《通玄真经[注](朱弁)》Vol. 3

Each should restrain their own abilities and act in accordance with the other’s intentions.

Devote yourself to practice, accumulation, and cultivation, until the heart is full and complete. Once you have gained insight, hold firmly to it and persevere over time.

Focus on keeping hold of the principles you have come to understand. When the heart is free of distracting thoughts, you can understand and accept the fundamental principles of things and fully appreciate the subtlety of the Way of nature. When external things cannot alter your intentions, you will grow more refined with the passage of time.

The Dao is the original source of all things, the beginning from which everything arises. It first brought forth things with form.

At their beginning, things are soft and weak; only after they have grown do they become firm and strong.

Things originate in the Dao, and the Qi brought forth by the Dao is soft and weak. When things take on concrete form, they become firm and strong.

At first, things are few and small; only later do they multiply and grow.

Through continual transformation and generation, things do not remain few but eventually become numerous. Nourished and sustained, they do not remain small but eventually grow.

A tree so large that ten people can encircle it with their arms began as a handful of seedlings. A terrace a hundred ren high began at ground level. This is the pattern of the Way of Heaven. The sage follows this pattern.

The Dao embraces what is small and thereby brings about what is great. Heaven is high because it is above; the earth is low below it. Observe how things begin and come to fruition, and you will understand the importance of their small foundations. This is why the sage follows this principle.

To be low means to place oneself below others.

Yielding to others and willingly taking a humble position.

To stay behind means to place oneself after others.

Remaining behind, without rushing to compete for victory.

To be frugal means not to seek too much.

Knowing what is enough and using resources sparingly.

To reduce means to lessen one’s desires.

With fewer desires, there is less to lose.

By placing oneself low, one gains respect;

Drawing near to those of lower rank and treating others with humility earns their respect.

By staying behind, one comes to the fore;

By not competing to be first, one avoids obstruction and ultimately takes the lead.

Frugality brings abundance;

Only by using resources sparingly can one remain well supplied over time.

Reduction brings greatness;

By letting go of excessive desires, one’s De can grow broad and strong.

This is what the Way of Heaven brings about.

The Way of Heaven diminishes what is full and adds to what is humble. The sage follows the Way of Heaven and naturally gains many benefits.

The Dao is the guide to De,

For only by following the Dao’s underlying nature can De’s effects be realized.

The Dao is the great foundation,

The source of Heaven, Earth, and Yin-Yang (the Two Modes).

The Dao is the gateway to blessings,

The source of peace and stillness.

All things depend on the Dao to grow and come to completion, and they also depend on it for peace.

All things exist through the aid of the formless Dao.

The Great Dao, the fundamental principle, is Wuwei (non-action) and formless. It does not act before events arise, nor leave traces of human contrivance.

Within, it can be used to cultivate oneself; outwardly, it can be used to govern others. When achievements are complete and matters settled, they can also accord with the Way of Heaven.

Those who put the Great Dao into practice allow things to arise within themselves, follow the Dao to accomplish what needs doing, and thereby find peace.

All of this is achieved through “nothingness.”

The Great Dao is Wuwei and formless. It does not act before events arise, nor leave traces of human contrivance. Within, it can cultivate oneself; outwardly, it can govern others. What it accomplishes bears no trace of human contrivance and appears to happen of itself, so its efficacy is no different from that of the Way of Heaven.

It is Wuwei, yet nothing remains unaccomplished.

This idea has already been discussed in “The Way’s Origin.”

No one can clearly perceive the subtlety of the Great Dao, yet its subtle reality is not illusory: it contains evidence that can be trusted. It arrives in response to things—does this not show that it has a true basis?

When the Son of Heaven follows the Dao, all under Heaven submits, and the state can endure for a long time.

The “Dao” manifests in different ways according to each person’s status and duties. Thus, when Yao and Shun followed the Dao, they became renowned for their supreme virtue; when King Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou followed it, they established lasting achievements. Is this “Dao” not one that can be put into words?

When the feudal lords follow the Dao, the people live in harmony and the state is not lost.

In ancient times, each feudal lord possessed a domain of his own.

When scholars and common people follow the Dao, they can preserve themselves and protect their families. When a powerful state follows it, it can prevail without going to war.

Powerful states such as Jin and Chu established their supremacy through the Dao; they did not prevail simply by assessing their opponents in advance.

When a small state follows the Dao, it can gain what it needs without contention.

States such as Cao and Wei were able to attach themselves to powerful states; they did not achieve this by striking first.

When one acts in accordance with the Dao, one can accomplish things and receive blessings.

By following the times, results are sure to appear; by acting with integrity, blessings follow in turn.

When the Dao is present between ruler and minister, the ruler is benevolent and the minister loyal.

When the Dao is present between father and son, the father is caring and the son filial.

When the Dao is present among scholars and common people, they love one another. They do not encroach on one another’s proper roles, and ritual, duty, and order are maintained; people can therefore live together in harmony.

When people accord with the Dao, they can live in harmony with one another; when they turn away from the Dao, they become harsh in their dealings.

If people each keep to their proper place and follow the nature of their life and destiny, they can live in harmony even when their customs differ. But if they overstep their status and duties, even close relatives may harm one another. Is it not dangerous to establish a family or govern a state without making the Dao its foundation?

From this we can see that there is no situation in which the Dao does not apply to human life.

The Dao works in small matters as well as great ones. When a person puts the Dao into practice on a small scale, they receive blessings in proportion; when they practice it widely, they receive greater blessings. When they carry the Dao through to its fullest, all under Heaven will submit to them. To “submit” means to turn toward someone with willing respect and trust.

The Dao is like water in a vessel: however much is drawn from it, it does not run dry. How could all under Heaven fail to turn toward someone who puts the Dao fully into practice?

Thus, an Emperor is one whom the people of all under Heaven willingly move toward, while a King is one to whom they go and attach themselves. “Move toward” and “go to” have similar meanings; both describe the people of all under Heaven giving their allegiance. Yet “move toward” emphasizes people following the nature of their lives and destinies, and turning willingly; “go to” carries a sense of going because they have no choice. In how closely they accord with the Dao, the two still differ in rank.

Those whom the people of all under Heaven neither willingly move toward nor go to cannot be called Emperors or Kings. Holding a position without possessing De is likewise contrary to the way of Emperors and Kings.

If Emperors and Kings fail to win the people, they cannot establish their position. Even if they win the people, they cannot hold that position if they lose the Dao. Since they establish their position through the people, how can they preserve it by relying on themselves alone?

Those who turn away from the Dao are often extravagant and undisciplined, arrogant and idle, self-important and boastful. They insist on competing for superiority, stir up trouble, make enemies, and in the end take up arms and cause rebellion. These are all signs of having lost the Dao.

When people of low standing act this way, they invite great calamity and may even face punishment or death. When those in high positions act this way, their families or states are brought to ruin. Feudal lords lose their states, and high ministers lose their estates. The consequences may fall only on the person themselves, or, in worse cases, reach their descendants. Therefore, no offense is greater than turning away from the Dao, and no resentment runs deeper than the loss of De. Such is the working of the Way of Heaven.

Those who do not accord with the Dao go against the principles of Heaven; those without De (Virtue) treat the myriad things harshly. The circumstances of a matter itself are often the source from which blame and resentment arise.

Laozi says: Those who cultivate the Great Dao can make others, however fierce, dare not stab at them; however cunning, dare not attack them.

Restraining an enemy’s momentum and adapting skillfully to the moment are merely minor arts by which one who follows the Dao responds to external things.

Even if others cannot wound or strike you, you may still suffer humiliation. Though you are unharmed, you may be criticized and shamed. In the end, all these things have already become visible.

It is better to make people, however fierce, dare not stab at you; however cunning, dare not attack you.

Remain humble and gentle, and hold to yourself; then the fierce cannot offend you. Let your conduct leave no opening to exploit, and the cunning will have no way to act against you.

Making people afraid to attack does not mean that they have no thought of attacking you; it only means that they have not yet been made to let go of that thought. Better still is to make them have no desire to attack from the outset.

Do not wear strange clothes or behave in eccentric ways. Keep your mind open and peaceful, seek nothing deliberately, and live in harmony with everyone. What reason, then, would the people of the world have to bear ill will toward you?

To make people bear no ill will is to leave them without thoughts of grasping for gain. Going further, one can lead them to wish instead to care for and help oneself.

The deepest attainment of the Dao is to make all under Heaven willing to turn toward you, so that the myriad things benefit. Thus, even if you can dispel immediate troubles, that cannot yet be called the utmost attainment of the Dao. You should return to the ordinary, live among everyone, and blend into all kinds of communities, becoming someone people wish to draw near to and help. Let them trust you in matters fundamental to their lives, and in turn benefit them.

If you can do this while harboring no deliberate desire to gain anything for yourself, the myriad things will flourish naturally. This may be called the utmost attainment of the Dao.

In this way, even without a fief, one can become a ruler; without an official post, one can become the leader of the people. There is no one under Heaven who would be unwilling to support such a person and help him remain secure and prosper.

All things, from insects upward, are drawn toward what benefits them. Therefore, one need not occupy a position of power to become the ruler and leader of the people under Heaven.

Those who are bold in their single-minded aggression often take life and cause injury. Those who are bold enough not to act aggressively can instead preserve life.

Those bold enough to stab and fight harbor the intention of killing their opponents. Those bold enough to yield and remain gentle, by contrast, follow the Dao (the Way) and allow all things to live.

Wenzi asked what De (Virtue/Power) is. Laozi said, “To nourish all things and help them grow; to aid their development and benefit them all without distinction; to accord with the workings of Heaven and Earth—this is called De.”

While alive in the world, the body is always in contact with external things, and the mind is always engaged with various affairs. It is therefore impossible to go even a moment without being affected by the outside world or affecting it in turn. Only by remaining inwardly unattached to likes and dislikes, and by not letting actions be governed by gain or loss, can one guide all things without suppressing them and travel everywhere, bringing about their transformation. If one cannot do this, one cannot secure the benefit of all things or enable each to find what suits it. When force is imposed, all things lose the grace that allows them to preserve their inborn nature. How could this accord with the De that brings all things back to unity?

What is benevolence? Laozi said, “When in a high position, do not boast of your achievements; when in a low position, do not be ashamed of your shortcomings. Do not pride yourself on what is great or slight what is small. Care widely for all living beings without favoritism, and sustain this care without decline—this is called benevolence.”

Without a deeply rooted nature, how could anyone persist in this without decline? For this reason, even the worthy and the sages consider it difficult, and place benevolence first among the Five Teachings, the five fundamental forms of instruction.

What is righteousness? Laozi said, “When in a high position, support the weak; when in a low position, hold fast to your integrity. When your aspirations are fulfilled, do not indulge your private desires; when in adversity, do not change your principles. Follow one standard throughout and accord with what is right, without distortion or deviation through selfish intent—this is called righteousness.”

“Principle” means the right way; “one” means constancy. By taking accord with the right way as a constant standard and allowing no selfish intent to disturb it, one can hold to it throughout.

What is propriety? Laozi said, “When in a high position, be respectful and dignified; when in a low position, be humble and reverent. Know how to yield, remain gentle, and do not distort what is right through selfish intent—this is called propriety.”

“Principle” means the right way; “one” means constancy. By taking accord with the right way as a constant standard and allowing no selfish intent to disturb it, one can hold to it throughout.

What is ritual propriety? It is being dignified and careful when one occupies a high position, and humble and respectful when one occupies a low position; yielding when difficulties arise and holding to gentleness, like one who is content to remain beneath all things under Heaven; not presuming to be right when establishing oneself, and not acting forcefully when dealing with affairs. This is ritual propriety.

Ritual propriety calls for inner composure and outward decorum. It is not merely bowing, yielding to others, or observing formalities when going up and down steps.

Thus, by cultivating De (Virtue), one can be humble and heed government orders; by cultivating benevolence, one can be humble and avoid competing with others; by cultivating righteousness, one can be humble and deal with affairs fairly and uprightly; by cultivating ritual propriety, one can be humble and show respect to others. When these four qualities are all cultivated, the state can be at peace.

All things come into being through the Dao (the Way); they grow through De; they are cared for through benevolence; they are set right through righteousness; and they are honored through ritual propriety. Without being nurtured, things cannot grow well; without compassion, they cannot be brought to maturity; without being set right and supported, they cannot endure; without respect and esteem, they cannot be held in honor. Benevolence means caring for things; righteousness means setting them right; ritual propriety means showing respect. Without nurturing and care, things cannot grow well; without setting them right and supporting them, they cannot endure; without respect and esteem, they cannot be regarded as precious. Therefore, the people cherish De.

De brings people peace; no one under Heaven fails to value peace.

The people are attached to benevolence; all things naturally turn toward kindness and care.

The people stand in awe of righteousness; when affairs are handled fairly and without favoritism, people naturally revere what is right.

The people respect ritual propriety; when bearing and conduct are orderly, people naturally show respect and comply.

De, benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety are the foundations that allow human order to function smoothly, and the means by which sages govern all things. If human affairs are not governed in an upright and orderly way, people’s minds and circumstances become tangled and changeable, and are difficult to manage.

If a gentleman lacks De, the people will resent him, because their nature is being suppressed. Without benevolence, the people will struggle, because they receive no kindness. Without righteousness, the people will rebel, because some have overstepped their proper bounds. Without ritual propriety, the people will fall into disorder, because the proper order has been disrupted.

When these four foundational principles—De, benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety—cannot be established, this is called being without the Dao. No state of this kind has ever avoided destruction.

Laozi said: “In the age of utmost De”—the age when rule through De was most fully realized—merchants could freely conduct business in the markets, farmers took pleasure in working their fields, ministers were content with their posts and homes, and scholars cultivated their own Dao, while the people gladly pursued their respective occupations. As a result, wind and rain did not devastate the myriad things, and plants and trees did not wither prematurely.

De (Virtue/Power) extends its beneficence to all things. Yin and Yang are therefore in harmony, and animals and plants grow well, each fulfilling its own life.

The Yellow River brought forth the Hetu, the River Chart, and the Luo River brought forth the Luoshu, the Luo Writing. In ancient legend, these were auspicious signs. At that time, society was at peace and people each kept to their proper place: scholars cultivated the right way, while common people were content in their livelihoods. Thus, wind and rain did not damage the crops, and plants and trees did not wither.

When society fell into decline, taxes were levied without restraint and killing did not cease. Those who offered remonstrance were punished, and worthy, capable people were put to death. Then mountains collapsed and rivers ran dry; insects and other small creatures grew restless, and not even vegetables could grow in the fields.

