《通玄真经缵义(杜道坚)》Vol. 1

The Extended Commentary on the True Classic of Penetrating the Mysteries is a commentary on the Wenzi compiled by Du Daojian during the Yuan dynasty. It was probably completed in 1310, the third year of the Zhida era under Emperor Wuzong of Yuan. The original work is included in the Jade Instructions category of the Dongshen section of the Zhengtong Daoist Canon. For collation, reference was also made to the Guangxu third-year (1877) reprint of the Ming dynasty Wuying Palace movable-type edition, included in Twenty-Two Masters.

The work is divided into twelve volumes, with chapters in this order: “Origins of the Dao,” “Sincerity and Integrity,” “Nine Ways of Guarding,” “Talismanic Words,” “Dao and De,” “Superior De,” “Subtle Illumination,” “Nature,” “Inferior De,” “Superior Benevolence,” “Superior Righteousness,” and “Superior Rites.” At the end is a separate section, “Pronunciation Notes to the Extended Commentary on the True Classic of Penetrating the Mysteries,” which explains the pronunciation of characters.

Wenzi, surnamed Xin and given the name Xing, was also known as Jiran. He was from Puyang in Kuiqiu and once studied under Laozi.

King Ping of Chu asked him, “I have heard that you received the Dao from Lao Dan. Could you explain it to me?” Wenzi replied, “Dao and De can set right what is crooked and disorderly, bringing the world from chaos to order. When steadfast, simple virtue flourishes again, the world becomes peaceful. The key lies with the ruler alone. Thus, cultivating De can establish a kingly enterprise, while accumulating resentment and anger brings ruin. This is why Yao and Shun prospered, and Jie and Zhou met disaster.” King Ping of Chu said, “I respectfully accept your teaching.”

Later, Wenzi traveled south to Wu and Yue, where Fan Li became his student. When Yue planned to attack Wu, Fan Li urged the king to reconsider: “I have heard my teacher say that weapons are inauspicious, and warfare goes against De. Conflict is the lowest way to deal with a matter. To secretly plan what violates De, delight in using instruments of violence, and commit oneself to such a low course is unwise.” Goujian did not listen and was defeated at Fujiao. Later, Wenzi was appointed Senior Grandee, but declined the position and lived in seclusion on Mount Yu in Yuying, Wuxing. Tradition says that he ascended to heaven there, riding on clouds.

According to the Huanyu Ji and the Wuxing Gazetteer, Jichou Mountain lies thirty li southeast of Yuying. Jiran, a grandee of Yue, once climbed the mountain to plan and survey the terrain, which is how it got its name. Today, Tongxuan Abbey at the White Stone Peak on the mountain’s southern side is the place where he once lived in seclusion. Ziyun Pass’s Shengyuan Abbey on the mountainside was formerly known as Changqing Abbey; during the Qiandao era of the Song dynasty, it was granted its present name. A site on the mountainside is called “Stone of Ascending to the Clouds.”

Wenzi wrote the twelve chapters of the Wenzi. In the Tang dynasty, he was posthumously honored as the Perfected One of Pervading Mystery, and his book consequently became known as the Tongxuan Zhenjing.

Preface to the Collected Commentary on the Tongxuan Zhenjing

The Wenzi carries forward the teachings of the Daodejing. Laozi based his writings on the Yijing, and Wenzi followed Laozi’s example in presenting his arguments, explaining how emperors, feudal lords, and hegemonic rulers should govern the realm. Anyone who wishes to rule should become a ruler like Fuxi or Xuanyuan; anyone who wishes to govern the people should enable them to live with the simple ease of the people in the times of the Great Court and Ge Tian. Wenzi’s concern for the state of the world was profound. Later generations, however, did not investigate his teachings deeply, and some even disparaged and criticized one another.

Now the Daoist master Du from South Valley (Du Daojian) has explored the profound depths of the Yijing and Laozi’s thought, brought together Confucian and Daoist teachings, and long made writing books and establishing ideas his purpose. Among his published works are several volumes of The Original Meaning of the Daodejing. He first lived at Jichou Mountain in Wuxing, where he taught profound principles and sought out ancient sites. There he found the remains of Wenzi’s former residence and established the White Stone Abbey of Penetrating the Mystery. Later, he also obtained the complete text of the Wenzi. He then organized its chapters, divided the sentences, compiled its principles, and added explanations, so that students could directly understand the Dao presented in the book.

I once said that, after Heaven and Earth were first formed, the movement of the Heavenly Way proceeded from north to south. Our dynasty arose in the north, at a time when the northern qi was flourishing. As this qi shifts, the realm will be united, and the simple customs of the ancient, primal age will return. Now Du, the Daoist master from South Valley, writes in response to the times, bringing the way of governance of our sacred dynasty to light and seeking to let the people live in a peaceful realm like that of the Lady of Huaxu. Though dwelling in the mountains and forests, he still cherishes the wish to assist the ruler and benefit the people. This is truly worthy of respect. I am glad that our Daoist tradition has such a talent, and so I write these opening words of the preface.

On the first day of the sixth month of the third year of Zhida, respectfully inscribed by Hao Quanjie, Successor Master of the Mystery Teaching.

In ancient times, scholars who governed states and assisted rulers often sought out recluses who lived beyond the world and took them as teachers. Through discussion and diligent study, they received their teachers’ teachings and fully grasped their principles. Only then could they achieve great deeds and win renown.

Fan Li, the senior general of Yue, studied under Jiran. When the Zhou dynasty was in decline, Jiran had personally encountered a sage. He possessed profound learning but kept it hidden. He had closely examined the principles of Heaven’s Way, human affairs, the rise and fall of strength and weakness, and the natural changes of all things. He set down his findings in twelve works. Fan Li applied Jiran’s strategies to help Yue defeat Wu and become hegemon among the feudal lords. Later, he also drew on this learning to safeguard himself and build his household’s fortune. Three times he amassed wealth, and three times he gave it all away, yet he always maintained a good name. Looking at Fan Li’s life, we can believe that he truly followed his teacher’s principles. In his repeated counsel to King Goujian of Yue, too, he voiced the insights his teacher had passed on to him. Jiran’s book was included among the works of the Daoist masters.

Liu Zongyuan removed the book’s redundant and inconsistent material, selected its essentials, and compiled a new work of his own. He did much to illuminate Jiran’s thought, but unfortunately his work did not survive. Relying on maps and records, Master Nanggu located the mountain where Jiran had once lived. Its peaks rose high above the broad waters of Lake Tai, known in ancient times as “Jüqu.” There Master Nanggu built a dwelling and erected a statue. He also wrote a commentary on the Wenzi, drawing together and integrating its principles, simplifying what was cumbersome, and explaining the deeper meaning of the Way of kings and the methods of kingship and hegemony. His works, A Commentary on the True Scripture of Pervading Mystery and The Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic, have both been handed down.

Master Nanggu was a man of the Way. Upright, diligent, frugal, and unassuming, he did not contend with others, yet knew how to prevail. He deeply understood the spirit of Laozi, who once served as Keeper of the Archives of the Zhou court and was later revered as a founding master of Daoism. His teachings and achievements have been recorded by scholar-officials and ordinary scholars alike, and preserved in stone inscriptions and printed books.

When the Grand Historian Sima Qian wrote about Fan Li, the Lord of Tao Zhu, he said that Fan had devoted himself wholeheartedly to making plans for Yue. He also wrote that, through hard work, Fan accumulated a fortune worth tens of millions, and he recounted these events more than once. Master Nanggu’s circumstances differed from Fan Li’s, but their achievements had something in common: he enjoyed great renown, yet not wealth and rank. Surely what he learned from Jiran’s book went far beyond a superficial grasp of its words and sentences. A thousand years apart, the two men’s thoughts and deeds nevertheless came into such close accord.

It is regrettable that many high-ranking officials knew of Master Nanggu, and many went to seek his advice, yet they did not fully adopt his proposals. They did not use his strategies to govern the state as people of antiquity had done. Was this because their faith in the Way was not firm enough? Or had those in high office, enjoying the rewards of rank, forgotten the state of the world, while recluses in the mountains and forests had not forgotten all under Heaven? If this was not so, why did they revere Laozi’s Way?

For this reason, I have placed at the beginning of this work an account of the teacher-student lineage between Fan Li and Jiran, so that readers in generations to come may reflect on it deeply.

Written in midsummer of the Gengxu year by Huang Shiweng, a Daoist of Mount Lu residing at Nanzhen Abbey.

In ancient times, the most enlightened way to rule the realm was to follow the Great Dao and govern through Wuwei (non-action); taking deliberate action came second. Thus, a sovereign transformed the people through the Great Dao, an emperor taught them through De (Virtue), a king encouraged them through meritorious achievements, and a hegemon led them by force. These four modes of rule, like the changing seasons, each have their time. The Dao of Heaven follows its own patterns, which human power cannot forcibly alter. A ruler may sometimes need to take action, but cannot remain forever in a state of action. Winter gives way to spring, and the seasons turn, yet the cycle of the year continues without end. Though hegemonic rule may change, the sovereign’s way can still endure in the governance of a ruler. Wen Zi set down these principles to bring the meaning of the sovereign’s way to light.

Wen Zi was a member of the Gongsun clan of Jin. His surname was Xin, his given name was Xing, and his courtesy name was Jiran; “Wen Zi” was his title. His family lived near Kuiqiu on the Sui River, a place then within the territory of Song, so he was also known as Song Xing. He studied under Laozi and heard of the Great Dao at an early age. He wrote the twelve chapters of the Wen Zi, taking Laozi’s teachings as their foundation. The work discusses comprehensively the ways of Heaven and humanity, and how to respond appropriately to changing times. Gathering the principles of earlier generations into a single book, it is indeed an important classic for governing worldly affairs.

King Ping of Chu once invited Wen Zi and sought his instruction. Fan Li studied under him, and King Goujian of Yue appointed him as a grandee. Wen Zi assisted Yue in defeating Wu. After their success, he claimed no credit, withdrew to the Fengyu area, and later ascended through the clouds and became an immortal. Jichou Mountain in Wuxing was where he once lived.

During the reign of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, Xu Lingfu, who had been summoned but had not taken office, lived in seclusion on Mount Hengshan to pursue his cultivation. He presented the Wen Zi to the court, and Wen Zi was consequently honored with the title “Perfected Person Who Penetrates the Mystery.” The book also came to be known as the Tongxuan Zhenjing, the True Scripture of Penetrating the Mystery. Jichou Mountain in Wuxing was where Wen Zi once lived.

I was born in Jiangzuo, east of the lower Yangtze, and in my later years settled in Wu. I sought out the traces Wen Zi had left behind and built the White Stone Temple of Penetrating the Mystery. Later, I obtained an old edition of the Wen Zi. In my spare time, I divided it into chapters and wrote annotations, bringing out its profound ideas. As for the distinctions between transforming, teaching, encouraging, and leading the people, and between the Dao, De, achievement, and force, I hope the great worthies of the world will further clarify them.

Respectfully prefaced by Du Daojian, the later student known as Nanguzi of Dangtu.

Two. Tongxuan Zhenjing Zuanyi, Volume One.

An Explication of the Meaning of the True Scripture of Penetrating Mystery, Volume One, compiled by Du Daojian of Nanguzi.

The chapters of the Wenzi often begin with the words “Laozi said” to show respect for the teacher. People of that time recorded and studied Laozi’s words, and so did not dare place their own names at the front of the book. The Wenzi comprises twelve chapters and 188 sections. Du Daojian humbly considered his learning shallow. He reorganized the sections according to their meaning, added eighty-one sections, and stated the central idea of each one. He titled the work An Explication of the Meaning to make it easier for readers.

The Origin of the Dao

Laozi said: There is something formed as a single whole, born before Heaven and Earth. It has an image but no concrete form; it is profound and obscure, still and quiet, and makes no sound. I can only give it a name, so I call it the Dao (the Way).

The Dao is so high and distant that it has no end, and so deep that it cannot be measured. It contains Heaven and Earth, yet has no fixed form of its own. Its source and course are vast and far-reaching; though empty, it never runs dry. When it is turbid, simply let it settle, and it will gradually become clear. Its workings are inexhaustible, without distinction between day and night. Even when it appears, it cannot fill a single hand; though it seems to draw inward, it can extend outward. What is obscure can become clear, and what is weak can become strong. The Dao gathers Yin and releases Yang, bringing the sun, moon, and stars to shine.

Mountains rise through the Dao, and abysses grow deep and broad through it. Beasts run, birds soar, fish swim, and phoenixes fly by its power. The stars move and the calendar advances in accordance with the Dao. It can preserve what seems to be vanishing, raise what is low to an honored place, and bring those who yield to the front.

All things begin and grow through the Dao borne by Heaven. Since even the name “Dao” is only a provisional name, what name could be given to it without being provisional?

Thus, that which brings forth Heaven and Earth and gives growth to the myriad things, enables being and nonbeing to transform into one another, and whose mysteries cannot be fathomed, is the Dao. One who can bring peace to the realm and comfort the people, and who never strays from the right course amid advance and retreat, preservation and extinction, is a sage. Only one who truly understands the Dao can turn extinction into preservation, lowliness into honor, and bring those who yield to take the lead.

The ancient Three Sovereigns, legendary sages of remote antiquity, grasped the essentials of the Dao. They dwelt at the center of the world, while their spirits moved in harmony with the transformations of Heaven and Earth, bringing peace to the four directions. Thus Heaven and Earth revolved without pause, waters flowed without ceasing, and all things continually passed through growth and decline. Winds rose and clouds gathered; thunder rolled and rain fell. Transformations of every kind continued without end.

Once shaped and refined, all things return to simplicity. Acting through Wuwei (non-action), one can accord with the changes of life and death; speaking through Wuwei, one can understand the Dao and De (Virtue/Power). With a calm and joyful heart, free of self-praise, one can attain harmony. Though all things differ, each has a fitting place to live. Harmonize Yin-Yang, follow the four seasons, and regulate the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), so that plants and trees are nourished and lakes and marshes are filled without limit. Once shaped and refined, all things return to simplicity. Acting through Wuwei, one can accord with the changes of life and death; speaking through Wuwei, one can understand the Dao and De. With a calm and joyful heart, free of self-praise, one can attain harmony. Though all things differ, each has a fitting place to live. Harmonize Yin-Yang, follow the four seasons, and regulate the Five Phases, so that plants and trees are nourished and metals and stones are moistened. Birds and beasts grow strong, their coats glossy; eggs do not spoil, and young animals are not lost before birth. Fathers need not fear losing their sons, and elder brothers need not mourn their younger brothers. Children are not left destitute, and women are not widowed. Rainbows do not appear, and thieves do not cause disorder. These are the results of holding De within.

The rulers of high antiquity took the Way of Heaven as the foundation of governance and accorded with the transformations of Heaven and Earth. Thus their Dao was pure and their De complete; the people lived in peace, all things flourished, and each followed its own nature as it grew. When the Dao is not opposed, all things remain unharmed.

