《唐玄宗御制道德真经疏》Vol. 2

Thus, all things emerge from the root of the Dao.

“After vastness comes a journey far away; after the journey far away comes distance; after distance comes a return to the starting point.”

Explanation: Those who cling to one corner of the world cannot yet be said to understand all under Heaven. Heaven’s role is to give life to and cover all things, but it cannot bear their physical forms. Earth’s role is to bear the physical forms of all things, but it cannot give them life and cover them. Only the wondrous workings of the Dao have no fixed bounds. Though we reluctantly call it “great,” it does not depart from this greatness. If we set out from “greatness” to seek it, we travel farther and farther. If we continue seeking from that distant point, it seems beyond reach. But if we seek from the farthest distance, we find that it has returned to dwell within the human body and mind. That is why it says, “After distance comes a return to the starting point.” The Zhuangzi says, “The Dao is so great that it has no end, and so small that nothing escapes it.”

Thus, the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is great.

Explanation: Earlier, the Dao was reluctantly called “great.” Here, the passage goes on to name the other things that stand alongside it in greatness. Heaven hangs high above, covering all things and overlooking even the tiniest; Earth rests quietly below, bearing all things with its solidity; the king can remain still and practice Wuwei (non-action), thereby transforming all things through instruction. These are the three kinds of greatness, and the Dao runs through them all.

There are four great things under Heaven, and the king is one of them.

“Within the realm” means among things that have boundaries and can be named. The Dao discussed here is not merely one thing within the bounds of Heaven and Earth. If the realm is defined only by what can be seen, then Heaven and Earth form a realm of their own, and the Dao cannot be counted within it. The ancients used language to explain profound principles; there is no need to twist the words into something else. The various interpretations offered in the past have not fully explained the principle.

Here, “realm” means “name”: the range of things that can be referred to by name. The author holds that anything with a name belongs to this realm, which is why it is called “within the realm.” The Dao is within it, and Heaven, too, does not lie beyond it. Thus, among named things are four great beings.

“Kings are one of them” means that the king is one of these four. The king is the most spiritually perceptive and foremost among human beings. When a ruler has the Dao, all things receive his beneficence; when he lacks the Dao, he brings harm upon Heaven and Earth. The scripture singles out the king to show that a ruler should model himself on the natural principle of the Dao.

Humanity models itself on Earth, Earth models itself on Heaven, Heaven models itself on the Dao, and the Dao models itself on what is natural.

The “person” mentioned in the commentary refers to the ruler. The ruler is called a “person” because a person can emulate Heaven and Earth, bringing the myriad things to grow and transform, and emulate the Dao’s stillness and purity, so that the people throughout the realm turn toward him. If he cannot do these things, the myriad things will not heed him or turn toward him. Thus, the word “person” here also serves as a warning to the ruler.

A ruler should emulate the stillness of Earth. Along with being still, he should emulate Heaven’s nurturing and transforming power, allowing his merit and beneficence to extend to the myriad things. He should also emulate the Dao’s purity and Wuwei (non-action), taking no credit for his achievements and allowing the myriad things to grow and transform of themselves. When a ruler can do this, he accords with the natural principle that the Dao takes as its model.

To say “the Dao models itself on the natural” means that the Dao takes the natural as its principle; it does not mean that the Great Dao imitates some thing called “the natural.” Some have challenged this, arguing that if the Dao models itself on the natural, then the world should have “Five Greats,” not “Four Greats.” They also cite the Daoist classic Scripture of the Western Ascension, which says, “Emptiness gave birth to the natural; the natural gave birth to the Dao.” They then describe the Dao as the descendant of emptiness and the offspring of the natural, arbitrarily assigning them an order of precedence and ranks of superiority and inferiority. This account cuts off the source and turns things upside down.

It may be explained this way: “Emptiness” refers to the substance of the wondrous root, the subtle foundation. It is not a concrete thing that exists, and so it is called emptiness. “The natural” refers to the nature of the wondrous root. It is not the result of human contrivance, and so it is called natural. “The Dao” refers to the function of the wondrous root. Because it is difficult to express precisely in words, it is provisionally called the Dao. It runs through and generates the myriad things, and so it is called the Dao.

Emptiness, the natural, and the Dao are names given to the substance, nature, and function from different perspectives. If we trace them to their source, they are in fact all the same wondrous root. How, then, could one imitate another or give rise to another in sequence? We can see from this that those who raise this objection have not truly grasped the key to the mysterious.

Chapter 26: The Heavy Is the Root of the Light

“Heavy” is the root of lightness, and “stillness” is the master of agitation. Here, the flowers and leaves of plants may seem slight, but they grow by relying on their roots. Only deep, sturdy roots can support them. Thus, heaviness restrains lightness, and stillness puts a stop to agitation. If a ruler can remain steady and calm, he can curb rash action and the craving for pleasure.

For this reason, the exemplary person—here, the ruler—does not leave his baggage train, the vehicles and supplies accompanying him, even when traveling all day. The baggage train is the foundation of a journey; without it, provisions run short, and one suffers hunger and cold. If a ruler is frivolous and impatient, his ministers may disperse, and calamity will follow. He should therefore uphold steadiness and calm at all times, just as he guards his baggage train while traveling.

Even when surrounded by splendid pavilions and fine views, he should dwell there peacefully yet remain detached, without becoming enthralled. If a ruler becomes enamored of pleasure—high terraces, deep pools, bells and drums, singing and dancing—he will exhaust the people’s labor and bring turmoil and ruin upon himself.

As the ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots, how can he act rashly and misjudge his own weight, treating himself as less important than the realm?

The territory granted to the Son of Heaven was called the tifeng. It contained one million jing of land, of which 640,000 jing were subject to taxation. These could provide one million warhorses and ten thousand chariots, which is why the ruler was called “the lord of ten thousand chariots.” “How could this be?” is an exclamation expressing sorrow and regret. “All under Heaven” is the most honored and important position of power.

A lord of ten thousand chariots who rules all under Heaven ought to unite the hearts of all within the four seas, so that his descendants may flourish for generations and his foundation endure. If he is skilled in establishing institutions and teachings, he can bring peace to all under Heaven through the Way of Wuwei (non-action). If he is skilled in upholding the Great Way, he can guide the people toward benevolence and virtue. How can someone entrusted with such a weighty responsibility lose himself in pleasure and indulge his desires, only to fall into ruin? To attend only to personal desires while treating the precious position of all under Heaven lightly is truly lamentable. Hence the exclamation, “How could this be?”

When a ruler acts rashly, he loses his ministers; when a minister acts hastily, he loses his ruler.

A ruler who acts rashly will inevitably plunge government affairs into confusion. When affairs are confused, the people’s hearts grow divided; who would still be willing to serve as his minister? Hence the saying, “If he acts rashly, he loses his ministers.” This is a warning to rulers.

A minister should assess his own abilities before accepting office and should not rush to seek a post and invite criticism. If he deliberately puts on a false front and schemes for a stipend, using deception to embellish himself in pursuit of wealth and status, disaster will soon follow. He may even be exiled or executed. How could he then continue serving his ruler? Hence the saying, “If he acts hastily, he loses his ruler.” This is a further warning to ministers.

The Commentary on the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue, Imperially Composed by Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang, Volume Four

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Good Conduct Leaves No Trace

The previous chapter explained that steadiness and tranquility are fundamental, warning people against governing the world recklessly. This chapter discusses acting and speaking without being bound by attachment, enabling one to be consistently skillful in helping others. To maintain steadiness and tranquility, the fundamental principle is Wuwei (non-action); skill in acting and speaking lies in letting go of attachment and distinctions. The chapter first lists five kinds of good conduct, then explains the compassionate heart that is skillful in rescuing others. It next clarifies the meaning of forgetting both sides, and finally sets out the subtle aim of cultivating the Dao.

Good conduct leaves no trace.