The harm of tyranny spread and afflicted the people; resentment gathered below. Such an atmosphere goes against the Dao (the Way) of Heaven and disrupts the natural order, so calamities such as famine follow.

Therefore, when society is well governed, even foolish people cannot throw the world into disorder on their own. When society is in chaos, even capable people cannot bring it under good rule by their own efforts. The actions of the worthy and the foolish cannot, by themselves, change the course of the age.

Thus, the sage lives in harmony and calm, never allowing worry or agitation to damage his nature. The fulfillment of one’s aims and the practice of the Dao are brought about by destiny. One who understands destiny can face both hardship and prominence with equanimity.

A person must first encounter the destiny suited to them before they can accomplish anything; destiny, in turn, must meet the right moment in order to become manifest. When destiny accords with the Dao and the circumstances are favorable, achievements can shine forth. There must first be a fitting age before a person capable of accomplishing great things can emerge.

If there is no enlightened ruler at the time, sages and worthies have no way to put their abilities to use. Thus the “Nine Observations” chapter says: “Without the right time, who can make achievements shine and accomplish great things?”

Wenzi asked what it means to be a sage and what it means to be wise. Laozi replied: “To understand something upon hearing of it is sagehood; to understand it only after seeing it with your own eyes is wisdom.” What is grasped inwardly is sagehood; what is discerned through the eyes is wisdom.

Sages can often hear the underlying causes of blessings and calamities before they occur, and so choose the path to follow. They choose the path of harmony and stillness and hold fast to it, leaving calamities no chance to reveal their signs.

The wise can often see the circumstances in which blessings and calamities have already become apparent, and so choose how to act. They choose upright and cautious conduct and cultivate it, thereby preventing calamities as soon as their first signs appear.

Sages understand the changes between good and ill fortune in Heaven’s Dao, and so can discern how blessings and calamities arise.

The sage understands that recognizing one’s own shortcomings brings good fortune, while believing oneself to have more than enough invites danger. Good fortune and misfortune often arise from this. Therefore, the sage keeps to their proper place with a calm and peaceful mind, and does not rush into reckless action.

A wise person can recognize the signs of good fortune and misfortune as soon as they emerge, and so understands how they come about.

A wise person is not misled by things as they develop from their beginnings to their full extent, and so can avoid calamities that strike without warning.

To sense what is coming before it happens is the sage’s attainment. To foresee it when signs have appeared is the wise person’s ability. To have neither heard nor sensed anything is ignorance.

Laozi says: If a ruler pursues cleverness single-mindedly, they will readily trust the times and rely on their own judgment. They will abandon the inevitable course of things and turn instead to personal calculation.

This means that the ruler trusts the times, though they do not understand them, and mistakes this for their own insight. They abandon what is inevitable and act solely on their own deliberations.

The myriad things are numerous and complex, while human wisdom is limited. No one has ever succeeded in using limited wisdom to manage the infinite. To make decisions on cleverness alone is bound to lead to many mistakes.

Circumstances vary widely, and human wisdom has its limits. One cannot account for everything, and the result is often error.

Pursuing clever schemes single-mindedly leads to a point where every stratagem is exhausted. Showing off strength and courage leads to danger and ruin.

The pursuit of clever schemes eventually exhausts every available means; flaunting strength and courage eventually brings ruin.

A fondness for bestowing rewards makes their standards lose all fixed measure.

When a ruler keeps giving generously, rewards come to have no set limit.

When the ruler’s rewards have no set measure, the subjects’ expectations have no end.

When a ruler gives rewards without restraint, the subjects keep hoping for more.

If the ruler imposes levies and exactions, they will incur the people’s resentment.

Excessive taxes go against the principle that people willingly support their ruler; resentment begins there.

When the ruler’s rewards have no set measure, the subjects’ expectations have no end.

When a ruler gives rewards without restraint, the subjects keep hoping for more.

If the ruler imposes levies and exactions, they will incur the people’s resentment.

Excessive taxes go against the principle that people willingly support their ruler; resentment arises from this.

If taxes are kept low while rewards remain lavish, resources will eventually run short.

If one collects only a tenth in taxes, one cannot fund expenses that have no fixed limit.

Thus, an excessive fondness for giving rewards brings resentment in its wake.

Unequal distribution of land will breed resentment among the officials; heavy levies on the people will breed resentment among the soldiers.

It follows that material wealth is not enough to bear the great responsibility of governing the world; Daoist teachings are the foundation on which its governance can rest. Wenzi asked Laozi, “How should the rulers of ancient times have governed the world by means of the Dao?”

Laozi replied, “Hold to the One without acting recklessly; follow the transformations of Heaven and Earth, and transform along with them.”

To “hold to the One” means not clinging to any preconceived view. “Non-action” means not daring to act recklessly on the basis of one’s own subjective wishes. In this way, one can govern in accordance with the inherent nature of things, act as suits Heaven and Earth, and change along with the myriad things.

The world is an immense whole. No one can firmly control it by personal effort or arrange it at will. Reckless action leads to failure; determined attempts to hold on to it make it slip away. Focusing on doing just one thing will inevitably hinder all other affairs; clinging to a single nature will inevitably harm the distinct nature of all things.

“Holding to the One” does not mean valuing only small things. It means not treating what is insignificant as one’s own achievement—a sign of humility and freedom from complacency. By valuing what is subtle, one can bring about what is vast.

“Non-action” means remaining still, or refraining from rushing to act. Only by remaining still can one become a model for the world. Those who delight in restless action damage the inherent nature of things. Follow the general course of the world and act in step with the changes of the myriad things, and each thing will find what suits it and settle according to its own nature.

Be amid abundance without overflowing; occupy a high and honored position without becoming proud. By valuing what is subtle and remaining still and humble, one avoids pride and complacency. Dwelling amid what is vast without overflowing, one can be full without being depleted; holding a high position without arrogance, one can be elevated without danger. This is the character of the Dao.

When people are full without being depleted, they can remain prosperous for a long time. When they are exalted without being endangered, they can remain honored for a long time. Wealth and rank stay with them, and blessings and emoluments extend to their descendants. This was the aim of the ancient kings’ way of rule: to bring about such a state.

Only by honoring this Dao can one govern the world.

Laozi said: The people share a common sense of right and a common body of laws. They all esteem what is right and stand in awe of the laws.

Yet a shared sense of right cannot keep people in check with one another forever, and authority cannot ensure that everyone will always submit in fear. Therefore, a ruler is established to bring the people together. The people cannot hold forever to the sense of right they have agreed upon, nor can they always fear only what they have agreed to fear. Therefore, a ruler is established so that they may be united.

When a ruler holds fast to the One, the state can be governed. Without enduring standards, the state falls into disorder. Disorder arises when government directives have no constancy.

The ruler’s Dao lies not in doing, but in Wuwei (non-action)—in refraining from arbitrary interference. The way of governing a state values stillness. How could one rush ahead of all things and force action upon them? One should guide and instruct the people by following their own actions; this, too, is not a matter of deliberately asserting one’s will.

A wise ruler does not claim as personal merit the granting of favors and the cultivation of De (Virtue/Power). One who treats governing the state and bestowing favors as proof of personal ability lacks the wisdom proper to a ruler.

A courageous ruler does not use force to act violently. One who resorts to authority to commit violence lacks the courage proper to a ruler.

A benevolent ruler does not regard holding high office as a favor. One who treats an office granted by the world as a private gift lacks the benevolence proper to a king.

To achieve these things is called holding to the One. Only by possessing all three can one be said to hold fast to the One.

The One is the impartial Dao, the root of all things. In stillness, one holds to the One; in action, one does not act with deliberate self-awareness. The origin of all things lies nowhere beyond this One.

When a ruler repeatedly changes the laws, the state repeatedly changes rulers, and the people can no longer bear it. If the state has lost its roots, how can the ruler endure?

When a ruler relies on his position to indulge his likes and dislikes, the people set out on countless different paths, and government becomes difficult. The Son of Heaven relies on his exalted position, fails to restrain his desires, and acts as his likes and dislikes dictate. He then makes choices according to his private will. Laws and directives grow ever more numerous, the people’s paths multiply, and government becomes difficult.

Therefore, if a ruler loses the Dao, the fundamental principle shared by all things, disorder throughout the realm will be worse than it would be without a ruler.

In an age without a ruler, people would still help one another according to what is right and would willingly submit to one another. Because this way of life could not last, people raised up a ruler. But now the ruler has become the source of disorder. In that case, it would be better to have no ruler.

A ruler must hold fast to the Dao in order to unite the people.

Wenzi asked, “How many kinds of the kingly way are there?” Laozi replied, “There is only one: attaining the One, meaning the unified Dao.”

Wenzi asked, “In ancient times, some became kings through what was right, while others became kings by force. Why do you say there is only one way?” Laozi replied, “Those who became kings through what was right relied on De. Those who became kings by force also relied on De. Those in high positions gain the realm through what is right; those below submit through what is right.”

There are five kinds of military action: righteous campaigns, responsive campaigns, wrathful campaigns, greedy campaigns, and arrogant campaigns. To punish the violent and aid the weak is a righteous campaign. When an enemy invades and one has no choice but to resist, it is a responsive campaign. To fight over a minor matter and take up arms without restraining one’s anger is a wrathful campaign. To take up arms out of greed for another’s land and possessions is a greedy campaign. To rely on the state’s strength, boast of its large population, and seek to show off one’s superiority before an enemy is an arrogant campaign.

A righteous campaign can establish kingship because it accords with the wishes of people throughout the realm. A responsive campaign can prevail because it waits for the enemy to act before striking. A wrathful campaign will fail because it cannot yield even over a small matter. A greedy campaign will bring ruin because it cannot keep within its proper bounds. An arrogant campaign will be destroyed because arrogance and excess violate the Way of Heaven. Such are the workings of the Way of Heaven.

Laozi said, “Those who abandon the Dao and rely only on clever schemes will fall into danger. Those who set aside the natural course of things and act solely on their own abilities will fall into hardship.”

Shedding means letting go; number refers to the constant patterns by which Heaven’s Way operates. Anyone who abandons the Great Dao and relies only on personal cleverness will not enjoy a single day of peace. Anyone who casts aside Heaven’s constant patterns and acts solely by their own ability will find it hard to accomplish anything, however small their strength.

So hold to your proper place and follow the natural order of things. Then you will not grieve over what you lose or rejoice over what you gain. Success does not come from pursuing it with single-minded intent, and gains are not obtained through advance planning.

Hold to the place that is yours and follow what must be so: this is to accept Heaven’s mandate and rest calmly in whatever you encounter. Leave success or failure, gain or loss, to chance. Then sorrow and joy will not stir your heart.

Accept what comes from outside without grasping at it; give to the world without claiming credit.

Keep the Dao in your heart and embrace all things. Even when you accept something, you do not take it greedily. Uphold De and benefit everyone. Even when you give, you do so without selfish motives. Sorrow and joy do not linger in the heart because it is unmoved by gain and loss.

Follow spring as it brings all things to life, and follow autumn as it causes them to wither. When all things grow, do not claim credit; when they wither, do not resent it. This is to draw near to the Dao.

If the heart does not cling to emotion and you carry out your ordinances in step with the seasons, how could thoughts of pride in your kindness or resentment remain within you?

Wenzi asked, “How can a ruler win the people’s support in governing the realm?” Laozi replied, “By being like the rivers and seas.”

The rivers and seas are humble and never self-satisfied. They embrace all things without picking and choosing. This may be called returning to the Dao that embraces all things, and it can also win the hearts of those who serve you.

The nature of the rivers and seas is plain and flavorless, yet their usefulness is inexhaustible.

Empty, still, and unassuming, they can respond to all affairs without end.

Begin with what is small, then accomplish what is great: first treat others with humility, and only then can you bring about deep and far-reaching achievements.

If you wish to draw all things to you and win the hearts of those who serve you, be like the rivers and seas: empty, still, unassuming, and embracing of all. Begin with the small act of humility, then accomplish a great and far-reaching undertaking.

If you wish to stand above others, speak with humility. If you wish to go ahead of others, put yourself last in your actions. Then people throughout the realm will naturally follow your example and hold you in affection.

Anything that progresses step by step from a low position to a high one, or first takes a place behind others and then gains the initiative, succeeds by following the Dao of Heaven. When one acts in keeping with the natural logic of things, one can win another’s sincerity through the way of affection and goodwill.

Put benevolence and righteousness into practice without harshness or severity. When he occupies a high position, the people do not feel heavily burdened; when he walks ahead of others, they are not harmed. All under Heaven are glad to support him and never weary of doing so. Even people in distant foreign lands with different customs, and even flying and crawling creatures, draw near to him and honor him.

When a principle accords with what is right, all things are willing to draw near. Treat people with benevolence and act with righteousness: even those with different customs and of different kinds will know whom they should approach, and will gladly support and uphold that person without growing weary.

This Dao reaches everywhere and succeeds wherever it goes. It is therefore the most precious thing under Heaven.

Those who follow this Dao meet no obstruction as they move forward, and find a way through wherever they turn. Is this not what is most precious under Heaven?

Laozi said, “To use the laws and texts of one age to criticize customs passed down in later ages is like gluing the movable bridges of a se (an ancient stringed instrument) in place and then trying to tune it.”

The five tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—must be adjusted in response to change to form fitting music. Across different dynasties, laws must be made according to the needs of the time. Tuning depends on flexible adjustment; one must not glue the bridges in place. Governing depends on fitting the times; one must not cling rigidly to old laws.

The sage follows the age and responds to change. Observing the particular circumstances of things, he adopts suitable measures, brings about an appropriate order through change, and makes laws according to the needs of each age. Tuning depends on flexible adjustment; one must not glue the bridges in place. Governing depends on fitting the times; one must not cling rigidly to old laws.

The sage follows the changes of the times and applies suitable measures in light of actual circumstances. This is called not being fixated on old laws.

When the age is different, affairs change; as time moves on, customs also change. Examine the circumstances of the present age when making laws, and respond to affairs in keeping with the times.

The people’s dispositions may be genuine or false, and customs differ. The styles of rule adopted by emperors may be plain or ornate, and each age brings its own changes and adjustments. Institutions must be established and affairs handled in ways suited to the time. Who but a sage could accomplish this fully?

The laws of the rulers of antiquity were not all the same. They did not deliberately oppose one another; the affairs that needed attention were simply different in each age. Therefore, one should not copy laws already established, but should take as a model the principles by which they were made. The principle behind making laws is to adjust them as circumstances change.