The Dao of Great Constancy, the ever abiding Great Way, gives life to and nurtures all things without claiming them as its own. It brings about their transformations without ruling over them. All things depend on it to live, yet do not know to be grateful for its grace; they depend on it in death, yet none can resent it. It stores and accumulates, but does not thereby grow richer; it gives, receives, and takes, but does not thereby grow poorer. It is elusive and indeterminate, impossible to portray in a concrete form; though it seems elusive, its workings never run out. It is deep and obscure, able to respond to change without any fixed shape. It is open and fluid, never acting rashly. It extends and contracts with the changes of firmness and softness, and rises and falls in response to the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang.

It enables the myriad things to grow without claiming to have brought them into being; it brings about their transformations without claiming to have changed them. This is the eternal Great Dao. The sage takes it as a model in governing the realm and caring for the people, as parents care for their children. When instruction can be put into practice and governance accords with the Dao, the age is one in which De flourishes.

Laozi says: A man of great De is tranquil in mind, free of distracting thoughts, calm and without worry. He takes Heaven as his canopy, Earth as his carriage, the four seasons as his horses, and Yin-Yang as his driver. As he travels, it is as though there were no road to follow; as he roams, he never tires, and he enters and leaves without being constrained by gates. With Heaven as his canopy, there is nothing he cannot cover; with Earth as his carriage, there is nothing he cannot bear; with the four seasons as his horses, there is nothing he cannot set in motion; with Yin-Yang as his driver, there is nothing he cannot guide. Thus he moves swiftly without being shaken, travels far without growing weary, and, though his limbs remain still and his intelligence undiminished, he can see through all under Heaven. This is because he has grasped the essentials of the Great Dao and can survey realms without end.

Therefore, affairs under Heaven cannot be forced into being; one should guide them in keeping with their natural tendencies. The transformations of the myriad things cannot all be investigated one by one; one should grasp their essentials and let each return to its proper course. For this reason, the sage gives priority to cultivating the root and does not embellish superficial details. He hones his spirit and restrains cleverness and subjective preconceptions. Outwardly still and inactive, he leaves nothing undone; without deliberately governing, he leaves nothing poorly governed. “Wuwei” means not acting forcefully ahead of events. “Non-governance” means not altering things’ natural state. “Nothing left ungoverned” means helping things fulfill themselves in accordance with what they are.

The Great Dao resides within me, bringing me into accord with the Way of Heaven. A state has ministers who assist its ruler, just as Heaven has the four seasons in their course. A man of great De takes office to assist a wise ruler, overseeing the people’s livelihood and fate, observing the seasons, discerning the principles of things, following the natural Way, and putting Wuwei instruction into practice. Then his own cultivation is complete, and there will be no affairs of government left poorly managed.

Laozi said: One who grasps the Dao (the Way) in governing the people responds to events according to their circumstances. When things change, one acts in accordance with the course they take. In this way, every change among the myriad things receives a fitting response, and all the shifts in human affairs are brought into harmony.

The Dao is characterized by five qualities: emptiness, simplicity, quietude, softness, and purity. These describe what the Dao is like. Emptiness is the realm in which the Dao resides; simplicity is its original, unadorned state; quietude is the clear mirror through which it observes the myriad things; softness is the way it acts. Returning is the Dao’s constant course: the soft can overcome the hard, and the weak can overcome the strong. Purity and simplicity are the Dao’s foundation.

The Great Dao has no fixed form, and peace under Heaven has no visible image; this is why it is called “empty.” Simplicity, quietude, softness, purity, and plainness all describe the Dao. These so-called “images” do not mean that it truly has any fixed shape or appearance. Only by not clinging to these descriptions, and by going on to grasp the workings of the mysterious and empty Wuwei (non-action), can one speak of the way to govern the people.

“Empty” means that the heart holds no private desires; “even” means that it is free of worry. Having no cravings or desires is emptiness brought to its utmost; having no preferences or aversions is evenness brought to its utmost; remaining single-minded and unchanging is stillness brought to its utmost; remaining unmixed with external things is purity brought to its utmost; feeling neither sorrow nor joy is De (Virtue/Power) brought to its utmost.

The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental state before the myriad things of the universe have differentiated, is empty and unobstructed, and the spirit dwells alongside it. If a person can make the heart-mind empty and still, the Dao will naturally settle there. Once private desires enter the heart, they block its original nature; once preferences and aversions arise, the spirit departs. When the spirit departs, the Dao is lost—how, then, can the body avoid perishing? Only those whose De has reached its utmost remain unmixed with external things, single-minded and unchanging, with an empty and still heart-mind and a calm breath. How could such people still be moved by sorrow or joy?

The Perfected Person governs the world by setting aside displays of cleverness and talent and by not giving priority to ornate writing. Following the Great Dao without relying on schemes and cunning, they act from a public-spirited concern shared with the people. They restrain what they hold fast to and reduce what they pursue; they abandon things that stir up covetousness, remove cravings and desires, and lessen their thoughts. By holding fast to little, they see more clearly; by seeking little, they are more readily content. Thus, inner cultivation disciplines outward conduct, and all affairs can still be handled well. With inner certainty, one can govern external matters. When the heart-mind is settled, the five organs—the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys in traditional Chinese medicine—are at peace; thoughts grow calm, sinews and bones grow strong, and hearing and sight become clear.

The Great Dao is broad and level, never far from people. If you seek it in distant places, you will reach the end of your journey only to return to yourself.

Ornament obscures what is essential, and extensive, miscellaneous learning unsettles the heart-mind. The more weight one gives to the external, the less one gives to the inner. Thus, the great person rests in what is genuine and essential and does not dwell on superficial splendor. The Perfected Person has no secret for governing the world: they are simply respectful and still, follow things as they are, and do not interfere recklessly. Turn inward to seek the Great Dao—how could it be far away?

Laozi said: The sage does not set their heart on governing others, but on governing themselves; they do not prize power and status, but value contentment with themselves. If they can be content, the world can accept them. The sage takes joy not in wealth and honor, but in harmony. They prize their own De and cultivation, and do not place the world above all else; in this way, they draw near to the Dao. Hence the saying: “Make the heart-mind utterly empty and hold fast to stillness in its depths. As all things grow and transform together, I observe how they return to their root.”

Though the sage seeks no fame, they have not forgotten their accomplishments. Though the spirit-like person seeks no achievement, they have not forgotten themselves. The Perfected Person is “without self” not because they lack a body of their own, but because they value the larger whole and do not place all things under heaven above themselves. Action still depends on something; therefore, the sage’s most precious treasure is called “position”—the station that makes it possible to shoulder the responsibility of governance.

The Dao molds and nurtures all things, runs through beginning and end, and yet has no fixed form. Silent and still, it is also vast and pervasive, merging with the undifferentiated. It is so deep and immense that no outer boundary can be set; it is so minute that even its inner boundary cannot be marked. It has no definite spatial limits, yet it is the ultimate source of such concepts as “being” and “nonbeing.” The True Person, one who embodies and follows the Dao, takes emptiness, simplicity, stillness, softness, purity, and plainness as their foundation. Unmixed with external things, they fully experience the Way of Heaven and Earth; hence they are called a True Person.

The Dao has no fixed form, and so it can bring forth and nurture the myriad things. It has no fixed name, and so it can encompass all that exists. The True Person—one who has realized and put the Great Dao into practice—unites with the Dao. With a mind that is empty, still, and pure, and remaining simple and unadorned, free from the confusion of external things, the True Person ultimately comprehends the Way of Heaven and Earth. Hence the name True Person.

The Dao has no form, and so it can bring forth and nurture the myriad things. It has no name, and so it can encompass all that exists. Uniting with the Dao, the True Person empties the mind and stills the spirit, and can thus comprehend the Way of Heaven and Earth.

The True Person places great importance on self-cultivation and little on the affairs of the world. They value cultivating themselves and do not prize governing others. They do not let external things disturb the peace within, nor let desires disrupt their nature and temperament. They conceal their name: when the age is clear and the Dao can be followed, they withdraw; when the age is disordered and the Dao cannot be followed, they come forth to respond to the world. They follow nature and do not act recklessly or become attached to affairs. When they do not know something, they do not pretend to know.

The True Person holds the Great Dao in their heart and embraces the heart of the Way of Heaven. They breathe in the Qi of Yin-Yang, exhaling turbid Qi and inhaling clear Qi. They gather in with Yin and unfold with Yang, contracting and expanding as firmness and yielding change, in accord with the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang. Their mind accords with Heaven, and their body responds to the Dao. They are not attached to joy, sorrow, delight, or anger, and do not rigidly distinguish right from wrong when regarding the myriad things.

When a person’s body is harmed by cold, heat, dampness, dryness, and the like, the body declines and the spirit becomes obstructed. When the spirit is harmed by joy, anger, and excessive thought, it is depleted, leaving only the body. The True Person therefore cultivates their nature with a clear and still mind, allowing spirit and body to support one another so that life can reach a good beginning and end. Thus, they dream not when asleep and have no worries when awake.

To be outwardly accommodating and flexible is the way of dealing with people and affairs; to be inwardly upright and steadfast is the principle of following the Way of Heaven. When one is inwardly upright yet accommodating in dealing with others, the Way of Heaven and human affairs can accord with one another, and nothing cannot be accomplished. The True Person therefore conceals their name: when the world has the Dao, they withdraw and do not take others’ credit; when the world lacks the Dao, they come forth to remedy its ills. Because they can share the heart of Heaven and unite with the Dao, they can return to their original nature and rely on their spirit, allowing body and mind to support one another and carry life through from beginning to end.

Confucius asked someone about the Dao.

Laozi said, “Make your body upright and focus your gaze, and the harmony endowed by Heaven will arrive. Gather in your senses and set your measure straight, and spirit will come to dwell within you. De will become your bearing, and the Dao your abode. Your eyes will be clear, like those of a newborn calf, without asking after the past. Your body will be like withered wood, your heart like dead ashes. Truly understand how things are, yet do not distort them; then you can remain composed and keep your mind spacious, free of scheming. Can you understand clearly how things are in every direction, yet refrain from acting recklessly through cleverness?”

The Dao has both its essence and its function, but the sage has no divided mind. The mysterious sage truly understands how things are, yet does not distort them; thus the sage can remain composed and keep the mind spacious, free of scheming. Can one understand clearly how things are in every direction, yet refrain from acting recklessly through cleverness?

The Mysterious Sage and the “Uncrowned King”—one who has the virtue of a sage king but holds no royal position—differ in how they embody and put the Dao to work, but their underlying principle is the same. Could Confucius, a sage by natural endowment, have failed to understand the Dao? Yet he still sought instruction from Laozi. Surely he gained some further insight beyond words; hence the saying that “Confucius described Laozi as a dragon.”

Laozi said, “Actions that arise in response to events must adjust as things change. Change arises from the times and circumstances, and those who understand them do not cling to fixed ways of acting. Thus, a Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao; a name that can be clearly defined is not a constant name. Books record words, and words arise from wisdom. But if one relies on cleverness alone to understand, one cannot grasp the constant Dao. What can be named cannot be fully contained in books. Too much talk often reaches an impasse; better to hold fast to inner balance. Set aside rigid learning, and there will be no troubles. Cast off claims to sagacity and cleverness, and the people will benefit more.”

Books record words, and words carry principles. People value books because they value the Dao conveyed in them. Thus, those who understand the times adjust their actions as circumstances change; those who understand books also know that words arise from wisdom, and that cleverness alone cannot grasp the constant Dao. Only by not clinging to books or being constrained by particular affairs, and by setting aside rigid learning and cleverness, can one speak of adapting to circumstances with expedient action.

People are born in stillness; this is their innate nature. They become active when stirred by external things; this is the desire of their nature. When external things appear before them, people respond; this is the activity of cognition. When cognition meets external things, likes and dislikes arise. These likes and dislikes take shape through contact and habituation. Only by setting aside cleverness can one speak of responding to change with expedient action.

At birth, people are naturally quiet; this is their innate nature. When they are stirred by external things and act, desire arises within that nature. When something external comes before them and they respond, this is the activity of the mind. When mind and external things meet, likes and dislikes arise; once these likes and dislikes become fixed, the mind rushes outward. If people cannot turn back and reflect on themselves, the natural order they were born with disappears.

Therefore, sages do not use contrived intentions to alter their nature. Outwardly, they follow the transformations of all things; inwardly, they do not lose their original reality. Those who understand the Dao return to stillness. Those who investigate the myriad things deeply ultimately return to Wuwei (non-action). By nurturing the mind with calm detachment and harmonizing the spirit through emptiness and stillness, they enter a realm without obstruction. Those who follow their nature walk alongside the Dao; those who blindly follow human desires consort with the secular world. Sages do not let affairs disturb their nature or desires disturb their original reality. They do not scheme, yet act appropriately; they speak little, yet earn people’s trust; they do not strain their minds, yet achieve results; they do not act recklessly, yet bring things to completion. Thus, when they occupy a position of authority, the people do not feel overburdened; when they walk ahead of others, people are not harmed by them. All under Heaven turn to them, and the wicked stand in awe of them. Because they do not contend with anything, no one dares contend with them.

Human nature is originally still, but external things and desires disturb it. Once this still nature becomes restless, it is wounded. Only sages can respond outwardly to the transformations of all things while aligning their hearts inwardly with the Way of Heaven, merging themselves with the myriad things. At this point, what is there left to contend over?

Human nature is originally still, but external things and desires disturb it. Once this still nature becomes restless, it is wounded. Only sages can respond outwardly to the transformations of all things while aligning their hearts inwardly with the Way of Heaven, merging themselves with the myriad things. At this point, what is there left to contend over?

When people are driven by desire, they lose their original nature and find it difficult to act rightly. Govern a state in this condition, and the state will fall into disorder; use it to cultivate yourself, and body and mind will become defiled. Those who do not understand the Great Dao cannot recover their nature, and those who do not grasp the principles of all things cannot quiet their hearts.

On examining human nature, we find that it is originally free of evil and defilement. But when people immerse themselves for a long time in external things, their nature is easily altered. Once it has changed, they forget their roots and mistake acquired habits for their nature. Water is clear by nature, yet sand and stones can muddy it. Human nature is peaceful by nature, yet preferences and desires can damage it. Only the sage can cast off the burdens of external things and return to their own nature.

Thus, the sage does not use cleverness to make external things serve them, nor let desire disturb the peace of the heart. In the face of joy, they do not become overjoyed; in the face of sorrow, they do not grieve excessively. In this way, they can occupy a high position without danger and live in security without ruin. When people hear sound words and fitting counsel, even the foolish know to approve. When they hear of the sage’s lofty De (Virtue/Power), even those of poor character feel admiration. Yet many approve, and few truly follow through; many admire, and few put that admiration into practice. This is because people are drawn by external things and bound by worldly conventions. Thus it is said: “When I practice Wuwei (non-action), the people transform themselves naturally. When I refrain from interfering, the people grow prosperous naturally. When I cherish quietude, the people set themselves right naturally. When I have no greed, the people become simple and sincere naturally.”

