《通玄真经缵义(杜道坚)》Vol. 4

By wearing coarse clothing and sharing in the people’s hardships and joys, a ruler ensures that no one under Heaven will rebel. A foolish ruler acts otherwise: he demands taxes from the people without considering what they can bear, and makes demands of his ministers without measuring their resources. Men and women cannot meet the ruler’s needs through farming and weaving; their strength is exhausted and their wealth stripped away, until they can scarcely make ends meet. Then ruler and ministers grow resentful of one another.

To sustain a household, one person may guide a plow through a field of fewer than ten mu. An average field yields no more than four shi of grain, yet he must support his wife and children, as well as elderly and frail family members. Sometimes disaster strikes, leaving the people unable to meet the ruler’s demands. Even if the ruler shows some compassion, a greedy and cruel ruler will still drain the people’s resources as if emptying a pond of its fish, to satisfy his endless desires. The people are then unable to receive Heaven’s harmonious Qi or enjoy the bounty of the Earth.

When Yao ruled, he regarded the people as part of himself. He collected their goods in moderation and provided for them according to fixed limits. Thus, people harbored no resentment or rebellious intent, and every household could be commended. From this we can see that an enlightened ruler governing the world must first consider whether the harvest has been good or poor and assess whether households have enough before levying taxes. When taking is kept within bounds, the people will not resent the ruler, and Heaven will not send down punishment.

Laozi said: among the forces of Heaven and Earth, nothing is more important than harmony. Harmony means that Yin and Yang are balanced and day and night are in equilibrium. Thus, all things sprout at the spring equinox and ripen at the autumn equinox; both growth and ripening depend on harmonious Qi. If Yin Qi gathers in excess, nothing can grow; if Yang Qi gathers in excess, nothing can transform. Only when Yin and Yang meet can harmonious Qi arise.

Therefore, the way a sage acts is at once generous and measured, upright and gentle, yielding and true, firm and benevolent. What is too hard will break; what is too soft will bend. The Dao lies between firmness and softness. A cord can be coiled and tucked away, or drawn out and stretched flat. It can lengthen without becoming unruly, shorten without breaking, and lie straight without becoming rigid. This is the quality the sage emulates.

If kindness is shown too freely, it is easily taken for granted and loses its authority. Excessive severity becomes harshness and destroys harmony. Overprotectiveness indulges people and leaves them without restraint. Punishment that is too severe brings misfortune and erodes people’s sense of closeness. Thus, good governance depends on maintaining harmony.

When speaking of Qi, harmony is the key. When Heaven and Earth are in harmony, the myriad things become clear and manifest; when Yin and Yang are balanced, the myriad things can grow. If one is harsh without measure, harshness turns into ferocity and harmony is lost. If one shows unbounded leniency, leniency becomes indulgence and is hard to restrain. If one relies solely on punishment, penalties bring calamity and alienate people. That is why harmony is so precious.

Qi is governed above all by harmony. When Heaven and Earth are in harmony, the myriad things are clear; when Yin and Yang are balanced, all things can grow. When ruler and ministers live in harmony, the court is stable; when father and son live in harmony, the family flourishes; when those above and below are in accord, affairs proceed smoothly. When the body’s nutritive and defensive Qi—the Qi that circulates within, sustaining nourishment and protection—is balanced, the body is healthy and at ease. The importance of harmony is truly great!

Laozi said: A state endures because it has attained the Dao; it moves toward ruin when the principles of governance are obstructed. The sage observes change and, from it, examines a state’s prospects. Signs that virtuous governance is about to flourish or decline often appear first in the prevailing customs and spirit. Thus, a state that has attained the Dao can grow strong even if it is small; a state already showing signs of ruin will ultimately fail, however powerful it may seem for a time. When a state is on the verge of destruction, even great national strength is no cause for confidence. When the Dao is put into practice, even a small state must not be dismissed. Whether a state survives depends on whether it has attained the Dao, not on its size; whether it moves toward ruin depends on whether it has lost the Dao, not on its size.

A deluded ruler seeks only vast territory and a lofty position, while neglecting benevolence, righteousness, and virtue. In doing so, he abandons the very foundation on which the state depends for survival and turns instead toward ruin. If he defies the courses of the sun, moon, and stars above—the “Three Lights”—and loses the support of the people below, who will be willing to assist him? Thus, those who are skilled at examining themselves do not lay all blame on others.

What prevails throughout the world is called the Dao; what remains unchanged through the ages is called principle. The Dao and principle are of the greatest importance. Since ancient times, every state that was founded flourished when it attained the Dao and perished when it lost principle. To seek only high rank and vast territory while neglecting virtue, benevolence, and righteousness is like a tree without roots: its withering and collapse are only a matter of time.

The rulers of antiquity who practiced the Dao and De deeply were called “Daoist and virtuous.” Those who practiced them more superficially were called “benevolent and righteous,” while those who practiced only their outward forms were called “ritualistic and wise.” These six are the guiding principles that sustain a state. Deep practice brings deep blessings; shallow practice brings fewer blessings. When they are practiced fully, all under Heaven will willingly submit.

In ancient times, cultivating Dao and De could set all under Heaven in order; cultivating benevolence and righteousness could set a whole state in order; cultivating ritual and wisdom could set a community in order. The deeper one’s virtue, the wider its influence; the shallower one’s virtue, the smaller its influence. Thus, the Dao cannot be established through displays of force, won through hardness and aggression, or gained through rivalry and greed. Achievement comes when the people of the world hold one in esteem; victory comes when they willingly submit; gain comes when they are willing to give, not when one forcibly takes. Therefore, humility and gentleness can secure a place, weakness can prevail, and practicing benevolence and righteousness can win support. One who does not contend has no rival. The Dao moves through the world like the rivers and seas.

Dao and De, benevolence and righteousness, ritual and wisdom all take root in the human heart. People practice them to varying degrees and put them into effect with greater or lesser depth; their names are therefore established according to how they are actually practiced, giving rise to these six levels. Even so, they are all good at root: when those in high positions act well, no one below dares not to do the same. Later generations failed to cultivate Dao and De and relied instead on power and force to govern their states; as a result, their states fell into peril.

The Dao of Heaven unfolds naturally. Deliberate action leads to failure, while clinging too tightly leads to loss. If one seeks a glorious reputation through rivalry and pursuit, I believe one will ultimately be disappointed. Even if it is gained for a time, it cannot be kept for long.

Reputation cannot be obtained by demanding it; it must be bestowed by the people of the world. When they are willing to bestow it, they will rally to one’s side. Those to whom the world rallies are people of De. Thus it is said: when De reaches its highest level, all under Heaven will rally to its possessor; when benevolence reaches its highest level, people throughout the four seas will rally to its possessor; when righteous conduct reaches its highest level, the people of a whole state will rally to its possessor; and when observance of ritual reaches its highest level, the people of a whole district will rally to its possessor. Without these four virtues, the people will not rally. If they do not rally, military force will be used—and using military force is dangerous.

Weapons are inauspicious things, to be used only when there is no alternative. Warfare kills and wounds people, and even victory should not be celebrated. Where a battlefield becomes a place of death, thorns spring up. One should therefore mourn with grief and treat the war according to the rites for the dead. A noble person should devote themselves to virtue and not rely on large-scale warfare.

The Dao of Heaven proceeds naturally; deliberate action makes one lose it. Reputation is merely an appendage of actual De. No reputation is greater than that of a ruler. When a ruler has De, there is no need to seek a reputation: all under Heaven will bestow it naturally. For the world to bestow a reputation is for the world to rally to its possessor. This is why the Two Emperors and Three Kings, the wise rulers of antiquity, are esteemed, while the Five Hegemons and Seven Warring States fall short. To neglect virtue and rely single-mindedly on military force is to stray far from the Dao of Heaven.

Wenzi asked, “Why are benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom shallower than the Dao and De?” Laozi replied, “Those who speak of benevolence must judge by sorrow and joy; those who speak of righteousness must show it through taking and giving. The people under Heaven are numerous, and it is not easy to make everyone sorrowful or joyful. Even if the treasury were emptied, it would not be enough to provide for all the people. So it is better to cultivate the Great Dao and put De into practice, following the nature of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, so that each thing returns to its proper place. Then the world can be abundant, and benevolence and righteousness will arise and take their place alongside Dao and De. Thus, the great man abides in profound De and does not linger with the shallower virtues of benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom.”

Ritual is the outward ornament of genuine feeling within; benevolence is what appears after kindness has been extended. Therefore, ritual should be shaped in accordance with human feelings and should not exceed genuine feeling; the practice of benevolence, too, should not go too far. Grief arises from the heart, and funeral rites should accord with the feeling of compassion.

Wenzi again asked why benevolence, righteousness, and ritual are inferior to Dao and De. Laozi explained: “Those who speak of benevolence judge by sorrow and joy; those who speak of righteousness show it through taking and giving. All of this involves deliberate action. Among the people under Heaven, many deserve pity, while few can be made joyful. The resources of the treasury are limited, and they are easily exhausted when given away. De, by contrast, follows Wuwei (non-action), allowing the myriad things to return to their proper state of their own accord, so the world can be abundant.”

In caring for life, do not force others to do what lies beyond their ability, and do not forbid them from doing what they cannot stop doing. Keep to the proper measure in all things, and praise and blame will have no cause to arise. Make music only to the extent that it brings people harmony and joy, without exceeding what is harmonious. Understand the distinction between life and death, and know how extravagance and frugality each find their proper place; then the world can be abundant.