Laws once established are like the invocations used in sacrifices to Heaven and Earth: they apply only to a particular moment. How could they be applied everywhere? Only the principles formed by responding to change and making adjustments as circumstances require are worthy of emulation.

The laws established by sages can be examined and learned from, but the reasons why they originally established them cannot be pursued in every case and copied wholesale.

Government orders are carried out in public, and their effects can be seen. But the principles behind weighing and judging matters are applied in the heart, where others can hardly fathom them completely. Words themselves can be heard, but the intentions and methods that lead someone to speak are difficult to investigate and bring to light. Thus the wording of laws and government orders can be passed down and recited, while the roots of their underlying purpose are not easily made clear.

The Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors treated the realm as unimportant, regarded the myriad things as small, saw life and death as equal, and considered all transformations to be one. They gave up the throne and did not dwell on gain or loss. In every matter they followed the Dao, and so lived in harmony with the myriad things.

They held fast to the Dao and governed through trustworthiness, like a mirror reflecting the state of all things. Because the Dao, its principles, and trustworthiness were clear, they could see into the myriad things. Above, they were companions to the Dao; below, they adapted to change and lived among people. In every coming and going, every advance and retreat, they followed the Dao. Their actions and stillness, their transformations, accorded with the moment; in this way they governed the human world.

Today, those who wish to learn the Dao of the ancients can hardly attain their clarity. The ways of the world have changed, so the methods by which the ancients brought clarity to their age cannot simply be copied. Even a profound sage who understands the Dao may fail to govern the present well if they cling to old texts and enforce ancient laws.

If a sage ruler from remote antiquity came into the present and still enforced only ancient laws, they would surely be unable to govern. To hold fast to ancient methods in order to direct the present is to disregard the times; to study antiquity solely through the outlook of today also makes it difficult to attain the clarity of the ancients. One must adopt methods suited to the age. This is the way to bring governance to its full expression.

Wenzi asked how to govern a state. Laozi replied: “Use the Dao to guide government and De to nurture the people. When they are governed through the Dao, the people can each find their proper place; when they are nurtured through De, they know where to turn.

“Do not deliberately exalt the capable, and do not govern through force. If the ruler prizes a reputation for worthiness, the court will compete to seek fame; if government relies on authority and military might, it will breed resentment.

“Set these practices aside and hold steadfastly to the Dao and De. Do not create positions that invite people to pursue private gain, and do not display things that stir up greed.”

Whenever people see a chance to profit, they are sure to abandon the duty of caring for everyone. Whenever they encounter something tempting, they are sure to disturb their commitment to the constant Dao (the Way).

Be upright without harming others; be honest without wounding them. Uprightness does not depend on cutting others down to prove itself, and well-being does not depend on taking from others. Both allow each to preserve their own place. Do not praise yourself or boast of your achievements; do not vaunt your talents or parade your accomplishments.

Govern through the Dao, and the people will draw near and rally to you. Nurture them through De (Virtue/Power), and they will willingly submit. Do not flaunt the worthy and capable before the people, and they will be content with their lives. Do not impose force upon them, and their customs will remain simple and honest. Then the people will have no grievances, and each can preserve their own place.

Not flaunting the worthy and capable comes from frugality; not imposing force comes from restraint. If the ruler is sparing in expenditure, all under Heaven will not feel deprived. If the ruler does not wield power recklessly, all things can preserve their natural state.

When the ruler draws near to the people, they gather together in harmony. When wealth and provisions are used to care for them, they benefit. If the ruler is frugal, desires will diminish, and De can be preserved. If the ruler does not rely on force or indulge in reckless action, the people will have no grievances, and the ruler too will be secure.

If the ruler does not draw near to the people, they will scatter. If the ruler does not nurture them, they will turn away. If the ruler flaunts the worthy and capable, the people will compete with one another. If the ruler imposes force, they will resent it. When the people scatter, the state will weaken; when they turn away, the ruler will lose authority; when they compete, they are more likely to act improperly; when they resent the ruler, the throne is in danger. If the ruler can truly correct these four failings, they will be close to the right Dao.

If the ruler cultivates abundant De and puts an end to these four calamities, this may be called the way of rule through De; it also brings the ruler close to the simplicity of ancient times.

Laozi said, “What those above say, those below should put into practice; what those below say, those above should adopt.”

Accept the views of subordinates as smoothly as flowing water. Convey the orders of those above with due solemnity, as if they were decrees bound with silk cord. The phrase “Those above speak what is customary; those below follow the ancient way through adaptation” means that the ruler establishes instruction, so orders are generally carried out from above downward. But whether remonstrances should be accepted depends on knowing how to weigh circumstances and adapt.

Only the sage understands how to adapt to changing circumstances. What the sage says is always trustworthy, and what the sage promises is always fulfilled.

In the end, a trustworthy person will have evidence to support their word. Their words are as firm as ribbons and are not easily changed. What was said above concerns principles that generally apply; what follows concerns the adaptive judgment discussed by the ancients. Since instruction and transformation are carried out by the ruler, ordinary practice should be followed. Advice can be accepted only when it shows an understanding of how to adapt.

Only the sage understands how to adapt to changing circumstances. What the sage says is always trustworthy, and what the sage promises is always fulfilled. In the end, facts will bear witness to the trustworthy person; and one who keeps a promise will ultimately fulfill it, even if circumstances fluctuate.

Among the actions called noble in the world, what is worth praising in stubbornly proving one’s father guilty, or in keeping a promise by letting one’s daughter die? A son who reports his father for stealing may be upright, but he acts against human feeling. To promise that one’s daughter will drown herself may be keeping one’s word, but it amounts to letting her die needlessly. Who would consider such supposedly noble conduct worthy of sympathy?

Therefore, when the sage judges right and wrong, and what is straight or crooked, the sage adjusts what to advance or withdraw according to the circumstances, without adhering to any unchanging rule. The sage determines which principle to apply by considering the particulars of each situation. Action should aim at benefiting the people as a whole; how could one be bound by a rule suited only to a particular moment?

“Zhu” means addressing the ruler by name; “ni” is a borrowed character for “zuo,” meaning to seize someone by the hair. In a situation involving the ruler and one’s father, failing to address the ruler by name would not count as respectful; failing to seize one’s father by the hair would not count as filial. When circumstances compel someone to violate convention, one should act unconventionally to fulfill what is truly fitting in that moment. “Zuo” means to seize someone by the hair.

Adaptive judgment is a principle that only the sage can discern. Its crucial point is exceedingly subtle, beyond the reach of ordinary people’s feelings and understanding.

To depart temporarily from ordinary practice and later come into accord with reason is called adaptive judgment. To follow ordinary practice at first and later act against reason is a failure to understand adaptive judgment. Those who fail to understand it often turn good deeds into disgraceful ones.

Let us explain this. One who understands adaptive judgment is poised at the turning point of changing circumstances. Before events become apparent, they consider matters carefully; when the crucial moment arrives, they act. Adaptive judgment depends on the circumstances of the matter itself. Those who follow ordinary practice at first and later act against reason fail to understand adaptive judgment; and this failure turns good deeds into disgraceful ones.

On the practice of adapting to changing circumstances: Those who understand this art can move between established rules and flexible responses, discerning when a change is about to arise and grasping the crucial point before they act. Change appears in events, while the crucial point is hidden in the mind. Only those who understand how to adapt can seize the moment inwardly and respond well to change outwardly. When necessary, they may depart from convention while remaining true to what is right, in order to uphold the Dao. By first going along with circumstances and then, when needed, going against them, one can bring all things to completion in the proper way.

A ruler should understand the principles at work and sometimes act by reducing, sometimes by increasing, so that the people feel everything happens naturally without knowing the purpose behind it. Thus the Book of Changes praises doubled Xun (the Xun trigram repeated, symbolizing following the way things are moving), and the Book of Songs praises the Tang pear blossom. Who but someone of sage-like insight could see the principle on their own? If secret matters are disclosed, they bring harm to oneself; if flexible measures are handled poorly, good deeds can be turned into evil ones. How could one fail to be cautious?

Wenzi asked, “You say that only by following the Way and De can one govern the world. Yet the ancient kings inherited the legacy of their forebears, and some failed to practice the Way and De but still lived out their lives in peace, without disaster or defeat. Why is this?”

Some say that those who abandoned the merit of their ancestors yet lived without disaster or defeat did so because similar cases had occurred in earlier generations. This question must therefore be raised, so that later rulers do not come to doubt the efficacy of the Way.

Laozi replied, “From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, each makes a living, but their circumstances differ, for better or worse. The reason states fall and families are ruined is that people fail to practice the Way and De.”

Those who pass their lives without disaster or defeat have simply been fortunate in their allotted fate. Yet every ruined state and family has been brought down by failure to practice the Way and De.

“A ruler should never relax, day or night, but remain anxious and vigilant, always fearing that the state may fall.”

Those who govern a family or a state and are truly this cautious are like the Book of Songs’ image: facing the legacy left by their ancestors, they must be as careful as someone driving six horses with a rotten rope.

Indulging desires and neglecting one’s nature and feelings can bring a state to ruin at any moment. A state governed solely through harsh measures cannot be preserved for long.

If Jie of the Xia and Zhou of the Shang had cultivated the Dao and practiced De, then no matter how virtuous Tang of the Shang and King Wu of the Zhou had been, they would have had no opportunity to achieve their accomplishments.

At the end of the Xia and Shang dynasties, Jie and Zhou were not the only rulers who lacked the Dao. Others had acted improperly before them yet escaped ruin throughout their lives. The difference lay only in degree; ultimately, losing the Dao was what brought about their downfall. Had Jie and Zhou followed the Dao and relied on De, on what grounds could Tang and King Wu have achieved their accomplishments? Some who lose the Dao and abandon De may escape disaster by chance; none who abide in the Dao and establish De meet ruin.

The function of Dao and De is to enable people to nurture one another, help one another grow, draw close in affection, and treat one another with respect.

Dao and De can nourish people’s hearts, while reverence and affection can bring about good customs. By abiding in the Dao and establishing De, one can cultivate such customs.

Even foolish creatures do not harm what they love. If all the people under Heaven held a compassionate heart, where could calamity arise?

All manner of foolish beings under Heaven—even animals acting purely on instinct—know to avoid harm and seek what benefits them, acting according to their needs. From this, we can infer the feelings and concerns of the people. If they are guided through the Dao and moved through De, so that affection takes root in their hearts, the sources of calamity will naturally find no room to arise.

When a ruler lacks the Dao yet has not met ruin, it is because compassion has not yet vanished and the bonds of mutual aid have not yet been lost.

As long as people continue to care for and support one another, the state will not yet fall, even when its circumstances are perilous.

Though compassion has not yet vanished and the bonds of mutual aid remain, the feudal lords have already come to slight their ruler. When they do so, reverence at court is lost, and the ministers gradually cease to obey.

Whether reverence and obedience can truly be achieved depends on whether people’s hearts have been transformed.

When benevolence and righteousness have vanished, the feudal lords betray one another, and people attack one another. The strong bully the weak, and great states swallow up small ones. The common people make warfare a means of making a living, and disasters follow; turmoil comes one after another, and the state may perish at any moment. How could calamity be absent?

When the Dao of governing is lost, people rely on De. When De is lost, they rely on benevolence. When benevolence no longer works, they uphold righteousness. When righteousness too has vanished, the state will perish. These calamities build up gradually, until at last they become the source of disaster and ruin. Thus, when the Dao and De are lost, people grow contemptuous of their rulers and defy their commands. When benevolence and righteousness have vanished, the state faces the danger of destruction and its people the disgrace of ruin. Yet each person’s allotment of life may be deep or shallow, just as a state may have its own fortunes of security or decline. Those with a deep allotment may live out their lives even in peril; those with a shallow allotment meet disaster when their state falls. Traced to its source, all of this stems from losing the Dao.

Laozi says: When laws and decrees are complicated and punishments severe, the people become prone to deceit. When those above burden the state with too many policies, those below invent many ways to cope, using all manner of expedients to carry them out.

The more one seeks, the less one gains. The more prohibitions there are, the less effective they become. With too many affairs, it is difficult to achieve anything; when prohibitions are broken too often, they lose their force.

To keep creating new affairs through government measures, then use further measures to suppress them, is like fanning a flame while trying to keep it from burning. If no new troubles are stirred up, they will naturally subside. Using more affairs to suppress affairs may quiet matters for a time, but new ones will arise. Suppressing some troubles while creating others is like fanning a fire to keep it from burning: the result is only a fiercer blaze.

To use cunning to create calamities, then use cunning to guard against them, is like stirring the water while trying to make it clear. If those above stop esteeming cleverness, the people can preserve their natural character. The root of dispelling calamity lies in ceasing to create a multitude of troubles. When calamities arise from cunning and one then devises further schemes to prevent them, one has strayed far from the principle that water becomes clear of its own accord when left unstirred.

Laozi says: If a ruler favors benevolence, he will reward those without merit, spare those who are guilty, and then try to find ways to guard against calamities. In this way, he goes against the Dao of natural stillness and moves ever farther from the Dao.

To “favor benevolence” means that a ruler places too much weight on kindness; to “favor punishments” means that he places too much weight on penalties. Overemphasis on benevolence can lead to rewards and punishments being misapplied. Overemphasis on punishment can lead to worthy people being cast aside and even the innocent being implicated. Benevolence is meant to grant favors and provide aid; punishment is meant to correct wrongdoing. Once a ruler develops a preference, rewards are misapplied and punishments spread too far, making it impossible to govern the people.

Consider this: the Dao is the root that all things hold in common as precious, while affairs are often accomplished through people’s preferences. Yet when one seeks the Dao with a preference, that preference remains in the heart and instead leads one away from the Dao one seeks, in violation of nature’s principles. The scripture also says that not clinging to the display of De is what truly accords with the De of the Dao. If the Dao and De cannot be attained through deliberate preference, how could giving weight to only certain matters lead to the proper governance of the world?

Without favoritism or aversion, putting a criminal to death will not invite resentment, and granting favors will not lead one to claim virtue for oneself. It is like the seasons, with spring and autumn: how could the myriad things resent the seasons?

Acting by the standard, a ruler does not let personal feelings intrude on public affairs. If he moves like Heaven and Earth, what could he fail to cover and sustain? Only by following enduring principles without selfish intent can one accord with Heaven and Earth.

The ruler is the one who can bring harmony among the people and put what is right into practice. The responsibility for coordinating the people and helping each person find what is fitting rests with the ruler alone.

Using standards to distinguish different cases is law. Those who break the law differ in the severity of their offenses; this is the state’s established law.

