction of those above them. Words are only an outward embellishment of inner truth; without the people’s trust, words cannot easily be believed.

Thus, if a ruler prizes military might, the state will suffer many calamities even if the people are forbidden to fight. As this tendency develops, disorder marked by plunder and killing will inevitably arise. If a ruler is obsessed with beauty, the state will grow increasingly confused even if people are forbidden to speak of licentious affairs. In time, this will bring the calamity of unrestrained indulgence.

Those above transform those below: this is the natural order.

The sage’s heart is pure and sincere, and the sage’s inner intentions differ from those of the multitude. Because this distinction is present in the heart, it is called “distinction.”

The sage’s likes and dislikes are clearly expressed outwardly; their words accord with their true feelings, and their commands make their purpose clear. Therefore, punishments alone cannot change social customs, nor can killing alone put an end to wrongdoing.

Without sincerity in the heart, laws and commands cannot be carried out in the world.

The most precious influence is the subtle, formless kind, which changes people without leaving a trace.

Purity brought to its utmost is called “spirit.” The response produced by sincerity is like the spring Qi that makes all things grow, or the autumn Qi that makes them wither.

Once sincerity gives rise to a response, nothing fails to accord with it. It neither favors anyone out of kindness nor punishes anyone out of resentment; it operates as naturally as the movement of Yin and Yang.

Thus, the gentleman governing the people is like an archer: when the bowstring is released, the arrow may be off by only a hair, yet by the time it reaches the target, the error may have grown very large.

An arrow that begins with a deviation as fine as a hair may miss the center of the target by several feet. The point is that even a slight lack of sincerity in the heart can lead to a vastly different outcome once its influence takes effect.

Therefore, those who govern the people must be careful about the means they use to influence them.

Laozi said, “Laws may be posted and rewards offered, yet customs and habits will not change, because sincerity is absent from the heart.”

If a ruler treats people sincerely, they will trust him and will not break the law. If he relies on schemes and calculation to govern, the people will become deceitful, seeking only to escape punishment by luck. Even if he posts laws again to prohibit wrongdoing and offers rewards to guide the people, he will still find it hard to change them in any real way.

Laozi said: “The root reason that posting laws and offering rewards cannot change customs and habits is that the ruler does not act with sincerity.

“When a ruler treats people sincerely, the people will trust him and dare not rebel. If he governs only through schemes, the people will deceive and seek only to escape punishment. Even if he posts laws to prohibit violence and offers rewards to encourage good conduct, this will not be enough to change shallow customs and habits.

“So one can understand the customs of a place by listening to its music.

“When people’s feelings are stirred, they find expression in sound. When sounds take shape as music, people’s inclinations toward good or evil also become apparent. By listening to music, one can discern the emotions it conveys; by observing those emotions, one can understand people’s aspirations. People’s hearts may be resentful or at ease, and from this one can also understand the customs of a state.

“By observing music, one can understand the customs of a place.

“The purpose of music is to bring harmony to the people and guide government. Different notes, when joined together, can bring all things into order. Yet music is also shaped by whether government is well ordered or in chaos, and by climatic conditions. In this way, one can understand the customs of different places.

“By observing the people’s customs, one can understand the effects of education.

“What the people love and esteem is all the result of the ruler’s instruction.

“If the ruler can hold to the true Dao and follow the example of utter sincerity, he can move Heaven and Earth. The power of the spirits can reach beyond the four directions, allowing his commands to be carried out and his prohibitions to go unbroken.

“If one holds to the utmost truth and follows the example of pure sincerity, Heaven and Earth will respond and be moved. How much more so will people! Such a ruler can extend instruction beyond the four directions and make the laws take root in the people’s hearts.

“If one sincerely penetrates the Great Dao and fulfills one’s intentions, then even without speaking a word, the people of the world, birds and beasts, and spirits and ghosts will all be transformed.

“When one sincerely penetrates the Great Dao, how could even shadowy, unseen beings fail to respond?

“Therefore, the highest form of governance guides the people through wondrous instruction. The next best is to reward the virtuous and punish the violent.

“Following the myriad things without leaving traces of human contrivance is the highest form of instruction. When the people cannot bear to deceive their ruler, governance is well ordered. When one must resort to punishments and rewards to encourage good and punish evil, this is a lower form of government.

“Laozi said: ‘The Great Dao is Wuwei (non-action); that is, its essence is still and serene.

“‘Wuwei means having no tangible substance; the essence, too, has no fixed shape.

“‘What is called “nonbeing” has no fixed abode. Having no fixed abode is to exist in the formless.’”

The Dao is everywhere.