The cultivation of life does not force people to do what is beyond their abilities, nor does it forbid them to do what they truly cannot stop doing. Matters are weighed and arranged with just the right measure, so that neither blame nor praise is invited. Music is composed only to bring people joy. It does not stray beyond the bounds of harmony, and it also helps people understand the difference between life and death and how luxury and frugality should be balanced.

The last age was different. Words and actions contradicted each other, and inner feeling did not match outward appearance. Rituals became cumbersome and ostentatious, while music grew noisy and excessive. The ways of the world became muddied, and blame and praise gathered in the court. People who possessed the Dao therefore abandoned these practices and no longer used them.

A person racing against a fine horse cannot outrun it. But when the person rides in a carriage, the horse cannot outdo the person. One who is skilled at putting the Dao to use builds accomplishments by relying on others’ abilities, letting each person make the most of their strengths and entrusting what they cannot do to those who can. When a ruler grants the people benefits at the proper time, they repay him with their wealth. When he treats them with respect, they are willing to give their lives for him. When the state faces danger, the ruler has no peace; when the ruler is troubled, his ministers cannot be at ease.

Virtue that surpasses what one’s position requires deserves respect; a stipend greater than one’s virtue warrants brings calamity. The worth of virtue does not lie in high rank, nor does taking what is rightfully one’s depend on taking a great deal. To hold high office without sufficient virtue is to steal a position; to acquire wealth without acting justly is to steal property. The sage is content with poverty and takes joy in the Dao. He does not damage his life through desire or burden himself with profit, and so he does not violate what is right by taking wealth without warrant.

The myriad things of the world have continued to live and renew themselves for a very long time. When they receive proper care, life flourishes all the more. Thus, a wise ruler does not force people to do what is beyond their abilities, nor forbid them to do what they truly cannot stop doing. He ensures that the people all receive proper care. Such a person is content with poverty and takes joy in the Dao; he does not damage his life through desire. Nor does he acquire wealth unjustly: he takes only what is reasonable and right to take. Can this really be called excessive greed?

In ancient times, people were appointed according to their virtue: those without virtue were not honored, those without ability were not given office, those without merit were not rewarded, and those without fault were not punished. Appointments were made in accordance with ritual propriety, and dismissals were decided according to what was right.

In eras when petty men hold power, appointing someone is like lifting a clod of earth up to the sky, while dismissing someone is like pushing them into an abyss. People often speak of antiquity because they are troubled by the present. If you misjudge a horse, you may overlook a fine steed; if you reject a candidate because of poverty, you may bury a talent. Pigs are fattened and sent to the kitchen, while people of exceptional stature and ability are passed over for office. A gentleman should examine the facts and not trust slander. When a ruler makes a mistake and his ministers do not remonstrate, they are not loyal ministers. When ministers remonstrate and the ruler will not listen, the ruler is unwise. When the people suffer hardship and the ruler feels no concern, he is not a worthy ruler.

Therefore, holding fast to one’s integrity and facing danger for the sake of the state are a minister’s duty; keeping one’s children from cold and hunger is a loving father’s kindness. For a great state to serve a small one is to go against the natural order; for a small state to invade a great one is to defy Heaven’s course. Even if someone first rises to a high position, they will ultimately fall into hardship. Thus, among the people of a village, young and old treat one another according to age, and even the elderly poor are not abandoned. At court, by contrast, ritual observances follow rank, with distinctions between the honored and the humble.

In selecting talent, one should examine four areas: virtue, speech, affairs of government, and literary learning. If someone truly excels in any one of them, they may be considered for appointment. If they have no strength in any of the four, they are like a macaque wearing a cap, possessing only the outward appearance of a human being. In ancient times, those without virtue were not honored, those without ability were not given office, those without merit were not treated as worthy of esteem, and those without fault were not punished. Thus, offices were not wrongly assigned to unsuitable people, and people’s talents were not left unused.

A person is esteemed because of their closeness to the ruler. Elders are honored because they are like one’s own elders; those older than oneself are respected because they are like older brothers. Those born to high status are prone to arrogance, and those born to wealth are prone to extravagance. Therefore, among the rich and powerful, few can avoid wrongdoing unless they reflect on themselves by bringing principles to light.

Studying without weariness is a way to cultivate oneself; teaching without fatigue is a way to govern the people. Few people will turn to wrongdoing when they have wise teachers and upright friends, yet abandon their instruction. To recognize the worthy is called wisdom; to care for the worthy is called benevolence; to honor the worthy is called righteousness; to show reverence toward the worthy is called ritual propriety; and to take delight in the worthy is called joy.

Between father and son, affection is fundamental; between ruler and minister, moral duty is the guiding principle. Understanding affection and moral duty is the foundation of loyalty and filial devotion. Promoting people of ability and granting them honored positions, and respecting the elderly and revering one’s elders—these may be called an understanding of what is fundamental. Once one can recognize the worthy, cherish them, honor and respect them, and take joy in having them, one has also mastered the means of seeking out, nurturing, and appointing the worthy.

In ancient times, those skilled in governing All under Heaven followed the nature of things and did not impose their will upon them; yet nothing remained undone. Thus, by valuing the worthy, cherishing them, honoring and respecting them, and taking joy in having them, one masters the means of seeking out, nurturing, and appointing them.

In ancient times, those skilled at governing the world followed nature and did not act recklessly, yet there was nothing they could not accomplish. Thus they were able to embrace all under Heaven. Understanding how to embrace all things, they could follow their natural course and bring their work to completion. Failing to understand this, they would act rashly and easily invite danger.

Those able to embrace all under Heaven were cautious, like someone crossing a river in winter; hesitant, as though wary of danger on every side; solemn, like a guest; open and yielding, like ice melting; simple and uncarved, like raw wood; indistinct, like muddy water; and broad and deep, like a valley. This is the bearing of one who embraces all under Heaven.

To be cautious as when crossing a river in winter is to dare not rush ahead. To hesitate as though wary of danger on every side is to fear harming oneself. To be solemn like a guest is to act with care and respect. To open and yield like melting ice is to refuse to hoard and store things away. To be simple and uncarved like raw wood is to dare not assume oneself already perfect. To remain indistinct like muddy water is to dare not display one’s cleverness. To be broad like a valley is to dare not be self-satisfied.

Those who dare not rush ahead do not dare to take the lead even when yielding. Those who fear harming themselves remain gentle and do not boast. Those who act with care and respect accept a low position and honor others. Those who refuse to hoard are willing to diminish what they have and do not cling to hardness. Those who do not assume themselves perfect acknowledge their shortcomings and do not expect to have everything. Those who do not display their clarity remain amid filth and lowliness, without rushing to proclaim themselves pure and noble. Those who dare not be self-satisfied see what they lack and do not presume to be worthy.

The Dao seems to yield, and so it can take the lead. It holds to gentleness, and so it can reveal its strength. It accepts a low position, and so it can rise above others. It is willing to diminish what it has, and so its foundations become full and firm. It acknowledges what is lacking, and so it can become abundant and whole. It remains amid filth, and so it can appear pure. It sees what it lacks, and so it can become worthy. This is the Dao: follow what is natural and do not act recklessly, yet there is nothing that cannot be accomplished.

The conduct of great De (Virtue) is wholly in accord with the Dao (the Way). The wise rulers of antiquity governed through Wuwei (non-action), yet enabled all things to find their proper place. The realm was vast, and its people and myriad things were many, yet all could be embraced. The achievements of Wuwei were therefore immense, and the people of the realm supported their ruler without feeling burdened by him.

This concludes juan ten of Annotations on the True Classic of Pervading Mystery.

The collation notes state: At item 1, “Without broadness, one cannot make decisions,” and related passages, the Juzhen edition reads, “Without broadness, one cannot encompass and shelter all; without upright impartiality, one cannot make decisions.” At item 2, “then it can,” the Juzhen edition reads, “therefore it can.” At item 3, the original reads “benevolence”; this has been changed to “position” on the basis of the Juzhen edition. At item 4, the original reads “weight”; this has been changed to “measure” on the basis of the Juzhen edition. At item 5, the original reads “prevail”; this has been changed to “submit” on the basis of the Juzhen edition. At item 6, the original reads “appearance”; this has been changed to “also” on the basis of the Juzhen edition.

Annotations on the True Classic of Pervading Mystery, juan eleven, compiled by Du Daojian of Nanguxi. The title of this juan is “The Upper Meaning.”

Laozi says that anyone who pursues learning and can understand the distinction between the Dao of Heaven and human affairs, grasp the fundamental causes of order and disorder, clarify the heart, quiet distracting thoughts, and uphold the right path; who can also see how things change from beginning to end and ultimately return to emptiness, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action)—such a person may be called enlightened.

The foundation of governance lies in benevolence and righteousness; laws and institutions are secondary. The benevolent and righteous heart with which people are born is the foundation, while rules established later are secondary. Foundation and secondary branches are naturally connected, and both are needed for governance. To attend to the foundation first and then deal with secondary matters is the way of the noble person; to emphasize secondary matters first and attend to the foundation afterward is the way of the petty person. Laws and institutions are established to support benevolence and righteousness. To value laws and institutions while abandoning benevolence and righteousness is like treasuring hats and shoes while forgetting the head and feet.