Commentary: This explains that the Dharma-nature—the true nature inherent in all things—is pure. “Conduct” means cultivation. When Dharma-nature is pure, this is called “profound mystery beyond duality,” the wondrous state that transcends fixed views of both existence and nonexistence. Though cultivation requires diligence, one must not become attached to what one does. Thoughts arise and pass away; even while cultivating, one does not cling to the idea that there is such a thing as “cultivation.” One thus accords with the Dao, and this is called “good conduct.” When this is achieved, existence and nonexistence are both relinquished, and both the outer world and the inner mind are pure. What trace, then, could remain to be followed? Hence the saying, “Good conduct leaves no trace.”

Good speech leaves no fault to reproach.

One who is skilled in speaking leaves no fault that can be criticized.

The commentary says: This passage explains that those who are truly skilled in cultivation do not cling to words and doctrines. “Flaw” means a failing, “reproach” means blame, and “words” refers to teachings. Good conduct has no limits, so practitioners can grasp the meaning behind a teaching without being bound by its phrasing. They understand that words are only tools of expression and can use them to apprehend principles beyond words. Understanding teachings in this way brings no fault. Hence it says, “One who is skilled in speaking has no flaws or reproaches.”

“One who is skilled in planning does not use counting tokens.”

The commentary says: This passage explains that those who do not cling to verbal teachings will not regard different methods as opposed to one another. If one fixates on phrases, gets stuck in outward practices, and argues over right and wrong, even an expert in calculation will find it hard to settle the count. But if one understands that all methods are skillful means for guiding people and ultimately lead to purity, one no longer forms rigid views against other teachings. There is then no need to labor over calculations; one can naturally enter deeply into the One Vehicle, the ultimate Way in which all returns to unity. What need would such planning have for counting tokens? Hence it says, “One who is skilled in planning does not use counting tokens.”

“One who is skilled at closing needs no bolt, yet nothing can open what is closed.”

The commentary says: This passage explains that when methods are not divided into separate paths, desires naturally come to rest. “Bar” means a horizontal door bolt, and “latch” means a vertical one. Those skilled in cultivation and in keeping the heart closed do not indulge or become attached. Their minds remain clear and pure, so disturbances from the outside world do not arise. Even without a bolt, then, how could anything be opened? Hence it says, “One who is skilled at closing needs no bolt, yet nothing can open what is closed.”

“One who is skilled at tying knots needs no rope, yet nothing can untie them.”

This passage explains that those who are skilled at binding things in place have already united their minds with the Dao. “Tie” means to fasten, “cord” means rope, “bind” means to restrain, and “loosen” means to release. Practitioners who sit in forgetfulness of external things and let go of discriminating thoughts deeply accord with the source of the Great Dao. Since their minds are not entangled by anything they encounter, they are called “skilled at binding.”

When something is tied with a rope, loosening the rope releases the knot. Binding the mind with the Dao is different: when the mind grows still, it merges mysteriously with the Dao. Even when all kinds of conditions arise, the mind remains unstained by anything. If there is no rope to bind with, how could anything be loosened or come undone? That is why it is said: those skilled at binding need no rope, and nothing comes undone.

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people, and so no one is abandoned.

“Therefore” connects what came before with what follows. Although the sage’s mind is quiet and settled, their teaching spreads widely. They always find an appropriate way to help people, so that understanding dawns for them. The sage treats everyone with equal and great compassion, showing no favoritism and turning no one away. They guide people of every kind with care. That is why it is said: “Always skilled at helping people, and so no one is abandoned.”

The sage is always skilled at helping all things, and so nothing is abandoned.

“Things” includes both those with awareness and those without it. The sage helps people through skillful teaching and abandons no one. They also help all things with good intent and abandon nothing, allowing animals and plants to grow as they should, without premature death or harm. That is why it is said: “Always skilled at helping all things, and so nothing is abandoned.”

This is called “hidden illumination.”

“Hidden” means to put something into practice without drawing attention to it; “illumination” means clear understanding. The key to helping others well is to avoid attachment and self-display. If one clings to the forms of teaching and believes oneself to be accomplishing something, traces will be left behind. Thus, although the sage continually helps people, the mind of wisdom remains unobstructed. This subtle practice, kept from view, is illumination; hence it is called “hidden illumination.”

Therefore, the good person is the teacher of the person who is not good.

A “teacher” is someone who can serve as a model. The good person stays clear of various forms of craving and attachment, and so the mind remains pure. This is what is meant by “hidden illumination.”

Therefore, the good person is the teacher of the person who is not good.

“Model” means to take something as an example. A good person can free themselves from all forms of craving and attachment, and so keep the heart clear. They do not cling to a single view of what is true, and so can see things fully and without obstruction. Water offers a comparison: when things appear before it, water reflects their forms. Though it reflects each image, it forms no distinctions or attachments. The good person’s right understanding and wisdom are the same. This is why they can serve as a teacher and example for those who are not good.

Those who are not good are resources the good person can draw upon.

“Resource” means something to rely on or make use of. When a flame rises, those who are cold draw near to warm themselves. After hearing the Dao, one must practice diligently, and this inevitably requires guidance from a master. Since the good qualities of the teacher have already been discussed, one must also recognize that the disciple needs to make an effort. Thus, the good person can also make use of those who are not good and put them to work.

To fail to honor a teacher or value someone one can rely on may seem to ordinary people like a grave error. Yet from the perspective of the Dao, this is precisely its mystery.

In the early stages of practice, people are still learning and making progress. Distinctions between teacher and student, teaching and practitioner still remain; one cannot yet forget the instruction. For this reason, one should honor the teacher and value those one can rely on. But once one truly understands the Way of practice, there is no longer any fixed object of learning. The roles of teacher and student dissolve, and one no longer clings to thoughts of “honoring” or “valuing.”

The point of this chapter is that, in the end, even the teachings must be set aside. Yet the language of practice distinguishes between gradual progress and sudden awakening, and the process still has stages. From the standpoint of ultimate realization, all teachings return to emptiness. The earlier discussion of teachers and resources points practitioners toward progress; the later discussion of not honoring or cherishing guides them toward awakening and realization. One honors the teacher because one is still learning. When the distinctions involved in learning dissolve, there is nothing that needs special reverence. One values those who provide support because one still depends on the teachings. Once even the teachings are set aside, one naturally no longer clings to those who provide support. It is like fish swimming in rivers and lakes: they need not moisten one another with sprays of water.

When ordinary people first hear this teaching, they often cannot grasp it. Clinging to learning and the teachings, they take it to be a grave error. The Old Master weighs the matter this way: even if ordinary people consider it utterly mistaken, from the standpoint of the Dao, it is precisely what is subtle and essential.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: “Knowing the Masculine”

Know what is bright and evident, yet hold to what is dark and still, and you can become a model for all under Heaven. Here, “white” means what is manifest, while “black” means what is hidden. Laozi uses this image to explain that seeing clearly need not lead to self-assertion: one can remain humble, yielding, and gentle.

The text then says, “Know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine,” and you will be like a stream in the world. A stream lies low, so all waters naturally flow into it. If a person can maintain the De (Virtue) of gentleness, stillness, and humility, all things will be drawn toward them. This enduring De will not be lost, and the person will preserve inner wholeness and calm. With fewer private desires, the mind becomes untroubled and detached; before cleverness has emerged, one is as pure and innocent as an infant. Hence the saying, “return to infancy.”

This chapter uses “know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine” and “know the white, yet hold to the black” to show that cultivation means recognizing what is strong and manifest without clinging to it, while holding to what is gentle and hidden. The first leads one back to purity and innocence; the second makes one a model for all under Heaven.

“White” means bright and manifest; “black” means dark and concealed. “Model” means a rule or example. Those who can hold to gentleness and stillness will naturally make their De (virtue and power) manifest. Yet even when their De is manifest, they do not boast of it or place themselves above others. Instead, they remain humble and self-contained, as though dwelling in darkness, preserving simplicity and equanimity. In this way, they can become a model for all under Heaven.

As a model for all under Heaven, their constant De will not go astray, and in the end they will return to the boundless Dao (the Way).