When the heart grows still, it becomes clear; when water grows still, it becomes transparent. This is the way of things. If the principles one learns are unsound, prolonged immersion in them forms habits. Then a heart that was originally quiet becomes restless, and one that was originally bright grows dim. When people encounter a wise teacher and hear good words, an insight may arise in their hearts, giving them the chance to recover their nature. Human beings were originally in accord with the Dao of Heaven. Cultivate yourself in accordance with it, and body and mind can be brought into harmony; govern a state in accordance with it, and the state can be well governed.

Thus the sage’s way of governing is this: when those above practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves naturally; when those above refrain from interfering, the people grow prosperous naturally; when those above cherish quietude, the people set themselves right naturally; when those above have no greed, the people become simple and sincere naturally.

Stillness and purity are the highest expression of De (Virtue/Power); softness and weakness are the Dao’s (the Way’s) way of working. Emptiness, calmness, and delight are the source of all things. Acting in accordance with these three, one can merge into the formless. What is called “the formless” is “the One of the Dao”—the fundamental unity that cannot be divided. The One of the Dao has no private desires and can unite with all things under Heaven.

The transforming power of De needs no forceful instruction; the Dao’s workings require no labor or deliberate effort. It cannot be seen or heard, yet it brings formed things forth from the formless, makes the five notes sound from silence, brings the five flavors forth from tastelessness, and forms the five colors from colorlessness. Thus, what has form arises from the formless, and fullness arises from emptiness.

The kinds of sound do not exceed five, yet the variations of the five notes are too many to hear them all. Flavors do not exceed five, yet the variations of the five tastes are too many to savor them all. Colors do not exceed five, yet the variations of the five hues are too many to see them all. The five notes become manifest through the note gong as their foundation; the five flavors are harmonized through sweetness as their foundation; and the five colors take shape through white as their foundation. The Dao takes “the One” as its foundation, and from it all things arise.

Therefore, the principle of the One of the Dao operates throughout the Four Seas, and its blessings extend across Heaven and Earth. Whole, it is simple and substantial; dispersed, it becomes muddled and turbid. Within turbidity, it gradually clears; within emptiness, it gradually fills. It is calm as the great sea, vast and drifting like floating clouds. It seems not to exist, yet is truly present; it seems to vanish, yet endures without end.

The Dao itself has no form, yet it can give rise to all things that have form. It begins at an origin beyond tracing and ends where there is no end. The original Qi between Heaven and Earth arose from the “Great Beginning” (Taiyi), the primordial state before Heaven and Earth were divided and the myriad things had yet to take shape. Perhaps the Great Beginning was the ancestor of all things. The One Qi divided into two, and Yin and Yang separated. The Five Qi (the five kinds of vital energy that form the myriad things and drive their transformations) spread throughout, and all things came into being.

The sage’s mind accords with the Great Beginning: clear, still, and empty. His De (Virtue/Power) extends throughout the four seas. All things turn toward him, yet he does not regard himself as their ruler. The Great Dao is vast and formless, united with Heaven as one. As for hearing sounds, seeing colors, and tasting flavors, the sage is no different from ordinary people. How could he let these sensory desires take possession of his mind?

Laozi said, “The threads that run through all things pass through a single opening; the sources of a hundred affairs emerge from one gate.” Therefore, the sage follows a single principle and right way, keeps to established patterns, and does not alter the constant Dao. He acts by the rule and accords with the inherent order of things.

Joy and anger can lead people away from the Great Dao; grief and sorrow can damage their De. Likes and dislikes are failings of the mind, while cravings and desires become burdens on life. Great anger harms Yin Qi; excessive joy causes Yang Qi to lose its proper bounds. When the breath is weak, the spirit grows dim; fear can drive a person mad. Worry and sorrow scorch the heart and spirit, while illness gradually accumulates. If people can remove the harm caused by these five emotions and desires, they can accord with the divine spirit. Here, “divine spirit” means the clear awareness within. When it is attained, the five organs are at peace, thoughts are balanced, hearing and sight are keen, sinews and bones are strong and straight, and one’s nature flows freely without going astray. One is firm and vigorous without becoming depleted, and in action neither oversteps nor falls short.

Could it be the Dao that contains the many subtle principles and governs the myriad things? The Dao is mysterious and discerning; it responds to all things and brings them into communication, making the hidden manifest and the subtle clear. Nothing lies outside it. Thus, when the myriad things attain the Dao, they flourish; when the people attain the Dao, they live in peace and well-being; and when a ruler attains the Dao, he can follow the highest principles of governance and rule the four quarters.

Nothing in the world is softer or weaker than water. Yet the principles of water are vast beyond bounds, profound beyond measure, and endlessly enduring, flowing far without limit. Its waxing and waning, its increase and decrease, are also beyond reckoning. In the sky, water becomes rain and dew; on earth, it becomes moisture. Through it, all things grow and every undertaking comes to fruition. It nourishes all living beings without favoring any one of them. Its beneficence reaches dragons and tiny insects alike, and it seeks no return. It brings abundance to the world without ever being exhausted, and benefits the people without tiring or being spent.

The movement of water cannot be exhausted; it is so subtle that it is hard to grasp. Bind it, and it is not harmed; stab it, and it is not wounded; cut it, and it cannot be severed; burn it, and it cannot be scorched. It flows with yielding ease, beyond destruction or dispersal. It can also penetrate metal and stone, and its power is enough to permeate the world. Whatever it has in surplus, it supplies where there is lack, making itself available for all under Heaven to draw upon. It carries and nourishes all things without giving precedence to any. It is impartial and does not deliberately bestow favors; it is as vast as Heaven and Earth. This is called the highest De (Virtue/Power).

Water possesses this supreme De because it is yielding and fluid. As the saying goes: “The softest thing in the world can master the hardest; what has no form can enter where there is no gap.”

Heaven gives rise to water, and water excels at benefiting all things, its function immensely broad. Without water, Heaven cannot move; without water, Earth cannot bear; without water, things cannot grow; without water, the people cannot live. Rain and dew fall in keeping with the four seasons, moistening every kind of living thing. Water flows with yielding ease and rests content in low places, without contention. Yu’s De was like water. He could therefore follow water’s nature, control its floods, and bring peace to the land and stability to Heaven and Earth.

The formless is the root of all things; the soundless is the source of things of the same kind. The True Person—the one who has attained the Dao—can reach the inner realm of spiritual clarity and connect with the transformations of creation. Thus they can understand the nature of water and bring peace to the land and stability to Heaven and Earth.

Formlessness is the ancestor of all things; silence is the root of things of the same kind. The True Person, one who has attained the Dao, penetrates the inner light of awareness and can unite with the transformations of creation. He keeps wondrous De within his heart, and his actions and changes are like those of a spirit. Thus, the Dao that is “not the Dao”—the Dao not confined by visible rules—is vast and boundless. Before a single command is issued, customs have already changed. This comes from inner cultivation and the power of influence.

All things have their own origins, yet the True Person alone can discern their roots. All affairs have their own sources, yet the True Person can keep watch over the gate of the source. Thus he can explore the infinite and reach the boundless, observe things without being confused, and respond to change without seeming to act deliberately.

The Dao has no fixed form; it takes on different forms with all things, and change appears through this. De has no fixed teacher: take goodness as your standard, and goodness itself becomes your teacher. In this way, substance and function—root and practical effect—can be brought into harmony. The True Person therefore holds Dao and De within and penetrates the workings of spirit. Though all things have their own origins, he alone knows their roots; though affairs each have their own sources, he alone keeps watch over their gate. He reaches the infinite and the boundless, and unites with the transformations of creation.

Laozi says: A person who has attained the Dao seems weak in intention, yet is strong in dealing with affairs; the heart is empty and still, yet responds to things appropriately. To be weak in intention means to be gentle and quiet, not to act rashly, and not to rely on one’s own strength in carrying things out. The mind is free of attachment and rests in Wuwei (non-action), while one’s actions never miss their moment. Thus, what is noble must take the lowly as its root, and what is high must rest on what lies below. Relying on the small makes it possible to embrace the great; dwelling within makes it possible to govern what is outside. Acting gently, one can still bring forth the power of strength. In this way, nothing can overcome such a person, and no opponent can overpower him. He follows change and judges the right moment, so nothing can harm him.

To seek strength, one must hold fast to gentleness; to seek greatness, one must preserve oneself through weakness. When gentleness accumulates to a certain point, it can turn into strength; when weakness accumulates to a certain point, it can turn into power. By observing the course of things as they accumulate, one can judge whether they will endure or perish. The strong can overcome those weaker than themselves, but are checked when they meet an equal. The weak can overcome those stronger than themselves, and their power is difficult to measure. Thus, a weapon that is too hard is easily destroyed, a tree that is too rigid is easily broken, and leather stretched too tight is easily torn. Teeth are harder than the tongue, yet are often lost first. Therefore, gentleness and weakness belong to the foundation of life, while strength and hardness belong to the realm of death.

All things are present within me, and the Dao resides in the heart. To understand the nature endowed in oneself, to understand the nature endowed in others, and thereby to understand the nature of all things is to have grasped the Dao.

Water is naturally very soft and weak, yet when it bears a boat it can show great strength. The people are naturally weak, yet when they support a ruler they can form a powerful force. Those skilled in using the Dao can hold fast to softness and weakness, and thereby overcome strength.

Acting first may lead to difficulty, while acting later may make it easier to succeed. Those who follow the Dao and respond to change can restrain those who act later, even as those who act later can restrain those who act first. The key is to keep the initiative in shaping the situation; then others will find it difficult to constrain you.

To act later means to adjust one’s plans and accord with the right moment. Circumstances change with great speed, almost without pause: act too early and you may go too far; act too late and you may miss your chance. The sun and moon keep moving, and time will not stop to wait for anyone. Thus the sage does not prize a jade disc a foot across, but cherishes every inch of time. Opportunity is hard to find and easy to miss, so the sage acts in accord with the moment and builds accomplishments from the conditions at hand. The sage holds to the Dao of stillness and purity, keeps firmly to the way of softness and yielding, and responds to circumstances as they unfold. Often acting later, without rushing to be first, the sage remains composed and settled in an attitude of softness, weakness, and calm. Accomplishments built in this way are vast and indestructible, and no one can prevail in contest against them.

When something comes before you, respond to it; in following the Dao, what matters is getting the measure just right. Going too far or not far enough will both hinder matters. Only by discerning what should come first and what should come later, without missing the right moment, can one remain on the Middle Way and bring things to a successful conclusion. Thus the sage remains composed and settled, building vast accomplishments that are hard to destroy, against which no one can prevail.

In acting or withdrawing, the sage responds to the moment, giving each its proper place in sequence. If you do not lose the initiative in shaping the situation, others will be unable to constrain you.

Laozi says: If the heart is full of cunning schemes, it cannot remain pure and free of distraction. If a person’s body and mind cannot fully embody the virtue of the spirits, how can that person hold a long-term vision? If you harbor no intention to harm, then even when faced with a hungry tiger, you could take hold of its tail—how much more so when dealing with other people?

Those who follow the Great Dao live at ease and do not become worn down. Those who rely entirely on schemes and calculations toil without achieving results. Ruling the world through harsh laws and severe punishments is no way for an emperor to accomplish a great undertaking. And whipping a carriage horse again and again will not make the carriage travel farther. When likes and dislikes become tangled, troubles follow one after another. Thus, the laws of the former kings were not invented out of thin air; they accorded with principles that already existed. Nor were prohibitions and punishments imposed arbitrarily; they followed established standards. When you act in step with circumstances, your undertaking can grow great; when you force things into being, your scope becomes narrow. Hold fast to principles, and the foundation will be firm; act recklessly by force, and things are likely to fall apart.

If you harbor cunning schemes and pursue a hungry tiger, you will almost certainly be injured by it. But if you yourself have no calculating intent, the tiger will not harm you. Thus, those who follow the Great Dao live at ease, while those who rely on schemes and calculations toil. The principles of the world are not hard to understand: what is simple is easy to grasp, and what is plain is easy to follow. When laws are not harsh and punishments are not excessive, governance is easy. When a carriage is not driven by constant whipping, it can travel a long way. Thus, the laws of the former kings accorded with principles rather than making things up recklessly. They used prohibitions to curb wrongdoing and upheld them with care instead of acting arbitrarily. In this way, they could accomplish undertakings that were both lasting and great.

Relying on the ears and eyes to listen and look wears out the mind and spirit, making clear judgment difficult. Turning everything over in one’s mind and using clever schemes to manage affairs burdens the heart and mind, yet may not get things done. Governing through the ability of a single person cannot bring about good governance; one person’s capacity is not even enough to manage a three-mu household compound.

Follow the patterns of principle and accord with the natural workings of Heaven and Earth, and even the four quarters of the world will be difficult to bring fully into harmony. What one hears is easily thrown into confusion by praise and blame; the eyes readily become absorbed in splendid colors. Ritual and law are ultimately insufficient to restrain people’s desires. Only sincerity can transform those in distant lands. So, if one accords with the natural workings of Heaven and Earth, even the four quarters of the world can be brought into harmony.

Among weapons, none is more fearsome than the human will; even Moye, the famed ancient sword, is of lesser account. Among calamities, none is greater than an imbalance of Yin-Yang; the wars set in motion by the war drum are only a lesser calamity. The greatest calamity is when corpses lie across the land and no one speaks of restraint. A middling calamity is disorder hidden in the mountains and wilderness; a minor one is hidden among the people.

Thus, the more clever and resourceful the people become, the more strange and deceitful things arise; the more elaborate the laws and commands, the more thieves there are. Abandon clever schemes and complicated laws, and take nature as your model: then Heaven-sent calamities will not arise. Governing a state through cleverness is its calamity; governing it without cleverness is its good fortune and virtue.

Excessive seeing and hearing exhaust the mind and spirit and cloud judgment; excessive deliberation makes it difficult to get things done. Governing a state by relying on one person’s ability is difficult. Sincerity can transform those far away; when the strength of many is brought together, things can be accomplished, and even the four quarters of the world can be brought into harmony. Illness in the body is chiefly caused by an imbalance of Yin-Yang; calamities in a state are often caused by treacherous people. A state’s good fortune lies in governing without clever schemes or stratagems.

Things without form are vast; things with form are small. Things without form are many; things with form are few. Things without form are strong; things with form are weak. Things without form are full; things with form are empty. Things with form are the results that appear once a process is complete, while things without form are the source from which the myriad things begin. The results take shape as concrete objects, while the beginnings remain in a simple, undifferentiated state. What has form has sound; what is formless has none. Things with form arise from what is formless, so the formless is the beginning of the formed.