Benevolence and righteousness must be deep-rooted and far-reaching. If the foundation has not been strengthened and one only tries to extend its reach, it will eventually collapse; if the foundation is too narrow and one only tries to build upward, it will also topple. A beam that is not thick enough cannot bear a heavy load. Nothing is better suited to carrying great responsibility than a sturdy beam, and nothing matters more to governing a state than De (Virtue/Power). A ruler’s relationship with the people is like a wall’s relationship with its foundation, or a tree’s with its roots. When roots grow deep, the tree’s foundation is firm; when the foundation is solid, the upper part of the wall stands secure.

Therefore, an undertaking that does not take morality as its foundation cannot serve as a lasting principle; words that do not accord with the teachings of the former kings—the wise rulers of antiquity—cannot be called the right path. To select and apply only one particular course of conduct or one kind of effect is not a Dao that can be followed throughout the world.

The highest principle is to understand the distinction between the Dao of Heaven and human affairs, and to grasp the roots of order and disorder. Governance has foundations and secondary branches; knowing how to arrange them in the proper order brings one close to the Dao and De. Can the world really be governed by relying on a single method or technique?

Laozi says: Governing the people is like Zao Fu, the skilled charioteer of ancient times, driving a chariot drawn by four horses. The reins and bits must be coordinated, and the driver must keep an upright posture. The driver understands the essentials in his heart and acts in a way that accords with the horses’ nature. Only then can he travel far along the proper road while leaving the horses with strength to spare. Whether moving forward or backward, turning or circling, he can guide them with ease. This is truly mastery of the art of driving.

Power and authority are like the chariot ridden by a ruler; ministers are like the four horses that pull it. A ruler cannot do without the security the chariot provides, nor can he lose the skill of directing his ministers. If the four horses do not work well together, Zao Fu cannot drive the chariot along the proper road. If ruler and ministers are at odds, even a sage cannot govern the state well. When one grasps the Way of governance and uses it to direct affairs of state, ordinary people’s abilities can be fully put to use. When everyone’s duties are made clear and explained to all, wrongdoing can be brought to a halt. When things come, observe how they change; when circumstances arise, adapt to their transformations. If nearby places are governed without disorder, those farther away can also be brought to stability. One need not cling to deliberately imposed instructions: by following the natural Way, one can act without error.

Heaven and Earth are like a single horse; the myriad things are like a single finger. The sage probes the principles of things to their limits, and so uses a chariot to represent power and authority, and four horses to represent ministers. A ruler can govern the state by relying on these conditions, without exhausting his own ingenuity and strength in every matter, and still bring distant regions to submission. This is the principle of governance. Where can one find someone who truly understands driving, so that one may discuss the art of directing the horses with him?

Laozi says: Anyone who cultivates the Dao must block the hidden channels through which evil takes root and prevent trouble before it arises. The important thing is not to make people think themselves right, but to leave them no chance to do wrong. So do not stir up excessive desires in people, or they will pursue them day after day; do not leave things for them to compete over, or they will scramble for them every day. In this way, people’s private desires will fade, and the principles of fairness can be put into practice. Surplus resources should be kept within proper bounds; if they are allowed to be misused, the realm will be difficult to unify.

If people abandon their duties and pay heed only to criticism and praise, or cast aside those with great achievements and instead appoint members of their own factions, then the capable will leave, and those who remain in office will stop striving to advance. Popular customs will unsettle the state, while meritorious officials will fight at court. Thus, those who follow the Dao can govern others; those who do not follow it will be controlled by others.

A good physician does not wait until illness has taken hold to treat it, but prevents it before it begins. Those who cultivate the Dao block the paths to evil and prevent trouble before it arises; in this, too, they are like good physicians. So, if people value not thinking themselves right but refraining from wrongdoing, unending desire and rivalry will not arise. Those who follow the Dao can therefore govern others; those who do not follow it will be constrained by them.

Laozi said: In governing a state, there are fundamental principles, and the most basic is to benefit the people. In issuing laws and carrying out instruction, there are also proper methods, and the foremost is to ensure that decrees are put into effect. If something truly benefits the people, there is no need to copy ancient practices in every detail; if a matter can be handled thoroughly, there is no need to follow old customs blindly.

Thus, the laws established by sages change with the times, and rites are adjusted to suit customs. Clothing and implements are each judged by their convenience and usefulness; laws and decrees, too, must be made appropriate to their time and place. So changing ancient institutions does not necessarily deserve condemnation, and preserving old customs does not merit unqualified praise.

Reading the books of the former kings is not as good as hearing them speak in person; hearing them speak is not as good as understanding why they spoke as they did. Once their intent is truly understood, some principles cannot be fully expressed in words. Hence the saying: “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.”

The Dao followed by sages is sometimes as firm as metal or stone, unchanged by shifts in circumstance; at other times it is like a performance on the qin and se zithers: when one piece ends, the tune must change. Laws, institutions, rites, and music are tools for governing a state; they are not governance itself. Therefore, those of narrow understanding are not fit to discuss the highest Dao, for they are clouded by conventional opinions and constrained by established doctrines.

The Dao is the foundation of law, and law is the application of the Dao. In governing a state, the fundamental principle is to make the people’s welfare the priority; this expresses the Dao. In issuing laws and carrying out instruction, the method is to ensure that decrees are implemented; this expresses the law. Sages adapt laws to the times and rites to customs, taking specific circumstances into account when establishing institutions and decrees. Those of narrow understanding find it difficult to discuss the highest Dao because they are bound by doctrines.

Laozi said: How can there be laws in the world that remain fixed forever? To govern affairs, one must understand the circumstances of the time, accord with human feelings and reason, follow the patterns of Heaven and Earth, and regard the affairs of spirits and gods with care. In this way, the state can be governed with integrity.

In ancient times, the Three Sovereigns governed the world without written laws, yet the people still obeyed them. The Five Emperors established laws but did not use punishments. Under the Xia dynasty, people kept their word; under the Yin-Shang, they swore oaths; and under the Zhou, they made pledges of alliance. Later, customs declined. People endured shame and scorned humiliation, yet craved wealth with little sense of shame. Laws and orders, therefore, should be shaped according to local customs, with their strictness and leniency, urgency and pace, properly adjusted. Tools and institutions, too, should change with the times and be made fit for actual conditions.

Those bound by the letter of the law cannot take on great and lasting undertakings; those rigidly attached to ritual and rules struggle to respond to change. Only those with distinctive insight and sharp judgment can apply the Way of governance flexibly. Those who understand why laws came into being can adapt them to the times. Those who do not understand the roots of the Way of governance will bring disorder in the end, even if they follow the rules to the letter.

Some students today know only how to carry on old practices. Clutching the classics and clinging rigidly to their provisions, they hope to govern the world by them. This is like trying to fit a square handle into a round hole: it will not work. To stabilize a crisis and quell a time of disorder may be beyond even the clever. But if the Way of governance is first made to follow ancient laws, it may seem more than enough even for the dull-witted. Thus, a sage will not put laws unsuited to the times into practice, and a wise ruler will not accept claims that have not been tested.

The sage originally made laws to prohibit treachery and wrongdoing, redress injustice and oppression, and protect the people. The Three Sovereigns had no written laws, yet the people still obeyed. From the Five Emperors onward, each dynasty set different laws, rewards, and punishments because the times had changed. How can a wise ruler fail to investigate the reasons behind this?

Wenzi asked, “Where do laws and standards come from?” Laozi replied, “They arise from what is right and fitting. What is right and fitting is what suits the situation, and this in turn comes from what everyone regards as appropriate. When people all agree that something is appropriate, it accords with their hearts and minds. This is the key to good governance.

Laws and standards do not descend from Heaven or spring from the earth; they are established among people. Those who make them must first turn to themselves and set themselves right. One who truly understands the root will not be distracted by details; one who grasps the essentials will not be led astray by doubts. You may demand of others only what you can do yourself; you should not blame them for what you cannot do. Those in higher positions should abide by the rules that govern those below them. They must not do what they forbid the people to do. Thus, when a ruler establishes laws and standards, he should first take himself as the measure. Only when the ruler strictly observes the prohibitions can his orders be carried out among the people.

When Wenzi asked where laws and standards come from, Laozi told him that they arise from what is right and fitting. The ancient kings established laws and standards to accord with the common sense and feelings of the people. They therefore took themselves as the first measure and did not dare violate what they forbade the people to do. In this way, their orders could be carried out, and people throughout the realm would obey.

Laws and standards are measures shared by all under Heaven, and rulers use them to assess conduct. To make them public is to use them to determine which actions conform to the standards and which do not. Once the standards are set, those who meet them are rewarded and those who violate them are punished. The noble receive no greater reward on account of their rank, and the lowly are not punished more severely on account of theirs. Those who break the law must be punished according to it, even if they are capable and virtuous; those who comply with it are innocent, even if they are not. In this way, justice can prevail and private desires can be restrained.

In ancient times, officials were appointed to keep the people in check so that they could not act arbitrarily. Rulers were established to restrain officials so that they could not act on their own authority. Laws, standards, and the Way of governing, in turn, were meant to restrain rulers so they could not decide matters arbitrarily. When no one acts recklessly, the Dao prevails and governance accords with what is proper. Therefore, in the end, one should return to Wuwei (non-action). Here, “non-action” does not mean doing nothing. It means not acting on the impulse of one’s private wishes, and ensuring that the policies one carries out have a proper basis.