“Error” means going astray; “limit” means an endpoint. To understand what is manifest yet remain content in what is hidden is called complete De. Those whose De is complete are fit to become a model for all under Heaven. Then the constant Dao responds to each circumstance and acts as each use requires, without error and with effects that never run out. That is why it is said, “return to the limitless.”

Understand what it is to be honored, yet remain content in a lowly position, and you can become the valley of all under Heaven.

“Honor” means distinction and glory; “disgrace” means lowliness and subordination. When one becomes a model for all under Heaven, one’s De naturally earns respect. Yet even so, one remains in a lowly position, taking equanimity as one’s standard and embracing all things like a vast, open valley. Whatever comes is met with a response. That is why it is said, “become the valley of all under Heaven.”

To become the valley of all under Heaven is for constant De to be fully sufficient; in the end, one returns to the Uncarved Block.

“Uncarved Block” refers to the Dao in its original state. To receive and respond to all things with emptiness and stillness is like a valley, empty yet able to hold all things. Such constant De is complete and fully sufficient; once sufficient, it returns to the Uncarved Block. The Dao is the source of De, which is why it is said, “become the valley of all under Heaven.”

To become the valley of all under Heaven is for constant De to be fully sufficient; in the end, one returns to the Uncarved Block.

“Uncarved Block” refers to the Dao in its original state. To receive and respond to all things with emptiness and stillness, like a valley, is for constant and authentic De to be complete and fully sufficient; once sufficient, it returns to the Uncarved Block. The Dao is the substance of De, and De is the Dao in operation: viewed in terms of the Dao’s effects, it is called “constant De being fully sufficient”; viewed in terms of the Dao’s substance, it is called “returning to the Uncarved Block.” Returning to the Uncarved Block is a return to the subtle, original, pure foundation; constant De, meanwhile, can respond to every matter and act without limit. Who could achieve this, if not someone who has penetrated the highest principles of all under Heaven?

When the Uncarved Block is divided, it gives rise to particular things. The sage makes use of it and thereby becomes the leader of the officials.

“Vessels” are tangible objects. From “knowing the masculine” onward, the previous passage discusses cultivating one’s nature and returning to De (Virtue/Power). When De is complete and in accord with the Dao, one can respond to things and put this capacity to use. Its effects become visible outwardly, taking shape in particular forms and things; hence the saying, “When the uncarved block is divided, vessels are made.” Once it appears in a variety of things, their materials and uses differ in refinement and coarseness. Ordinary people can only preserve their own simplicity, while the sage extends aid widely and becomes a leader of people of every kind.

Thus it is said: “The highest form of governance does not injure anything.”

This explains how the sage puts the Dao to use. The sage’s De is complete and embraces all things, like Heaven and Earth sending down rain and dew. All things unfold their vitality, yet do not realize whose power has bestowed the benefit. Plants and animals can therefore grow unhindered, and the sage does not injure anything to satisfy personal needs. Hence the saying, “The highest form of governance does not injure anything.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine: “Those Who Would Take the World”

The previous chapter explains that acting with gentleness and humility allows constant De to return to simplicity. This chapter explains that arrogance and stubborn attachment can cause a person to lose their state, and so one must not act recklessly. The six lines beginning with “Those who would” point out that the ruler’s position has its rightful occupant, thereby warning ministers who scheme to rebel. The line “Those who grasp it lose it” explains that the Mandate of Heaven and the turn of the times are never fixed forever, serving as a warning to rulers who are confused and unruly. The passage then uses the changes of all things to show how fortune and misfortune depend on one another, and ends by admonishing rulers against excessive arrogance and extravagance.

Those who would take the world and force it under their rule, I see, will ultimately fail.

All-under-Heaven is the most honored and important position. Heaven grants its mandate to the emperor, charging him with governing the people. To rule All-under-Heaven, an emperor must receive the Mandate of Heaven and accord with the sequence of dynastic succession set by Heaven. Those who are treacherous and rebellious, violent and cruel, may seek to seize All-under-Heaven by force and make themselves its rulers, yet they will not even have time to save their own lives. How, then, could they expect to enjoy the blessings and emoluments granted by Heaven? That is why the Old Lord admonished: “I see that such people will surely fail to achieve their aims.” Here, “yi” is a particle used for emphasis.

All-under-Heaven is a sacred vessel; one must not try to force one’s way into possession of it. Those who do will fail. This great treasure, All-under-Heaven, is entrusted by the spirits of Heaven and Earth. It is meant to be passed down through the ages to a ruler who can preserve the Sages’ Virtue, so that teachings of benevolence and goodness may spread. How could it be seized by violent people through force, only for them to inflict harm on the world through tyranny? From this we can see that All-under-Heaven cannot be claimed by force; those who try are bound to fail. This is a warning to treacherous, rebellious ministers.

Insisting on possessing it leads to losing it. Whether a ruler has suppressed disorder and restored order, or inherited the legacy of his forebears and upheld the laws, he should make his Virtue manifest, avoid wrongdoing, care for the people’s hardships, and seek ways to remedy them. If a ruler insists on occupying the imperial throne, insults the spirits and ancestral temples, and lets the state fall into chaos and all its guiding principles collapse, he will go against the Way of Heaven. The spirits will become angry, the people resentful, and calamity will follow, bringing turmoil and upheaval. At that point, who would still be willing to honor him as ruler? In the end, he will lose the throne. This is a warning to emperors.

Therefore, among the myriad things, some go ahead while others follow; some breathe gently, while others blow fiercely; some are strong, while others are weak; some bear things safely, while others topple and are destroyed.

This commentary says that nothing in the world remains constant, and that the course of events often depends on mutual relationships and transformations. “Huffing” means warming with warm breath; “blowing” means chilling with cold breath. “Strong” means robust, and “weak” means declining. “Undertaking” refers to carrying out an affair, while “ruining” means causing it to fail.

Deliberately forcing something forward may instead cause it to fail; stubbornly clinging to something may ultimately lead to its loss. Things sometimes move ahead and sometimes follow behind; sometimes they are warmed and nourished, and sometimes chilled by a blast of air; sometimes they are supported and grow stronger, and sometimes suppressed and grow weaker. At times someone guides and carries an affair through; at other times someone pushes it along and causes it to go awry. These circumstances intermingle and change, making them difficult to judge by any fixed standard. Only by following the wishes of the people can one win their willing support without wearying them.

Therefore, the sage eliminates excess, extravagance, and indulgence.

The sage who governs the world sees that things develop and change without constancy, and understands that prideful self-reliance and stubborn insistence will eventually lead to loss. So the sage restrains and examines himself, curbs desire, avoids contrived excess, does not pursue luxurious clothing and amusements, and does not indulge in excessive sensual pleasure. Though “excess,” “extravagance,” and “indulgence” are listed separately, they refer in practice to the same thing: acting beyond measure.

Chapter Thirty: Using the Dao to Assist the Ruler

The previous chapter says that prideful stubbornness leads to loss, and therefore one should eliminate excess, extravagance, and indulgence. This chapter says that showing off one’s strength through warfare will eventually provoke a backlash: one must not boast of military power or insist on prevailing by force. It opens with “using the Dao” to warn those who assist a ruler against treating military force as a means of governing the world. The next phrase, “where an army has been stationed,” explains that belligerence brings calamity. The passage beginning with “the good” says that one should use military force only as a last resort. The passage beginning with “when things grow strong” concludes that relying on force ultimately leads to decline.

Those who use the Dao to assist a ruler do not assert their strength over the world through military force, because this approach is likely to invite retribution.

The commentary says, “‘Assist’ means to support; ‘return’ means to bring retribution.” A minister should support the ruler through the Dao’s teachings and governance by Wuwei (non-action), helping bring about the clear and just politics of the sage kings Yao and Shun. Such a minister is like the ruler’s arms and capable right-hand aide. The ruler and minister govern the realm through civil virtue, winning the people’s allegiance and bringing political stability and peace in every direction, without displaying their might through weapons.