Broad and abundant things have names; having a name often indicates that something is whole and precious. Frugal and meager things have no name; without a name, they are easily regarded as lowly and worthless. Prosperous and plentiful things have names, and so receive esteem and favor; poor and scarce things have no name, and so are left in a low and humiliated position. Strong and forceful things have names, revealing their De (Virtue/Power); yielding and subtle things have no name, and remain inconspicuous. Things that have a surplus have names and are considered capable and worthy; things that lack something have no name and occupy a lower position. Where there is accomplishment, there is fame; where there is no accomplishment, there is no fame. Fame arises from namelessness, so the nameless is the source of the named.

The Dao (the fundamental principle of all things) makes being and nonbeing give rise to one another, and difficulty and ease bring one another to completion. Thus, the sage holds to the Dao’s emptiness, stillness, and subtlety, using it to cultivate De. Where there is Dao, there is De; where there is De, there is accomplishment; where there is accomplishment, there is fame. Once fame is attained, one returns to the Dao. In this way, accomplishments and fame can endure, and one can remain free of fault throughout life.

All things under Heaven arise from nonbeing into being, and being returns to nonbeing. Thus, the formless is the beginning of the formed. The Dao has no name, while the myriad things each have names; the nameless is precisely the source of the named. Those who understand which is closer to them—their fame or themselves—and which matters more—their body or their possessions—will not pursue prominence at all costs or covet abundant wealth. Therefore, the sage holds to the Dao to cultivate De. Once the work is done, they withdraw and yield. Since ancient times, the fame of such people has never faded.

Dukes and kings have accomplishments and fame, while the orphaned and bereaved have neither; therefore, the Jing says, “It must be abundant.” The sage holds to the Dao to cultivate De; once the work is complete, they withdraw and yield. From antiquity to the present, their fame has continued to endure.

Nobles and ministers take pride in establishing great achievements and gaining renown, while “solitary one” and “widowed one” are not titles by which they claim merit or fame. Thus, when the sage calls himself “solitary” or “widowed,” he is returning to the root. Once achievements are complete, he does not claim them as his own. Achievements can benefit people without needing fame to make them effective.

In ancient times, people were simple and unknowing, and made no distinctions between things. Their expressions and inner feelings were not divided, and their words went no further than their everyday conduct. They did not make a show of their actions or deliberately polish their speech. Their clothes were meant only to keep them warm, without concern for color or adornment; their weapons were blunt, with no sharp edges. They walked slowly and looked with a hazy gaze. They dug wells for drinking water and farmed to grow grain for food. They did not bestow favors in hopes of repayment, nor seek a reputation for virtue. Those of high and low rank did not oppress one another, and people did not compare their strengths, weaknesses, or merits. When customs accorded with the ordinary, people could follow things as they unfolded. When tasks were assigned to suit each person’s abilities, they were easy to complete. The sage does not regard deliberate boasting and pretense to mislead the world, or deviant conduct to unsettle the people, as proper customs among the people.

In ancient times, people were simple and unknowing, made no distinctions between things, spoke without embellishment, and wore clothes without bright adornments. They lived by farming and drank water from wells. They did not bestow favors in hopes of repayment, nor seek anything from outside; each was content with their own life. For this reason, nobles and high officials called themselves “solitary ones” and “widowed ones.” Those who have the Dao do not harm themselves by pursuing fame, injure the people through government orders and affairs, bring disaster upon their descendants through wealth, or disturb the world with doctrines and techniques. If people in later ages were not burdened inwardly by fame, profit, and rank, who would deliberately boast and pretend to mislead the world, or disturb the people through deviant conduct?

This concludes Volume One of Annotations on the True Classic of Penetrating Mystery.

Textual notes: At the first occurrence of “Dao,” the Juzhen edition reads “De”; for “great,” the Juzhen edition reads “heaven.” The original “then” has been corrected to “that is” on the basis of the Juzhen edition. For “exhaust,” the Juzhen edition reads “rescue”; the original “affairs” has been corrected from “years” on the basis of the Juzhen edition. For “concerns,” the Juzhen edition reads “burdens”; for “categories,” it reads “things.” At the eighth occurrence of “great,” the Juzhen edition reads “heaven.” The original “same” has been corrected from “act” on the basis of the Juzhen edition.

Laozi says: Heaven fully displays its loftiness, and Earth fully displays its depth. The sun and moon shine, the stars gleam, and Yin-Yang harmonize; these are not the results of deliberate action. If the Dao is set in order, all things will grow naturally in accordance with their own nature. The movements of Yin-Yang and the changing of the four seasons do not deliberately bring forth the myriad things. Rain and dew fall in due season, not with the intention of nourishing plants and trees. The vital energy of the spirits mingles, Yin-Yang comes into harmony, and all things grow of themselves.

The Dao means gathering Jing and Qi within the heart, letting Shen dwell peacefully there, and keeping the mind tranquil, detached, harmonious, and settled. One’s inner world should be open and without outward signs, quiet and still. Governing a state should be the same: the offices should seem to have nothing to disturb them, and the court should seem to have no one wielding power for personal ends. There should be no worthy people forced into seclusion and no one fleeing labor service; no burdensome corvée and no unjust punishments. Everyone under Heaven will then admire the ruler’s De and follow the ruler’s intentions. Distant lands and places with different customs will come to submit, their messages relayed through successive interpreters. This does not happen because the ruler visits every household and makes himself visible to everyone; it happens because sincerity is extended throughout the land.

Thus, rewarding the good and punishing violent offenders is a matter of issuing orders, but for those orders to take effect, sincerity is essential. Even clear orders cannot carry themselves out; sincerity must be their foundation. So even if the Dao is fully explained to guide the people, they may still refuse to follow it if sincerity has not reached them fully.

The ancient sages took Heaven and Earth as their offices and the myriad things as their storehouse. They gathered Jing and Qi and preserved sincerity. They made no display of themselves and raised no clamor; they set the Dao in order and let the myriad things follow their own nature. In those times, the court had no favored ministers who seized power, the people had no worthy people cast aside, and the state had no idle, unemployed wanderers. There was no warfare or corvée, and people of every kind could live and work in peace. Thus, without teaching from house to house, they could sit at ease and bring about an age of peace and prosperity.

Laozi said: Heaven sets the sun and moon in motion, arranges the stars, divides the seasons, and harmonizes Yin-Yang. By day, it lets all things receive the sun’s light; by night, it lets them rest. It also brings the wind so that the people may live in peace and prosperity. Thus, there is no need to teach the people in every household for peace and flourishing to arise naturally throughout the realm.

Laozi said: Heaven sets the sun and moon in motion, arranges the stars, divides the seasons, and harmonizes Yin-Yang. By day, it lets all things receive the sun’s light; by night, it lets them rest. It dries all things with the wind and nourishes them with rain and dew. As things grow, people cannot see what is nurturing them, yet they grow day by day. As things decline and die, people likewise cannot see what is at work, yet they still perish. This is called the divine and luminous power: the subtle, invisible workings of nature.

Therefore, the sage takes Heaven as a model. When the sage brings forth blessings, people cannot see where they come from, yet the blessings appear. When the sage dispels calamities, people cannot see how they are removed, yet the calamities vanish. Careful investigation finds no particular trace, yet observation of the results shows that they are real. Count the gains day by day, and they seem slight; count them year by year, and their effects accumulate. In silence and stillness, a single utterance can profoundly move the realm. This is the power of Heaven’s heart in setting change in motion.

Thus, when sincerity manifests within and Qi (vital energy) resonates with Heaven, auspicious signs appear: the auspicious star, the descent of a Yellow Dragon, the arrival of a phoenix, the springing forth of sweet springs, the growth of fine grain, and such portents as rivers that do not overflow and seas whose waves do not rise high.

The sun, moon, and stars are the wondrous workings of Heaven; water, fire, earth, and stone are the wondrous workings of Earth. Rain, wind, dew, thunder, heat, cold, day, and night are also wondrous forces of nature. Human beings possess the most outstanding spiritual nature and are therefore more spiritually endowed than all other things. Heaven gives life to and nurtures all things. People cannot see how it nurtures them, yet they grow day by day. The sage likewise cares for the people, removes harm, and promotes benefit, acting as Heaven does. All this arises from sincerity manifesting within, Qi resonating with Heaven, Yin-Yang responding in harmony, and the divine and luminous powers offering protection; then auspicious signs appear.

To go against the Dao and harm all things is to pit human action against the wondrous workings of Heaven and Earth. Heaven gives life to and nurtures all things. People cannot see how it nurtures them, yet they grow day by day. The sage likewise cares for the people, removes harm, and promotes benefit, acting as Heaven does. All this arises from sincerity manifesting within, Qi resonating with Heaven, Yin-Yang responding in harmony, and the divine and luminous powers offering protection; then auspicious signs appear.

When people violate the Dao (the Way) and harm all things, strange phenomena appear: the sun and moon are eclipsed, the Five Planets go out of their proper courses, the seasons fall into disorder, daylight grows dim while night glows bright, mountains collapse and rivers dry up, thunder sounds in winter, and frost falls in summer. This shows that Heaven and humanity are interconnected. When a state is about to perish, changes in the heavens, disorder in public morals, and the appearance of rainbows and halos may also signal what is to come. All things are linked, and their vital essences and energies respond to one another.

Thus, matters governed by the spirits cannot be attained through clever schemes or by force. A truly virtuous great person brings their conduct into accord with Heaven and Earth, their radiance into accord with the sun and moon, their spirit into communication with ghosts and spirits, and their trustworthiness into accord with the turning of the four seasons. They hold the heart of the Dao, receive the Qi of the Earth, and maintain emptiness and stillness while nurturing harmonious Qi. Without leaving their dwelling, they can govern the world and transform its customs, leading the people toward goodness, as though these changes arose from within themselves. This is the teaching of the people through a spirit-like power of transformation.

Heaven and humanity arise from the same Qi, and the hidden and the manifest respond to one another. Harmonious Qi brings auspicious signs; discordant Qi invites disaster. All of this is connected to the ruler’s actions. If a ruler defies the Dao, harms all things, turns away from what is right, and ruins their De (Virtue/Power), Heaven will be angered and calamity will follow. It is said that after King Cheng of Zhou repented, the flattened grain stalks rose again in the wind; and when a ruler of Song spoke a certain word, the fiery star retreated by several she—an ancient measure of distance between celestial bodies. These are examples of sincere intent reaching Heaven and turning disaster into good fortune.

Laozi said: Those who cultivate the Way should preserve their inborn nature and hold fast to their original integrity, doing themselves no harm. Even when faced with urgent danger, they should let their sincerity reach Heaven. If they have never departed from the root of all things, what could they fail to accomplish? Life and death lie within the same realm, and external forces cannot coerce them. How much more so for those who encompass Heaven and Earth, embrace all things, turn the workings of creation, and hold within themselves the Qi of perfect harmony: they are the ones who have never truly died. Their sincerity shines forth from within and can reach people’s hearts. This is a Dao that cannot be conveyed in words.

At birth, all people receive the same allotment of Heaven’s mandate, so human nature is inherently good. If we can preserve our nature, hold fast to what is genuine and simple, avoid harming ourselves, and bring our spirit into accord with the Way of Heaven, what could we not accomplish? Those who can return to the workings of creation and contain the utmost harmony—the most peaceful and pure state—so that they no longer undergo death are called perfected people.

When sages hold the highest position, they keep the Great Dao in their hearts and speak little, while their beneficence reaches the people. Thus, the teaching carried out without words is boundless. When ruler and ministers lose faith in one another and turn from virtue, anomalies appear in the heavens. Human spirit and vital energy respond to celestial phenomena, and signs arise in turn. This is discernment expressed without words, and the Dao made manifest without speech.

To bring people from afar to return, a ruler need only follow Wuwei (non-action); to draw those nearby close, a ruler need only govern less and refrain from disturbing the people. Only those who walk at night can appreciate this quiet way of reaching one’s destination. Thus, an enlightened ruler retires warhorses to plow the fields, and the tracks of chariots do not extend to distant places. This is called sitting still while the world moves of itself, like sinking into the earth and practicing quiet non-action.

The Way of Heaven neither favors anyone with closeness nor rejects anyone with distance. The capable often have more than enough, while the clumsy often feel they lack what they need. Those who follow the Way of Heaven prosper; those who oppose it meet misfortune. Therefore, a state governed through clever plans and artifice can hardly endure. Only by aligning with the vast and peaceful Dao, and upholding the principle of responding naturally to things, can one govern effectively.

When sages keep the Great Dao in their hearts and bring beneficence to the people, auspicious signs appear; when ruler and ministers lose faith in one another, disasters appear. People from afar come through Wuwei, and those nearby draw close when they are left undisturbed. Human spirit and vital energy respond to celestial phenomena, and many things come about of themselves without being summoned. Favor neither closeness nor distance; let excess and deficiency each follow their own course, in accord with the vast and peaceful Dao. To teach without words, in the end, is simply to let things follow their nature.

Laozi said, “The relationship between Dao and De is like that between well-seasoned hide and leather: they cannot easily be divided from each other. At a distance they seem closer, while too much closeness can make them seem distant. Try to examine them closely, and you cannot grasp their traces; yet their effects are plainly present. Thus the sage’s mind is like a mirror. When things come, he responds; when they depart, he does not hold on to them. He is moved by things, but does not keep them stored in his heart, and so does no harm to anything. To gain it seems just like losing it; to lose it, in turn, seems just like gaining it.

“Thus, one who understands the Great Harmony—the state in which all things under Heaven blend harmoniously—seems to rest in a gentle, drunken sleep, at ease as he wanders within it, as though he had never left the source of all things. This is called Great Communion. What is meant here by ‘feigning nonbeing’ is not clinging to surface distinctions between existence and nonexistence. By not clinging, one can bring their function to fulfillment.

“Dao is revered, and De is treasured. Though their names differ, they arise from the same source. They abide within oneself; they are not sought from the outside. Dao and De cause all things to grow and nourish them, leaving nothing empty or wanting. The sage’s mind is like a clear mirror: when things arrive, it responds; when they depart, it returns to stillness. His heart is sincere and pure, in accord with Dao and De. If he does not deliberately act against them, how could he ruin them? If he does not cling to things, what could he lose? So long as he never leaves the source of all things, even spirits and ghosts cannot see through him.

“Laozi said, ‘In ancient times, when the Yellow Emperor governed the world, he regulated the movements of the sun and moon, harmonized the Yin-Yang Qi, arranged the seasons, corrected the tones and the calendar, distinguished men from women, and established the ranks of status and authority. He ensured that the strong did not oppress the weak, and that the many did not bully the few. The people could preserve their lives and avoid dying young; harvests were abundant and there was no famine. Officials at every level were upright and impartial; those above and below lived in harmony, without resentment. Laws and decrees were clear, and those who assisted in governing were fair and did not show favoritism. Farmers yielded to one another over field boundaries. No one picked up things lost along the road, and merchants did not raise prices in advance to cheat their customers. In those days, the sun, moon, and stars moved in order, the wind and rain came at their proper times, the five grains flourished, phoenixes flew in the courtyards, and qilin roamed the countryside.