Law is the system by which a ruler establishes standards and makes them common rules for all under Heaven. Once laws and standards have been set, they must be applied without distinction between people. Those who break the law must be punished according to it, even if they hold high status; those whose conduct accords with the standards are blameless, even if they are low in rank. In this way, selfish motives and desires are restrained, and the principle of impartiality can be put into practice. In ancient times, establishing official positions, setting up a ruler, and making rites and laws were all indispensable. If things can be governed in this way, the people under Heaven will have no cause for resentment, and society may return to simplicity. At that point, what need would there be for laws and ordinances?

Laozi said: Those skilled at rewarding spend little but can encourage many; those skilled at punishing impose few penalties but can check wrongdoing; those skilled at giving offer only a limited amount yet can win widespread gratitude; those skilled at taking receive much without provoking resentment. The sage therefore encourages good conduct by doing what the people love, and forbids wrongdoing by doing what they dislike. Reward one person, and people throughout the land will rush to follow the example; punish one person, and they will be filled with fear. Thus, the most fitting rewards need not cost much, and the most effective punishments are not used indiscriminately. This is what it means for the sage to govern the vast realm with simple means.

Birth, growth, decline, and storage—the transformations through which all things emerge, mature, wither, and are gathered in—are the workings of the Dao of Heaven. Rewarding, punishing, giving, and taking are ways of managing affairs in the human world. The sage models himself on the Dao of Heaven above and responds to the people’s wishes below, making these the foundations of fair governance. If one who possesses the realm can wield these four powers well and act appropriately in every matter, then rewarding one person will make people throughout the land rush to follow the example, while punishing one person will fill them with fear.

Laozi says: The way of a minister lies in distinguishing right from wrong, handling matters appropriately, taking the lead in action, observing one’s duties, and understanding their limits. In this way, one can accomplish great things. The ruler and the ministers therefore have distinct responsibilities, and the state can be governed; when those responsibilities are confused, disorder is likely to follow. When ruler and ministers each do what suits their role and occupy the proper place, those above and below can direct one another. A branch cannot be thicker than the trunk, nor can the outermost tip be stronger than the root. There must be a hierarchy of light and heavy, large and small, so that each can restrain the others.

Those who hold power often have little in their hands but bear great responsibility. The principles they uphold are simple, yet the sphere they govern is broad. A tree ten armspans around can support a roof weighing a thousand jun, because it stands where the load is borne. A door bolt only five inches wide can control whether a door opens or closes, because it occupies a crucial place. Government orders must be carried out: those who obey benefit, while those who defy them suffer harm, and so the people of the realm comply. This is the result of following the orders. The power to issue commands and enforce prohibitions comes from drawing on the strength of the people.

“Righteousness” does not mean benefiting every person in the realm. Even if it benefits just one person, the people of the realm will rally to it. Nor does “tyranny” mean harming everyone within the seas. If it harms even one person, the people of the realm will turn against it. Thus, appointments and dismissals, undertakings and abolitions, must all be handled with care.

The ruler depends on the ministers’ assistance to establish his position, while the ministers act according to the ruler’s direction. The ruler above maintains Wuwei (non-action), refraining from arbitrary interference; the ministers below take action. Distinguishing right from wrong, handling matters appropriately, observing one’s duties, and understanding their limits are the ministers’ responsibilities. When ruler and ministers each fulfill what is proper to them, those above and below can direct one another, and forces of different sizes and weights can restrain one another. Thus, distinct responsibilities for ruler and ministers bring order to governance. Every appointment, dismissal, and measure of government affects whether the realm is ordered or disordered, and a ruler must consider each with care.

Laozi said: Bend down by an inch for a time, and you can stretch out a foot. Yield a little in small matters, and you can uphold the right path in great matters. Even sages act this way.

When rulers assess their ministers today, they lose worthy talent if they ignore great achievements, tally every aspect of a person’s daily conduct, and then fault them for minor mistakes. A person of deep De (Virtue/Power) need not be judged for shortcomings in small matters; nor should someone of great renown be blamed for an occasional minor error. Who among us has no flaws? If a person is sound in the main, a few small mistakes should not become a burden. But if they are unsound in the main, proper conduct in their village is nothing to praise. Those who are excessively cautious find it hard to accomplish great things, while those whose conduct has blemishes may be rejected by others and struggle to find a place. People of broad-mindedness do not cling to details, and those of great capacity earn far-reaching reputations. This is the way to assess ministers.

It has always been rare to find people who excel in every respect. When craftsmen seek timber for a building’s main beams, they do not fixate on minor flaws; that is how they find great timber. When rulers choose ministers to assist them, they can secure outstanding talent by yielding on small matters for the sake of greater ends. No person is perfect, and no undertaking is flawless. If we set aside minor concerns and value what matters most, what achievement is beyond reach? If we build on strengths and avoid weaknesses, what task cannot be accomplished?

Laozi said: From ancient times to the present, no one has been perfect in every aspect of conduct. Therefore, a gentleman does not demand that anyone be flawless in every respect. Be principled without hurting others, upright without pressuring them, honest without being unrestrained, and broadly learned and perceptive without denigrating others. If we do not demand perfection in a person’s virtue, literary talent, and military skill, what task cannot be accomplished?

Laozi said: From ancient times to the present, no one has been perfect in every respect. Therefore, a noble person does not demand that anyone excel at everything. Be upright without harming others; be principled without being harsh or oppressive; be honest without giving free rein to your impulses; be learned and discerning without casually slandering others. Whether in moral character, literary talent, or military skill, one should not expect others to be complete in every respect. If you devote yourself to self-cultivation in accordance with the Dao, without harshly criticizing others, people can more easily get along. By cultivating yourself in accordance with the Dao, you will also have fewer faults.

The jade huang of the Xia rulers, a semicircular jade ornament, was bound to have flaws, and even a luminous pearl was bound to have blemishes. People throughout the world still treasured them because minor defects did not diminish their overall beauty. If today we focus only on other people’s shortcomings, forget their strengths, and still hope to find worthy people throughout the world, we will find it difficult.

When judging others, ordinary people are often misled by outward appearances, such as low status, humble origins, or work that is looked down upon, and fail to see the whole of a person’s abilities and understanding. To assess someone, observe what they recommend when they hold high office; how they give when they are wealthy; what they refuse to accept when they are in difficulty; and what they firmly refuse to do when their position is low. Place them in hardship to see their courage; appeal to them with pleasures to see whether they can hold to their principles; entrust them with wealth to test their generosity; and confront them with something frightening to reveal their moral strength. In this way, you can understand a person’s true character.

Those who only forgive themselves will not correct their mistakes; those who constantly blame others will find it hard to maintain whole and lasting relationships. A noble person does not make excessive demands of others because they know that no one in the world can be as wise as Yao or Shun, or do everything perfectly. If someone has great ability, how can we reject them for a minor failing in some small matter?

Laozi says: “Bend yourself for a time so that you may stretch out later; endure some slight indignity now so that you may uphold what is right in the end. Bend an inch and you can stretch a foot; bear a small grievance and accomplish great integrity.” This is what a noble person does. Unless the streams of a hundred rivers flow into the sea, they cannot be called great rivers. And unless people, though they set out in different directions, turn toward the good Way, they cannot be called noble people. The worth of good words lies in putting them into practice; the worth of good conduct lies in its accord with benevolence and righteousness. When a noble person errs, it is like the sun or moon being briefly obscured: their brightness is not diminished. Thus, the wise do not act recklessly, and the brave do not kill casually. They choose what is right and consider whether it accords with ritual and righteousness before they act. In this way, their affairs succeed and their achievements are worthy of trust; even after death, their names deserve praise.

Even with wisdom and talent, one must take benevolence and righteousness as one’s foundation to accomplish anything. When wisdom and talent are put to use, the sage takes benevolence and righteousness alone as the standard: those who meet it are called noble people, and those who do not are called petty people. Even in death, a noble person must take benevolence and righteousness as the foundation for fulfilling their De. Though a noble person dies, their name does not fade; though a petty person gains power, their offenses are not erased.

If someone held a map of the world in the left hand and was about to cut their own throat with the right, even a fool would refuse, because one’s own life is more precious than the world. Yet those who die facing danger for their ruler or family regard death as if they were going home, because righteousness matters more than one’s own life. Thus, though the world is a great prize, it is small beside one’s own life; and though one’s life is precious, it is light beside benevolence and righteousness. This is what it means to take benevolence and righteousness as one’s standard.

Bending and stretching respond to one another; this is one principle by which a noble person lives in the world. To endure a small grievance for a time and ultimately uphold the greater Way is like a dragon or snake lying dormant before rising again. Words and deeds that nourish all things and benefit the many arise from yielding and cultivating De. The sage takes benevolence and righteousness as the standard, understands that one’s own life is more precious than the world, and that righteousness is more important than one’s own life. That is why the sage can face danger for a ruler or family. For this reason, even after a noble person dies, their name does not perish.

Laozi said: The moral principles that guide human beings are like the sun and moon in the sky; they do not change according to the Yi, Di, Man, or Mo—ancient names for peoples from different regions. Whether a person presses forward or holds back is up to them; whether they win praise or face criticism is for the world to judge. Even when one’s intentions and actions are the same, whether one falls into hardship or rises to prominence depends on the times.