When the people are punished, if the ruler is impartial and governs the world justly, those punished—even when they have truly committed an offense—will acknowledge their wrongdoing and will not turn their anger against the ruler. This is called moral virtue. In this way, the state can attain peace, and the ruler can possess impartial virtue.

Laozi says: There is no fixed, unchanging standard for right and wrong in the world. People each regard what they like as good and what they dislike as bad.

What he considers good is not necessarily what you consider good; what he detests is not necessarily what you detest. Their judgments simply do not accord with fairness, so it is impossible to decide who is right and who is wrong.

People pursue what is “right,” but they are not thereby seeking the principles of the Dao. When one probes those principles, all things are mysteriously connected, and nothing is absolutely wrong. People seek only what accords with their own wishes. What is called removing what “does not accord” amounts to rejecting whatever goes against those wishes. If one seeks only what agrees with oneself, one becomes fixated on external things. How can this be called probing the principles or seeing that all things are connected in their original state? It is merely getting rid of what one dislikes.

Now I wish to choose what is called right and follow it, setting aside what is called wrong, yet I do not know what the world means by right and wrong. Those who pursue what is right may not truly be able to do what is right; those who reject what is wrong cannot make wrongness disappear altogether. If I choose what is right and remove what is wrong, how can I know that people in the world will not cling to their own views and, in turn, say that I am wrong? In this way, what is “right” because it accords with my wishes remains entangled in bias. Clearly, governing the world by standards of right and wrong alone is not enough to make one its ruler.

Thus, governing a great state is like cooking a small fish. Turn it over too often and it will fall apart; disturb the people too much and they will fall into disorder. So establishing laws that make people judge one another as right or wrong cannot bring good order to the world.

Those who only seek to please others may say something that exactly suits another person’s wishes and thereby become more favored. But if someone close to us shows signs of distance, even sound plans and sincere counsel may be met with suspicion. In ordinary social life, few people can judge right and wrong fairly. People tend to regard as right only what suits their own private interests. Thus, flattering words that sound pleasing may make someone more favored, while a close companion who speaks honestly may instead arouse suspicion.

Now, even if I wish to make myself upright and meet the world with composure, how can I know by what standards people will judge me? If I try to make myself upright in the face of worldly affairs, might someone not find fault with me by applying standards they themselves believe to be right, simply because I do not suit their wishes?

If I rush to argue with worldly people, it is like trying to escape the rain: wherever I flee, I am bound to get wet.

If I try to set the world right, the world will in turn affect me. Rushing to argue over who is right and who is wrong will never free me from decline. It is like taking shelter from the rain: wherever I keep fleeing, I will get wet.

If I set my heart on attaining emptiness and stillness, I cannot truly become empty and still,

because my heart is attached to something. Just as deliberately pursuing what is right means that my actions have already strayed from the Dao.

If I do not deliberately seek emptiness, emptiness and stillness arrive on their own; then nothing I hope for is beyond reach.

When I follow the myriad things and act in accord with how things are, without rejecting their existence, I need not deliberately cling to emptiness and stillness: they will appear naturally. When I dwell in the world and accept the present, without persistently denying others, I need not struggle to prove myself right: the Dao will appear naturally. In this way, emptiness and stillness come without effort, and constancy and rightness are maintained without choosing or rejecting. Can everything we once pursued not then be attained with ease?

Thus, one who understands the Great Dao is like an axle that need not turn of itself, yet can carry the wheel hub—the wheel’s center—forward for a thousand miles. It moves within an inexhaustible source.

At rest in the center, without reckless movement, one can move along with all things, unconstrained by distance. The transformations of the myriad things cycle on without end; and my own essence responds to things, with nowhere it cannot reach.

Therefore, the sage takes the Dao as their foundation and returns to the root. They do not set out to change the myriad things, but follow their transformations. Though they act, they do not act with deliberate intent.

One who realizes the Great Dao keeps to their nature at all times and is not altered by external things. Using an unchanging foundation to guide a thousand changes—how could such subtle efficacy be achieved through deliberate effort?

Laozi says, “Those who wage war repeatedly and win in the end will see their state perish.”

“Repeatedly” means frequently.

Frequent warfare exhausts the people, while repeated victories make the ruler arrogant. Few states can avoid ruin when an arrogant ruler governs an exhausted people. An arrogant ruler becomes indulgent, and indulgence drives things to extremes. An exhausted people grow resentful, and resentment weighs heavily on the heart.

When things reach an extreme, relationships fall apart; when events reach an extreme, change follows.

For something to reach extremes above and below and still expect not to decline has never happened. Thus, withdrawing and yielding one’s position once one’s achievements are complete is to follow the course of Heaven.

End of Volume Five of the Tongxuan Zhenjing.

Volume Six of the Tongxuan Zhenjing

Commentary by Zhu Bian, courtesy name Zhengyi, a gentleman of the rank of Xuanyi Lang in the Song dynasty, probationary registrar of the Court of Judicial Review, and magistrate of Jinyun County in Kuozhou.

Chapter on Superior De

Nothing in the world has any fixed thing that rules over it; only the Great Dao remains constant and unchanged. The workings of the Great Dao differ from those of other things: its profound effects accumulate naturally. Thus, gentleness can bring all under Heaven into accord. I never presume to rule; I understand how to harmonize the myriad things and nurture living beings, and then each thing can follow its own nature. The essence of Superior De encompasses everything and can accomplish anything. So although this chapter contains much, it all converges in the Dao of emptiness and stillness.

Laozi said, “The ruler is the heart of the state, the key to its survival or demise, its stability or collapse.”

When the mind and spirit are at peace, every part of the body is at peace; when the mind and spirit are in turmoil, every part of the body is thrown into disorder. The body’s joints are like the officials of a state.

When the body is properly cared for, each part is at ease in its own place and need not restrain the others. When a state is well governed, ruler and ministers each keep to their proper roles and need not worry about one another. When every part of the body is at rest, it can be naturally comfortable, without relying on any particular part. When ruler and ministers each fulfill their duties, the state needs no fuss; they need not constantly wonder who is in control.

Laozi once studied with Chang Cong, who was his teacher.

Chang Cong asked Laozi to look at his tongue and taught him to hold fast to softness. Teeth are hard, while the tongue is soft. The hard teeth fall out first, while the soft tongue remains. Thus, keeping to softness truly brings benefit.

Chang Cong then asked Laozi to look up at the branches growing from the eaves, and afterward to look at the flowing water. The branches are supple and can grow high up; what is soft in substance can instead occupy the higher position. In this way, Chang Cong reminded Laozi that these sights offered a lesson in remaining humble and keeping to a low position.

Observe a shadow, and you will understand how to remain behind. Those who act after others are often more in tune with the moment. A shadow always follows its form and never seeks to go first, whether the form bends forward or leans back. Precisely because it does not contend with anything, it can always remain in this position.

Therefore, the sage empties the mind and practices Wuwei (non-action), following the natural changes of things. The sage stays behind others and does not rush ahead. This is like stacking firewood: the pieces placed on top later end up higher.

This means that by acting in accordance with the inherent De (Virtue/Power) of things, one can accomplish great deeds.

Laozi never loses his composure, just as a shadow always follows the body and does not disappear when the body bends or moves. He does not contend with external things, so he is always at ease.

Therefore, the sage is empty and still, practices Wuwei (non-action), and follows nature, often placing himself behind others rather than trying to lead. It is like stacking firewood: the pieces put on later end up on top.

This means that by acting in accordance with the inherent De of things, one can accomplish great deeds.

Laozi said: Bells are damaged by making sound, and oil lamps are consumed by giving light. Tigers and leopards are hunted for their patterned coats, while monkeys are captured for their agility. Thus, those who display courage and love to fight die through their aggression, while those skilled in argument find themselves trapped by their own cleverness.

All these creatures and people are harmed by the very strengths they rely on.

People can use wisdom to understand things, but wisdom alone may not help them understand what they do not know. They may have the wisdom to recognize things, yet fail to understand the value of acting without cleverness.

So someone skilled in only one craft or familiar with only one way of speaking can discuss a particular aspect of a matter, but cannot be expected to respond broadly to all kinds of circumstances.

Only those who are not confined by cleverness and do not rely on their own abilities can respond to endless change. How could those whose understanding is limited to one corner of the world bear such a principle?

Laozi said: The Dao takes for its ground what is formless and without substance. The eye cannot see its shape, and the ear cannot hear its sound. This is called the hidden and obscure, meaning what lies too deep to be seen or heard. “Hidden and obscure” describes the Dao; it is not the Dao itself.

The subtle source emerges from what is formless and without substance and enters everywhere, yet never leaves the myriad things, not even for an instant. Its essence is deep and hard to fathom, while its workings appear among all things. Thus, even if we force ourselves to give it a name, there is no fixed entity that the name can denote.

What is called the Dao is inward examination and reflection on oneself.

Cast off desire and return to simplicity, and insight will arise naturally in stillness. Once one has gained insight, one can understand that everything under Heaven has something of its own to gain.

Thus, one does not mistake a small awakening for complete understanding, nor fall into deep confusion over a passing lapse. One does not grow complacent over a little cleverness, nor give up on oneself because of a moment of dullness.

Only by clinging to one’s own perceptions and judgments is it impossible to return to the vast realm contained in “not knowing.”

People do not use flowing water as a mirror. They use a still surface of water to see their reflection, because still water can remain calm and undisturbed by external things.

A person must first keep external things from disturbing the heart before they can see clearly and respond to the many things around them.

The full moon obscures the light of the stars.

This means that agitation and stillness stand opposed to each other, but stillness gained through opposition is not stable. Only by not resisting agitation or being constrained by it can one become truly quiet.

Yin cannot rise above Yang.

Those of low status can preserve their position over time by not offending those in high authority.

When the sun rises, the stars can no longer be seen and cannot compete with its radiance.

When a person of great De is present in the world, lesser De naturally grows dim.

The tips of branches cannot surpass the roots, nor can branches grow larger than the trunk. When the top is heavy and the bottom light, collapse is inevitable.

Any attempt to suppress thoughts in the heart instead stirs agitation and leaves a person trapped in difficulty.

A deep pool cannot hold two flood dragons. A female cannot have two males contending over her: with only one, things can be stable; with two, they will fight.

Right and wrong cannot coexist in harmony. Only the side that prevails in the struggle can gain the upper hand.

When jade lies hidden in a mountain, the plants and trees are nourished. When pearls form in the depths, the banks do not dry out.

When the Dao (the fundamental law by which all things operate) resides in the heart, a person’s body and its various faculties can be brought into order.

The earthworm has neither strong bones nor sharp claws and teeth, yet it can eat dry clods of earth above and drink groundwater below. This is because its mind is focused.

“Xi ke” refers to dry clods of earth. If the body has nothing it can rely on, then the heart has nothing to depend upon either. Having no reliance, one can still preserve life with nothing but water and earth.

Clarity brings brightness: when a cup of water is clear, one can see an eye in it. Turbidity obstructs sight; when a river is muddy, even Mount Tai cannot be seen.

As long as one clears the heart within, one can observe things clearly; this does not depend on the size of external objects.

An orchid does not stop giving off its fragrance because no one wears it. A boat can float on rivers and seas and will not sink because no one rides in it. A noble person who practices the Great Dao will not stop because no one knows. All of this arises from their nature.

Plants and trees each have an inborn nature. But when people’s actions follow their everyday habits, those habits gradually shape their character. A petty person cannot be compared with a noble person. If everything were judged only by inborn nature, how could people in the world learn and improve? The sage’s point is this: habits can shape one’s character, even bringing it close to one’s innate nature. Therefore, we must not treat a person’s endowment as a fixed destiny and give up on self-cultivation and striving.

A person’s nature sinks from clarity into turbidity; this is the tendency that leads people to fall into decline. Cultivating the Dao, however, is a gradual process of diminishing selfish desires and ingrained habits, so petty people cannot simply be taken as a comparison. If everyone could only act in accordance with their own nature, how could people throughout the world learn the Dao? This is what the sage means: through acquired influences, people can develop a certain disposition, one that may even seem innate. Therefore, one should not regard a person’s character as a fixed destiny and stop striving to cultivate it.

To pass from a state of clarity into one of turbidity is inevitably to suffer hardship and humiliation; to pass from turbidity into clarity is inevitably to face upheaval and collapse.

When a worthy person serves in an age unsuited to them, they are bound to suffer hardship; when a fool seeks advancement without the ability to match it, they are bound to meet with ruin.

When two kinds of Qi in the sky converge, a rainbow forms.

Yin Qi instead occupies the upper position, and the two forces struggle without reaching harmony; thus a rainbow forms.

When two kinds of Qi within the earth converge, creatures hidden in hibernation are brought into the open.

Yang Qi descends, and the resulting climate does not accord with Yin Qi; this causes dormant insects to emerge from their hiding places.

When two kinds of Qi within a person converge, illness arises.

Emotions such as joy and anger intermingle in the chest, and so illness arises.

Yin and Yang cannot remain constant: at times it is like winter, at times like summer. The moon knows nothing of daylight, and the sun knows nothing of night.

Yin and Yang, sun and moon, each keep to their proper place and do not intermingle. Only then can they together transform and nurture the myriad things, with darkness and light each following their proper course. This is used here to explain that the distinctions between ruler and minister, and the proprieties between men and women, should likewise be observed according to their respective roles and not confused. Some also say that among the forms and forces, nothing is greater than Yin and Yang, the sun and moon; yet even they cannot fulfill their functions alone. How much more so for all other things? Only the function of the Dao can operate without ceasing, and so it alone may be called supreme.

Where rivers are broad, fish grow large; where mountains are high, trees grow tall; where the land is vast, Virtue can grow deep.

If the foundation is not established, nothing can flourish.

Thus, one cannot fish without bait, nor attract wild animals with an empty vessel alone.

To accomplish something, one must first prepare what it requires.

Where fierce beasts live in the mountains, the trees are not cut down; where stinging insects live in a garden, the leaves of sunflowers and beans are not picked. When a state has worthy ministers, it can defeat enemy forces a thousand li away.

This is like the case of Yue not daring to attack Wu.

One who understands the Great Dao is like an axle turning within a wheel hub. The axle does not travel by itself, yet together with the wheel it can carry a cart a thousand miles. The wheel turns around and around without stopping, as if moving within an inexhaustible source.

All things turn of themselves, day and night, in endless cycles. Only those who are empty, still, and practice Wuwei (non-action), without acting rashly, can move in harmony with the workings of all things. Those who do not understand the Great Dao toil and bustle about, yet cannot travel far. How could they be compared with those who do?