“‘By observing the Way of Heaven and following its course, the Yellow Emperor brought peace to the world. Later, he yielded and relinquished the world, went to Mount Kongtong, and respectfully visited Guangchengzi to ask him: How should I cultivate myself so that I may…’”

By observing the patterns of Heaven’s way and acting in accordance with them, the Yellow Emperor brought peace to the realm. Later, he yielded his position as ruler and went to Mount Kongtong. Standing below the windward slope, he bowed before Guangchengzi and asked how he might cultivate his body and live a long life. Guangchengzi said, “The subtlety of the Great Dao is deep and obscure; its ultimate reaches are undivided and still. Do not look or listen. Gather your spirit and keep still, and your body will naturally become upright. Be sure to remain quiet and clear. Do not tire your body or disturb your vital energy and essence; only then can you live long.”

When Fuxi ruled the realm, life was simple: people rested their heads on stones and slept on rope mats. They followed the four seasons, gathering the harvest in autumn and storing it for winter. Fuxi bore the square Earth and embraced the round Heavens, dwelling where Yin and Yang met. He opened what had become blocked and stagnant, setting disordered and contrary currents of Qi back in order. He also cleared away practices that violated reason, harmed the people, and accumulated excessive ills. The people of that time were plain and unknowing. They could not tell east from west; their sight was hazy and their movements slow. Yet they were content, unaware of why they wandered freely, and unaware of their own beginnings. They simply nourished themselves naturally, without knowing where they were headed. At that time, birds, beasts, insects, and snakes tucked away their claws and teeth and hid their poisonous stingers, harming no one. Fuxi’s achievements were on a par with Heaven and Earth.

In the time of the Yellow Emperor, he came and went beneath Mount Taizu without displaying his achievements or proclaiming his fame. He kept the Way of the True Person hidden deep within and followed the original patterns of Heaven and Earth. Why was this so? Because De permeated all above, clever contrivance and scheming human artifice disappeared.

After the Six Cycles had run their course and the Two Sovereigns no longer appeared, Taihao Fuxi arose. The original simplicity of that age gradually dispersed, human affairs began to take shape, and people throughout the realm began to act. Fuxi observed the heavens and fashioned tools. He knotted cords into nets for catching animals, and so came to be called “Fuxi.” He also smelted metal to make pots and cauldrons, cooking raw food, and was therefore also called “Paoxi.” In that age, birds, beasts, insects, and snakes had claws and teeth, yet did not harm people. Later, Fuxi created written tallies and established the order of human relations. His achievements were on a par with Heaven and Earth, yet he did not claim them as his own. It was truly fitting to honor him as “Taihao.”

Laozi said: If Heaven could not move in a settled way, the sun and moon would have no support; if Earth could not bear things steadily, plants and trees would have nowhere to grow. If people’s minds and bodies were not at peace, right and wrong could not come to light. Thus, only when there is first a realized person—one who has awakened to the Great Dao and follows nature—can there be genuine understanding.

If a person does not even understand the principles on which they rely, how can they know that what they call “knowledge” may not, in fact, be true knowledge?

Accumulating kindness and bestowing abundant wealth, bringing joy to the people and making them glad to live: this is humaneness. Accomplishing great deeds and establishing a good name; setting the rites between ruler and minister and putting the order between those above and below in proper form; distinguishing degrees of closeness; rescuing states from peril, continuing lineages that have died out, and providing heirs for those without descendants: this is righteousness. Closing the gates of the senses—the nine openings, meaning the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and other senses—gathering in the mind, setting aside cleverness and ingenuity, and returning to a state without distinctions; wandering at ease beyond the dusty world, resting freely in doing nothing, breathing in and out the Qi of Yin-Yang, and living in harmony with all things: this is De. Thus, the Dao disperses and becomes De; when De is full, it appears as humaneness and righteousness. Once humaneness and righteousness are established as rules, the Dao and De are set aside.

The relationship between Dao and De and the Five Constant Virtues—humaneness, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness, as taught by Confucianism—is like that between Yin-Yang and the Five Phases. Knowing that the sun and moon alternate in their illumination and the seasons take turns in their course, forming the years, makes it possible to understand the principles of human conduct. The Dao, De, and the Five Constant Virtues can coexist; none can be lacking.

Then why did Laozi also say, “Cut off sagacity and wisdom; abandon humaneness and righteousness”? What he opposed was acting under these names. If he had truly wanted humaneness and righteousness to be done away with entirely, the two parts of the Dao De Jing would not have spoken of sages, humaneness, and righteousness. Thus, only when there is first a realized person can there be genuine understanding.

Laozi says: When the spirit floats outward from within, one’s words are often ornate but empty; when De (Virtue) is unsteady, one’s conduct is often false. Whether inner Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and De are substantial becomes visible in a person’s words and actions. Such people cannot avoid being driven by external things. Their energy will eventually be exhausted, while their desires and actions have no end. Without firm principles within, they are influenced by the customs of the world.

Thus, sages give attention to cultivating virtue within the heart rather than adorning themselves outwardly with benevolence and righteousness. They understand that the nine apertures—the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and other openings of the body—and the four limbs each have their proper function. They let the spirit rest in tranquility. This is the realm in which sages dwell and roam.

De and the Five Constant Virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—are like ancestors and descendants. To have ancestors but no descendants would of course be impossible; but if one has descendants and does not know one’s ancestors, can that be right? The Five Constant Virtues spoken of here are also the Five Spirits, the spiritual activities associated with the five organs and the Five Phases. When De is kept within the heart, the spirit does not float outward. Once one loses one’s principles, the spirit scatters; words become ornate but empty, and actions become false. Few can avoid being driven by external things. Only sages understand the proper function of the nine apertures and four limbs, and dwell and roam in the tranquility of the spirit. When the root is kept secure, how could the descendants fail to be secure?

Laozi also says: Sages dwell and roam in ultimate emptiness, their minds and spirits moving through the Great Nonbeing, a vast, formless realm without constraint. They range beyond the bounds of the ordinary world and walk in a realm without gates. They listen, yet hear no sound; they look, yet see no form. They are not bound by worldly affairs or tethered to worldly conventions. Thus, the True Person who can set all under Heaven in motion is not regarded by sages as surpassing them; nor do sages pay heed to the methods by which worthy people try to correct the world. When people are bound by worldly conventions, their bodies become burdened and their spirits dissipate, so they cannot avoid distress. If anything could bind me, it would surely be that my destiny had become attached to external things.

If the mind is not burdened by worldly concerns, others will not reject me. If the mind is not constrained by worldly affairs, I will not despise others. This is called roaming together with Heaven, Earth, and all things. Thus, the True Person does not use force to shake the world, and the sage does not deliberately correct worldly customs. When the will is made a servant of external things and the body is bound by them, the spirit is depleted. Even the worthy find this hard to avoid; how much more so ordinary people?

Laozi said: When a ruler considers matters of state, his spirit does not show itself in his breast, nor does he put his clever schemes to work throughout the land. He holds compassion and trust in his heart, and rain falls in season while the grains flourish. The people plow in spring, tend their crops in summer, harvest in autumn, and store their provisions in winter. They check their accounts each month, inspect them at the proper times, and present their tribute at year’s end. The ruler governs fairly and nurtures the people. Though he has authority, he need not issue warnings or demands. His laws are clear and uncomplicated, and his instruction works with the subtlety of nature. Laws are lenient, punishments light, and the prisons stand empty. Customs throughout the land become unified, and people harbor no deceitful intentions. This is the benevolence of the sage.

If those in high positions take without limit, those below will compete for credit and refuse to yield. When the people are poor and suffering, they fight over possessions and provoke trouble. Their strength is exhausted without result, deceit begins to grow, and thieves become more numerous. Those above and below resent one another, and government orders can no longer be carried out.

When the distance between wheel tracks is standardized and the forms of writing are unified, customs throughout the land become consistent. Rewards are not excessive, and punishments are not abused; the hearts of people in all directions come into accord. When these things are achieved, the ruler’s deliberations remain within their proper bounds, and instruction takes effect like a subtle, wondrous power.

If those in high positions take without limit, those below compete for credit and refuse to yield. Deceitful ways then arise, and the people’s strength is drained. Those above and below resent one another; the Qi of Heaven and Earth cannot mingle, and the growth of all things is obstructed.

When water is turbid, fish rise to the surface and gasp for air; when government decrees are harsh, the people fall into unrest. When rulers have excessive desires, those below them give rise to deceit. When affairs of state above become complicated and place too many burdens on the people, those below can no longer live in peace. When rulers seek too much, people contend with one another. To neglect the root and merely patch up the branches is like digging a channel while trying to make water stop, or carrying firewood to put out a fire.

The sages conduct affairs of government simply and make few demands in governing, yet enable the people to prosper. Without deliberately bestowing kindness, they nevertheless embody benevolence; with few words, they win trust; without deliberately seeking gain, they nevertheless attain it; without forced action, things are accomplished. They follow nature and hold fast to the Way in its utmost truth. By keeping to the Great Way and treating others sincerely, they lead all under Heaven to follow them, as an echo answers a sound and a shadow follows a form. What the sages cultivate and put in order is the root.

Heaven displays celestial signs to foretell good and ill fortune, and all can see them. Rulers issue decrees that clearly set out rewards and punishments, and the people believe in them. Should rulers, too, act like Heaven? When water is turbid, fish gasp; when government is harsh, the people fall into unrest. This is inevitable. Thus, when rulers have excessive desires, the people take to deceit; when rulers favor quiet and freedom from interference, the people do not contend. By keeping to the Great Way and treating others sincerely, the sages lead all under Heaven to follow them. We may say they understand the root of good governance.

Laozi said: Those whose spirit dissipates outward and whose thoughts are in turmoil within cannot manage affairs well. When the functions of body and spirit extend too far, they lose what is close at hand. Thus, one can know the world without leaving the doorway, and understand the Way of Heaven without peering through a window. The farther one travels, the less one knows. This means that inner sincerity can resonate within, and the Qi of the spirit can respond to Heaven.

When the Qi of Heaven and Earth joins, the myriad things become interconnected; when a sage appears, the myriad things are able to reveal themselves. This is the principle of natural resonance. The human heart can communicate with Heaven because the human body and endowment both originally come from Heaven. Therefore, when the heart is sincere within, the spirit’s Qi moves Heaven. When the human heart is empty, still, and clear, the light of Heaven appears, just as a mirror reflects forms and beauty and ugliness show themselves naturally. How could one fail to treat the heart with care?

Laozi said: The warmth of the winter sun and the coolness of summer—everything turns toward them, yet none knows how far-reaching their power of attraction is. This is the most refined resonance in nature: without being summoned, all things come of their own accord; without needing to be driven away, they do not depart. When the light of Heaven appears, it is like a mirror reflecting forms, with beauty and ugliness showing themselves naturally. How could one fail to treat the heart with care?

Laozi said: “Winter sunshine and summer coolness—everything turns toward them, yet no one knows where their power ends. This is the subtlest kind of response in nature. Nothing needs to be summoned; things come of their own accord. Nothing needs to be driven away; things leave of their own accord. In the depths of what is hidden and obscure, even when no one knows who is arranging things, results take shape naturally. If one must wait until the eyes have seen before acknowledging something, or until someone else speaks before giving an order, governing will be difficult.

“Though Gao Yao did not make a show of his voice or appearance, he presided over the administration of justice, and there was no abuse of punishment under heaven. Why prize abundant speech? Though Shi Kuang was blind, he assisted in governing the state, and Jin had no disorder in its decrees. Why prize seeing with one’s own eyes? Orders that are never spoken can still be carried out; insight does not depend on what the eyes can see. This is why the sage can become a teacher to all.

“The yangsui, an ancient fire-making instrument, can draw forth fire, but without the sun no flame will rise. The fangzhu, an ancient vessel for collecting water from the moon’s light, can draw forth water, but without moonlight no droplets will form. Thus, having the Way of governance without the position to put it into practice means that affairs cannot be established; having the position without the Way of governance means that achievements cannot be made. In the age of Yao and Shun, ruler and ministers had the Way and their respective duties in accord. Instruction could be put into effect, the officials were upright, and the people were compliant. That is why the sage could become a teacher for generations to come.

“The people are shaped by the conduct of those above them, not by hearing what they say but by seeing what they do. So if a ruler loves bravery and prizes warfare, the state will suffer many calamities even without ordering people to fight. Over time, this will bring about disorder through plunder and killing. If a ruler is devoted to sexual pleasure, the state will fall into confusion even if the matter is never openly discussed. In time, this will give rise to the calamity of sexual excess. The sage’s inner sincerity and inclinations are therefore clear, and so too are their outward expressions. Words must accord with genuine intention, and decrees must state their purpose plainly.

“Punishment alone cannot change customs, and killing alone cannot stop wrongdoing. What is most valuable is transforming people through De (Virtue). When sincerity reaches its utmost, it can bring about a wondrous response. The power stirred by sincerity is like the qi of spring, which makes all things grow, and the qi of autumn, which makes them wither. A gentleman governing the people is like an archer: a tiny deviation at one end may become a great distance at the other. Therefore, anyone who governs the people must be careful about the words and actions through which they influence them.”

When the trunk stands straight, its shadow is upright; when the source is clear, the stream runs long. This illustrates how root and branch depend on one another. Once we understand that the mind is the foundation of the body, we can see that the ruler is the foundation of the people. A ruler’s preferences, therefore, must be upright. A taste for showing off one’s courage brings the disorder of plunder and killing; a craving for beauty brings the calamities of lust and excess. Only someone who loves virtue can keep the mind clear and express likes and dislikes appropriately. Then even without punishments, the wicked will submit. When the foundation is firm, the state will naturally be at peace.

Laozi said, “Simply promulgating laws and setting rewards cannot change customs and habits because there is no sincerity in people’s hearts.” Music reveals the spirit of a society; observing its music and dances reveals the customs of the people; and seeing their customs shows the results of their moral instruction. One who embraces the true Dao and treats others sincerely can resonate with Heaven and Earth, and whose spirit transcends the bounds of the mundane world, can make commands obeyed and prohibitions effective. Sincerity aligned with the Dao can also convey one’s intentions. Without saying a word, such a person can transform the people of the world, animals, and spirits, and they will change in response. Thus, the highest form of governance transforms people through virtue; the next makes them afraid to do wrong; and only after that come rewarding the worthy and punishing the cruel.

Jade hidden in stone gives a mountain its luster; pearls in water brighten a deep pool. This is how inner qualities show themselves outwardly. Water and stone cannot speak, yet people naturally believe in their beauty. When a state is filled with benevolence and trustworthiness, conducts its affairs with integrity, punishes without resentment, and gives rewards without selfish motives, the people will be transformed even without posted laws or set rewards.

Thus, those who hear of Boyi’s noble character—a worthy man from the end of the Shang dynasty and beginning of the Zhou—become honest if they are greedy, while the timid resolve to strengthen themselves. What did Boyi say? It was his conduct that transformed people. If words and actions do not agree, the people will not follow.