If they flaunt their power through force, wage war relentlessly, invade and attack other states, those states will surely strike back. Since war invites reprisal, who can predict in advance which side will win?

Where armies have been stationed, brambles often grow thick. After a major war, years of famine inevitably follow.

The commentary says, “‘Army’ refers both to the military and to the people.” Waging war forces ordinary people into exhausting labor and service. As troops march, the people must also supply and transport provisions, disrupting production and damaging farming. When agriculture is neglected, the land becomes overgrown with brambles. Deploying a great army consumes vast resources, and the baleful force of war damages the harmony that brings good fortune. Floods and droughts follow one another, crops fail, and years of famine often result. These are the harms and resentment brought on by relentless warfare.

Therefore, one skilled in the use of arms stops once the objective has been achieved and does not dare to use force to impose their will.

The commentary cites the Spring and Autumn Annals: “Killing the enemy is called decisive.” This means that driving the enemy back is called decisiveness. Here the emphasis is that driving the enemy back should serve to stop their incursions and prevent violence; the purpose of using arms should be to end war and halt brutality. The Old Master says that anything should be done only when there is no other choice. When the use of arms is unavoidable, one skilled in their use seeks only to stop killing and prevent enemy incursions. They never use superior numbers to oppress the weaker, nor humiliate others to show off their strength. Such displays invite retaliation, so people are warned against them.

When one can use military force to stop an enemy, one should not become complacent, boast of military achievements, or grow arrogant.

The commentary explains: Skill in using military force means stopping the enemy. Even when the enemy has been stopped, one must not boast. To boast of military achievements is to take the credit for oneself, so one should be warned against claiming credit. Boasting leads to arrogance, and arrogance makes one delight in killing; defeat soon follows. This is a clear warning. How could one fail to take care?

One can stop an enemy only because circumstances leave no choice. So even when one achieves a result, one must not flaunt one’s strength.

The commentary says: Stopping an enemy is not about competing to prove one’s superiority or humiliating others. The enemy has invaded, and there is no alternative but to respond. “Yi” means to stop. Taking up arms against an enemy is not a way to seek victory; when one can act in this way, one does not rely on force even in victory. This is the meaning of “achieve the result, but do not be forceful.”

When things reach the height of their strength, they begin to grow old. This is called being out of accord with the Dao; what is out of accord with the Dao comes to an end swiftly.

The commentary explains: When things reach the height of their vigor, they decline; an army that grows too powerful will also fail. Relying on military strength is like letting something overreach itself: it only hastens its decline. Such conduct is out of accord with the Dao. Wise ministers and rulers understand this and should stop in time, rather than continue in this way. “Yi” means to stop.

Chapter 31: On Weapons as Instruments of Ill Omen

The previous chapter explained that relying on a powerful army will ultimately bring calamity, and that military achievements should not be celebrated. This chapter explains that weapons are not things to delight in, and should be used only when circumstances leave no alternative. It opens by warning that war is an ill-omened affair, and that one who follows the Dao does not make it a regular practice. It then explains that even victory is not something to celebrate, since doing so would mean delighting in killing. Next, it draws a comparison with celebrations of good fortune. Finally, it says that war should be approached with the attitude one would bring to a funeral, to show that a love of war must never be treated as a source of joy.

Weapons are instruments of ill omen.

“Delight” means to love or prize something. “Arms” refers to military strategy and tactics. A noble person should cultivate virtue, act with caution, and wait for the right moment before taking action. If military strategy is treated as something delightful, one will become eager for attack and slaughter. Thus weapons and the use of force are inauspicious things.

Cultivating virtue is what a noble person ought to do. Since weapons are inauspicious, even ordinary people may abhor them; a noble person who follows the Dao would certainly not pursue them.

In everyday life, a noble person gives precedence to the left; in military affairs, precedence is given to the right. The left belongs to Yang and symbolizes nurturing life; the right belongs to Yin and symbolizes killing. In ordinary circumstances, a noble person values nurturing life, and gives precedence to killing only when engaged in military affairs.

The scripture says that weapons are inauspicious things, showing that they are not implements a noble person prizes. A noble person takes Dao and virtue as their own resources, and so can act to good effect in every undertaking.

Force should be used only when there is no other choice. Even then, calmness, restraint, and detachment are the proper attitude.

Cultured governance is a means of ordering and guiding the world; military strategy is only an auxiliary. Civil administration can bring order to the relations between Heaven and Earth, while force can quell disorder and calamity. Though none of the Five Phases—Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—can be dispensed with, the use of force must be properly restrained. This shows that all things have their priorities, and actions may follow a favorable or an adverse course; what matters is the particular situation. Force should be used only when there is no other choice. For example, if tribes from the four directions invade and the court sends troops to punish them, they should still be treated with kindness and pacified through moral virtue.

It is like being bitten by a mosquito: there is no need to become angry. From this we can see that calmness and equanimity are the best way to act.

Do not take victory as something to celebrate. Those who celebrate victory take pleasure in killing.

Only when people cannot be brought to submit through De do we use arms to seek victory. So even after winning, we should feel ashamed that our De was insufficient, and not celebrate the victory. Military victory often comes with great slaughter; those who celebrate victory therefore take pleasure in killing.

Those who take pleasure in killing cannot fulfill their aspirations in the world.

Heaven and Earth take the nurturing of life as their foundation, and all things receive their nourishment. A person of benevolence should follow the Dao of Heaven and make preserving and saving life their foremost duty. How could they give themselves over to schemes and violence just for momentary satisfaction? The cruel, greedy, and violent will not win people’s allegiance; how could they hope to fulfill their aspirations? Thus, those who take pleasure in killing cannot achieve their aims in the world.

For auspicious occasions, the left is honored; for funerals and mourning, the right is honored.

The left belongs to Yang and symbolizes growth, so it is honored on auspicious occasions. The right belongs to Yin and symbolizes killing and decline, so it is honored at funerals and in mourning.

The left belongs to Yang and symbolizes growth and good fortune, so festive occasions favor the left. The right belongs to Yin and symbolizes severity, death, and mourning, so funerals favor the right. The Book of Rites, in the “Tan Gong” chapter, records that when Confucius and his disciples stood together, they all held their right hands on the outside. Confucius asked why they were doing this. They replied that it was because the Master’s elder sister had died. The disciples then placed their left hands on the outside.

The deputy general stands on the left, while the supreme general stands on the right. In other words, positions in the army are arranged according to the rites of mourning.

The supreme general commands the army and is responsible for killing, so he stands on the right. The deputy general is an assistant and does not directly command the acts of killing, so he stands on the left. Usually the left is honored and the right is secondary, but the supreme general occupies the right because military arrangements follow the rites of mourning, in which the right represents death and bereavement.

When a war is won, many people have inevitably been killed or wounded. Victory is not something to celebrate, so one should mournfully grieve for the dead. The people are the foundation of the state; only when that foundation is secure can the state be at peace. When warfare has killed the people, it is only right to grieve and mourn for them with compassion.

After victory in war, matters should be handled according to the rites of mourning. Victors are usually rewarded and ennobled, but the right-hand position associated with military achievement is not an auspicious one, so it is to be treated according to mourning rites. The point here is to regard war as inauspicious. It does not mean that one must wear mourning clothes and carry a mourning staff for the rites to count as mourning. Commentaries by various scholars say that such a rite existed in antiquity, but no evidence for it can be found in the classical texts, so that interpretation is not adopted here. Some cite the Duke of Qin weeping before his troops as an example, but he was grieving over defeat, not weeping over victory.

“The Way Is Ever Nameless,” Chapter 32

The Dao has inexhaustible effects, appearing in different ways according to what it encounters. This is the Dao’s constancy. Though constant, it can respond in many different ways; that is why it is called “nameless,” difficult to sum up in a single, fixed name.