Therefore, if you appoint an unrighteous person and hope to set things on the right course, no matter what you do, it will be hard to succeed. If you appoint an upright person among the unrighteous, do not let him be led along with them. This idea appears in the “Fuyan” chapter.

When a bird is about to fly in, spread a net and wait. What catches the bird is one mesh in the net. But if you spread only a single mesh, you will never catch a bird.

The sage establishes teachings by more than one means. Since all things differ in their natures and needs, many meshes are spread and many methods devised. Yet those who enter the gate of the true Dao will ultimately grasp its one subtle principle. The same principle can be applied to governing a household or a state and to attracting people of every kind of ability.

Some matters cannot be settled in advance by fixed rules, and some things cannot be arranged beforehand. So the sage cultivates De (Virtue/Power) and wisdom, and waits for the right moment. This is how one prepares to respond to change and waits for the moment when an opportunity brings things into resonance.

If you want to attract fish, first clear the waterways; if you want to attract birds, first plant trees. When water gathers, fish gather; when trees grow thick, birds come to roost. Understand their habits and guide them in keeping with their nature, and even creatures of different kinds can each find their proper place.

To follow a fish’s nature, you do not lift it up and place it in deep water; to follow an ape’s nature, you do not carry it up a tree on your back. Simply let each live in an environment suited to it.

Extending the benefits of De to all things does not mean demanding that they all meet a particular standard, nor does it mean binding their natures with laws and regulations. It means simply letting them act according to their own natures.

The ground beneath one’s feet covers only a small, limited space. Yet to keep moving forward, one must recognize that there is ground beyond the places one has already stepped. The range one can know in the mind is also narrow and limited. Yet one can understand more only by acknowledging that there are things one does not yet know.

Only by setting your steps toward places you have not yet reached can you travel farther; only by directing your thoughts toward things you do not yet understand can you gain access to the Great Dao. To fulfill the nature of all things, one should follow their natural state and need not prize artificial efforts to restrain their nature. In other words, simply let them develop of themselves.

The ground already covered is limited, but only by setting out toward ground not yet crossed can one keep moving forward. What the mind already knows is also limited, but only by facing what it does not yet know can it come to understand.

Set your steps where you have not yet arrived, and you can travel farther; let your thoughts reach toward the unknown, and you can understand the Dao.

When rivers dry up, valleys lie empty; when hills are leveled, abysses fill with silt. When the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold. Even where a river runs deep, there is mountain soil beside it.

Wherever the mind is burdened by attachment or dragged down by external things, my nature cannot remain whole.

When water settles, it clears; once clear, it lies level; once level, it readily reflects the shapes of all things. Since these different forms cannot be confused with one another, water can serve as a standard for distinguishing things. Only by keeping the mind inwardly still can one naturally perceive all things and respond in accordance with the constant Dao.

Leaves fall because the wind shakes them; water grows cloudy because external things stir it. This shows that desire harms one’s nature.

Jade discs and jade rings can be fashioned into objects because they are carved and polished; the Moye, an ancient sword, can cut because it is sharpened. Without carving, an object cannot take shape; without sharpening, a blade cannot become keen. This illustrates that only through diligent study and ongoing self-cultivation can one deepen one’s understanding of the Dao.

A gadfly clinging to a fine horse can travel a thousand li without flying under its own power. It need not carry provisions and will not go hungry. Whoever finds something to rely on, devotes themselves to it, and does not pursue other distractions will naturally accomplish something without seeking fame or material gain.

Once the crafty hare has been caught, the hounds are cooked; once the birds have been hunted from the sky, the fine bows are put away. To withdraw once fame and achievements have been won is the law of Heaven.

Moreover, since ancient times there have been countless cases of people who founded states and established great achievements, only to die and have their names disgraced. Those who understand the Way of Heaven are therefore skilled at discerning the beginning and the end of things.

Anger arises from within a state of non-anger; action arises from Wuwei (non-action).

Once you understand the root of things, you should value the root rather than the branches. Thus the sage uses Wuwei (non-action) to put this principle into practice. This does not mean letting people slight you now and getting angry only later about something you should have been angry about before; nor does it mean letting a task you should not have undertaken fall into neglect, only to take it up in the end.

Only by observing what has no form can you truly see; only by listening for what makes no sound can you truly hear.

If you look only at what is before your eyes, your vision is often confused; if you judge only by what you hear, you are often misled. Can this be called truly seeing and hearing? Only by turning your attention to what cannot be seen or heard can you fully use your faculties of sight and hearing.

Birds return to their home places, rabbits run back to their burrows, foxes face the hills where they were born when they die, and cold cicadas find trees to perch in. Each follows its own nature.

When things reach their end, none fails to return to its root.

Water and fire overcome one another, but when a ding or li—a vessel used for cooking in ancient times—is placed between them, it can harmonize the five flavors. Close kin love one another by nature, yet if slander comes between them, even father and son may grow suspicious of one another and fall into danger.

When methods are used skillfully, things that differ can help bring about harmony. When the principles of things are violated, even natural affection gradually changes.

Dogs and pigs do not care what vessels they eat from. They grow fat as a result, but also come close to death.

An official who does not choose a suitable place to serve may find that, even though his salary makes his household prosperous, it puts his own life at risk.

The phoenix flies at great heights, beyond anyone’s reach.

If you do not enter a dangerous state or live in a troubled one, how could you be harmed by bows and arrows with silk-tethered shafts—zengjiao, an ancient device for shooting birds?

A mallet has many handles, yet cannot strike itself. The eyes can see a hundred paces away, yet cannot see their own eyelashes.

People in the world seek principles in distant things, but fail to examine themselves nearby.

Build up a mountain by adding to high ground, and it will stand firm without danger of collapse. Dig a pool in low ground, and when it grows deep, fish and turtles will come of their own accord.

If you occupy a position of honor and enrich yourself with De (Virtue), your standing will be hard to overturn. If you take a place no one contests and add humility, people will naturally gather around you.

The ditch and pool are full.

A person in a position of honor can make that position secure and hard to overturn by continually accumulating De. And when someone stays in a place others do not contest and treats them with humility, they gain the people’s support.

The water in ditches and ponds overflows when there is too much rain and dries up in drought. Rivers and seas have sources, and their waters run deep and wide, so they do not dry up.

If things fail to hold fast to their roots, they are easily unsettled by changes in what surrounds them. Rivers and seas can endure because they have sources.

A deaf person cannot hear, but their sight need not be impaired; their vision may be especially keen. A blind person cannot see, but their hearing need not be impaired; their hearing may be especially keen.

Each ability has its own use. They do not obstruct or compete with one another. This can also be understood to mean that when the spirit is not scattered, it can focus on a single function.

When the world is murky and confused, one may withdraw from it and live in seclusion, just as cool, muddy water can be used to wash one’s feet.

When the world is clear and orderly, one may enter public service, just as cool, clear water can be used to wash the cords of one’s hat. The examples of washing feet and washing hat cords show that one should decide whether to advance or withdraw according to the state of the times.

Silk woven into white cloth can be made into a hat or into shoes. The same cloth, made into a hat, is worn on the head; made into shoes, it is worn on the feet. Thus one is placed above and the other below. People too, though all born from the Qi of Heaven and Earth, differ in status, some noble and some lowly. Given this, what is there to envy or resent?

Metal is stronger than wood, yet a single blade cannot cut down an entire forest. Earth can control water, yet a cupful cannot dam a river. Water can overcome fire, yet a ladleful cannot put out a cartload of firewood.

Even when someone holds the means to prevail, if their De and strength are insufficient, those means are of no real use—like a blade that cannot cut down a forest, a cupful of earth that cannot dam a river, or a ladleful of water that cannot extinguish a cartload of firewood.

Thunder may sound in winter, and hail may fall in summer, but the seasons of cold and heat do not thereby change. Frost and snow may fall in abundance, but when the sun comes out, they melt.

Before the winter solstice, Yang Qi moves downward and, after building up to a certain point, gives rise to thunder. Before the summer solstice, Yin Qi gathers as it rises and forms hail. Even in the coldest depths of winter and the hottest days of summer, the changes of Yin and Yang do not cease. When frost and snow meet the sun, they melt of their own accord and become clear water. This shows that change within things follows its own inevitable patterns, which outside forces cannot forcibly halt. Once circumstances impose their constraints, things cannot go against them. Only those who are wise and perceptive can discern these principles and act accordingly.

Things that are tilted are easily overturned; things that lean against others easily become attached to them. Even a tiny gap lets force enter, and damp ground readily brings rain.

Thus, the sage advances things by following the course of their circumstances, and the principles he teaches are simple and easy to put into practice.

Lanqu, an aromatic herb of the orchid family, is picked before the frost has even arrived because of its fragrance.

It is precisely its gift of fragrance that leads people to pick it while it is still growing, cutting its life short. Should a person of talent not be cautious?

The toad can ward off calamities of war, but its life ends on the fifteenth day of the fifth month.

According to tradition, if a toad is taken on the fifteenth day of the fifth month and burned to ashes, it can ward off injury from weapons and poison. Its special ability is exactly what brings it harm. Should one not be cautious?

The toad can ward off calamities of war, but its life ends on the fifteenth day of the fifth month.

According to tradition, if a toad is taken on the fifteenth day of the fifth month and burned to ashes, it can ward off injury from weapons and poison. It is harmed precisely because of its special ability. It can display wondrous effects in the outer world, yet cannot preserve itself. Is this not like the story of the white turtle that appeared in a dream to Lord Yuan of Song? It is truly lamentable.

Those whose Jing and Qi have been depleted are easily harmed within,

and their actions and movements are readily assailed by harmful influences from outside.

Flowers that bloom out of season should not be picked for food.

They have not received the proper nourishment of Qi. Though they may look fresh and lustrous, they can instead damage a person’s natural constitution.

Which fails first, the tongue or the teeth? Which breaks first, the rope or the arrow? The teeth are hard, so they fail first; the arrow shaft is straight, so it breaks easily. Only gentleness and pliancy can preserve the virtue found in what is firm and straight.

The body bends the shadow; the sound-producing object makes the sound muddled.

Therefore, one should take care of the root.

One who shares a disease with the dead can hardly be a good physician. Likewise, one who follows the same path as a fallen state cannot offer it loyal counsel.

From this we can see that a ruler should be able to accept frank remonstrance, even when it is as bitter as medicinal stones. Consider this: whatever is called difficult to handle can still be addressed through strict precautions and careful explanation; whatever cannot be handled in the usual way can still be dealt with by weighing the circumstances and adapting to them. There are no talents without a use, and no affairs wholly without value. Perhaps grasping this is the key. Thus, rulers in governing their ministers and ministers in serving their rulers should both attend carefully to their respective duties.

Have performers play their bamboo pipes, and musicians tune them by adjusting the holes. Even when the notes keep to the rhythm, the music must not be allowed to settle into an unchanging pattern; otherwise, the ruler’s punishments could not be put into effect.

A commentary says: “Fix” means “settle.” The music must not be fixed at a single pitch. If ruler and ministers fall out of order, take over one another’s duties, and administer affairs in one another’s place, then even if the laws are properly framed, they will be difficult to enforce in practice. Only by examining the laws in accordance with each person’s position can we say that ruler and law are each in their proper place.

A deaf person cannot hear a song and so cannot take pleasure in it. A blind person cannot see and therefore cannot encounter the external world through sight.

When the mind has expectations, form and sound appear accordingly. Thus, if one can keep the mind still, external things cannot disturb it.

In a forest, one cannot walk in a straight line; through dangerous terrain, one cannot proceed as straight as if walking along a rope.

When caught up among things, one cannot avoid disorder; when faced with danger, one cannot avoid harm. Since people walking in a forest or crossing perilous ground cannot avoid winding paths, how could they abandon them and take instead a level, straight road?

The sea receives the waters of the world as they flow into it, and so it can be vast.

This means that vastness arises from inner De. One does not shut off the ears and eyes, but can receive every kind of sound and sight; one does not close off one’s true nature, but can regard level ground and perilous terrain equally. Such a Dao is like the sea: it has the De to embrace all things, receiving and sending them forth.

The sun never appears as two suns at once; a fox does not have two male heads; divine dragons do not come in pairs; fierce beasts do not form herds; and birds of prey do not fly in pairs.

Even a ruler’s virtue or an individual’s abilities may be unmatched. How much more so the principles by which sages transform all under Heaven, and the achievements they accomplish through their own independent efforts?

Without a wheel, a cart cannot shield its contents from the sun; without spokes, a wheel cannot turn swiftly. Yet the wheel and spokes cannot function independently of one another.

Any force that acts upon external things depends on other forces. Results should be judged by what actually happens, not deemed reliable on the strength of a single achievement. Thus sages aid the people and put things to use by allowing each ability to serve its purpose, adapting to circumstances and relying on others. Only after the work is done do they establish their achievements.

To draw a bow and shoot an arrow, the bowstring is essential; but of the arrows shot, only one in ten may hit its target.

The point of archery is to hit the mark. If the arrow misses, why call it archery? If only one shot in a hundred hits, the achievement does not outweigh the failures. Much of what people do in the world and count as achievement follows this same pattern. To forget repeated failures and treat a single success as one’s own guiding principle—is this not to go against the principle of judging by what actually happens and weighing gains against losses?

A hungry horse confined in a stable is quiet at first. But when fodder is placed beside it, the urge to fight over it arises.

All creatures with blood and vital energy are driven by desire in this way. So when they do not see things that stir their desires, their minds are not thrown into contention.

A bamboo tube three inches long and open at the bottom cannot be filled by all the water under Heaven. A vessel with a capacity of ten shi, if sealed with a stopper, can be filled with just a hundred bamboo tubes’ worth.

Petty people are narrow-minded and insatiably greedy, never knowing when they have enough. People of noble character have broad minds, know when to stop, and are content with their rightful share.

Cutting along a carpenter’s ink line prevents deviation; suspending a balance beam to weigh things prevents mismeasurement.

When conduct is upright and follows what is right, it does not stray from right and wrong. When kindness is applied fairly, there is no imbalance between treating people generously and treating them poorly.

Applying ancient laws to similar cases may sometimes still be appropriate. Punishments such as beating with a staff or striking may also have their proper uses.

But if one governs the present while clinging to ancient laws, imposing rules unsuited to the times on circumstances unlike those for which they were made, then even laws as straight and precise as an ink line or a balance beam may not bring order to the world. Only those who examine the times and understand change are fit to take responsibility for governing.

Doing what is appropriate and putting it into practice is called sound judgment. Doing what is inappropriate and putting it into practice is misgovernment.

When laws accord with the times, governance can be stable; when laws run counter to the times, they lose their effect.