Laozi says: The Great Dao (the fundamental law of nature) acts through Wuwei (non-action) and does not deliberately impose itself. Wuwei means not clinging to things that have form. When one does not cling to formed things, one does not remain fixed in any place; and when one does not remain fixed, one is within the formless. The formless does not act; without action, there is no speech. Without speech, there is stillness and silence, without form. What is silent cannot be seen or heard: this is called subtle, and also supremely divine. It continues without end, seeming almost to exist; this is the foundation of Heaven and Earth.

The Dao has neither shape nor sound, so the sage reluctantly gives it a single name, using it to refer to the Dao of Heaven and Earth. What is great takes what is small as its root; what is many begins with what is few. The Son of Heaven takes Heaven and Earth as his model and all things as his resource. His merit is immense, and his position and reputation are supremely honored. These two virtues of his accord with Heaven and Earth, so he cannot help but follow the Great Dao. The Great Dao is the root of all things under Heaven.

The Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king are the four great powers in the cosmos. The Dao acts through Wuwei, and so endures; Heaven does not speak, and so is lofty and bright; Earth makes no sound, and so is vast and substantial. The king is the one who can embody all these qualities. He is the Son of Heaven, the master of Earth, and the parent of the people. He cares for and nurtures all things without claiming this as a personal favor. His merit is therefore immense, and his position and reputation supremely honored; nothing surpasses him.

Laozi says: Relieving poverty and rescuing those in urgent need bring fame and profit; removing calamities brings accomplishments to completion. When the world is free of calamity, even a sage has no opportunity to extend kindness; when those above and below are in harmony, even a worthy person has no opportunity to establish merit. Therefore, when the Perfected One—a person whose virtue has reached the highest level—governs the world, he holds virtue within, embraces the Dao, treats people sincerely, and takes joy in giving. His wisdom is boundless, yet he puts aside argument and speaks little. The people of the world do not recognize the value of his rule through silence. Thus it is said: “A Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; a name that can be clearly stated is not the constant name.” What is written on bamboo slips and silk, or carved in metal and stone, and can be handed down to others, is only the shallowest part of the Great Dao.

The Three Sovereigns, Five Emperors, and Three Kings each governed differently, yet their intentions were one; their paths differed, yet they reached the same destination. Scholars of later ages do not understand the unity embodied by the Great Dao, nor the essential unity of virtue. They take only the deeds completed by those who came before as their guide, then sit formally and debate them. However learned and widely read they may be, they cannot avoid causing confusion.

To hold the Dao (the Way) within, embody De (Virtue/Power), treat others sincerely, and delight in giving: this is the way of those in the highest position. To relieve the poor, aid those in urgent need, promote what benefits people, and eliminate harm: this is the way of those in the middle position. To seek first to fulfill oneself in all things, without scrambling to obtain from others; to refrain from seizing victory and willingly yield it to others: this is the way of those in the lowest position. Those who follow the times and understand change, who are not bound to either office or withdrawal, may do different things yet achieve the same results. Even without their deeds being written on bamboo or silk, or inscribed on metal or stone, they are worthy to stand alongside the sages of antiquity.

Laozi said, “The mind is subtle and profound; it can bring about wondrous transformations, yet these are difficult to explain in words. A sage can set the world right without leaving his seat. This depends entirely on the influence of sincerity within the heart, whose effects reach far.” When people hear the same words yet believe one speaker, it is because trust was established before he spoke. When they hear the same command yet obey only one person, it is because his sincerity is expressed in more than the command itself. When a sage occupies the highest position, the people are transformed as if by something wondrous. This is because the sage’s sincerity has already reached them. When those below do not respond to the actions of someone above them, it is because their sincerity and his commands do not accord.

A three-month-old infant does not yet understand benefit and harm, yet his loving mother cherishes him especially deeply. This arises from sincerity. The influence that words can exert is therefore limited and slight; influence that does not rely on words reaches far deeper. People believe a gentleman’s words and remain loyal to his intentions because his sincerity and trustworthiness shine forth from within and move those and things beyond him. This is the teaching of the worthy and the sage.

The Book of the Yellow Emperor says, “Heaven’s nature is embodied in the human being; the human heart is the pivot through which things turn and change.” Can a ruler be called the heart of Heaven and Earth? The heart is where spiritual clarity gathers; feelings and intentions arise within it, while words appear outwardly. If the heart is good, people a thousand miles away will respond; if it is not good, people a thousand miles away will turn away. Thus, when a sage occupies the highest position, the people are transformed as if by something wondrous: without leaving his seat, he can set the world right.

Laozi says: When a son dies for his father or a minister for his ruler, they do not willingly sacrifice themselves to win a reputation. They act from a sense of gratitude and duty, refusing to flee when danger comes. A gentleman’s compassion is not contrived; it flows naturally from within. What matters, too, is what he actually does. A sage has nothing to reproach himself for when in the light of day, while a gentleman is careful in his words and conduct when alone. Such people give up immediate personal gain and keep the long term in mind.

Thus, when a sage holds the highest position, the people are glad to accept his rule; when he lives in a lowly position, they look up to his aspirations. He never forgets his wish to help others.

When danger confronts them, scholars are willing to give their lives; when a matter of great righteousness is at stake, they remain steadfast. This comes from a heart of loyalty and filial devotion. Cheng Hong died for his ruler, and Prince Shen Sheng for his father. They acted from gratitude and duty, refusing to retreat in the face of danger. How could they have sacrificed themselves merely to seek fame? The sage who rules with the people’s willing acceptance refers to the Two Emperors and Three Kings. The sage whose aspirations the people admire while he lives outside power refers to the Hidden Sage and Uncrowned King: one without an emperor’s title, yet possessing a sage’s virtue.

Laozi says: One shout from a brave warrior can make an entire army retreat because the cry comes from sincerity. Someone may take the lead in making a proposal, yet no one responds; there may be an intention in the heart, yet no action follows. This shows that something within is not in accord. The key to bringing order to the world without leaving one’s seat is to turn inward and examine oneself. Where words cannot persuade, one’s bearing and expression may move another; where these, too, fall short, the resonance of sincerity may still reach them. This resonance arises within and appears outwardly in one’s form. When sincerity reaches its utmost, it can connect with others through outward appearance, but one cannot predetermine when it will occur.

Words emerge from the mouth, and actions arise from the heart; this is the expression of sincerity. Words are spoken nearby, yet actions can affect distant places; this is the response brought forth by sincerity. When a warrior cries out, if his voice carries sincerity, which soldier in the whole army would fail to recoil? Consider how Sunzi trained the Wu army: courage came from sincerity. Executing the concubines favored by the King of Wu showed that the king’s earlier words had lacked sincerity, and the consequences fell upon his subordinates. How can those who govern a state fail to be sincere in what they say and do?

Laozi says: “Words must have a foundation, and deeds must have a basis.” If the foundation is lost, then no matter how many skills one has, saying less is better. The one who harms others is Chui, the legendary craftsman; having him cut off his own finger shows that excessive pursuit of superb skill is unacceptable. So although a craftsperson may have wisdom and skill, they should know when to stop. If they do not know when to stop, they must first shut the door and then choose the right time to open it.

The sage warns against saying and doing too much. Only when people honor the Dao and take De as their foundation can instruction spread without relying on words, and so avoid decline. One acts in accordance with Wuwei (non-action), without forcing things, and so avoids bringing calamity. Though ordinary people may possess many skills, they are led astray by cleverness, and few escape injuring their hands. The true master craftsman does not rely blindly on ingenuity, so there is no need to set a bar across the door; others cannot open it. But if one first shuts the door and then opens it, even a sturdy bar can be pried loose by a thief. Where, then, is the foundation?

Laozi says: “The sage’s ways of acting may differ, yet in the end they converge.” This holds whether preserving what endures, rescuing what is declining, or bringing calm to a perilous situation. The sage’s heart never forgets helping the people. The songs of Qin, Chu, Yan, and Wei differ, yet all can bring people joy; the cries of the Nine Yi and Eight Di, ancient names for neighboring peoples, differ, yet all express sorrow. Song is the expression of joy, and weeping the manifestation of grief. Feelings arise within and show themselves outwardly; what matters is how things outside us move the heart. The sage’s heart never ceases, day or night, to help the people, and so his beneficence can reach far and wide.

The sage is not without desires, but follows what people need and enables them to gain what benefits them. The sage does not refrain from all action, but acts when action is called for. Though paths may differ, they can ultimately arrive at the same place; life and death, too, may be seen as connected. The sage would rather diminish himself to help others, never forgetting the world in his heart. Even in different lands and states, where customs change and languages differ, human nature is fundamentally shared. What stirs within finds expression without: joy gives rise to song, and sorrow to tears. These are all my people—how could I forget them? The Duke of Zhou labored day and night, sitting up and waiting for dawn. He never forgot the world, whether day or night, and so his beneficence reached far and wide.

Laozi said: When people do not act with deliberate intent, the world can be well governed. Deliberate action, once begun, undermines this rule through Wuwei (non-action). To practice Wuwei, those who act must not insist on forcing things. Those unable to practice Wuwei will also find it difficult to accomplish anything genuine. People need not speak for the spirit to express itself naturally; insisting that the spirit remain silent instead harms the spirit that is silent by nature.

The body has form, while the spirit is formless. The body, which has form, speaks; the spirit, which is formless, is silent. Understand that being and nonbeing give rise to one another, and you will see that nonbeing does not obstruct being, nor does being obstruct nonbeing. Thus the sage governs through Wuwei because the body does not harm the spirit, and the spirit does not harm the body. Understanding that cleverness and skill are not the spirit itself can instead allow the spirit to become manifest; then body and spirit do not harm one another.

Wenzi says: Reputation can be established through effort, and achievements can be accomplished through effort. In ancient times, Nanrong Chu felt ashamed that he had not grasped the Way of the sages, so he traveled south to visit Laozi. Laozi taught him just one sentence, and his spirit suddenly opened up; what had been blocked and inaccessible gradually became clear. He studied and practiced diligently, going ten days without food, yet felt as satisfied as if he had enjoyed a lavish sacrificial feast. His wisdom therefore illuminated the world, his reputation endured for generations, his understanding encompassed Heaven and Earth, and his observations reached the finest details. People praised him, and his name is still celebrated today. This is how reputation can be established through effort.

Thus, if farmers are unwilling to work hard, their granaries will not be full. If officials who govern affairs are unwilling to apply themselves, their minds cannot be focused. If generals and ministers are unwilling to strive, they cannot accomplish anything. If rulers grow slack, they will leave no reputation for later generations. The Perfected Person cultivates himself in obscurity, like thunder hidden from view. He acts in accord with the times and builds achievements on the conditions at hand; so he advances and withdraws with ease, and nothing proves unworkable.

Even someone who is confused at first can reach the same successful outcome through diligent practice. Was Nanrong Chu perhaps someone who first studied to understand principle, then applied himself in practice? Ashamed that he did not understand the Way of the sages, he went to study under Gengsang Chu. Later he traveled south to visit Laozi and heard the Way of nourishing life. His wisdom illuminated the world, and his reputation endured for generations. This shows that reputation can be established through effort, and achievements can be accomplished through effort. The sage cultivates himself in obscurity, acts in accord with the times, and builds achievements on the conditions at hand. What difficulty, then, is there in advancing or withdrawing?

The Perfected Person is sincere within and expresses De outwardly, spreading its beneficence in all directions. When he sees what benefits the world, he rejoices, yet does not forget that calamities still threaten it. Thinking of these calamities, he becomes so troubled that he feels as though he has lost something. He worries over what troubles the people, and the people, in turn, worry about his plight. If he can build achievements on the conditions at hand, what difficulty is there in advancing or withdrawing?

A Perfected Person, one whose cultivation has reached the highest level, is sincere at heart, and their Virtue (De) spreads in every direction. When they see something that benefits the world, they rejoice, yet they do not forget the calamities the world may suffer as a result. Thinking of these calamities, they grow so anxious and fearful that they feel as though they have lost something. They are concerned by what troubles the people, and the people are concerned by what troubles them. They take joy in what brings the people joy, and the people, in turn, take joy in what brings them joy. Thus, no one who shares the world’s sorrows and joys has ever failed to win the world’s allegiance.

The sage’s way of governing is hard to discern at first, yet ultimately difficult to surpass. It places people on firm ground, stores up reserves in an inexhaustible storehouse, and establishes itself on a foundation that will never run dry. Its decrees flow forth like water from a source, guiding the people toward a state of non-contention and opening paths through which they can fulfill their wishes. The sage does not undertake what cannot be accomplished, seek what cannot be obtained, dwell where they cannot remain, or take a road from which there is no return.

A Great Person, someone of Virtue and influence, carries out reasonable and persuasive policies, and people willingly follow their decrees. When decrees accord with the people’s wishes, small things can grow into great achievements. When they go against those wishes, even good intentions can cause harm, and even a task already completed may turn into failure.

The Perfected Person, the sage, and the Great Person should be distinguished. The Perfected Person regards the people as part of themselves and shares their joys and hardships: when the people are happy, they are happy; when the people are troubled, they are troubled. Such a person can turn small things into great achievements and ultimately win the allegiance of the world.

The sage’s way of governing is hard to see at first and ultimately difficult to surpass; when put into practice, it flows naturally like water. The Great Person carries out reasonable policies and issues decrees in accord with the times. When decrees accord with the times, people follow them; when they run counter to the times, the people suffer.

A true man of stature is one whose heart is steadfast and whose conduct is clear-sighted. A steadfast heart is like Heaven and Earth, which cover and sustain all things; clear-sighted conduct is like the sun and moon, shining everywhere and making all things visible. A great person guides the people through the good Dao and upholds established laws, without lightly altering customary practices. Then all under Heaven will obey their commands, as grass bends with the wind.

When spring policies go astray, the Year Star (Jupiter) moves irregularly, advancing too far or falling short instead of following its proper course. When summer policies go astray, the Brilliant Mover (Mars) moves in retrograde. When autumn policies go astray, the Great White (Venus) appears in positions contrary to the proper order, coming and going unpredictably. When winter policies go astray, the Morning Star (Mercury) fails to move in its proper place. When the policies of all four seasons go astray, the Guarding Star (Saturn) becomes unsettled, the sun and moon show anomalies, the five planets move in disorder, and comets appear.

When spring policies are properly observed, the grain crops flourish. When summer policies are properly observed, rain falls at the right time. When autumn policies are properly observed, the people grow prosperous and thrive. When winter policies are properly observed, the state enjoys health and peace.

Human beings receive the numinous Qi of Heaven and Earth, and the heart is where the spirits dwell. Great people are more spiritually perceptive than ordinary people. As soon as a thought arises, whether good or evil, the spirits of Heaven observe it. Therefore, the successes and failures of government are revealed through disasters or auspicious signs, which respond to changing circumstances without error. The Book of Documents says, “If you neglect the spirits and harm the people, August Heaven will not protect you.” How can those entrusted with responsibility fail to act with caution?