“Uncarved simplicity” refers to the subtle, undifferentiated source. In view of its broad power to give life to and nurture all things, it is called the Dao; in view of its pure, undivided nature, it is called uncarved simplicity. Thus it is said to be small. Yet it brings all things to completion and reaches everywhere, so its effects are also immensely vast. For this reason, no one under Heaven dares to treat the Dao as a subordinate.

If rulers can hold fast to this pure source and practice Wuwei (non-action), refraining from arbitrary deeds, all things will naturally turn toward them. People will be transformed by their teaching, and those from the four quarters will be drawn to benevolence. Bathed in kindness and harmony, they will submit of their own accord.

When rulers hold to the Dao and bring peace and harmony to all under Heaven, there will be no oppression or calamity, and the workings of Heaven and Earth will proceed smoothly. The two Qi of Yin and Yang mingle and harmonize, and sweet dew descends—a propitious sign brought about by the rulers’ adherence to the Dao.

“Without anyone” means that no one is needed. Sweet dew descends and kindness is bestowed without intention; no one needs to issue commands, yet people naturally become equal and united. It is like the title of a ruler: people use it and give their allegiance of their own accord.

Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang explained the word “Mo” as “absence.” When sweet dew descends from heaven, it bestows its blessing naturally, without intention. The people do not need to wait for commands: they will naturally settle into peace and treat one another as equals. This is also like a ruler weighing things and giving fairly, without favoring either side. Through the transforming influence of benevolence, everyone returns to harmony and unity, and people throughout the realm submit willingly; there is no need for deliberate calculation or forceful restraint. Another interpretation is that when rulers hold to the Dao, they attract auspicious signs. The people naturally live in harmony, settling into peace and equality without the burden of commands.

“Begin to govern what is named, and all that is named will then be governed”: “Zhi” means to govern or direct; “what is named” refers to the things in the world that have names and can be identified; “all” means everything, without remainder. When rulers hold fast to the unified Dao, Heaven sends auspicious signs. They transform the people without deliberate action, bringing fairness and harmony throughout the world. In this way, they can govern all that is named in the world, guide each thing back to the Dao, and ultimately bring all things under proper order.

“All things will also know where the Dao comes to rest. Knowing where it comes to rest, they will not be in danger.” Here, “danger” means peril. When rulers hold to the Dao and carry out its teachings, all things naturally submit. The named things of the world will also know to rely on the ruler; by following a ruler who is aligned with the Dao, they can avoid danger.

“When the Dao moves through the world, it is like streams and valley waters flowing toward rivers and the sea.” This sums up the point: when rulers hold to the Dao and govern the world, transforming the people through benevolence and Virtue, peace comes naturally. The harmonious Qi responds to Heaven, and Heaven in turn sends auspicious signs, just as waters from streams and valleys gather into rivers and flow into the sea.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Knowing Others

The previous chapter explained that when rulers hold to the Dao, all things naturally submit. This chapter explains that all things submit to a ruler aligned with the Dao because the ruler can understand and overcome himself. Knowing oneself brings insight; overcoming oneself makes one strong. The chapter ends by speaking of a person who dies while their name lives on, warning people not to act against the principles of Heaven.

“Understanding others is cleverness; understanding yourself is true insight.”

Understanding and discerning external things begins with knowing oneself and overcoming oneself. Knowing oneself brings clarity; overcoming oneself preserves strength. The passage concludes with “to die yet not perish,” warning people not to go against the order of Heaven.

To understand others is wisdom; to know oneself is true clarity.

The commentary says: “‘Knowing’ means discerning and observing. When the mind encounters the external world, understanding arises. The mind uses this understanding to examine what came before; this is called knowing things. When people think and understand others’ strengths and weaknesses, the world calls this ability ‘wisdom.’ But if they turn their attention inward, keep the mind from pursuing external things, and use it to examine itself rather than chase external knowledge, they can truly be called clear-minded. Thus, understanding others is only wisdom; knowing oneself is true clarity.”

To overcome others is merely strength; to overcome oneself is true power.

The commentary says: “‘Overcoming others’ means subduing them through power and authority; someone who does this can only be called strong. ‘Overcoming oneself’ means restraining one’s own mind and keeping it gentle. The way of softness can overcome hardness, and so it is called powerful. Gentleness cannot be subdued by external things, so it preserves one’s own strength. Later, the Jing says: ‘To remain soft is called strength.’ It also says: ‘The soft overcomes the hard.’ Therefore, overcoming oneself is true power.”

Those who know contentment are rich; those who strive in practice have resolve.

The commentary says: Contentment resides in the heart. When the heart is content, it does not crave. Even with only coarse food and plain drink, a person can be at ease and self-satisfied; such a person may be called rich. Those who work diligently, continue to put their principles into practice without slackening, know and overcome themselves, and persist over time without changing may be called steadfast in their resolve.

Those who do not depart from their roots can endure.

The commentary says: Contentment, diligent practice, and the like are ordinary human conduct. If one never departs from these principles and holds fast to them, one can practice the Dao for a long time. Another interpretation is that those who do not depart from their roots in action can endure.

When the body dies but the Dao does not perish, that is called longevity.

“Death” is life reaching its end in the ordinary course of things. “Perishing” refers to an unnatural end, such as dying young or meeting a violent death. “Longevity” means that one has lived out the full span allotted to one’s life. To follow nature, accept change peacefully, and die after living out one’s allotted years can be called longevity.

If life is not forced or hurried, but allowed to follow its natural course, it can fully fulfill what is proper to it. Shan Bao, though he had the appearance of a baby, and Zhang Yi, though he enjoyed a high and distinguished position, both failed to live out their natural lifespans. How could they be called long-lived? Thus the Zhuangzi says, “Nothing under Heaven lives longer than a child who dies young; by comparison, Pengzu died prematurely.” By setting a child’s early death against Pengzu’s long life, this reverses the usual way of speaking to emphasize that longevity should be measured by whether one has fulfilled one’s natural lifespan.

Chapter 34: The Great Dao Flows Everywhere

The previous chapter explained that a ruler can bring people to submit because he can overcome himself. This chapter explains that the key to accomplishing great things is to model oneself on the Dao without claiming credit for its achievements. It begins by saying, “The Great Dao flows everywhere,” showing that the Dao has no fixed boundaries. It then says that when things are accomplished, the Dao does not claim credit, showing that it does not distinguish or boast of its greatness. Finally, it offers the sage as an example: because the sage does not value himself, he accomplishes great things.

The Great Dao flows everywhere; it can be on either side

“Flows everywhere” describes something with no fixed attachment and no boundaries. The Dao is neither Yin nor Yang, neither soft nor hard. Unconfined by anything, it can accord with the many forms of all things and appear on either side; it does not belong exclusively to any one kind of thing. Thus the Zhuangzi says, “The Dao has never had fixed boundaries.”

All things depend on it for life, and it does not refuse them; when its work is done, it does not claim ownership

All things depend on the Dao for their life, yet the Dao does not refuse this role or ask for anything in return. After all things have grown and their affairs have been brought to completion, the Dao does not claim the credit as its own.

All things between Heaven and Earth depend on the Dao’s power to link, transform, and bring them into being, so that each can preserve its life and nature. The Dao gives rise to all things through a mystery that is fundamental and acts without intention. All things depend on it for their existence, yet the Dao makes no claim on them and feels no fatigue in this work.

Another interpretation says that all things do not thank the Dao for its contribution. Here, “contribution” means the achievement of bringing all things into being. The Dao generates all things and completes its work, yet does not claim them as its own. A further interpretation says that the Dao brings all things into being, perfects its De, and fulfills its work; though its work is complete, it never claims ownership. This is what it means to forget one’s own achievements.

The Dao cherishes and nurtures all things, yet does not rule over them. It is often free of private desire, and so may be called “small.”

The commentary explains that the phrase “may be called small” is used here to express that the Dao cannot truly be called small. The Dao brings all things into being, cherishes and nurtures them, yet does not rule over them; it is also often without private desire toward them. How, then, could the Dao be called limited? Thus, “may be called small” actually means that the Dao cannot be called small.