The Dao has no form, so it remains still. Because it is empty and formless, it does not act upon things.

Being still, it has no words and no fixed abode. Having no fixed abode means dwelling within the formless and being everywhere.

The Dao has no form, so it remains still. Because it is empty and formless, it does not act upon things. Being still, it has no words. Its principle lies beyond names and traces.

To have no words is to be silent and soundless, formless. When neither names nor traces exist, how could there be an echo or a shadow?

What is soundless and formless cannot be seen or heard. The ears and eyes can perceive only sounds and shapes.

This is called “subtle and mysterious”: its essence is deep and fine, while its workings are far-reaching and wondrous.

This is called “supremely numinous.” It skillfully transforms and nurtures the myriad things, enabling them to grow, yet its beginnings cannot be discerned. This is numinous power at its utmost.

The Dao extends without end, seeming to exist yet remaining elusive. It is the root of Heaven and Earth.

The Dao’s essence is empty and still. It gives rise to and transforms the myriad things without any fixed pattern, and continues without end; therefore, it is the root of all things under Heaven.

The Dao is formless and soundless, so the sage reluctantly gives it a name, calling it, in a single phrase, “the root of Heaven and Earth.”

The Dao’s essence is empty and still. It gives rise to and transforms the myriad things without any fixed pattern, and continues without end; therefore, it is the root of all things under Heaven. The Dao is formless and soundless, so the sage reluctantly gives it a name, calling it, in a single phrase, “the root of Heaven and Earth.”

The Dao has no substance to begin with, so where could sound come from? The sage merely borrows an image such as a “road” to refer to the nameless essence. One word gathers all things; one word connects life and nature. Though expressed in a single phrase, it encompasses both form and sound. There is no path taken by anything under Heaven that does not pass through it.

The principle by which Heaven and Earth operate is to take the small as the root and the few as the beginning.

Though Heaven and Earth are vast, they take what is minute as their root. Though things are many, they begin with the One.

The Son of Heaven takes Heaven and Earth as standards for governing and judging the myriad things, and takes the myriad things as the means to administer affairs and accomplish undertakings. Thus his merit and Virtue are immense, and his position and reputation are exalted.

Heaven sends down a sage and enlightened Son of Heaven to rule the people. The Son of Heaven establishes the order of rank and distinction according to Heaven and Earth, and relies on the myriad things to establish distinctions between high and low. In this way, he can attain the highest Virtue. The sage’s merit and Virtue are immense, and his position and reputation are exalted.

Heaven brings forth sages to govern the people. They use Heaven and Earth to establish an order of rank, and draw on the myriad things so that each may find its place among the high and low. In this way, the highest De is made manifest. Through their achievements, sages bring peace to the world; through their great renown and authority, they bring the lands within the four seas to submission.

The excellence of these two forms of De can be matched with Heaven and Earth.

Sages stand alongside Heaven and Earth, using the myriad things as the means to govern the world. Thus they accomplish two forms of De that are both exalted and far-reaching, and can naturally be matched with Heaven and Earth. Yet since sages are brought forth by Heaven, every circumstance in which they find themselves can serve to establish De. It is therefore fitting to call such a position “De.”

For this reason, one must follow the Dao and honor it as the foundation of the world.

Since De and one’s position can be compared to Heaven and Earth, one’s actions also resemble the work of creation and transformation. How could one fail to take the Dao as a model and dwell in Wuwei (non-action), so that the people benefit from it day after day without knowing who brought them this benefit?

Laozi says: “Relieve the poor and rescue those in urgent need, and fame and profit will follow; remove calamities, and the work is done.”

Fame and achievement often arise from deliberate action. Relieving the poor and rescuing those in urgent need inevitably bring the good name of benevolence, along with the modest benefit of being praised for helping others.

When there are no calamities in the world, even a sage has no occasion to put De into practice.

If everyone in the world were in their proper place, where could a sage put De into practice?

When those above and below live in harmony, even the worthy have no opportunity to establish achievements.

When ruler and minister, father and son each keep to their proper roles, there is no place for the worthy to accomplish anything.

Therefore, the Perfected One governs the world with De held within and the Dao embraced. With utmost sincerity, they put boundless wisdom into practice, yet restrain their speech and remain silent. The people of the world do not even know that they should value this silence.

If one leaves behind the deliberate traces of establishing De, then De is not truly held within. If one deliberately follows the Dao, then the Dao is not truly embraced. Only one who has reached the highest state is called a “Perfected One.” They are simply sincere within and let the myriad things set themselves right. Even with boundless insight, they hold back their words and remain profoundly still. Thus they dwell at ease in a simple home, while the people are naturally transformed. How could those in the world, busying themselves with one thing after another, understand the value of this profound and silent Dao?