Farmers labor hard, and gentlemen rely on them for their livelihood, …

Working diligently in the fields and harvesting grain to provide the stipend offered to one’s superiors shows that anyone who truly cultivates their own Dao (the Way) need not be trapped in menial labor.

The wise select carefully from the words of the foolish.

Listen widely to what people say, including their words of praise, and put the best of it into practice. With wisdom, one can draw on other people’s strengths to accomplish one’s own aims.

When you see clearly, it is like recognizing jade within a stone. When your vision is dim, keep your plans in mind and do not act yet. To see the principle clearly is like discerning the jade hidden in a stone; when your understanding is clouded, it is difficult to put anything into practice.

The light of a hundred stars cannot match that of a full moon. Ten open windows cannot let in as much light as a single window. Gathering bits of cleverness and imagining oneself clear-sighted is still not enough to comprehend all things.

A snake cannot grow legs from nothing, and a tiger cannot grow wings from nothing. Heaven’s Way brings loss to those who are full. If cruelty and malice are allowed to run unchecked, should we not fear and guard against the deeds that bring harm to all under Heaven?

Before you lies a distance six feet wide. In ancient times, six feet was equivalent to one pace. Crawling across it is not difficult even for someone with limited ability. Since the distance is only one pace and the person is below you, how could it be difficult to cross?

Standing up and stepping across the same six feet, however, is not something just anyone can do with ease. The distance is unchanged, but the way one exerts oneself makes a great difference in difficulty, and in the relative positions of high and low. That is why the exemplary person refuses to remain in a low position and continually urges themself onward.

Those who take part in a sacrifice may receive a share of the offerings, while those who step in to stop a fight may be injured. Whether one helps a good or an evil deed, its benefits or harms will fall upon oneself. The eventual outcome of an action is enough to reveal the principle at work.

Trees that block the auspicious Qi (vital energy) are struck by lightning.

If a person loses the support suited to them, they will inevitably be implicated, even if they escape punishment or execution. A noble person must therefore take care in choosing their surroundings.

The sun and moon seek to shine, yet floating clouds cover them; water seeks to run clear, yet sand and earth muddy it; orchids seek to grow strong and upright, yet autumn winds destroy them. Human nature seeks to remain at peace, yet tastes and desires harm it. We must therefore be careful about what we favor and what we dislike.

When the body is covered in dust, it is impossible to keep dust from clouding the eyes. No one has ever been known to indulge in sensual pleasures and still preserve their nature.

A worthy person may wear a golden turtle-shaped ornament and jade adornments; an able person can even use soil and rags spread on the ground to build wealth. So, rather than give gold and jade to someone who lacks ability, it is better to give them a length of white silk.

Things are not inherently noble or base. They are precious only when used appropriately and suited to their purpose. Those who can neither wear gold and jade nor use them to build wealth may be said to have put things to no proper use and missed a path to cultivating De (Virtue/Power).

A wheel hub is hollow, with thirty spokes set around it, each able to serve its purpose. If only one spoke were made to bear the load while all the others were discarded, how could the cart travel far?

If a ruler humbly welcomes worthy people, the benevolent can each find their place, and those who uphold the Way of righteousness can take part in governing, each contributing their strength. A ruler cannot govern the realm by employing only one kind of talent.

Orange and pomelo trees each have places suited to their growth, and reeds likewise have places where they grow in clumps. Beasts with similar claws roam together, and birds with similar wings fly in flocks.

Things of the same kind naturally gather together, and all things form their own groups. The things of the world are diverse and boundless, but they can be governed well only by understanding what they have in common.

To understand the lands of the Nine Provinces without having traveled a thousand li, or to lead the people without understanding the foundations of laws and teachings, is very difficult.

If you can enact policies in response to the changing times and shape your teachings in accordance with the people’s needs, the people will naturally support you. What difficulty is there in that?

Those who rush about in contention are captured; those who flee at speed are struck by arrows. The point is that when people hurry about and act with agility, they invite pursuit and attack.

Thus, what is truly pure may appear dust-covered, and great De (Virtue/Power) may appear deficient. As for the simple and unadorned person, they can be tolerant and yielding; their constant De does not make an excessive display.

The gentleman has wine and uses it for a banquet conducted according to ritual. The common person strikes a clay drum and can also take pleasure in it. Though the rhythm may not meet formal standards and may not be passed down to later generations, it can bring delight and harmony to the heart and mind—fulfilling the very purpose of music. This shows that ritual and music arise from human nature; what matters is that each finds a fitting expression.

Human nature is fond of wearing silk. Yet if someone is called upon to shoot arrows, they put on armor. Though this is not their usual attire, it meets the needs of the moment.

Therefore, when something becomes valuable under particular circumstances, we should understand that what is ordinarily dismissed cannot necessarily be cast aside forever.

A wheel has thirty spokes, all converging at the hub. The tenon of each spoke fits into a corresponding hole, and only when they work together can they form a wheel. This is like ministers, each faithfully observing their own duties.

Only by placing different materials where they belong can each contribute its strength and help the vehicle travel far.

A person skilled at using others is like a centipede: its many legs do not hinder one another. They are also like the tongue and teeth: one is soft, the other hard, yet they work together without harming each other.

A person skilled at appointing ministers may have many officials under them, yet those who are close do not compete over duties. Civil and military officials have different responsibilities, but they can cooperate and accomplish their work together.

Stone is naturally hard, and qu is naturally fragrant. These qualities are present from an early age and become more pronounced as they grow.

Each thing has qualities suited to it, and their effects may influence one another.

When things are governed in accordance with the qualities suited to them, they develop smoothly. When their nature is suppressed or violated, even strenuous effort is unlikely to achieve much.

Helping and promoting someone, expressing gratitude and yielding, gaining and losing, consenting and claiming something as one’s own may seem much the same on the surface, yet in reality they are far apart.

An end may be the same while the means used are fitting or unfitting. What seems close at hand may lead to results worlds apart. Such things are common in the world, which is why the sage repeatedly offers examples to warn people.

Plants and trees that grow back do not necessarily flourish, and leaves that sprout too early may wither before the frost arrives. This shows that in action, what matters is getting the timing just right: too early, and one departs from the natural order; too late, and one misses the proper moment.

If you soil the measuring line and powder your forehead; if yesterday you left out a rotten rat and today burn incense in the hall; if you step into the water while complaining that your clothes are wet, or conceal something foul in your arms while seeking fragrance—even the most capable person could not make things turn out well.

If the methods one devises do not accord with the root of things, then even someone skilled in applying methods cannot succeed through technique alone.

Winter ice can be broken, and summer trees can be woven together. The right moment is hard to find and easy to miss.

In the world, no matter is inherently difficult or easy; its difficulty depends on whether the right moment has come. That is why timing is more precious than a jade disk a foot across.

When trees are in full growth, they keep growing even if they are cut all day long. But when the autumn winds rise and frost falls, they wither in a single night. Follow the seasons and things are easy to accomplish; act only according to your own wishes, and your efforts will be wasted.

Once a target is set up, arrows converge on it; when a forest grows dense, axes enter it. No one has deliberately summoned misfortune; it arises naturally from the circumstances.

Someone whose reputation spreads throughout the world will inevitably attract much envy. A household rich in wealth will likewise invite covetousness and disputes over its possessions.

Even a newborn puppy dares to bite a tiger, and a crouching chick will strike at a wildcat. Driven by affection, they disregard their own strength.

Few people in the world can judge their own strength and protect what they cherish. More often, people simply let their emotions and desires run unchecked, and in the end bring harm upon themselves.

If someone waits to profit from a drowning person before rescuing them, they will surely use profit to entice others into the water as well. If rescuing people is rewarded with profit, people will compete to push others into the water, then pretend to save them.

Skillfully appealing to people’s wish to rescue those who have fallen into the water, and then rewarding them for it, one could make everyone under Heaven willing to jump into the water and wait for someone to save them. This is like Zhao Jianzi, who, in seeking the benefit of releasing doves, instead drew more people into catching birds. The foundation of good governance, then, lies not in rewarding deeds already done, but in cutting off the sources of harm.

A boat can float on the water, while a stone can sink beneath it. The foolish do not understand why.

The sage understands that floating and sinking each follow their own principles, and so does not act rashly.

A fine horse, when driven forward, refuses to move; when pulled along, it cannot be stopped. A ruler cannot use such methods to gauge how far a journey is.

Even people of outstanding ability cannot be used to govern a state if, despite their talents, they do not serve their ruler loyally.

The surface of the water may look calm, yet waves can still arise. A balance beam may appear level, yet still be off; measures may seem uniform, yet still contain errors.

Even when laws and instruction are fair and consistent, those who carry them out may still handle things improperly.

Without a compass and a carpenter’s square, one cannot establish what is round or square; without a plumb line, one cannot correct what is crooked or straight. Yet those who use these instruments must also have a standard in their own hearts.

When sincerity is present within, even without laws and instruction imposed from outside, the people will gradually come to understand the order of seniority and rank and where it comes from. But if laws and instruction are vigorously enforced while inner sincerity falls short, the people will not be convinced, and one will find it difficult to stand in the world. Thus, the proper use of rules and standards depends on whether there is a standard in the heart. The Treatise on Sincerity says: “When the same words are spoken, whether they inspire trust depends on whether there was sincerity before they were spoken; when the same commands are issued, whether they are carried out depends on whether there is good faith beyond the commands themselves.” Does this not mean that sincerity must come first for laws and instruction to be put into practice?

Mount Tai rises high; even if it were made twice as tall, the human eye might not notice. The tip of an autumn hair is exceedingly fine, yet it can be seen clearly.

Whether things are large or small, if they are not examined carefully, they will cause confusion; only close scrutiny brings understanding.

Fire is hidden in bamboo and wood, but unless they are rubbed together, no smoke will rise. Water is contained in earth, but unless it is dug up, it will not gush forth.

People may possess principles by nature, but only through careful study can they grasp them.

However swiftly an arrow flies, it travels no more than two li. Yet if it keeps taking steps without stopping, even a lame turtle can travel a thousand li. If people persist without giving up from generation to generation, they can gradually raise hills and mountains.

Even if a general is naturally skilled in the art of command, only careful study can bring true mastery.

However fast an arrow flies, it travels no more than two li. Step by step, without stopping, even a lame turtle can go a thousand li. With generations of unremitting effort, hills and mountains can gradually be built up.

The key to reaching a distant goal lies in persevering over time, not in acting quickly for a moment. Apply your strength continuously, and it will not be exhausted. Persist as the Foolish Old Man did, and even a mountain can be moved.

If you want fish from the river, it is better to go home and weave a net.

Only by grasping the roots of things can you anticipate and achieve your aims.

First tune the bow; only then can you seek great strength. First train the horse to be docile; only then can it become a fine steed. First be trustworthy; only then can you seek ability.

If you focus only on embellishing the surface, you will never truly make it beautiful. Hold fast to what is essential without deliberately pursuing ornament, and grace will naturally appear.

A skilled smelter cannot melt wood, and a fine craftsman cannot carve ice. All things have what they cannot do. How could a wise person fail to bear this in mind? Do not set your thoughts on what lies beyond your abilities.

You can keep someone from crossing a river, but you cannot keep the river from making waves.

Do not deliberately pursue ornament; grace will naturally appear.

A skilled smelter cannot melt wood, and a fine craftsman cannot carve ice. All things have what they cannot do. How could a wise person fail to bear this in mind? Do not set your thoughts on what lies beyond your abilities.

If there is no reason to cross the river and depart, both sides will naturally be at ease. But if you must cross and wish not to drown, you cannot do so without preparation.

If you never make a mistake, a cooking steamer (zeng) will never fall into a well.

If you do not make the mistake of trying to cross, it does not matter if the river over there is choppy. It is like a steamer sitting safely on the stove: there is no possibility of its falling into a well.

Someone who criticizes my conduct may be hoping to associate with me; someone who tells me about goods for sale may be hoping to trade with me.

Without understanding the root of a matter, you cannot determine what to resent. Yet the root is often hard to discern, which is why people so easily overlook it.

A single move in a game of go cannot reveal a person’s wisdom; plucking a single string on a zither is not enough to judge their sorrow.

If you are too quick to blame things, you will struggle to see all that they can do.

A piece of burning charcoal will scorch your fingers if you pick it up. A nearby pile weighing ten thousand shi will also be reached by the smoke. Move ten paces away, and you will not be burned. Though these things share the same kind of qi, they differ in how much of it has gathered.

The kind of qi may be the same, but its degree of accumulation differs. So you cannot lightly assume that its effects and transformations will be the same.

Where there is honor and prosperity, there must also be sorrow and decline.

If one can be content with one’s own inherent nature, one can meet the world with a calm and even temper.

Though their dispositions are similar, they differ in the depth of their accumulated De (Virtue/Power), so they should not casually be made to take the same actions.

Those who enjoy wealth and honor will inevitably also face times of sorrow and hardship.

If one can be content with one’s own inherent nature, one can meet the world with a calm and even temper.

When those above control the people with a dense net of restrictions, those below are bound like hemp fibers.

If a ruler exalts his own status, the people suffer from their lowly position. When the people suffer, the ruler too will find it hard to preserve his place of honor.

The taller a tree grows, the deeper its roots must reach; the higher a mountain rises, the firmer its base must be. This means that an honored position must rest on a firm foundation.

Laozi said, “A drum does not conceal its sound, so it can make a sound; a mirror does not hide images, so it can reflect them.”

To hold things in the heart and cling tightly to them is ultimately unsustainable. Only with an empty and still mind can one respond naturally to all things.

Metal and stone can produce sound, but they do not ring unless struck. Pipes and flutes can produce music, but they make no sound unless played. Thus the sage keeps the capacity to respond within, without actively seeking to accommodate external things. When events arrive, the sage deals with them; when things appear, the sage responds.

The sage simply holds the capacity to respond within and does not initiate action, like metal and stone.

The Way of Heaven moves without ceasing and turns in cycles, so it endures. A wheel turns again and again, so it can travel far. The Way of Heaven proceeds without error and does not go to excess.

It always follows the natural course of things, and so its De does not decline.

Heavenly Qi descends and earthly Qi rises. Yin and Yang Qi mingle, and all things can grow together.

All things receive harmonious Qi and come into being together.

The noble person gains the opportunity to act, while the petty person’s influence wanes. This is the pattern of Heaven and Earth.

The Qi of Heaven and Earth mingle and flow freely, bringing harmony. Thus the noble person assists Heaven and Earth so that all things may flourish.

Heavenly Qi does not descend, earthly Qi does not rise, and Yin and Yang Qi do not communicate. All things are then unable to grow in abundance.