End of volume two of The Commentary on the Meaning of the Perfected Text of Penetrating Mystery.

Before Heaven and Earth took shape, everything was dark and profound, blended into a single whole, still and clear. Later, the heavy, turbid part condensed to form the Earth, while the subtle, light part rose to become Heaven. The four seasons and Yin-Yang then emerged. Pure Qi gathered to form human beings, while coarse, turbid Qi formed insects. Firmness and softness worked together, and from this all things came into being.

The human spirit comes from Heaven, while the bones take root in Earth. When the spirit leaves the body, the bones return to the Earth. What, then, can I still leave behind? Thus the sage models himself on Heaven and follows the Earth, free from worldly constraints and unled by others. He takes Heaven as his father and Earth as his mother, takes Yin-Yang as his guiding principles, and the four seasons as his standard. Heaven is still and clear; Earth is firm and settled. All things decline and perish when they go against this pattern, and survive when they follow it.

Tranquility and detachment are where the spirit dwells in peace; emptiness and Wuwei (non-action) are where the Dao resides. The human spirit is received from Heaven and Earth, and the bones from the Earth. The Dao gives rise to One; One gives rise to Two; Two gives rise to Three; and Three gives rise to all things. All things bear Yin on their backs and embrace Yang; the two Qi blend and harmonize, allowing all things to grow.

“One” is the beginning of form, while “Nine” is the limit of number. Nine signifies exhaustion, reaching the end. The sage investigates the transformations of all things and, in the end, holds fast to the fundamental One. Then the Dao exists within him. One is the mind; the mind is Heaven; Heaven is the human being; the human being is all things; all things are the Dao; the Dao is me; and I return once more to the beginning of all things. To know the beginning of antiquity is to grasp the guiding principle of the Dao.

Laozi says: Human beings are born through the transforming influence of the Qi of Heaven and Earth. In the first month of pregnancy, a gelatinous substance forms as the embryo’s earliest material. In the second month, the blood vessels begin to develop; in the third, the embryo takes shape; in the fourth, the fetus gradually assumes its form; in the fifth, the sinews and vessels form; in the sixth, the bones form; in the seventh, the body is complete; in the eighth, it begins to move; in the ninth, its movements become frequent; and in the tenth, it is born. By then, its body is fully formed, and each of the Five Viscera has taken shape.

Each of the Five Viscera governs a sense organ: the liver governs the eyes, the lungs the nose, the spleen the tongue, the kidneys the ears, and the gallbladder (as the original text reads, referring to an organ associated with the mouth) the mouth. The body’s external activity is influenced by its internal organs: the exterior is the outer aspect, and the interior is the inner aspect. The head is round, modeled on Heaven; the feet are square, symbolizing Earth.

Heaven has the four seasons, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the nine celestial bodies, and the 360 days of the year. Human beings have four limbs, five viscera, nine bodily orifices, and 360 joints. Heaven has wind, rain, cold, and heat; human beings have choices and refusals, giving and taking, joy and anger. The gallbladder is like clouds, the lungs like Qi, the spleen like wind, the kidneys like rain, and the liver like thunder. Human beings resemble Heaven and Earth, while the heart rules the body. The ears and eyes are like the sun and moon; blood and Qi are like wind and rain. When the sun and moon stray from their proper courses, they may draw near one another, undergo eclipses, or lose their brightness. When wind and rain fall out of season, they may damage all things and bring disaster. When the five planets, as understood in antiquity, stray from their courses, regions and states also suffer calamity.

All things begin with the One and come into being through transformation. Heaven is the father, Earth the mother; Yin and Yang join and give rise to the embryo. Mixed Qi generates the myriad things, while pure Qi generates human beings. Thus, the qualities of all things in Heaven and Earth are present within the human body.

Contraction and expansion, giving and taking away, are all ways in which the Dao operates. To go against it is to die; to follow it is to live.

The Dao of Heaven and Earth is vast and boundless, yet it still knows how to restrain its radiance and cherish the spirit. How can people’s ears and eyes remain in constant contact with external things without rest? How can the spirit rush about endlessly without growing weary? Thus, the sage guards the inner spirit while also responding to affairs in the world.

Blood and Qi are the essence of the human body; the Five Viscera are where the body’s vital essences gather and are stored. When blood and Qi are focused within and not dissipated outward, the chest and abdomen become full, and desires diminish. As desires lessen, the ears and eyes grow clear, and hearing and sight become keen and unobstructed. This is called “clarity.” When the Qi of the Five Viscera returns to the heart without becoming scattered, a person’s vitality and intention grow strong, and their actions do not stray from the right path. When the spirit is abundant, Qi is not depleted. Then nothing goes unheard, nothing goes unseen, and nothing one undertakes is left undone. Worries and calamities cannot enter, and pernicious influences cannot invade.

Thus, the more one pursues, the less one actually gains; the wider the range one wishes to see, the less one truly understands.

Heaven gives birth to all things: those that do not move take root and grow; those that move travel across the ground; those with roots grow upright. Human beings possess the qualities of both animals and plants, and are therefore the most spiritually endowed of all beings. How could we fail to cherish our limbs and body, spirit, blood, and Qi? How could we do anything but seek more and more? The kings, dukes, and great officials entrusted with governing the realm bear an even greater responsibility. They must care for people and protect all things, cherishing and nurturing people and all things as they would themselves. Only then have they fulfilled their duty to the Dao.

The apertures of the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth are gateways through which spirit enters and leaves. Blood and Qi (vital energy) are like messengers of the five organs, conveying and circulating what they carry. When the ears and eyes become absorbed in sounds and sights, the five organs are thrown into turmoil, blood and Qi surge without rest, and the spirit rushes outward, unable to remain settled. Even when calamities or blessings as great as mountains appear before them, people cannot perceive them. The sage therefore cherishes the spirit and does not let it stray beyond its proper bounds. The ears, eyes, and spirit are made responsive to what is subtle and hidden, yet remain free of enticement and distraction from external things. When the will and Qi are kept clear and still, and desires are reduced, the five organs can be at peace.

When the spirit remains within and the body does not exceed its proper measure, one can see what lies in the past and future and discern the signs of calamity and blessing. The farther the spirit rushes outward, the less one can know. The five colors disturb the eyes and blur vision; the five tones enter the ears and dull hearing; excess in the five flavors harms the mouth and tongue. Desires to choose and reject unsettle the heart and make conduct restless and unstable. Cravings scatter a person’s Qi, while love and aversion wear down the spirit. If these disturbances are not removed early, one’s resolve and vitality will be depleted day by day.

Though a river may be vast, wind and sun gradually diminish it. Though the spirit may be vigorous, desires for things can disturb it. Nothing escapes this depletion. The sage understands what is subtle and hidden, is not enticed by external things, and keeps the spirit secure within and the body at ease without. With the heart empty and still, the spirit can dwell in peace. Because the heart is empty and still, the sage can perceive what lies in the past and future.

The way of nurturing life has no other secret: it is like raising a horse. One need only remove whatever harms it.

People do not live out their full natural span because they pursue health too zealously and pamper their lives. Only by not treating the preservation of life as a deliberate pursuit can one attain longevity. Heaven and Earth move in mutual accord, and the myriad things together form a single whole. Whoever understands this “One” can understand everything; whoever does not understand it cannot truly understand anything. I, living in the world, am one of the myriad things, and each of the myriad things is itself a thing. Since this is so, on what grounds can one thing regard another as an object distinct from itself?

There is no need to strive deliberately to stay alive, or to flee death out of loathing for it. There is no need to despise oneself for being lowly, or to delight in oneself for being honored. Settle into the conditions that are one’s own, and do not dare push anything to an extreme. By avoiding extremes, one can attain the greatest joy.

Some things grow without being driven by external force and do not need to seek nourishment deliberately. This is to follow their nature. If they must be driven to grow or deliberately seek nourishment, that is human interference. People sometimes go too far, intent on urging the myriad things along and helping them grow. This is like pulling up seedlings to help them grow: it harms life, misdirects care, and prevents one from living out one’s full natural span. The sage brings themself into accord with Heaven and Earth and unites with the myriad things. They do not deliberately prolong life, nor regard death as something apart from themself. They do not despise themself when lowly or delight in themself when honored, but settle according to their own conditions and avoid extremes. Thus they attain the greatest joy.

Guard the Empty One (keep the heart-mind empty and still, focused and undistracted).

Laozi says: A sage adapts to the times, is content with their place, and carries out their work in the world. Sorrow and joy can lead De astray; likes and dislikes can burden the mind; and anger and pleasure can obstruct alignment with the Dao. Therefore, in life the sage follows the natural course of things, and after death changes along with all things. In stillness, the sage accords with Yin Qi; in movement, the sage flows with Yang Qi.

The heart-mind governs the body, and Shen is its treasure. If the body is overworked without rest, it grows weak; if Shen is used up without pause, it withers. The sage follows these principles and never dares to go beyond their limits. When responding to what exists with what does not exist, the sage surely investigates its underlying principle; when receiving what is real with an empty, still mind, the sage surely understands its proper measure. Calm and content, empty and still, the sage remains self-contained until life’s end.

The sage is neither distant from others nor especially intimate with them. The sage holds to De, nurtures harmony, follows the Way of Heaven, joins with the Dao, and keeps company with De. The sage does not rush to seek good fortune or hasten to bring calamity upon themself. Changes between life and death cannot unsettle the sage’s heart-mind; this is why the sage is called “Utmost Spirit,” one whose spirit has reached the highest state. At this level, nothing sought is unattainable, and nothing undertaken is impossible.

The sage lives with an open, empty mind and acts in accordance with the Way of Heaven, adapting to the moment. Neither gain nor loss disturbs the inner mind, and neither life nor death changes the sage. With an empty, still mind, the sage receives all things, holds to De, and nurtures harmony; the sage does not rush to seek good fortune or hasten to bring calamity. When something comes, the sage responds to it as naturally as an echo answers a sound. Once the response is complete, the mind returns to stillness. This is called “guarding emptiness.”

Hold fast to nonbeing alone.

Laozi says: If you do not treat the great affairs of the world as weighty, your spirit will not be burdened. If you regard the myriad things as small and ordinary, your mind will not be confused. If you see life and death as equal, your will will not be afraid. If you follow the transformations of the myriad things, fame, disgrace, honor, and shame will not dazzle or unsettle you.

The Perfected Person—a person whose moral cultivation has reached a high level—relies on an unshakable foundation, walks a path without obstruction, draws from a source that never runs dry, and learns from an undying teacher. Wherever he goes, he moves forward smoothly; whatever he faces, he meets with understanding. Whether bending or straightening, bowing his head or looking up, he keeps to his original nature without becoming confused, adapting to the changes of fortune and misfortune. Neither gain nor loss can disturb his mind.

Those who uphold the Way can be transformed by benevolence and virtue, but cannot be coerced by military force; they can be set right by the Way, but cannot be tempted by profit. A noble person would rather die for the Way than stay alive for wealth and rank. One who upholds the Way will not retreat in the face of death. How much more so for someone who has reached the state of Wuwei (non-action)? The one who practices Wuwei has no burdens. A person without burdens regards the world as something outside himself. Looking upward at the conduct of the Perfected Person, probing deeply into the true meaning of virtue, and then examining worldly behavior below, one finds that worldly conduct is shameful. The person who holds the world outside his mind is like someone who sets his learning up as a great drum, making it resound throughout the world.

Being arises from what has never been; what exists is born from nonbeing. After being disappears, it returns to nonbeing. Yet being cannot wholly do without nonbeing: without nonbeing, being could not come to be, since being cannot exist by itself. Understand that being gains from nonbeing and nonbeing works through being, and you will see that “nonbeing” does not mean absolute emptiness. To cling even to “nonbeing that is not empty” is to miss the Dao. Nor is being a constant, fixed existence; what is not constant belongs to particular things. Thus, when the sage is wealthy, he does not cling to possession; when poor, he does not cling to deprivation. He regards himself and the myriad things as equal, and life and death as one, so his spirit is not burdened. Within him is an indestructible foundation of his own; this is called “holding to nonbeing.”

Third: Holding to Equilibrium

Laozi says: When wealthy, do not cling to possession; when poor, do not cling to deprivation. Regard yourself and the myriad things as equal, and life and death as one, and your spirit will not be burdened. There is an indestructible foundation within you; this is called “holding to nonbeing.”

Laozi says: Prestige, power, and abundant profit are things people covet, but compared with their own being, these things are unimportant. Thus the sage eats only to satisfy hunger and replenish Qi (vital energy), and dresses only to cover the body and ward off cold. Content with a life that accords with their nature, they neither covet nor accumulate what is unnecessary. They do not let their eyes chase after external things or their ears become absorbed in sounds; they do not speak lightly or at length, nor let their minds be led astray by thoughts. They set aside cleverness and artifice, return to simplicity and their original nature, nurture the spirit, and cast off imposed judgments. They neither favor nor resent anyone. This is called understanding the Dao (the Way).

To remove what is defiled and free oneself from burdens, nothing is better than returning to the source, before the myriad things have appeared and before their foundations have divided. By following the Dao in this way, what could one fail to accomplish? Those who know how to nurture life and keep body and mind in harmony are not constrained by profit. Those who understand how inner nature corresponds with external things are not enticed by power. To go beyond all external boundaries is to reach the greatest expanse; to penetrate the innermost roots is to reach what is most precious. Whoever understands this vast and precious truth can act with ease in all things.

The Dao is prized for being held fast: only by holding fast can one accomplish anything. The mind is prized for its calm: when calm, it does not become skewed. Prestige, power, and abundant profit are coveted by everyone in the world. Covetousness throws the mind out of balance and so violates the principle of holding to the Dao. Thus the sage eats only to fill the belly and dresses only for a proper fit; they do not covet the accumulation of wealth. In this way the mind remains calm and settled, and the spirit does not scatter outward. This accords with the constant Dao and is called “keeping to balance.”

Those who cultivated the Dao in ancient times regulated their emotions and nature, cultivated their minds, and cared for body and mind through harmony, maintaining themselves through moderation. Taking joy in the Dao, they did not feel their rank was low; content with De (Virtue/Power), they did not feel poor. They did not long for what their nature did not desire, so they were not troubled when they could not obtain it. They did not wish to do what their hearts rejected, so they felt no regret when they refrained. They did not waste De on things that brought no benefit to their nature, or disturb the harmony of body and mind for things that brought no benefit to life. They did not indulge the body or act as they pleased; the principles they observed were sufficient to serve as a model for all under Heaven.

They ate according to their appetite, dressed according to their bodily needs, sought only shelter in their homes, and acted only in ways true to their hearts. Though they possessed all under Heaven, they did not claim it as their own; they sought no private gain from the myriad things. How could such people lose their nature and life through poverty or wealth, high status or low? Only of them can it be said that they truly understood and put the Dao into practice.