So, if the Dao can be fully explained in words, it is not the constant Dao; if a name can be fixed, it is not a constant name.

The “Dao” used to define particular things is not the Dao that operates naturally and without change. A name used to label things is not the name of an unchanging essence. For this reason, the perfected person does not cling to fixed expressions.

What is written on bamboo slips and silk, or engraved on bronze and stone, can be passed on to others, but it is only a rough expression of the Dao.

Achievements recorded on bamboo and silk, and laws and statutes engraved on bronze and stone, are visible accomplishments, not the Dao of Wuwei (non-action). On careful comparison, they are indeed only a superficial part of the Dao.

Though the Three Sovereigns, Five Emperors, and Three Kings governed in different ways, what they sought in their hearts was the same. Their paths of governance differed, but they ultimately led to the same destination.

They shared an intention to bring order to the world; only their methods of governing and teaching differed.

Later scholars did not understand that the root of the Dao is one, nor did they grasp the principles that De (Virtue/Power) encompasses. They merely copied the deeds of those who had gone before and sat discussing them.

Passing on only those outward methods could never equip anyone to respond fully to all circumstances. It amounts to little more than revering the words left by earlier generations.

Even the widely learned cannot avoid creating confusion.

Those well versed in ritual and righteousness can often only lament the times; they cannot grasp the key to governing the world.

Laozi said, “One whose mind and spirit are pure can bring about the wondrous transformations of the myriad things, yet cannot explain this power in words.”

The power of a pure mind and spirit leaves no trace, yet it transforms the myriad things. This is something that names and words cannot express.

The sage can set the world right without leaving his seat. This power of transformation far surpasses the futile clamor of an owl’s call.

The sage acts through sincere intent, and the response to his influence is as swift as an echo; the world is therefore set right of its own accord.

Thus, when the same words are spoken but only some are trusted, it is because trustworthiness has been embodied before the words are spoken.

Likewise, when the same proposal is put forward but only one person wins people’s confidence, it is because that person has long been honest and trustworthy, and has already made his reputation known.

Likewise, when the same order is issued but only some orders are carried out, it is because their credibility does not rest solely in the words of the order.

Likewise, when the same policy is announced but only some policies are truly implemented, it is because the issuer’s sincerity accords with the command, and the people are therefore willing to follow it.

When sages are above, the people are transformed by their teaching with a swiftness that seems almost miraculous, because the sages first move them through genuine feeling and sincerity.

The sages’ trustworthiness is evident before they speak, and their sincerity shines through beyond their commands. So the people accept their teaching with almost miraculous speed. If those above act but those below do not respond, it is because genuine feeling and commands do not accord between them. Here, “feeling” means sincerity.

An infant does not yet understand benefit and harm, yet a loving mother cherishes the child all the more. This comes from genuine feeling. How could the infant know what is at stake in the bonds of closeness and distance? Yet the mother’s loving care grows deeper, showing that the principle of hearts responding to one another truly exists. Thus, though the people do not understand the principle, and the sage does not make his own reputation known, their hearts can still connect, and the people naturally follow.

The changes brought about by teaching through words are therefore limited. Words alone cannot fundamentally transform customs. Influence that arises without many words has a far greater effect, because principle and sincerity touch people’s hearts directly. The response born of sincerity can transform everyone under Heaven.

People trust the words of a noble person and are loyal to his intentions. Through trust, they move toward wisdom, and none fail to follow his words; through sincerity, they arrive at understanding, and none fail to respond to his intentions. When loyalty and trustworthiness emerge from within, they move the world beyond and receive a response. This is the teaching of the worthy and the sage.

The Way of resonance and response emerges from within the heart, while the effects of teaching are answered in the world beyond. Here, “worthy” refers to the noble person, and “sage” to the sage. They are mentioned together because the sage possesses the virtues and abilities of the noble person, while the noble person can explain and carry out the sage’s teaching.

Laozi said, “When a son dies for his father, or a minister for his ruler, they do not go to their deaths to win a reputation. Affection and respect are held in the heart, so when danger comes, they do not turn away.”

Do ministers and children face danger for their ruler or parents in order to fish for a reputation for loyalty or filial piety? When gratitude and righteousness move the heart, people naturally forget their own safety and hold fast to what is right.

A noble person is compassionate and feels sorrow for the affairs of the world, not because he deliberately puts on such an appearance, but because these feelings come from within. Yet his actions must also be examined: if a noble person feels compassion and sorrow but does not understand local customs and shape his teaching accordingly, his governance will still be misguided.