All things return to the Dao, yet the Dao does not rule over them; so the Dao may be called “great.”

The commentary explains that all things return to the Dao by returning to its power to generate them. All things return to the Dao, yet it does not claim or take them in. How, then, could it be called anything less than vast? Thus, “may be called great” actually means that the Dao cannot be called great. Since the Dao may be said to be on the left or on the right, it can be counted as neither small nor great. Being neither small nor great, it is difficult to define by name. The phrase “the myriad things differ” in the commentary comes from the Zhuangzi.

Therefore, the sage never calls himself great, and thereby is able to accomplish greatness. This refers to the sage who governs the world: he extends kindness and generosity, allowing an honest and generous way of life and its teachings to spread naturally. The sage does not exalt himself as great, and so is able to accomplish greatness.

When a sage governs the world, he practices rule through De and extends benevolence. Customs grow generous, instruction flourishes, and all things are able to thrive. He models himself on the Dao without claiming credit for its achievements or exalting himself above others; thus he can accomplish works of radiant and far-reaching greatness.

Hold fast to the Great Image and govern the world, and the people of the world will come to you.

“Hold fast” means to keep to something; the “Great Image” refers to the Dao. This passage says that when a ruler keeps to the Dao in governing the world, he does not act recklessly or disturb the people, but lets all things grow in accordance with their nature. People observe the seasons and the weather, and all can return to a well-ordered way of life. Thus the people of the world are willing to come and place themselves under his care.

Once the people have come, if the ruler uses the Dao to bring them peace and does them no harm, they can live securely, and the world will be at peace. Here, “peace” refers to mild laws and instruction; “greatness” refers to radiant and far-reaching achievements.

Music and food can make travelers stop along the way.

Music and food are used here as a metaphor: when a ruler keeps to the Dao, the people of the world come to him, just as travelers will stop at a place where they can enjoy music and food.

The Dao, when spoken of, is bland, as if it had no taste.

When the Dao is spoken aloud, it means that a ruler explains the principles of Dao and De, stillness, and purity, offering guidance that relies not on words but on letting things follow their natural course. When this guidance first spreads, it seems plain and tasteless. How could it stir the senses like the things worldly people prize: intimacy, praise, fear, and contempt?

The Dao cannot be seen or heard, yet it can be drawn upon without end.

Here, “end” means being used up. The Dao’s transformation takes Wuwei (non-action) as its principle and proceeds in peace and accordance with nature. It involves neither harsh and severe scrutiny nor numerous, conspicuous laws. Thus it appears formless and sounds voiceless, yet it can bring abundant harvests, simple and harmonious customs, and a proper place for every plant and animal. It allows all things to flourish and thrive, so its effects are never exhausted.

Chapter Thirty-Six: If You Would Draw It In

The previous chapter explained that when the Dao’s guidance can be put into practice, everyone will turn toward it. This chapter explains that the Dao sometimes also calls for strategic adaptation. The essential means of governing a state should not be readily revealed: when the people turn toward the Dao, the state tends toward peace and stability; when strategic adaptations are used, they should be subtle and cautious. This chapter first discusses the changes between contraction and expansion, then the practice of softness, and finally uses fish in the depths as a metaphor to show how profound and unfathomable the Dao of strategic adaptation is.

If you would draw something in, you must first let it expand. If you would weaken it, you must first let it grow strong. If you would cast it aside, you must first let it rise. If you would take something from it, you must first give to it.

“Draw in” means to restrain. This passage explains how sages guide living beings by using expedient methods of instruction suited to their different capacities. People differ in whether their natural understanding is dull or keen, so teachings also differ between expedient methods and what is true. Sages must understand the capacities of those they guide; here, expedient methods and truth are set against each other to illustrate this.

Those with keen understanding see a good deed and follow it; when they make a mistake, they can correct it. With only a little guidance, they can grasp the principles deeply. Those with dull understanding have long been confused and attached to their views. Without expedient methods to guide them, it is difficult to bring them back to the right path. Thus, to restrain people’s desires, one first lets them run their course: people pursue their desires to the full, until they are trapped by them and then turn toward restraint. The same principle can be understood and applied to strength and weakness.

At first hearing, these words may seem contrary to morality. Only by grasping their subtle meaning can one understand the principle of expediency and truth. As the commentary says, a gentleman’s use of expedient methods is valuable when it accords with righteousness; in the hands of a petty person, they become deception and trickery. The passage below says, “It must not be shown to others” precisely because the use of expedient methods is difficult to master.

This is called “subtle illumination”: expedient methods guide living beings through principles that are hidden and subtle. Yet when one examines their origins and practical effects, the outcome is plain and visible. Hence the name “subtle illumination.”

The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong.

The Book of Changes says, “Through yielding, one puts expediency into practice.” This means using expedient methods with a humble and accommodating attitude. To make something contract, first let it expand; to make it weak, first let it grow strong. In the end, it returns to contraction and softness. This shows that the way of softness can overcome strength.

Fish cannot leave the deep pool. The important powers on which the governance of a state depends, likewise, must not be readily revealed to others.

The Dao always follows its own nature and does not act willfully, yet there is nothing it cannot accomplish.

Commentary: The Dao’s nature is clear and still. Its subtle source is profound and unmoving, which is why it is said to always practice Wuwei (non-action). All things grow through the Dao. When all things respond to it, the Dao responds in turn, which is why it is said to accomplish everything. Deliberate action always leaves something beyond its reach; through Wuwei, there is nothing that cannot be accomplished.

If lords and kings can hold to the Dao, all things will naturally come to them and be transformed.

Commentary: If lords and kings can hold to the Dao’s clarity, refrain from willful action, and avoid disturbing the people, they can accomplish everything. All things will also be transformed by their example, and the ruler’s teaching will lead the people’s customs back to simplicity.

When all things have been transformed but desires and actions arise again, I will settle them with the nameless uncarved simplicity—the Dao’s true nature, untouched by carving and difficult to put into words.

“Uncarved simplicity without a name” refers to the Dao as it is in its natural state, without human labels or embellishment. “Wanting to act” means wanting to do something or bring something about. “I” is how rulers refer to themselves. The meaning is this: once the people have received good instruction, the ruler’s De should be quiet and Wuwei (non-action). If they then want to take action, I use uncarved simplicity without a name to settle them, so they return to quietude and stop acting recklessly.

One should not become attached even to uncarved simplicity without a name.

The passage above says that whenever ordinary people want to act, the ruler uses uncarved simplicity without a name to settle them. Here, it goes further, explaining that one should not become attached to acting on uncarved simplicity itself.

If one clings to “namelessness,” it too leaves a trace. People then pursue that label alone and forget the root, falling back into action and contrivance, no different from their original desires. So, at first, uncarved simplicity without a name is used to quiet people’s desires. Once those desires have subsided, the sage lets go even of “namelessness.” This is like using medicine to cure an illness and forgetting the medicine once the illness is gone, or crossing a river by boat and leaving the boat behind upon reaching the other shore. To reach the other shore yet keep clinging to the boat, or to keep taking medicine after recovering, will not get you across; it will only bring further trouble.

When one no longer clings to desire, the mind grows quiet, and the world naturally returns to the right way.

When uncarved simplicity without a name no longer seeks anything, and people also forget their attachment to “not desiring,” the mind rests in peaceful stillness. This is to understand and put this Dao fully into practice. The ruler governs from a position of authority through Wuwei, while the people follow their nature and are guided without the need for frequent proclamations. The world naturally becomes settled and well ordered.

Chapter 38: Highest De Does Not Cling to De

This chapter opens by identifying the name of the Dao’s working, then explains the instruction that arises from complete De. When De is complete, simple purity does not disperse, and society does not fall into a condition where people exchange acts of apparent benevolence. After the Dao is abandoned, teachings about benevolence and righteousness arise, and worldly customs grow shallow. The passage that follows explains how to change this state.