Those who act with care and can respond to the affairs of the world can establish achievements; those whose conduct meets the needs of their age can earn a reputation. So anyone who hopes to establish a name and accomplish great things must respond to worldly affairs with clarity and grasp the moment with care. When the moment arrives, they must act at once, without the slightest delay.

Those who waged war in ancient times did not do so to seize territory or covet treasures and wealth. They sought to save what was in danger, quell disorder, and rid the people of harm. The greed of the insatiable brought suffering upon the world and left the people without peace. Thus the sages rose up to punish the violent and pacify a troubled age, removing harm from the world and turning murkiness into clarity and danger into security. They had no choice but to use force to quell the disorder.

Human morality is like the sun and moon in the sky; the five innate qualities of human nature are like the five stars in the heavens. Even among the Yi, Di, Man, and Mo, these principles do not change. Whether to press forward or hold back is one’s own decision; praise and criticism come from others. Whether one is appointed depends on the times, while whether one can fulfill one’s aspirations is tied to one’s fate. Therefore, once a junzi encounters the right moment, they put their moral principles into practice at once, without pausing for an instant.

The Red Emperor belonged to Fire and brought fires upon the human world, so the Yellow Emperor captured him. Gonggong caused floods, so Zhuanxu put him to death. When a ruler refuses moral instruction, he should be checked with authority and force; if he still refuses to listen, he should be subdued through war. There is no greater calamity than killing innocent people while sustaining an unjust ruler. To exhaust the wealth of the whole world merely to satisfy one person’s desire brings an even deeper calamity. To indulge one person’s private desires and leave the people of the world suffering for a long time is something the Way of Heaven cannot permit.

Rulers were established to put an end to disorder. If a ruler now uses the strength of the people to harm them in return, he is like a tiger given wings. How could he not be removed? Those who raise fish must get rid of otters that prey on them; those who raise livestock must drive away jackals and wolves. How much more so when governing the people? This is why war arises.

A state has five cycles of fortune, corresponding to the Five Phases, and this has been so since ancient times. When the Red Emperor presided over the cycle of Fire, the ruler lacked De, and Fire became a calamity. When Gonggong presided over the cycle of Water, the ruler lacked De, and Water became a calamity. From this we can see that when a ruler lacks De, calamities follow the cycle prevailing at the time. This is precisely why war arises. How can a ruler who governs a fief lose De and bring calamity upon himself without knowing to take warning and reflect?

Laozi said: The proper way to govern a state is for the ruler not to issue harsh decrees, officials not to impose complicated administration, scholars not to engage in false conduct, and craftsmen not to make objects of excessive ingenuity. Government affairs should be handled according to practical needs, without disturbing the people; objects should be sturdy and sound, without needless ornament.

Times of disorder are different. Those who act praise one another and make an exalted reputation their pursuit. Those who prize ritual boast to one another, and their rites become insincere. They decorate carriages and horses with elaborate carvings, and cover everyday utensils with intricate designs. Those who seek wealth compete to treat rare goods as treasures; those who discuss writing pursue needless complexity and confusion, making these their chief concern. Scholars vie with one another through false argument, delaying for a long time without reaching a decision. This does nothing to help govern and instead encourages disorder. Craftsmen make extraordinary objects, spending years to complete them, though they serve no practical use.

The teachings of Shennong say: if men in their prime do not farm, people somewhere in the world will go hungry; if women of marriageable age do not weave, people somewhere in the world will go cold. So Shennong farmed with his own hands, and his wife wove with hers, setting an example for everyone. He taught the people not to prize rare goods or treasure things with no practical use. Thus, if farmers do not exert themselves, they cannot provide for themselves; if weavers are not diligent, they cannot clothe and warm themselves. Each person bears responsibility for their own abundance or lack. When food and clothing are sufficient, wrongdoing will not arise. When the people live in peace and contentment, the world will be at peace. In such circumstances, the wise have no opportunity to scheme, and the brave have no place to display their might.

The methods of governing a state differ between ancient and modern times because customs have changed. The ancients were honest and simple. Rulers issued no harsh decrees, officials imposed no complicated administration, scholars engaged in no false conduct, and craftsmen pursued no excessive ingenuity. As a result, people’s desires were easy to satisfy, and governing the state was not difficult. In later generations, customs changed: whatever those above did, those below imitated. People competed with one another in extravagance, and greed had no limit. As a result, people’s desires became difficult to satisfy, and governing the state became difficult.

Laozi says: The way to become a king and establish supremacy lies in careful planning and strategy. An army should be raised according to the standard of justice. Its purpose is not merely to preserve one’s own life, but to decide whether a state will survive or perish.

If you hear that a neighboring ruler is tyrannical and abuses his people, you should send troops to the border, denounce his unjust conduct, and point out his wrongdoing. When the army reaches the outskirts of the city, the general should give this order: Do not cut down trees, dig up graves, destroy crops, burn granaries or property, take the people captive, or seize their livestock.

Then issue a proclamation: That country’s ruler has violated the Dao of Heaven and Earth, shown contempt for the spirits, judged cases unjustly, and killed innocent people indiscriminately. He is someone Heaven intends to punish and the people hate. We have sent out our troops to end unjust rule and let the people enjoy governance that accords with justice. Anyone who dares to defy the Heavenly Dao and bring disorder upon the people will be executed, and his clan will be exterminated. If the people submit on behalf of one household, reward one household; if on behalf of one hamlet, reward one hamlet; if on behalf of one village, appoint its leader as a village marquis.

After conquering the state, do not implicate its people. Depose the ruler and change the laws and orders; honor outstanding people and recognize the virtuous; provide relief to orphans and widows and aid the poor; free prisoners and reward those who have rendered service. The people will open their doors to welcome the army and soak rice to prepare food, fearing only that the righteous troops will be slow to arrive.

An army acting justly reaches the border and can often end the fighting without a battle. An unjust army leaves bodies strewn across the land and rivers of blood, as the two sides fight without end. Fighting to seize territory cannot establish kingly rule; acting only for one’s own gain cannot build lasting achievement. When someone acts for the sake of all, all will support him; when he considers only himself, all will turn away. What all support will grow strong even if it is weak; what all abandon will eventually perish, however strong it may be.

The Wenzi consists of twelve chapters, arranged according to the pattern of “three multiplied by four.” It first discusses the early kings and the hegemonic rulers, then turns to the Way of emperors and kings. The age of the hegemons was perhaps like autumn among the four seasons. As we read passages that do not seek to secure one’s own survival, but instead speak of how to save those on the brink of ruin, the spirit of reviving declining states and continuing broken lineages becomes unmistakable. This spirit is far removed from the unprincipled actions of later ages.

Laozi said: The highest form of righteousness is to govern the state and bring peace to its lands; put benevolence and righteousness into practice; spread virtuous rule and generosity; establish proper laws; block crooked paths; and bring the ministers close and loyal, so that the people live in harmony and those above and below are united, with the ministers working together. The feudal lords revere its might, and people in all directions are grateful for its benevolence. By putting affairs in order at court, one can repel an enemy’s attack a thousand miles away. Issue a command, and all under Heaven responds. This is the best way to use military force.

When the territory is vast and the population large, the ruler wise and the generals capable, the state prosperous and the army strong, and discipline trustworthy and commands clear, the two sides may be evenly matched. Yet before battle begins, before their weapons meet, the enemy has already fled. This is the next best approach.

To understand what the soil and its products are suited for in each region, know the advantages of its strategic passes and terrain, recognize the changes wrought by harsh government, and be versed in the affairs of military formations—then, when blades clash and arrows fly, when the dead are carried in carts and the wounded supported, when a thousand miles of land run red with blood and corpses cover the wilderness, one has reached the lowest form of righteousness. The outcome of war ultimately depends on government: when good government wins the people’s allegiance, they support their ruler and the army is strong; when the people instead overpower the government and turn against their ruler, the army is weak.

Benevolence and righteousness sufficient to win the hearts of all under Heaven, endeavors sufficient to meet its urgent needs, the ability to select and appoint people in a way that wins the support of the worthy, and plans and decisions that take account of the moment and weigh what matters—this is the Way of righteousness in its highest form.

The Art of War says that the side that launches an attack is the “host,” while the side that responds is the “guest.” In the art of warfare, there is a saying: “I dare not take the initiative as the attacking side, but would rather be the side that responds.” This means that war must not be launched lightly. When using force is truly unavoidable, the best course is to bring the enemy into submission by acting in accordance with what is right; next best is to make the enemy troops flee; direct combat is the worst option.

Laozi says that a state is strong because its soldiers can face death without fear; soldiers are willing to die for their state because they believe their cause is just. For justice to be upheld, however, authority and force are needed. Therefore, use civil governance to issue orders and military preparations to maintain discipline. Acting justly is the best course, making the enemy flee is second, and fighting is the last resort.

Laozi also says that a state is strong because its soldiers can face death without fear; they are willing to die because they are moved by justice. Justice can be upheld through authority. Thus, civil governance can issue orders and military preparations can restore discipline, bringing victory; when authority and justice are used together, the state becomes strong. Even when swords clash and arrows and stones rain down, soldiers still press forward because rewards are reliable and punishments are fair.

When a ruler treats the people as his children, they treat him as their father; when he treats them as brothers, they regard him as an elder brother. A ruler who loves the people as his children can govern all under Heaven; when the people respect their ruler as a father, all under Heaven can be at peace. If the ruler treats the people as younger brothers, they will not hesitate to sacrifice themselves for him; if the people serve their ruler as an elder brother, they too will willingly die for him. Therefore, one should not lightly fight an enemy whose troops are bound together by the ties of affection between parent and child, or between brothers.