This means that things cannot multiply and grow.

The petty person gains power, and the noble person falls away.

This is a reversal of the natural order. Therefore, the noble person restrains their De to avoid misfortune.

When the five grains cannot be cultivated, people of the Way and De withdraw from view.

When something within is concealed and closed off, it cannot flourish; this is the path toward decline.

Heaven’s Dao reduces what is full and replenishes what is lacking. Earth’s Dao lowers what is high and raises what is low, bringing things ultimately into balance.

The workings of spirits and gods diminish the arrogant and self-satisfied, while benefiting those who are humble and lowly. The same principle holds in human society: people do not give things to those who already have plenty. They dislike self-satisfaction and value humility.

The sage always remains humble and takes the lower position, so no one can surpass him. By reaching a high position through humility, he leaves no one in the world able to raise him higher.

Heaven must be clear and the sun bright to shine in all directions. A worthy ruler and enlightened officials bring stability to the state. Only when these four—heaven, the sun, ruler, and officials—are clear and enlightened can the state endure.

The clarity of ruler and officials does not mean that they watch one another. It means that they are not confused about the way to govern and teach. Then their merit and virtue can match those of heaven and the sun; the world will be at peace, and the seasons will proceed in due order. If ruler and officials fail to conduct themselves properly, the state may still fall into disorder even under the bright light of heaven and the sun. People can endure only by following Heaven’s Dao.

To govern with clarity is to put teaching into practice; such teaching can transform the people.

Heaven’s Dao appears in patterns, while Earth’s Dao is expressed in order. The stars follow their patterns, and rivers, lakes, and seas each have their own order.

All things are harmonized by the One—the Dao, or unified source. The four seasons propel their growth and transformation, bringing all things to completion. This is called the Dao.

When the One Qi is harmonized, all things come into being. When the four seasons proceed in their proper order, all things grow. The Dao propels the transformation of the myriad kinds of beings; this is the Dao of vast Heaven.

The Great Dao is broad and open, yet it is not far from people. The human body, too, is one thing among all things of heaven and earth. Does it not embody the Dao as well?

When you cultivate the Dao within yourself, your virtue becomes genuine and pure. By following nature, accepting Heaven’s allotment, and remaining undisturbed by distracting thoughts, you can accord with your true nature and let virtue develop naturally.

When you cultivate the Dao through things, your virtue does not cease. In engaging with things, expand your spirit and mental powers, and follow their inherent principles and transformations. Then you can respond to the boundless variety of things, and nothing can obstruct your virtue. In this way, you accord with your true nature and let virtue develop naturally.

When the sage receives the myriad things, his mind is broad and his spirit pure. He follows the patterns of things and responds to their endless changes, so no force can obstruct his De (Virtue/Power).

Heaven covers the myriad things, extending grace and nurturing them. It gives without possessing, and so the spirits of the myriad things turn toward Heaven.

The power that nurtures the myriad things is always the De of Heaven. Yet Heaven has no particular form and is not confined to any one thing. How, then, could it take anything from outside itself? The spirit first receives a nature that is light, clear, bright, and open. Thus Heaven has a De that does not claim credit for its achievements, and this is why it occupies the highest place. The spirit can be empty, still, and open, and so it appears noble. Nobility belongs to the higher position: this is the principle by which things each follow their proper kind.

To give without possessing is the highest De; this is why it is called having De.

It achieves its work without leaving traces and occupies the highest place without claiming De for itself.

Nothing is higher than Heaven, and nothing is lower than the marsh. Heaven is high and the marsh is low. The sage follows this order of high and low, giving each its proper rank, and thereby brings peace to the world.

Here, “marsh” should be understood as the earth. The sage follows Heaven and Earth in arranging the order of rank, so that ruler and subject, father and son, each remain in their proper place. This order does not change from age to age, so it is called the “Great Stability”—the fundamental and enduring order.

The earth nourishes the myriad things and enables them to grow, yet it also bears and receives them. Thus the bones of the myriad things eventually return to the earth.

Heaven has the power to bring the myriad things to life, and the earth has the De that sustains them. But the earth occupies a particular place and is in contact with the myriad things—how, then, can it claim the credit as its own? Human bones and flesh first receive heavy, turbid Qi (vital energy), and in the end return to clods of earth. The earth’s De therefore takes the form of holding things fast, and this is why it occupies the lower position. Bones and flesh are limited by what obstructs their free passage, while the earth has the De that sustains the myriad things. Yet it occupies a particular place and is in contact with the myriad things—how, then, can it claim the credit as its own? Human bones and flesh first receive heavy, turbid Qi, and in the end return to clods of earth. The earth’s De therefore takes the form of holding things fast, and this is why it occupies the lower position. Bones and flesh are hindered and constrained, so their position is lowly. Lowliness belongs to the lower position; the principle is the same.

To give while also taking is the lower De. Although the lower De has not lost its De, it therefore cannot make its De apparent.

Even when all visible, tangible achievements have been completed, one has still not reached the state of the highest De. Thus the sage’s deep and mysterious De accords with Heaven, while the way the sage establishes De is like the earth.

The earth receives Heaven and is therefore stable and still. When the earth is stable and still, the myriad things can take form.

Here, “form” refers to the arising and taking shape of the myriad things.

The earth is vast and deep, and the myriad things can gather upon it.

Calm and still, it can bear anything; broad and substantial, it can contain anything. The earth is deep, and waters gather within it. It is vast and level, and so it endures.

In its broad expanses, great forests grow; in its evenness, deep De (virtue and power) resides.

The sage models themself on the earth. Their De is generous and broad, able to contain anything.

Occupying a low position, they draw all things to them; with a peaceful heart, they find contentment.

When Yin is held in check by Yang, all things flourish. When Yang is diminished by Yin, all things fall quiet. The original commentary explains the first condition as occurring before the solar term in the fourth lunar month, and the second as occurring before the solar term in the tenth lunar month. When all things flourish, nothing goes without nourishment; when all things are still, nothing goes without ease. At ease, all things can each find harmony.

Breath relies on the body for its arising, so all things can receive ample nourishment. They do not toil for their livelihood, and so they can be at ease. Settled in stillness, all things will regulate themselves.

When Yin harms all things, Yang withdraws. As Yin advances and Yang retreats, petty people gain power while exemplary people avoid calamity. This is how the Dao of Heaven operates.

All things have their own times for movement and stillness. To go against the seasons is sure to bring great calamity.

When Yang stirs, all things unfold and find their proper place. The sage therefore follows the patterns of Yang’s movement. Acting in accord with the seasons allows one to accomplish what one intends without going against what is right.

When one goes along with all things, they go along with oneself; when one opposes them, they in turn oppose oneself. When instruction reaches everywhere, all things will not be at odds with one another. Each thing finds its proper place, and so the sage follows the patterns of Yang’s movement. Acting in accord with the seasons allows one to accomplish what one intends without going against what is right.

When one goes along with all things, they go along with oneself; when one opposes them, they in turn oppose oneself. When instruction reaches everywhere, all things will not be at odds with one another. If they differ from me, it shows that instruction has not yet reached everywhere.

Therefore, do not go against the nature and circumstances of things. When marshes are filled with water, all things can grow in accord with their rhythms.

The “nature” of all things is the state suited to their inherent character; their “circumstances” are the seasons suited to them. When issuing orders and establishing instruction, if one does not go against what is fitting in either respect, all things can be preserved and nourished, and mature in their proper time.

When pools and marshes dry up, all things lose their nourishment, and branches and leaves can no longer grow.

Though the blossoms and branch joints of plants have already emerged, they cannot continue to grow.

Thus, when rain and moisture fail to descend, the realm under Heaven becomes barren and declines. When the mountains and rivers lose their proper courses, Yin and Yang are obstructed and the seasons fall out of order. The people then have no grain and can only flee as refugees amid famine and unrest.

Yang Qi rises upward and can also return below; in this way, it becomes the ruler of all things. Though its position is lofty, its De is expressed through humility. When it stands high, all things honor it; when it humbles itself, all things draw near. Thus it can become the ruler of all things.

It does not cling to a fixed, unchanging form, and so it can reach its end and begin again. Its movement waxes and wanes, and so it is never exhausted or cut off. It circles and returns, and therefore endures without decline; thus it can become the foundation of all under Heaven. To become that foundation, how could it do so without this kind of De?

Yang Qi can be released only after it has accumulated, and Yin Qi can bring forth transformation only after it has gathered. It is precisely because the Dao circles and returns, waxing and waning, that it is never exhausted or cut off; and precisely because it reaches its end and begins again, it endures and becomes the foundation of all under Heaven. To become that foundation, how could it do so without this kind of De? Yang Qi can be released only after it has accumulated, and Yin Qi can bring forth transformation only after it has gathered. Without accumulation, nothing can be brought forth through transformation.

If one’s own capacities are not yet complete, one cannot accomplish anything. How much more, then, must one build up a deep reserve before taking on the weighty responsibility of caring for all things? Therefore, the sage is careful about what is accumulated. Only by building up De and bringing harmony to all things is one sufficiently able to teach and transform the realm under Heaven.

When Yang prevails and Yin is in harmony, all things flourish. When Yin overcomes Yang, all things decline. Thus, when rulers and nobles uphold the way of Yang and harmony, the people prosper. This means that harmonious Qi spreads among the people. If they instead uphold the cold, destructive way of Yin, the realm under Heaven will perish; in other words, the Qi of killing and punishment will bring the state to ruin.

If Yang Qi does not descend into Yin, all things cannot grow and take shape. Yin is humble and still by nature; unless the De of Yang descends, it cannot complete the work of transformation and nurture.

If a ruler does not humble himself before his ministers, the transforming influence of De cannot be put into practice. The way of the ministers is to receive and carry out the ruler’s orders; if the ruler’s favor does not reach them, affairs cannot be accomplished. Yin is humble and still by nature; unless the De of Yang descends, it cannot complete the work of transformation and nurture. If a ruler does not humble himself before his ministers, the transforming influence of De cannot be put into practice. The way of the ministers is to receive and carry out the ruler’s orders; if the ruler’s favor does not reach them, government cannot be carried out.

Therefore, when a ruler treats his ministers with humility, his discernment becomes clear, and he gains the eyes and ears of all under Heaven—that is, he sees and hears through the people.

If a ruler does not appoint ministers to serve him, he will become ignorant and uninformed.

What a person can hear and see is limited. One cannot govern entirely by relying on one’s own ears and eyes.

When the sun rises above the earth, all things flourish and grow. A king who stands above the people should govern the world through Dao and De.

When a person of De occupies the highest position, Dao can be put into practice and the benefits of De can reach the people, just as the rising sun makes all things flourish and grow.

When the sun sinks below the horizon, all things come to rest. If petty people occupy the highest position, all things will retreat and hide themselves.

When petty people hold high office, they do not know how to govern and guide their subordinates appropriately, and people’s hearts grow divided. Is this not like all things ceasing to grow and resting after the sun sets?

When thunder rumbles, all things begin to awaken; when rain nourishes them, they are able to unfold. The great person should issue directives in the same way.

Thunder awakens the creatures lying dormant, and rain nourishes all things so that they can grow. If a ruler’s directives instead drive the people apart, is this not like all things ceasing to grow and resting after the sun sets?

When thunder rumbles, all things begin to awaken; when rain nourishes them, they are able to unfold. The great person should issue directives in the same way.

A ruler should issue directives in harmony with the times, like thunder and rain sent down by Heaven. When the directives are appropriate, the people will naturally follow them.

The movements of Yin and Yang each follow a fixed rhythm. The great person’s actions, too, should avoid extremes and excessive interference with the things of the world.

By following the Dao of Heaven and responding to the seasons, one can act without error. If one acts too forcefully upon the things of the world, one will suppress their nature and may even bring it to an end.

When thunder shakes the earth, all things unfold; when wind moves the trees, the plants sway. The great person should cast off wrongdoing and draw close to goodness.

Heaven and Earth bestow their blessings and sweep away what is impure. In the same way, the great person reforms harmful policies and puts good ones into practice.

The people do not wish to leave their homes and move elsewhere. They leave because the problems where they are have become too severe, and choose to go elsewhere because conditions there are better.

People all cherish settled lives and do not wish to move. They leave only when harsh government becomes unbearable; they seek refuge elsewhere only when its benefits rarely reach them. This does not mean that people’s nature changes easily.

Without wind, fire cannot catch; if the great person does not speak, those below will have nothing to follow.

Fire burns with the help of wind, while the people follow the teachings of those in higher positions.

For fire to catch, there must be kindling. For people’s words to be persuasive, there must be trustworthiness. When one’s words are reliable and true, whatever one undertakes can succeed.

Fire depends on kindling, and words have trustworthiness as their foundation; only then can they take effect and flourish. If one can keep teachings and laws stable over time, true and unchanged, then whatever one undertakes will go smoothly.

The river is deep because of the shape of the mountains; the hills are high, yet below them a deep ravine runs. The meaning here has already been explained above.

If Yang Qi follows constant principles, remaining sincere and unwavering, then wherever it goes, things can be brought to a successful conclusion.

The river is deep because of the shape of the mountains; the hills are high, yet below them a deep ravine runs. The meaning here has already been explained above.

When Yang Qi is abundant, it turns into Yin; when Yin Qi is abundant, it turns into Yang. Therefore, desire must not be allowed to become excessive, and pleasure must not be taken to its limit. Excess leads to collapse; reaching the limit brings reversal.

When angry, do not speak words that wound others; when enraged, do not show anger on your face. This is called knowing how to keep within bounds.

To deal with retaliation cautiously, and not provoke others or invite disaster in the first place, is the wise way to protect oneself and keep one’s circumstances secure.

Fire rises upward, and water flows downward. The Way of the sage can be put into practice by responding to things according to their shared qualities. Though the myriad things are varied and tangled, if they follow the same principles, each can find its proper place.

When the sage follows the Yang Way, all under Heaven live in harmony; when he follows the Yin Way, all under Heaven sink into disorder. The Yang Way enables the myriad things to grow and flourish, while the Yin Way brings their decline and withering. If kindness and virtue are extended widely, the people will live in peace and harmony; if the harsh punishment of Jing-Chu is used without restraint, the people will suffer as though submerged in water.

Laozi said: small accumulations can become substantial, and lowly accumulations can grow into something lofty.

Lofty conduct and profound De depend on continual cultivation and accumulation. Humiliation and great calamities, too, often arise from a growing accumulation of mistakes.

The noble person diligently strengthens himself each day, gradually bringing his bright De to completion; the petty person indulges in pleasure each day and ultimately comes to disgrace.