This chapter begins by explaining the role of the Dao (the Way) and the teachings that arise when De (Virtue) is complete. When De is complete, society is simple and sincere: people do not grow apart, and the customs of the age do not decay. Once the Dao is abandoned, teachings about benevolence and righteousness arise, and worldly customs become shallow. To change this state and lead people back to their original nature, the chapter first discusses the Wuwei (non-action) of high De, then how benevolence and righteousness gradually change, and finally concludes by urging people to cast off superficiality, hold fast to simplicity, and return to an unadorned, sincere way of life.

One of high De does not display De; therefore, there is De.

Explanation: Here, “high” refers to ancient times, and “De” describes the working of the Dao. Society in antiquity was simple and natural, and governing the world did not depend on deliberate action. Those who embodied the Dao allowed all things to follow their own nature. This was the generous De of antiquity, and so it is called “high De.” The highest De works unseen. People cannot name it, yet it brings harmony to customs and enables all things to grow and come to fruition; its workings are always complete. Thus, “does not display De” means that De is not deliberately held up as a name or ideal, while “there is De” means that all things are thereby able to grow. The commentary cites a passage from one of the miscellaneous chapters of the Zhuangzi.

One of lower De does not lose sight of De; therefore, there is no De.

Explanation: This describes how simple, generous customs gradually dissipate, and De declines along with them. The sage praises the way of Wuwei, but when the people esteem the name of Wuwei, their conduct is already less natural than it was in antiquity. Clinging to outward conduct and appearances places them on a lower level, which is why it is called “lower De.” They still retain a De that can be praised, hence “does not lose sight of De.” But once they keep De in mind and take pride in possessing it, they harm their simple nature, and De is no longer complete. Hence the words “therefore, there is no De.”

High De acts through Wuwei, with no intention to act.

Explanation: This further clarifies high De. It works unseen, bringing order through Wuwei. The simple and generous way does not dissipate, and no reputation is deliberately cultivated. “Wuwei” here means that simplicity is naturally held within; it does not mean that someone knows Wuwei is beneficial and therefore adopts it deliberately. Hence “with no intention to act” means there is no deliberate motive. This means not only that there are no achievements to boast of, but also that there is no intention to transform all things through deliberate instruction. The commentary says that such a person’s thoughts and actions are both free of deliberate effort.

Lower De acts, and acts with intention.

Lower De (Virtue) involves promoting moral instruction. Those of lower De value instruction through Wuwei (non-action) and also wish to act in accordance with Wuwei, which is why the text says, “they act.” In their minds, they wish to be non-action; in practice, however, they show signs of taking pride in their abilities and acting deliberately. Hence it says, “yet they have something in mind.” In other words, the conduct of those of lower De is intentional. The commentary says, “Inwardly, they wish to be non-active, but in their actions they are active.”

Superior benevolence involves intentionally practicing benevolence without pursuing any particular aim. Hence the text says, “Superior benevolence acts, yet has nothing in mind.”

This passage explains that after the Great Dao declined, benevolence and righteousness gradually arose. “Superior benevolence” means treating benevolence as the highest standard; the same applies to the other cases. Benevolence means caring for everyone universally. When the Great Dao flourished, people gave benefits without favoritism. Only after the customs of simplicity gradually faded did benevolence arise as universal love. People practiced benevolence without clinging to the name “benevolence,” and gave to others without seeking repayment. Hence the text says, “they act.” In practice, their conduct approaches Wuwei, so it says, “yet they have nothing in mind.” But this universal love ultimately cannot extend to everyone, and offers only limited kindness. The commentary says, “This involves intentional action inwardly, while outward conduct comes close to non-action.”

Superior righteousness involves intentionally practicing righteousness and taking deliberate action.

“Righteousness” means what is fitting: judging according to circumstances so that everything receives what is appropriate to it. Once simplicity had been damaged, right and wrong arose with it. People then sought to correct errors and establish what was right, bringing matters into conformity with proper standards. The text says, “Superior righteousness acts, and has something in mind,” because practicing righteousness inherently involves the intention to judge and correct. The commentary says, “This involves intentional action both inwardly and in one’s conduct.”

Superior ritual involves intentionally promoting ritual practices. If people do not respond, one rolls up one’s sleeves and forcibly drags them into compliance.

“Ritual propriety” refers to standards of conduct that can be followed and put into practice. Zhuangzi said that ritual propriety is like a person’s wings: it helps them find their footing and conduct themselves in the world. Ritual systems were established to remedy declining social customs and disorder. Thus the classic of ritual propriety contains three hundred provisions, and its ceremonial rules number three thousand. These detailed safeguards and regulations were drawn up after simple, unadorned customs had already been lost and disputes had arisen over all manner of affairs. They merely constrain conduct through external rules; they do not mean that people’s hearts should naturally be this way.

That is why people honor ritual propriety through gestures such as bowing and yielding, and express the wish to exchange gifts through offerings such as jade and silk. If someone gives you a gift and you do not return one, that is a breach of ritual propriety. If someone visits you and you do not visit in return, that too goes against ritual propriety. Nowadays, if people perform rituals only for show and the other person does not respond, they roll up their sleeves in anger and even use force to compel a response. That is why the text says, “They roll up their sleeves and compel him.”

Thus, only after the Dao (the Way) has been lost do people speak of De (Virtue); only after De has been lost do they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence has been lost do they speak of righteousness; and only after righteousness has been lost do they speak of ritual propriety.

The emphasis on outward rules of propriety is due to the decline of trustworthiness and faithfulness in society; turmoil begins there as well. Propriety is a sign that trustworthiness and faithfulness have grown weak, and the beginning of disorder.

“Now” is a particle that introduces a statement. Sages in the latter age promote teachings of propriety in an effort to rescue a society in which trustworthiness and faithfulness are in decline. If everyone carried trustworthiness and faithfulness in their hearts, why would they need rules of propriety to regulate their conduct? Propriety is called “the beginning of disorder” because it can only prevent and manage disorder once it has emerged; in the end, it is not moral instruction itself.

“Foreknowledge” is merely the outward glitter of the Dao, and the beginning of foolishness.

“Foreknowledge” refers to those who established ritual and law. It means that some people, putting themselves ahead of human nature, devised rules to constrain outward conduct. The Dao follows people’s nature, while ritual focuses on outward forms. Compared with the Dao, ritual departs from people’s simple, unadorned nature, so it is called no more than the Dao’s outward ornament.

“The beginning of folly” means that ritual was originally meant to calm disorder: when society fell into confusion, ritual was used to set things right. Its essential purpose is to foster harmony and accord, ultimately returning people to simplicity. But those who practiced ritual in later times did not seek what arose from their inner nature; they pursued only the embellishment of outward forms. Their inner reverence and affection were lacking, while gifts and ceremonies grew ever more elaborate. This is not what an enlightened person values. It is, in truth, the beginning of folly—hence the phrase “the beginning of folly.”

Thus, the great person—the virtuous and principled gentleman—dwells in what is substantial and does not settle for what is shallow; stands on what is real and does not chase after what is showy.

“The great person” means the Dao-aligned gentleman, that is, the person of highest De mentioned earlier. De follows its own nature and is accomplished through Wuwei (non-action), so it is called substantial and real. Ritual and righteousness depend on human contrivance, so they are called shallow and showy. The sage first teaches the people through De, and so dwells in what is substantial and real. Only after teaching through De does the sage put ritual and righteousness into practice, and so does not make what is showy and shallow the final destination.

Therefore, one must set aside that side and choose this one.

“That side” refers to ritual and righteousness; “this one” refers to De. The sage sets aside the showiness of ritual and righteousness and takes up the substantial reality of De. Hence the saying, “Set aside that and choose this.” Strictly speaking, all the sage’s reflections ultimately return to a single point, and both sides dissolve into one another. How, then, could there still be a “that” and a “this” to set aside or choose? These words are used to establish a teaching and guide ordinary people.