The sage walking by night is not ashamed of his own shadow. So a noble person, even when alone, is careful to remain upright and do nothing that would trouble the conscience.

The sage has no private interests, and the noble person governs public affairs. So even in darkness, they are never afraid or unfair to others. Why, then, should they be ashamed of their own shadows?

If one abandons what is near in pursuit of what is far, one blocks the way.

Only by first attaining something for oneself can one deal with matters near and far. If one abandons self-cultivation and what one has gained, yet hopes to handle distant affairs, how could that work?

When the sage holds high office, the people willingly accept his governance. When he holds a low position, they admire his intentions. His aim is always to seek the people’s benefit.

The sage has no favoritism. His only aim is to help everyone, and his aid has no limit; this is what it means to have an aim. Yet he does not deliberately set out to establish some particular aim. Wherever the sage serves or resides, the people find peace in his teaching through De (Virtue/Power) and admire his sincerity and simplicity.

Laozi said, “When a brave warrior gives a shout, the whole army retreats. This is because the Qi (vital energy) he gives forth is sincere.”

Courage is a kind of force. When that force comes from sincerity, it stirs the hearts of the whole army, and they all give way. Without courage rooted in justice and genuine conviction, even someone facing the enemy with a weapon may not be able to protect himself.

Someone makes a proposal, but no one responds; someone sincerely expresses himself, but the other person does not accept it. This shows that something within them must be out of accord.

Here, “within” refers to the point where inner and outer things respond to one another. I make a proposal and the other person does not respond; I express something and the other person does not accept it. This is because our sincerity has not yet become attuned.

One need not leave one’s seat to set the world right. The key is to begin with oneself.

When the heart is sincere, external things respond. When one is upright oneself, one can influence others.

Where verbal instruction cannot reach, one can have an effect through dignified appearance and conduct.

Where even appearance and conduct cannot reach, a response will arise in an instant.

What uprightness of the body cannot achieve, sincerity and resonance surely can. When resonance arises from within, it becomes visible in one’s outward form; when the inner self remains whole, the outer naturally changes with it.

When form and essence reach their utmost, they can respond to their kind through outward appearance, but this cannot be arranged in advance according to a fixed time. Here, “form” means physical appearance, and “essence” means inner feelings. The way form and essence change may allow outward appearance to respond to its kind, but one cannot first know how the changes will unfold and then wait for them to happen at the appointed time. If the mind holds expectations, how can Qi remain pure and undivided? This shows that the body has not yet been set right. A body that is not set right has never been able to transform external things.

Laozi said, “Speech has its root, and action has its basis.” Speech needs a root for establishing teachings; action needs a basis for making things.

Once the root is lost, no matter how many skills one has, it is better to say less. When the root has been lost, offshoots multiply and bring harm; in the end, it is better to hold to stillness and clarity.

What brought harm to many was that Chui, a legendary craftsman, had his fingers cut off because his skill was too refined. This illustrates that the pursuit of excessive technical mastery is unwise. Ban (Lu Ban) and Fu, another legendary craftsman, practiced deliberate techniques. Their reputations became illustrious, but they also suffered the calamity of having their fingers cut off. The subtle skill of the transformative workings of nature arises through Wuwei (non-action): its function comes to fruition while its root remains intact.

Thus, a craftsman knows how to make a door latch and knows only when it is time to close the door. Not knowing when it should be closed, he has no choice but to seal it shut first and then find a way to open it.

To respond to change and accomplish things in keeping with the times: if one relies solely on schemes and skill, failure in the end is inevitable.

Laozi said, “The sages take different paths in their actions, yet arrive at the same destination.” The things each responds to may differ, but the changes they ultimately bring about converge in one place.

When sages face circumstances of survival and death, security and danger, they remain steadfast in their commitment to helping others. Amid these four different conditions, they do not forget what benefits others.

The songs of Qin, Chu, Yan, and Wei have different melodies, yet all express joy. The cries of the Nine Yi and Eight Di—ancient names for peoples living around the central states—sound different, yet all express sorrow.

Joy and sorrow arise within the heart. Their essential nature does not differ because customs vary.

Singing expresses joy; weeping gives sorrow an outlet. Feelings are held within the heart and also show themselves outwardly, so people can sense them wherever they are.

Singing and weeping reveal whether people are content or distressed. In governing the state and educating the people, one should follow their nature; then they will be joyful. Suppress their nature, and they will grieve. Whether the people feel resentment or ease depends on the ruler’s actions.

What the sage keeps in mind day and night is how to bring benefit to the people.