Diligent self-cultivation makes De grow day by day; indulging desire ultimately brings disgrace upon oneself. The difference between the two lies in what one accumulates in daily life.

The signs of such change may not yet be visible. This means that changes in the noble person’s heart may not immediately show on the surface. The principle that fortune and misfortune depend on one another—that they can transform into each other—becomes apparent only through long accumulation. If one sets one’s heart wholly on goodness and integrity, one’s path will naturally grow brighter over time.

Therefore, when you see good conduct, pursue it eagerly, as though you might not catch up; when you encounter what is not good, avoid it as you would a disaster.

If you set your heart wholly on goodness, there is no need to resent yourself for an occasional mistake.

Having set one’s heart on seeking the Dao, one will not resent external things even when they bring blame or hardship. This shows that a noble person who follows the Dao has a constant standard of conduct.

If someone has no desire to do good, external things may comply with them for a time, but eventually they will not. When external things bring about harmful results, that person resents them. Yet when people and external things meet, each is subject to its own conditions and changes; it is inherently difficult for things always to go smoothly. To demand that everything go one’s way forever is unreasonable. We can see, then, that resentment arises precisely from one’s own lack of steadfast De.

One resents others without knowing to reflect on oneself.

Resentment is something one brings upon oneself. How can one blame external things? Rather than striving to demand things from others, one should turn inward and seek them in oneself. When one has cultivated oneself successfully, one can respond well to external things. Why depend on others and bring resentment upon oneself for nothing?

A sound calls forth an answering echo; things of the same kind attract one another. One’s conduct brings about one’s reputation, and one’s position in office also follows from one’s own qualities and actions. None of these is independent of oneself.

All four of these cases have to do with one’s own actions. The saying that “a person’s position in office comes from oneself” means that the capable and the foolish each occupy positions suited to them.

If you take something sharp and use it to stab someone, or attack someone with a blade, how can you blame another person?

If you harm external things, they will bring consequences upon you. If you bring resentment upon yourself, you should reflect on your own conduct.

That is why a noble person is careful about even the smallest details: they take care with matters at the very first signs of their emergence.

All things turn their backs to Yin and face Yang. The two Qi (vital energies) of Yin-Yang mingle to form harmonious Qi. “Convergent Qi” refers to the Qi produced by the union of Yin and Yang. All things come into being through this harmonious Qi.

When Yin and Yang combine in abundance, this is called “harmony.” Although the forms of all things turn their backs to Yin and face Yang, their inner, subtle Qi is received from harmony.

Harmony dwells at the center. Thus, the fruits of trees grow at the centers of their branches and trunks, and the fruits of grasses and plants grow within their stamens. Here, “flower’s heart” also refers to the center of a plant’s flower.

Both egg-born and womb-born life are conceived at the center of the body. Although the dispositions of plants, womb-born creatures, and egg-born creatures differ, they all receive their Qi and take shape as distinct kinds through the central role of harmony.

Some lives neither lay eggs nor emerge from a womb, but come into being through spontaneous transformation. They must await the seasons of spring and autumn and arise through the interaction of damp or dry conditions. This process of generation, too, takes place with harmonious Qi.

When the terrain is level, water does not flow; when the weights at both ends of a balance beam are equal, the scale does not tilt. The growth and transformation of all things occur in response to influences.

When Yang energy is abundant, all things grow; when Yin energy is abundant, all things die. This is like the Qu River: water, checked and affected by the force of dryness, changes as a result. This too comes into being together with harmonizing energy.

When the terrain is level, water does not flow; when the weights at both ends of a balance beam are equal, the scale does not tilt. The growth and transformation of all things occur in response to influences.

When Yang energy is abundant, all things grow; when Yin energy is abundant, all things die. This is like the Qu River: as water rises and falls in response to influences, it becomes calm and level when Yin and Yang reach harmony.

Laozi said: “When mountains rise high, clouds and rain gather; when water grows deep enough, dragons thrive. When a noble person cultivates the Dao, its blessings spread.”

The Dao is lofty and profound in its realm, and by its nature allows its blessings to be passed on.

Those who practice hidden virtue—good deeds unknown to others—will receive visible rewards. Those who act in secret, without seeking others’ notice, will surely leave behind a celebrated name.

Hidden virtue is genuine virtue only when it is free of schemes for reward; secret conduct is true conduct only when it seeks neither fame nor profit. When one is sincere and steadfast, one cannot keep the reward from becoming visible or the name from becoming celebrated, even if one wishes to.

Those who sow millet will not harvest panicled millet; those who sow resentment will not receive virtue in return.

Sow millet, and millet is what you harvest. Sow resentment, and resentment is what you receive.

End of Scroll Six of the Tongxuan Zhenjing.

Tongxuan Zhenjing, Scroll Seven

Tongxuan Zhenjing, Scroll Seven

Commentary by Zhu Bianzhengyi, a court gentleman for promulgation of righteousness of the Song dynasty, acting registrar of the Court of Judicial Review and magistrate of Jinyun County in Kuozhou.

Chapter on the Subtle and the Manifest

When the Dao operates beyond the forms of things, it is called “subtle.” When De is concealed yet appropriately expressed within things, it is called “manifest.” From this we can understand that without the subtle, one cannot investigate the true foundation; without the manifest, one cannot grasp the mysterious purpose. The meaning of “the subtle and the manifest” is embodied both in the fundamental nature of things and in their function.

Laozi said: “The Dao can be yielding or strong, gentle or firm, Yin or Yang, hidden or apparent. It can encompass Heaven and Earth and respond to every unpredictable circumstance.”

The meaning of this passage is the same as that of “The Treatise on the Origin of the Dao.”

If one’s understanding of the Dao remains superficial, one sees Yin and Yang as separate, and treats darkness and brightness, Heaven and Earth and the myriad things, different directions and circumstances as distinct from one another. Those who truly understand the Dao can embrace Heaven and Earth and respond to every kind of situation.

The meaning of this passage is the same as that of “The Treatise on the Origin of the Dao.”

Understanding what is apparent does not necessarily mean understanding what is deep; knowing what is external does not necessarily mean knowing what is within; grasping general principles does not necessarily mean understanding what is subtle. Only by knowing this can one recognize what one does not know. Recognizing what one does not know is the beginning of true understanding. Who can grasp that what is called “knowing” is sometimes precisely not knowing, while admitting that one does not know may itself be a kind of knowing?

The Dao cannot be heard with the ears; if what one hears is taken to be the Dao, it is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen with the eyes; if what one sees is taken to be the Dao, it is not the Dao. The Dao cannot be fully expressed in words; if what is said is taken to be the Dao, it is not the Dao. Who can recognize a presence that seems to have form yet is in fact formless? Thus, when everyone under Heaven agrees that goodness is good, what is not good appears alongside it. Those who truly understand do not boast; those who love to boast do not truly understand.

The Dao transcends form and sound; it cannot be discerned by hearing or sight. De, too, is not outward adornment: how could it be explained simply by distinguishing good from evil? Thus those who truly understand do not boast, while those who love to boast do not truly understand. This principle has been stated to its furthest extent.

Wenzi asked, “Can people discuss subtle principles with one another?” Laozi replied, “Why not? But what does it mean to understand words? Those who truly understand words do not take words themselves to be capable of exhausting the principles.”

“Subtle words” means the most refined discourse. Only by not clinging to words can one truly discuss principles.

Those who compete to catch fish get wet; those who chase wild animals run themselves ragged. They do not do these things for the pleasure of getting wet or running. In the same way, the highest discourse does not cling to words, and the finest action does not cling to action. People with shallow understanding compete only over trivial details. Discourse has its root, and affairs have their governing principle. If one regards oneself as ignorant, one will not be in haste to speak; only by forgetting one’s attachment to words can one discuss principles.

Those who compete to catch fish get wet; those who chase wild animals run themselves ragged. They do not do these things for the pleasure of getting wet or running. In the same way, the highest discourse does not cling to words, and the finest action does not cling to action. People with shallow understanding compete only over trivial details. Discourse has its root, and affairs have their governing principle. Only by truly not assuming that one knows everything can one avoid clinging to the desire to be known by others.

The Dao is the nameless, subtle source; words are a means of expressing fundamental principles. Those who are attuned to the subtle Dao do not cling to speech; those who understand what is fundamental do not contend for superiority. When speech reaches its limit, one no longer clings to speech; when action reaches its limit, one no longer clings to action. Knowledge, too, is simply knowing things as they arise naturally. To insist, “I know,” is to lose sight of this meaning.

Wenzi asked, “Are there principles for governing a state?” Laozi replied, “For example, those pulling a cart call out at the front, ‘Xie,’ ‘Hu’…” Here, “Hu” is pronounced “hu.”

Later, people would join in the song. It was a work song that urged everyone to pull hard. Even the music of Zheng, Wei, Hu, and Chu could not match the truth expressed in this song. Governing a state requires rites and laws, but it does not depend on ornate words. The more elaborate the laws and decrees, the more thieves there are.

The methods used should suit practical needs, each focusing on what matters. When urging people on as they pull a cart, one should not play “Xianchi,” the legendary ancient court music, to accompany them. To govern a state and bring peace to its people, one should value simplicity. Why fuss over elaborate, ornate language?

Laozi said: The Dao (the fundamental pattern of all things) has no fixed form, yet it can serve as the standard for all things. For example, forests produce timber, but timber is not as great as the forest; the forest is not as great as clouds and rain; clouds and rain are not as great as Yin-Yang; Yin-Yang is not as great as harmonious Qi; and harmonious Qi is not as great as the Dao. The Dao is what is called “the form of the formless, the image of what has no concrete thing.” Its meaning is difficult to express fully, yet it nourishes, brings forth, and transforms all things between Heaven and Earth.

The Dao has no fixed standard; standards arise from the Dao, just as a forest is not itself timber, though timber comes from the forest. Things from clouds and rain downward are all inferior to the Dao because the Dao has no fixed form or image, and so can contain all things and govern every realm. Only those who observe and follow the Dao can understand that change has no end.

Laozi said: When sages establish teachings and issue decrees, they must examine how matters unfold from beginning to end and discern the consequences they ultimately produce.

Here, “consequences” refers to making laws and establishing teachings.

Thus, when the people learn to use written characters, their simple De (Virtue/Power) declines; when they learn to count, their kindheartedness declines; when contracts and written proof are introduced, trust declines; and when mechanical devices appear, simplicity and genuineness decline.

All these things emerged gradually only after the Great Dao had arisen, as people devised institutions to meet the needs of their times. The stricter the institutions become, the stronger the impulse to defy them. This shows that only when genuineness and trust have declined do people set up mechanical safeguards; and the more such safeguards there are, the more fraud and transgression increase.

The se (an ancient stringed instrument) does not produce sound by itself, yet its twenty-five strings each respond in their own way. The axle of a cart does not turn on its own, yet its thirty spokes each exert their force to turn the wheel. The strings…

The se itself makes no sound, yet its twenty-five strings each answer in turn to produce music. The axle itself does not rotate, yet its thirty spokes each turn through their own force. The strings must be both slack and taut to create a melody; a vehicle must alternate between exertion and rest to travel far. Because the parts that make sound each sound on their own, the se itself need not make a sound; because the parts that turn each rotate on their own, the axle need not turn of itself.

The se has no sound; the strings produce it. The axle does not turn; the wheel turns. What makes no sound can bring sound into being, and what does not turn can make the wheel turn. Thus, the silent se can produce music, and the motionless axle can carry a vehicle far.

There is a proper way for both those above and those below. When the principles governing their relationship are thrown into disorder, political affairs easily fall into chaos. Those in high positions, whose way of action has great reach, should be the first to follow the right path. To undertake great matters while following only a narrow way invites danger.

A hat cannot be trampled underfoot, nor should a minister rise above the ruler. Once the relationship between those above and below is reversed and thrown into confusion, the state will soon perish.

Minor virtues may obstruct great justice; small acts of goodness may obstruct the Great Way. Petty disputes may impede good governance, while harsh and fussy practices damage De.

If you take pride in having bestowed small favors, you may obscure the Great Way. Indulging a passing resentment damages the highest virtue.

When the great policies of state impose no obstacles, the people are easy to guide. When the highest virtue is broad and composed, those below will not do evil. True loyalty brings people back to simplicity, so the people do not deceive or conceal the truth.

When those above are fair and upright, there will be no sinister or crooked people below. When those above are clear-minded and unpretentious, those below will not resort to artifice and deceit.

Laozi said, “Once collective punishment—where one person’s crime brings punishment upon others—is established, the people will grow resentful. Once the order to reduce ranks and titles is put into effect, meritorious officials will turn against the ruler.”

In lawsuits, people may implicate one another, causing the innocent to suffer as well. When ranks and titles are reduced, those below lose their upright, simple nature and cease to be content with their place.

Laozi said, “Once collective punishment is established, the people will grow resentful. Once the order to reduce ranks and titles is put into effect, meritorious officials will turn against the ruler.”

In lawsuits, people may implicate one another, and the innocent will also suffer resentment and harm. When ranks and titles are reduced or stripped away, those who have rendered meritorious service will become discontented and may even begin to contemplate rebellion.

Therefore, those who know only how to examine documents and laws do not understand the roots of order and disorder. Those familiar only with marching and battle formations likewise do not understand the key to planning war at court.

Governing the state and restoring order amid turmoil require the ruler to guide through teaching that is effortless and follows nature. This is beyond the understanding of officials who know only how to impose harsh punishments and enforce rules. Planning war and deciding victory or defeat depend on judgment and strategy in the mind; ordinary soldiers cannot grasp these essentials.

The sage can foresee good fortune within the most heavily guarded passes and consider impending disaster in places still shrouded in darkness.

“Within the weighty barrier, beyond the dim and obscure” refers to a state that transcends the entanglement of fortune and misfortune and leaves behind the turmoil of thought. Who but a sage could attain such far-reaching insight?

The foolish are misled by small gains before their eyes and forget the greater harm that may follow. Some things seem beneficial in the moment but prove harmful in the long run. In gaining an advantage on one side, they forget what they may lose on the other.

To see only what is near and forget the larger picture, to seek gain while ignoring the harm that may lie ahead—this is a profound confusion and inversion of judgment. How could such a person manage affairs well?

The greatest benevolence lies in caring for others; the greatest wisdom lies in understanding them. One who cares for others will not incur resentment or punishment; one who understands them will keep governance from falling into disorder. Some things are beneficial in the moment yet harmful in the long run. In gaining an advantage here, one forgets the loss elsewhere. To see only small gains and forget great harms is precisely this confusion and inversion of judgment.