A ruler who follows the Way therefore sets the affairs of state in order and cultivates De within the country, while guarding against hostile forces abroad and displaying the state’s authority. He also takes stock of the hardships and well-being, and the lives and deaths, of soldiers and civilians, and learns whether they are hungry or satisfied. Even when the date of battle has been set, soldiers can still face death as if returning home because the ruler has shown them kindness.

There is a proper way to govern all under Heaven; why resort to military force? Use troops only when there is no other choice. Soldiers in a strong state are willing to die because justice makes them ready to do so. But would a ruler who follows the Way truly bear to put the people in danger of death simply because the state is strong? The ruler regards the people as children, and they serve him as a father. Thus, if a just ruler sets the affairs of state in order and cultivates De, the state will naturally grow strong. This is indeed something that can happen.

2 The character “shi” was originally written as “shi” in the sense of “affair”; it has been changed to “shi” in the sense of “scholar,” following the Juzhen edition.

3 The Juzhen edition reads “confer a fief in the villages” in place of “marquis in the villages,” and adds the sentence “Those who hear petitions in the counties are marquises in the counties” afterward.

4 The character “ren” was absent from the original and has been supplied from the Juzhen edition.

Tongxuan zhenjing zuanyi, juan twelve, compiled by Du Daojian, styled Nangutzi. The chapter is titled “Shangli pian” (“On Higher Rites”).

Laozi says: The perfected people of antiquity—those who experienced the Great Dao and followed nature—harmonized the Yin-Yang Qi. All beings relied on their De and lived in accord. In those times, each thing followed its own order and grew quietly of itself. The natural, unadulterated nature of things remained intact, and all beings lived in ease and abundance.

When the Way of the age began to decline, Fuxi appeared. He lived in a time of simplicity and unenlightened innocence, and he too harmonized the Yin-Yang Qi. All beings still relied on his De and lived in accord. Each thing followed its own order and grew naturally; simplicity remained intact, and all beings lived in ease and abundance. Later, as the age declined further, people began to seek release from the childlike purity of their original minds. Believing they had awakened to the principles of Heaven and Earth, they made their De complicated and divided.

When Shennong and the Yellow Emperor governed the world, they distinguished things and ordered affairs, arranged the sequence of the seasons, and harmonized Yin-Yang. The people became watchful and alert, standing upright and attending closely to what they saw and heard. Society was brought under order, but could no longer live in the natural harmony of earlier times.

By the Xia and Shang dynasties, people’s desires were drawn toward external things, and their intelligence was enticed by outside influences. Their nature and life gradually lost their truth. Then, in the Zhou dynasty, simplicity faded and the unadulterated was corrupted. People turned away from the Great Dao and pursued falsehood instead. They treated cunning and deceit as De, and clever schemes as proper conduct. They studied and imitated the sages, using ornate, hollow words to coerce others; they also deliberately embellished the Odes and Documents to win renown. Everyone wanted to display their cleverness and use falsehood to conform to worldly tastes, thereby losing the fundamental Great Dao. The loss of people’s nature and the true workings of life took shape through this long, gradual decline.

Thus, the learning of the perfected person restores nature to its natural state and lets the heart-mind and spirit roam in still emptiness. Worldly learning, by contrast, flaunts De and damages nature, bringing anguish to the heart. It also seeks worldly fame through extreme conduct and showy cleverness. These are things the perfected person does not do, for damaging nature cuts off the root of life.

The perfected person can remain steady in their understanding of life and death and grasp the principles of honor and disgrace. If the whole world praises them, they do not become more zealous; if the whole world condemns them, they are not cast down. This is what it means to grasp the essentials of the Great Dao.

Does “the highest rites” refer to the five kinds of ritual: auspicious rites, inauspicious rites, military rites, guest rites, and celebratory rites? The Perfected of high antiquity were rulers of remote times. In those days, the people were simple and honest, and all things flourished. From Fuxi through Shennong and the Yellow Emperor, and then through the Three Kings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou, methods of rule varied, and ritual systems changed with the times. By the era of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period and the Warring States, society had strayed far from the foundations of good governance.

Laozi said: In ancient times, people wore their hair loose and their garments without turned-down collars, yet they were able to govern the world. Their virtue nourished life rather than taking it, and gave rather than seized. No one in the world thought their clothing improper; all equally honored their virtue. In those days, Yin and Yang were in harmony, and all things thrived. One could reach down and take birds from their nests, and wild animals could be tethered and led along. Later, the age declined, and birds, beasts, insects, and snakes became a danger to people. So people cast iron to make weapons and defend against threats. When people faced hardship, they sought ways to make things easier; when calamity struck, they prepared ways to meet it. Each used their own ingenuity to remove dangers and pursue benefits.

Old ways cannot be followed forever, and tools and institutions cannot remain unchanged. That is why the laws established by the former kings changed with the times. Hence it is said: “A name that can be spoken is not an eternal name.” The ways of rule of the Five Emperors differed, yet each spread virtue throughout the world; the measures of the Three Kings were distinct, yet each earned a lasting name. This was the result of adapting to changing times.

It is like the musician Kuang harmonizing the five notes: though pitches shift up and down, no fixed measure can gauge them, yet they always accord with musical principles. Only someone who truly understands the principles of music can compose a melody. Likewise, only someone who holds the fundamental principles in mind and knows how to use tools such as the compass, square, and marking line can govern the people. Therefore, if the institutions of the former kings no longer suit the times, they should be abolished; if practices of later generations prove effective, they should be established. The sage establishes rites and music without being constrained by them, directs the myriad things without being controlled by them, and lays down laws without being bound by them. Hence it is said: “A Dao that can be spoken is not an eternal Dao.”

The Dao of Heaven is not fixed forever, and the ways of the world have gradually declined. Even when ancient rulers let their hair hang loose and wore unadorned garments, nothing about their appearance violated the norms of ritual and music. They could govern the myriad things without being governed by external things, and establish laws without being bound by them. Thus it is said: “The Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao.”

The Dao of Heaven is not fixed forever, and the ways of the world have gradually declined. Ancient rulers let their hair hang loose and left their collars unadorned, yet people throughout the realm did not consider their clothing improper. The people and the myriad things flourished and grew, sharing in the nourishment of the rulers’ De. Later, as the ways of the world declined, birds, beasts, insects, and snakes became sources of harm to people. Laws and implements also changed with the times, and warfare arose.

Laozi said: The sage kings of old observed the celestial patterns above, took the Earth as their model below, and sought principles of governance in human affairs. They harmonized the Yin-Yang Qi and coordinated the seasons. They assessed the fertility and barrenness, height and depth of mountains, hills, plains, and marshes, then arranged tasks and developed production accordingly, relieving hunger and cold and preventing illness and disaster. From human affairs they established ritual and music, put the ways of benevolence and righteousness into practice, and governed human relationships. In accordance with the qualities of Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—the Five Phases—they established the bonds between fathers and sons, making family life possible. By discerning the clear and turbid tones of the five notes and understanding how the six pitch standards generate one another, they established the duties between ruler and minister, making the state possible. They examined the order of the first, middle, and last months of each season, established the hierarchy between elder and younger, and assigned official posts accordingly. They divided territories, established provinces and commanderies, and assigned duties for their administration. They founded academies to educate the people. These were the principles of governing a state. When governance accorded with the Dao, the state flourished; when it lost the Dao, it declined. Nothing expands without contracting, or succeeds without falling into ruin. Only sages can bring their work to completion without declining.

Heaven and Earth have a cycle, and human beings pass through the course of a lifetime. Understand the beginning of life, and you can infer when the myriad things first began to take shape. Understand the state before life, and you can infer what things were like before they took shape. A person grows from childhood to adulthood just as primordial Qi gathers and moves. From adulthood to old age is like that movement passing through different generations. Understand that youth becomes adulthood, adulthood becomes old age, and old age becomes death, and you can infer how the myriad things change after taking shape. As for what changes continually amid change yet is not governed by change, perhaps only the sage can do so.

The sages first created music to calm the spirit, restrain excessive indulgence, and return the human heart to its natural state. Later, music fell into decline and became a means of indulging in pleasure and lust, with no regard for the right way. Its harm continued into later generations and even brought about the downfall of states.

The sages created writing to manage all manner of affairs. Those of limited understanding could use it to avoid forgetting, while the wise could use it to record events. Later, writing was used to deceive and forge, and to excuse the guilty; instead, it harmed the innocent.

The sages established parks and enclosures—grounds for sacrifices, training, and defense—to prepare the offerings needed for ancestral temple rites and to let soldiers train against unforeseen dangers. Later, these grounds became places for racing horses and hunting for pleasure, disrupting the people’s farming seasons and exhausting their strength.

The sages honored the worthy and capable to spread moral instruction and judge legal disputes fairly. The worthy would hold important posts, and the capable would each perform their duties, so that the people might benefit from their kindness and the whole populace feel gratitude for good government. Later, factions formed and colluded, each promoting its own associates. They abandoned public justice in pursuit of private gain and recommended one another both inside and outside the court. As a result, crooked people took office while the worthy were forced to withdraw.