“Things often become difficult precisely because they seem so easy.” This is true when speaking of getting things done, but not from the perspective of the Dao (the Way). In ancient times, those who cultivated the Dao regulated their spirit and nurtured their nature. They first settled the body before taking action, and first steadied their intentions before making a move. They took joy in the Dao, were content with what was natural and ordinary, and did not deliberately force themselves to excel. Thus their conduct had measure, their bearing was dignified and pleasing to behold, and they could carry it out with ease. This is called “keeping to simplicity”—holding fast to what is plain and natural.

Five: Keeping to Clarity

Laozi said: People receive primordial Qi (vital energy) from Heaven. Their ears and eyes encounter sounds and colors; their noses and mouths sense fragrances and odors; their bodies feel hunger, cold, and warmth. These experiences are fundamentally the same for everyone. Yet some meet their deaths while others survive; some become exemplary people while others become petty ones. These differences arise from the different constraints and guidance each person receives.

Shen (spirit) is the deepest ground of human wisdom. When the spirit is clear, wisdom shines brightly. Wisdom is the storehouse of the heart; when wisdom is impartial, the heart is at peace. People do not use muddy, flowing water as a mirror, but look at themselves in clear, still water, because it is both clear and calm. Only when the spirit is clear and the heart at peace can one see things as they truly are. Therefore, to act effectively, one must begin by neither using things recklessly nor forcing outcomes.

When a mirror is bright, dust cannot obscure it. When the spirit is clear, appetites and desires cannot lead one to misjudge. When the heart is focused on something, the spirit gathers there. Then, by returning the heart to emptiness and stillness, one can dispel agitation and let the spirit settle and rest. This is the state of ease and self-possession attained by the sage. Thus, anyone who governs the world must understand the true condition of human nature and life to be fit for the task.

Clear water reflects all things; a clear spirit can perceive the Dao. People receive primordial Qi from Heaven and are much the same from the outset. Why, then, should I be any different by nature in my ability to perceive the Dao inwardly? The key is whether the heart is clear. The sage’s heart is lucid like still water: when things arrive, it reflects them as they are; when they depart, the heart returns to stillness, leaving not the slightest trace. This state of clarity and purity, undisturbed by anything, is called “keeping to clarity”—holding fast to stillness.

Laozi said: The so-called sage is simply one who lives in accordance with their own nature. They eat according to their appetite and dress according to the needs of their body. They restrain themselves, leaving no room for greedy or corrupt thoughts to arise. Thus, those who can possess all under Heaven do not make possessing all under Heaven their aim; those who can gain renown do not pursue it through conduct that exceeds the norm and betrays their proper role. For those who truly understand the nature of life, humaneness and righteousness arise naturally.

When the spirit is unobstructed, the heart has no burdens, thought flows freely, and the mind is calm and free of concerns, power and profit cannot tempt such a person, sights and sounds cannot confuse them, eloquent speakers cannot persuade them, the clever cannot sway them, and the brave cannot make them afraid. This is the realm in which the perfected person, one who embodies and follows the Dao (the Way), roams at ease. The source that gives life to the myriad things does not live and die along with them; the source that transforms the myriad things does not itself change. Those who do not understand this principle, even if their wisdom could encompass Heaven and Earth, their insight shine like the sun and moon, their eloquence unravel the most intricate knots, and their writing polish even metal and stone, would still be of no use in governing all under Heaven. Therefore, the sage never loses sight of the foundation they uphold.

The sage follows nature and preserves what is most genuine. They act in accordance with the times and circumstances, while also understanding the feelings of the people. They do not go against the nature of the myriad things, and so their spirit remains settled, free from the burdens of the body, pure and undivided, and unchanged. This is called preserving the genuine.

Preserving Stillness, Seven

Laozi said: Inner stillness, quiet simplicity, and calmness can nurture life; a harmonious and empty stillness, free from contrivance, can keep De (Virtue/Power) at rest. When external things are not allowed to disturb the heart, one’s nature can find its proper place. When the heart is still and harmony is not disrupted, De can remain secure in its proper position. To govern affairs by the way of nurturing life, and to pass through one’s days holding fast to De—this is to truly understand the Dao.

In such a person, the blood vessels do not become congested, and the Five Organs—the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys in traditional Chinese medicine—do not accumulate stagnant Qi (vital energy). Neither fortune nor misfortune can unsettle the heart; praise and blame cannot stain the mind. Without an age that makes this possible, who could achieve it? A person of talent born at the wrong time can scarcely preserve even their own life, much less someone without the Dao.

One who can see the finest autumn hairs—the new hairs growing on animals in autumn, a figure for things of extreme subtlety—may be unable to hear a thunderous roar. One whose ears attend to sounds as pleasing as gold and jade may be unable to see the form of Mount Tai. Thus, to focus on what is small is to overlook what is great. Now the myriad things stream in from every side, tugging and pulling at our nature, and draining our Jing (essence) as relentlessly as a gushing spring. Even if we wish to remain untouched by them, how could we manage it?

Take a basin of water: if it is kept clear, after a day it can still reflect one’s eyebrows; if it is muddy, a slight stir is enough to make its roundness and squareness indistinguishable. The human spirit is difficult to keep clear, yet easily clouded, like water in a basin.

The Dao by which Heaven and Earth move is still, so the myriad things grow of themselves without being driven. The sage, too, prizes stillness in governing the world; thus the people can each act in their own way without waiting for commands or instruction. Once the impulse arises to rush toward achievement and stir up new undertakings, the natural state of the myriad things is disturbed and their innate order is damaged. Stillness is lost, and those who act become confused. Only by refraining from deliberately creating strange changes can one be said to preserve stillness.

Observing the Law, Chapter Eight

Laozi said: The highest sage follows the Dao of Heaven; those next in rank honor the worthy; those after them employ their ministers. [The text repeats itself at this point; the translation follows the wording as it stands.]

Observing the Law, Chapter Eight

Laozi says: The most accomplished sage models himself on the Dao of Heaven. The next kind of person prizes worthy men, and the next leaves affairs of state for ministers to handle as they please. To leave everything to ministers is a path toward ruin. To prize worthy men without reserve can easily become a source of confusion. Modeling oneself on the Dao of Heaven is the proper way to govern the world. Make emptiness and stillness the foundation: keep the mind clear and open, without insisting on taking anything in; keep the heart quiet, and all things can be held in balance. Only by understanding the way of emptiness and stillness can one carry things through from beginning to end. Thus the sage governs through stillness, while agitation brings disorder. As the saying goes: “Do not stir things up or provoke them, and all things will become clear of themselves. Do not startle or alarm them, and all things will settle of themselves.” This is the Dao of Heaven.

The most accomplished sage models himself on the Dao of Heaven, and the parts of body and mind come into harmony, while all changes settle into balance. The next kind of person prizes worthy men and makes policies according to personal preference; this is precisely a source of confusion. The next leaves affairs of state to ministers to decide, with laws and standards emerging from public debate; this is a sign of impending ruin. Without standards for cultivating oneself, one’s actions become confused and one’s spirit is depleted. Without standards for governing a state, political order falls into chaos and the people suffer. Only when realizing and following the Dao is made the foundation can one be said to uphold the law.

Chapter Nine: Guarding the Weak

Laozi says: The Son of Heaven and the lords treat the world or their own states as their households, and all things as their possessions. With the vast world in their hands and so many things at their disposal, they are prone to become overbearing and proud. Strong states use force to invade the weak, while subordinate ministers may also arrogantly offend those above them. Ambition that is too extravagant and expansionist is like violent wind and rain: it cannot last.

Therefore, the sage brings peace to the world through the Dao. He holds to the root and practices Wuwei, not damaging the inner Qi of harmony. He values what is subtle, keeps to weakness, yields, and does not claim possession. He takes the rivers and seas as his model: they make no deliberate effort, yet gather all the waters, and so their achievements and renown come naturally. By not striving to seize things, he can accomplish the work of a king. Dwelling in the world’s yielding and receptive position, his spirit can endure. By knowing how to cherish himself, he preserves his dignity. The power of a state with ten thousand chariots, and the fame on which the fate of all things depends, carry immense responsibility and must not be treated lightly. If one holds oneself in contempt, one’s achievements and renown will be difficult to secure.

The Dao appears vast, yet it is brought to completion through what is subtle. Though things are many, they are governed by a few roots. Thus, when the sage governs the world through the Dao, his gentleness and subtlety show that he values what is small; his thrift, restraint, and reduction show that he values what is few. By valuing what is small, he can accomplish what is great; by valuing what is few, he can bring things to perfection.

Softness and yielding are the Dao’s way of working, but they do not mean timidity. They simply mean holding fast to emptiness, stillness, and balance. The Son of Heaven treats the realm as his household, and the lords treat their fiefs as theirs. They should regard the people as part of themselves, never throwing their weight around on the strength of their rank or oppressing others with arms and armor. If people in distant places do not submit, they should cultivate civil virtue so that those people come willingly. A great state should help a small one, thereby benefiting more people. If a few people accept someone as their leader, that leader should act without disturbing peace and stability. This is called holding fast to softness and yielding.

Heaven’s way lowers what is high and raises what is low; it reduces what is in excess and replenishes what is lacking. Rivers and seas dwell in low places, so all the waters of the world flow into them, and people, too, turn to them and honor them. This is why the sage is humble and still, yielding and free of contention: the sage willingly takes the lower place. The sage is open-minded and never self-satisfied, knowing that there is always something lacking. By willingly taking the lower place, the sage can reach the heights; by knowing what is lacking, the sage can cultivate De. Those who boast cannot establish themselves; those who live extravagantly cannot endure. Those who use force and relish conflict invite ruin, and those who are full of themselves will eventually lose everything.

Strong winds and torrential rain cannot last all day, and even a small valley cannot stay full for a moment. With their forceful and violent power, strong winds and torrential rain cannot endure; in the end, they die away. A small valley lies between powerful highlands, so it cannot escape being encroached upon. The sage therefore holds to the yielding feminine principle, discards pride and extravagance, and dares not rely on force. By holding to the yielding feminine principle, the sage can achieve strength; by avoiding pride and extravagance, the sage can endure.

Heaven’s way reduces what is in excess and replenishes what is lacking; it abhors fullness and favors humility. Those who rely on force become overlords; those who rely on De become kings. The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and forceful. Harsh policies in the human realm harm the people just as violent winds from Heaven break down trees. When primordial Qi is discharged with force, that force cannot endure. The sage therefore remains humble and holds fast to softness and yielding.

Laozi says: When the Dao reaches its utmost, it turns back. When things are full, they decline; the sun and moon are like this. Therefore, each day the sage reduces private desires, keeping the heart humble and open, and never daring to be complacent. Each day the sage advances along the path of gentleness and humility, so De does not diminish. This is the law of the Dao.

Human nature delights in high places and dislikes low ones, welcomes gain and resents loss, seeks advantage and recoils from illness, and favors honor over low status. Everyone pursues these things, and so they fail to accomplish what they seek. By holding on tightly, they fail to truly obtain anything. The sage follows the Dao: without contrived action, things are accomplished; without clinging to possession, something is gained. The sage shares the feelings of ordinary people, yet acts by a different way, and so endures.

It is said that the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors had a vessel for self-admonition called the “You Zhi,” a tilting wine vessel: when filled to the proper measure, it stood upright; when filled to the brim, it overturned. Things decline when they flourish. At noon, the sun begins to move west; after the moon is full, it wanes; when joy ends, sorrow often follows. Therefore, the wise and intelligent should preserve themselves through simplicity and unadornedness; those broad in knowledge and skilled in debate should preserve themselves through plainness; the brave and forceful should preserve themselves through reverence; the rich and eminent should preserve themselves through modesty; and those who bestow benefits throughout the world should preserve themselves through yielding. These five practices were the principles by which the former kings safeguarded the world. Those who follow this path do not seek fullness; therefore, even when they suffer loss, they can continually achieve new deeds.

When the Dao reaches its utmost, it turns back; when things flourish, they decline. This is the constant pattern. When a wine vessel is filled to the brim, it tips over; when a blade is too hard, it is easily broken. This, too, is the nature of things. If people can see these patterns clearly and do not use their power to oppress others or rely on force to assert themselves, they can avoid collapse and defeat. By remaining gentle, yielding, and humble, they can preserve themselves and remain secure for a long time.

The sage follows the closing and opening of Yin-Yang, remaining undisturbed by the pull of external things. He reaches a state in which his heart seeks no pleasure, and so nothing can keep him from being at ease. Such a person faces the outside world with peace of heart and does not depend on external things to satisfy it. Thus he finds joy within himself and attains supreme happiness. What is precious is that he has grasped the key to all things under Heaven: the root lies not in others, but in oneself; not outside, but within. When one is settled, all things can find their proper place.

Those who understand the way of inner cultivation keep their likes, desires, preferences, and aversions outside the heart. They are therefore not made joyful, angry, happy, or sorrowful by things. They regard the myriad things as profoundly interconnected and do not cling to absolute right and wrong. Scholars hold fast to established principles, and women remain steadfast in their conduct. They do not rely on power to gain honor, wealth to become prosperous, or brute force to appear strong. They do not covet riches or worldly fame, nor do they feel secure because their status is high or endangered because it is low. Body, spirit, Qi (vital energy), and intention each rest in their proper place.

When rain is on its way, the stone bases beneath pillars grow damp first. When spring approaches, frozen ice and snow begin to melt first. When a person is about to die, the tongue stiffens first. All this is caused by changes in Qi. Softness belongs to the realm of life; rigidity and hardness belong to the realm of death. Those who act with brute force and arrogance yet meet an untimely end have taken hardness to its extreme. Only those whose Qi and body are in harmony and gentle, able to connect and coexist with the myriad things and grow alongside them without causing harm, come close to the state of accord with the Dao (the Way).

The body is where life takes up residence; Qi is the root of life; Shen (spirit) is its ruler. If any one of these three loses its proper place, the other two will suffer. Thus, making Shen the ruler, so that it governs the body and Qi, may be the way closest to what is right.

The body is the dwelling place in which life resides; Qi (vital energy) is the foundation of life; and Shen (spirit) is the force that governs life’s activity. If any one of the three loses its proper place, all three will harm one another. When Shen is given primacy, the body benefits in turn; when the body is given primacy, Shen instead suffers harm.

Those who are greedy and consumed by desire become absorbed in power and profit, while chasing fame and status. They seek to surpass others through exceptional intelligence and high rank, and so their spirit is depleted day by day. If they remain immersed in this for a long time and cannot return, the body’s inner functions will also become obstructed, leaving no way for the spirit to enter. As a result, they often become confused and forgetful, and lose their sense of self.

A person’s spirit, mind, and breath grow fuller and stronger day by day when quiet, but are depleted and weakened day by day when agitated. Therefore, the sage preserves and nourishes the spirit, keeping the breath calm and gentle and the body steady and at ease, while advancing and withdrawing in accord with the Dao’s transformations. In this way, the changes of all things harmonize with the sage, and the shifts of every affair receive a fitting response.