The Wenzi serves as a guide for governing and conducting affairs in later generations. The sages originally created these things with proper aims: music to calm the spirit and restrain indulgence; writing to manage all affairs; parks and enclosures to prepare offerings for ancestral temple rites; and the honoring of the worthy and capable to spread moral instruction and judge disputes fairly. Once these institutions fell into decline, music became a means of indulging in lust, writing a tool for deception and forgery, parks and enclosures hunting grounds, and the promotion of the worthy and capable a means of forming factions for private gain. Crooked people then gained power and the worthy withdrew. The outcome is not hard to understand.

The pattern by which Heaven and Earth operate is this: when development reaches an extreme, it turns in the opposite direction; when things increase too much, loss follows. Thus, when sages govern in response to accumulated ills, they reform institutions, and when a matter comes to an end, they make new arrangements. Reform is beneficial when it brings things into harmony; it fails when judgment and balance are misapplied.

In the sages’ view of governing the world, unless ritual and right conduct are cultivated and clarified, a culture of integrity and shame cannot be established. When the people have no sense of shame, the state is difficult to govern. Without understanding ritual, right conduct, and the laws, people’s behavior cannot be corrected. Unless good conduct is encouraged and what is vile rejected, people will not gravitate toward ritual and right conduct. Without laws, society cannot be governed; yet without understanding ritual and right conduct, laws cannot be properly applied.

The law can punish those who are unfilial, but it cannot make people truly filial. It can punish thieves, but it cannot make people truly upright. When an enlightened ruler is in power, the ruler clearly expresses approval of good and disapproval of evil, setting standards for all. By praise and criticism, the ruler guides the people, draws near to and promotes the worthy, and looks down on and dismisses the unworthy. In this way, punishments can be set aside and used sparingly; when ritual and right conduct are cultivated and clarified, the state can appoint people of virtue and ability.

Thus, the most outstanding people under Heaven may serve as the Three Dukes; the most outstanding in a province may serve as the Nine Ministers; the most outstanding in a state may serve as its twenty-seven high officers; and the most outstanding in a district may serve as its eighty-one senior officials. These are names for ancient offices, indicating that governments at every level should select the finest people from their own communities.

Though Heaven and Earth are vast, without people no order can be established. Though a ruler is exalted, without the people, who would uphold that ruler? The people of the four directions are many, but without ritual, right conduct, integrity, and a sense of shame, they cannot be governed well. Therefore, when sages eliminate accumulated ills and reform institutions, they must take ritual, right conduct, integrity, and a sense of shame as the four fundamental principles of statecraft. When people of virtue and ability each occupy their proper place and ritual and right conduct are cultivated and clarified, punishments can be set aside and used sparingly.

Wisdom surpassing that of ten thousand people is called “Ying”; surpassing that of a thousand, “Jun”; a hundred, “Jie”; and ten, “Hao.”

One who understands the principles governing Heaven and Earth, knows human affairs, has a generous heart broad enough to embrace the people, offers kindness deep enough to bring peace to distant lands, and possesses the wisdom to judge circumstances and act at the right time is a “Ying among people.” One whose virtue is sufficient to guide the people, whose conduct accords with right, whose integrity wins their trust, and whose discernment reveals what is happening among them is a “Jun among people.” One whose conduct sets an example, whose wisdom can resolve difficult questions, whose trustworthiness enables them to keep their promises, and whose integrity ensures that property is distributed fairly—and who acts by established rules and speaks with sound grounds—is a “Jie among people.” One who faithfully fulfills their duties without slackening, acts according to what is right without forming factions for private gain, does not readily flee in the face of danger, and does not grasp at benefits improperly is a “Hao among people.”

Ying, Jun, Jie, and Hao each serve in appropriate posts according to the differing reach of their abilities. In this way, one proceeds from the fundamental to the details, and the important governs the secondary. Those above and below respond to one another, and the people of the realm unite in their allegiance; they abandon greed and baseness and turn instead toward benevolence and rightness. Guiding the people becomes as effortless as wind bending the grass. But if a ruler without virtue or ability is allowed to govern the worthy, even severe punishments and harsh laws cannot stop wrongdoing. The weak cannot subdue the strong: this is a constant principle of Heaven and Earth. Thus, an enlightened ruler promotes the worthy and capable to accomplish great things, while a ruler without virtue promotes those who share their own inclinations. By observing whom a ruler promotes, one can tell whether the government is clear-sighted or disordered; by examining the ruler’s followers, one can judge whether the ruler is worthy or unworthy.

In ancient times, the method of selecting talent put virtue first, benevolence, rightness, ritual, and music next, and only then letters, arithmetic, and laws and institutions. To select people today by the abilities of Ying, Jun, Jie, and Hao—is this not the practice of the Warring States period? The principle governing the realm is that the small cannot subdue the great, and the weak cannot subdue the strong. When the theories of the Vertical and Horizontal Alliances flourished—the diplomatic strategies by which persuaders courted the feudal lords and devised foreign policy—even severe punishments and harsh laws could not prevent treachery and wrongdoing.

Laozi says: Those who emphasize ritual and law often embellish and correct people’s nature and emotions. Though the eyes wish to look, ritual and law impose limits; though the heart takes pleasure in something, ritual and law restrain it. People walk, turn, and bow according to prescribed rules; they bend and stoop, lower their heads, and kneel. Even when hungry, they endure without eating; even when wine is offered, they endure without drinking. Ritual and law constrain the body from outside and fill the heart with sorrow. They suppress the natural harmony of Yin-Yang and force people’s nature and life, so that a person may remain unhappy throughout life.

Why does this happen? Because ritual and law do not examine why people have desires; they simply forbid desire. They do not investigate why people feel joy; they simply guard against joy. This is like penning in wild beasts without repairing the enclosure, while merely trying to stop them from escaping into the wilderness. It is like a river bursting its banks, while someone tries to dam the current with their hands. Thus, if desire is given an outlet and events are allowed to run their course, things will eventually reach a point beyond remedy. Ritual and law are much the same when they merely suppress emotions and block desires without investigating the roots of desire and pleasure. They use moral principles to constrain emotions and guard against desire. Even when people feel choked with grief or suffer hunger and thirst, they can only force themselves to endure, making it difficult to enjoy the full span of life. Ritual cannot make desire disappear; it can only restrain it. Music cannot make joy disappear; it can only prevent joy from becoming excessive.

Ritual is a standard for regulating oneself, a means of preventing deviance, and a path followed by all under Heaven. Like Yan Hui, one can use ritual to regulate what one sees, hears, says, and does, and to nurture the heart within. Then what is contrary to ritual will naturally find it difficult to enter the heart. The value of ritual lies in harmony. When ritual fills a noble person’s heart, truly taking root within and appearing in outward conduct, harmony naturally shines forth and fills the space between Heaven and Earth. Human relationships become cordial, Yin-Yang comes into balance, and all things are able to grow.

What is better: making everyone in the world fear punishment and dare not steal, or making them lose the urge to steal altogether? If people know that something is of no use to them, even the greedy will let it go. But if they do not know it is useless, even the honest may not be willing to yield it to others. People bring their states to ruin, die at the hands of others, and become a laughingstock to the world because desire has taken hold of them. Once people understand that fans are useless in winter and fur coats in summer, everything appears as insignificant as dust and no longer worth coveting. So scooping hot soup onto boiling water only makes it boil more fiercely; those who know how to solve a problem at its root need only remove the source of the fire.

Theft has long been difficult to govern. A person who steals a belt hook is put to death, while one who seizes an entire state becomes a feudal lord. Clearly, thieves come from the upper ranks, not just from below. If people lived as simply as Yao, with an untrimmed thatched roof and plain rafters left uncarved, then even offering rewards for theft would not make them steal. The lavish palaces built by Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang, with their splendid halls, Jade Terraces, and jade gates, were their undoing. They ultimately died at the hands of others—a truly tragic end.

Laozi says: following one’s nature is called the Dao; preserving one’s inborn nature is called De. Only after nature is lost do people exalt benevolence; only after the Dao is lost do they emphasize righteousness. Once benevolence and righteousness are established, Dao and De decline. When simplicity is lost, people embellish it with ritual and music. Once right and wrong are made explicit, the people become confused; once pearls and jade are prized, people throughout the world contend for them.

Ritual serves to distinguish rank and status, while righteousness serves to harmonize human relationships among ruler and minister, parent and child, elder and younger siblings, and husband and wife. In times of decline, ritual and music become elaborate; disputes over right and wrong confuse the people, while the high value placed on pearls and jade sets the world competing for them. Later generations’ rituals stress outward displays of respect. People praise one another for benevolence and righteousness while giving alms in expectation of repayment. Rulers and ministers accuse one another, and resentment grows even among close kin. Thus, when water collects, creatures that devour one another breed in it; when earth piles up, beasts that gnaw at one another appear. When ritual and music grow ever more elaborate, deceit and hypocrisy take root.

Nothing retains its function for long without decline. Even a Dao (the Way) that can be followed and a De (Virtue) that can be cultivated cannot be put into practice if the time is not right. When rulers and ministers prize righteousness, they may still end up blaming one another; when fathers and sons place kinship and affection first, resentment may still arise between them. Is this truly just how human hearts are by nature?

When the age falls into disorder, those who govern fail to store the goods people need to live. Instead, they make the world’s honest customs shallow, let its plain nature fall away, unsettle the people, and treat clarity as filth. People’s dispositions and lives become restless and unstable, and their thoughts turn to competing and striving for gain. Integrity and trustworthiness steadily decay, and people lose their nature. Laws and standards run counter to righteousness, conduct conflicts with self-interest, and rich and poor contend with one another. At such a time, the distinction between ruler and servant is no longer enough to judge the disorder among people.

When goods are plentiful, people yield to one another; when they are scarce, people fight over them. Yielding gives rise to ritual and righteousness, while competition brings upheaval. The more desires there are, the harder it is to set things right; when everyone seeks to satisfy their own wants, conflict will never cease. In a clear and orderly age, even petty people can remain upright, and profit cannot lure them into wrongdoing. In a chaotic age, even exemplary people may commit treacherous acts, and laws cannot stop them.

People sustain life through food: without eating for one day, they grow hungry; for three days, they fall ill; for seven days, they die. In ancient times, states stored enough grain for ten years, enabling them to withstand floods lasting nine years and droughts lasting seven without letting the people starve to death. In the last ages, rulers govern without storing the goods people need to live. This is probably because rulers have too many desires and cannot reduce government work and expenses. When those above provide too little, they are bound to demand more from the people; when those below cannot even sustain themselves, they have no choice but to seize what they can. Food is, indeed, a matter of great consequence.

Laozi says that the rulers of a declining age opened mountains to quarry stone, sought out gold and jade, captured giant clams and other aquatic creatures, and smelted copper and iron, yet prevented all things from flourishing and growing. They cut open the bellies of birds and beasts and burned them in the countryside; they also destroyed nests and brought ruin to states. As a result, the phoenix no longer came, and the qilin no longer roamed.

They built tall platforms of timber, burned forests to hunt, and fished lakes and marshes until they were empty. They piled up earth to make hills for their dwellings, dug wells for water, diverted rivers to create ponds, and built walls for defense. They also captured wild animals and kept them in pens. In this way, Yin-Yang fell out of balance and the seasons became disordered. Thunder and lightning wrought destruction; hail and frost brought calamity. All things withered and perished, and more than half were harmed. Plants and trees withered in summer, and the three rivers dried up and ceased to flow.

They divided mountains, rivers, and valleys, and demarcated boundaries. They set quotas according to population, devised ingenious devices and concealed defenses, prescribed colors of dress to distinguish ranks of high and low, judged who was worthy and who was not, and imposed rewards and punishments. Thus war arose, resentment and conflict took root, and cruel killings of the innocent and punishments of the guiltless followed.

Those who become full yet do not know when to stop are condemned by Heaven, Earth, and the spirits alike. The imbalance of Yin-Yang and disorder of the seasons; destruction by thunder and lightning, harm from hail and frost; the withering of all things and the drying up of rivers—these are the consequences of diminishing, altering, and damaging what is full. If people still cannot reflect on their errors, the calamities that arise from the human world’s aversion to fullness will follow. This is truly something to take heed of.

Laozi says: When people in the world are about to lose their lives, it often begins as Yin Qi rises. When Yin Qi holds sway, government grows dark and unclear; the Dao is abandoned and can no longer be put into practice; De declines and is no longer upheld. People act against the course of Heaven, and decrees are issued without regard for the seasons. The harmonious Qi of spring and autumn is lost, and Heaven and Earth cease to bestow their blessings. The ruler occupies his position but finds no peace; the high ministers withdraw into silence; and the officials flatter the ruler and undermine established norms. Some distance themselves from their own kin to protect themselves. Treacherous people curry favor and secretly plot rebellion. The people support an arrogant ruler, imitate his disorderly conduct, and help him carry it out.

As a result, ruler and ministers lose trust in one another and grow distant, while relatives become estranged and no longer support one another. The fields lie uncultivated, and no one walks at ease along the roads. Stored metal loses its edges, and even when precious jade is collected in great quantities, there is no surplus. Tortoise shells lose their plastrons, while divining stalks are put to use every day. The regions of the world fall into discord and can no longer be united.

The feudal lords each establish their own laws, which differ from one another. Their customs clash; they turn their backs on the root and abandon the source. They impose the Five Punishments—the five traditional forms of punishment—with cruelty, fight over petty gains, and harm the people. More than half the population is killed or injured. Wars follow one after another. In besieging cities, they slaughter the innocent indiscriminately, overturn what is stable, and endanger those in high positions. They build massive battering rams and towering walls, arrange their battle formations, and send soldiers to their deaths. Soldiers face powerful enemies; of those who fight a hundred battles, only one returns. The ruler seeks empty fame, annexing other states and expanding his territory. Hundreds of thousands of bodies lie scattered across the land; the number of elderly and weak who die of hunger and cold is beyond counting. From then on, the people of the world can no longer enjoy a full natural lifespan or live in peace according to their own customs.

Yang Qi makes all things grow, while Yin Qi brings them to decline; the two forces alternate in their movement. The rise and fall of a state seem to follow an established pattern. Yet when the six cycles reach their end, a single Yin force begins to emerge. Floods issue their warning, and disaster continues for nine years. Had three sages like Yao, Shun, and Yu not appeared, humanity might have perished. Thus, although rise and decline follow an established pattern, good or disorderly governance depends on people.

Wise sages rose up and appeared, taking Dao and De as their standard and using benevolence and righteousness to support their rule.

When wise and enlightened sages arise, they take the Dao and De as their foundation, with benevolence and righteousness as aids. Those nearby put their abilities to use, while those far away admire their De, and all under Heaven is brought into harmony as one. Their descendants succeed one another in governing, banish slanderers and flatterers, put an end to tedious and useless debate, abolish harsh laws, relieve the burden of complicated government affairs, suppress rumors, and close off avenues for forming factions for private gain. Rather than flaunting cleverness and schemes, they follow the constant Dao. People are no longer bound by distinctions between the body and intellectual ability, but reach a state of open, integrated understanding, allowing all things to return to their roots. Sages cannot create their age; they simply do not miss the moment when it arrives. Thus, the work of sages does not come to an end.

The ancients established systems of instruction in which the Three Dukes, high officials who assisted the ruler, discussed the way to govern, harmonized Yin-Yang, preserved what was on the verge of perishing, and brought order to what was in turmoil. When sages and worthies arose, they took the Dao and De as their foundation, with the “Seven Principles of Righteousness” as their aid. They banished evil and treacherous ministers, relieved the burden of cumbersome government affairs, suppressed rumors, and closed off avenues for forming factions for private gain. They made all under Heaven like one family, and their descendants governed in succession from generation to generation.

Laozi said: The Feng River, cited here as an example of deep water, is ten ren deep, yet that does not keep it from being sullied by dust and grime. Gold and stone sink beneath the water, yet remain visible from above. This is not because the water is insufficiently deep or clear, but because fish, turtles, and dragons do not wish to dwell there. Crops cannot grow on bare rock, and deer do not roam on barren mountains, because there is no shelter or place to settle. So, if in governing one treats excessive scrutiny as discernment, severity as acuity, harshness toward the people as loyalty, and scheming calculations as achievement, the result is like vegetation spreading without firm roots: in the end, it leads to grave ruin and division. When decrees are broad and simple, without harshness, the people remain unspoiled; when decrees are numerous and exacting, the people become distressed and disorderly.

If water is too clear, fish and turtles will not come, for they fear being caught in nets. When a mountain has no trees or grass, deer go elsewhere, because it offers no shelter or place to settle. Crops cannot grow on bare rock because there is no soil for their roots to take hold. Likewise, when decrees are exacting and every matter is subject to investigation, the people become distressed and unsettled.

When water is too clear, fish and turtles dare not swim there, fearing that they will be caught in nets. When a mountain has no trees or grass, elk descend and travel far away, for there is no shelter or place to settle. Grain cannot grow on stone, because there is no soil for roots to take hold. Rulers of the declining age mistake harshness for clear judgment, haste for cleverness, suppressing their subordinates for loyalty, and resorting to schemes for achievement. A wise ruler would not approve of such conduct.

Laozi said: Govern the state by the right way, and direct warfare through flexible, unexpected methods. First put yourself beyond the enemy’s power to defeat; only then seek to defeat the enemy. To govern oneself poorly and then try to attack others when they are in disorder is like using fire to attack fire, or water to control water. Things of the same kind cannot restrain one another, so one must use different methods to win through surprise. The unexpected counters stillness and can subdue agitation; it counters order and can respond to chaos; it counters fullness and can leave the enemy hungry; it counters ease and can wear the enemy down. The right and the unexpected work together, like water, fire, metal, and wood restraining one another. In any situation, they can bring victory. Thus, when the virtue of the two sides is equal, the larger force defeats the smaller; when their strength is equal, the side with strategy overcomes the dull-witted; when their strategies are equal, the organized and well-deployed side captures the disorganized one.

The Wenzi opens by discussing the “August Sovereign” and concludes with the “Hegemon,” setting out the ways of governing associated with the August Sovereign, the Emperor, the King, and the Hegemon. “Govern the state by the right way, and use the unexpected in warfare” is a principle that has held true from ancient times to the present.

Hegemons, however, do not act this way: they use unexpected methods in war and govern the state by the same means. As a result, their decrees become deceitful, and their good deeds become bizarre. Alas, what praise can be given to those who govern the state after abandoning the right way and making the unexpected their sole concern?

This concludes scroll twelve of Commentary on the Meaning of the True Scripture of Penetrating Mystery.