Chapter 39: Those of Old Who Attained the One

The previous chapter explained the difference between highest De and inferior ritual, pointing out the contrast between simplicity and decline. It therefore described the gentleman’s acts of choosing and rejecting, to show people the direction they should follow. This chapter explains how all things fulfill their functions by attaining the One, and how following the Dao enables them to endure. If they rely on their own accomplishments, however, they will lose it. For this reason, the chapter begins with the humble De of lords and kings.

Those of old who attained the “One”…

In ancient times, “the One” referred to the harmonizing Qi, the fundamental energy that balances Yin and Yang and is shared by all things. It is called “the One” because it unites with all things and runs through past and present without distinction. The Book of Changes: Great Treatise says, “One Yin and one Yang are called the Dao.” This means that the Qi of the Dao joins with Yin where there is Yin, and with Yang where there is Yang. The ancient example of all things attaining “the One” is cited here to explain their origin and trace it from antiquity to the present. What follows describes, in turn, the effects of the One in different kinds of things.

When Heaven attains the One, it becomes clear and pure.

Of the celestial phenomena, nothing is greater than the Qianyuan, Heaven’s creative energy. Heaven is therefore given first as the foremost example of attaining the One. Its pure Yang energy, by attaining the One, becomes lofty and vast, covers the four directions, and provides all things with the conditions for beginning to grow.

When Earth attains the One, it becomes tranquil.

Of the forms of the land, nothing is more expansive than the Kunyi, the great Earth. Earth’s substance and form belong to pure Yin. By attaining the One, it becomes deep and stable, bears all things, and enables them to grow.

When spirit attains the One, it becomes wondrously responsive.

Here, “spirit” refers to the wondrous activity that works through all things. By attaining the One, it can reach through transformations, has no fixed location, and cannot be described in terms of any concrete form.

When valleys attain the One, they become filled.

Water flows into rivers and forms streams, then gathers in valleys among the mountains. When valleys attain the One, springs flow without cease, nourishing the land in every direction. Their waters remain abundant and do not run dry.

When all things attain the One, they can grow.

“Things” here includes animals and plants, as well as beings with and without awareness. By receiving the harmonizing Qi, all things can come into being, grow, and function; they do not stop and perish.

When rulers attain the One, they can become the guiding standard for all under Heaven.

Lords and kings are rulers. “Lord” was one of the five ranks of nobility, while “king” referred to the ruler of a great state able to field ten thousand chariots. The scripture says that when lords and kings obtain the Dao, they can hold on to the realm for a long time, win the willing allegiance of its people, and serve as a model of fairness and harmony for all under Heaven. Some versions write “upright” as “steadfast”; “steadfast” means upright.

How can this state be attained?

This passage gathers together the meaning of what came before and introduces what follows. “Attain” means to reach or obtain. How can Heaven remain clear, Earth remain calm, spirits work their wondrous transformations, valleys be filled, all things grow, and lords and kings be fair and harmonious? It is all because they have obtained the wondrous efficacy of the Dao. This explains the benefits that come from attaining the Dao; the following passages describe the harms that come from losing it.

If Heaven cannot remain clear, it may collapse.

The phrase “cannot” emphasizes the statement; “rely on” means to draw upon or make use of something. Through the Dao’s efficacy, Heaven takes on its clear, ascending state. If it fails to uphold the Dao’s nature of harmony and balance, and instead takes pride in and makes use of this clarity, it may collapse and fail to form the celestial patterns.

If Earth cannot remain calm, it may become unstable.

Through the Dao’s efficacy, Earth takes on a calm and stable state. If it cannot let go of its attachment to calmness, but instead takes pride in and makes use of that calmness, it may disperse into instability and fail to form the contours of the land.

If spirits cannot remain wondrous, their activity may cease.

Through the Dao’s efficacy, spirits can work wondrous transformations without being confined to any fixed form. If they take pride in their own wondrous powers, those powers may be exhausted and cease, preventing them from continuing their marvelous work.

If valleys cannot remain full, they may dry up.

Through the Dao’s efficacy, valleys can be empty yet able to receive. If they take pride in their fullness, they may dry up and be unable to keep nourishing the myriad things.

If the myriad things cannot grow, they may perish.

The commentary says: All things come into being through the workings of the Dao, yet each should forget that it has played a part in bringing them forth. If anything presumes to act and claims the credit for generating life, it may instead move toward death and extinction, losing its capacity to nourish all things.

If lords and kings do not pride themselves on their exalted status, they may fear they will fall.

The commentary says: “Fall” means to stumble. Lords and kings become rulers of all under Heaven through the workings of the Dao, and should therefore forget their own exalted status and remain humble. If they pride themselves on their nobility, they may fall and be unable to bring peace to the realm. The note explains that the teaching of the sages is passed down to later generations with the fundamental purpose of nourishing the people. Although the scripture first speaks of the stillness and tranquility of Heaven and Earth, it ultimately turns to lords and kings: they should hold fast to gentleness and humility, and act in accordance with the Dao. The Book of Documents says, “Heaven brings forth the myriad things, and among them, only humans possess the greatest spiritual awareness; the Son of Heaven is the parent of the people.” From this we can see that the ultimate concern of the sages’ teaching is how rulers govern the people. The scripture first warns Heaven and Earth against claiming credit for their stillness and tranquility or for bringing forth the myriad things; at the end, it warns lords and kings against boasting of their virtue in educating and nourishing the people. The principle of humility will be explained further below.

Thus, what is exalted must take what is lowly as its root, and what is high must take what is below as its foundation.

The commentary says: “Exalted” and “high” refer to lords and kings; “lowly” and “below” refer to the people. Lords and kings are exalted because of the people, so the people are precisely the foundation of their exalted status. The Book of Documents says, “The people are the foundation of the state; when the foundation is firm, the state can be at peace.” A ruler should treat others humbly and win the people’s support; this is how to secure the foundations of the state. The note adds that a ruler should enable the people to take pleasure in his harmonious and approachable virtue. The Book of Songs praises “the harmonious and approachable gentleman, the parent of the people.” “Kai” means harmonious and joyful; “ti” means approachable. A gentleman with these qualities cherishes and nourishes the people, who in turn grow attached to him as children do to their mother. If a ruler’s conduct is the opposite, the people will scatter.

For this reason, lords and kings call themselves “orphan,” “solitary one,” or “unworthy one”—humble titles meaning that they consider themselves deficient or lacking in virtue. Is this not to take what is lowly as one’s root? Is it not so?

Commentary: This sums up the preceding point. According to the Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, feudal lords called themselves “the solitary one,” “the one who lacks virtue,” or “the unworthy one.” Calling oneself “the solitary one” suggested being alone with a few ministers in fear, and losing one’s state; “the one who lacks virtue” was said to reflect how a former ruler regarded his own worth. In ritual usage, a person without a father was called “solitary,” and a woman without a husband was called “bereft.” “Grain” meant goodness, so “unworthy” meant lacking goodness. These were all lowly titles, yet feudal lords placed them at the forefront of their self-designations. They used humility to restrain themselves rather than boast of their high rank. Is this not making lowliness the foundation? “Is it not?” poses a question hypothetically; the answer is that lowliness is indeed the foundation.

Thus, if one counts all the parts of a cart, in the end there is no single thing called “the cart.”

Commentary: “Thus” connects this passage to what came before. The earlier passage says that feudal lords attained honor through lowly status. But because honor and disgrace have no fixed form, this principle is difficult to explain, so the text uses a cart as an analogy. If one counts all its parts, one cannot find an independently existing “cart”: that name applies only once the wheels, shafts, and other parts have been assembled. This illustrates the honor of feudal lords: honor has no fixed substance of its own; it becomes honor only when grounded in lowliness. A cart exists when its foundations—its wheels, shafts, and other parts—are in place; without them, there is no cart. Lowliness is the foundation of honor: preserve that foundation, and high rank can exist; lose it, and rank is lost too. These words urge feudal lords to care for and nurture the people, and not abandon those who are lonely and destitute.

Do not be like fine jade, resplendent and noble; do not be like rough stone, coarse and unattractive.

Commentary: Jade is precious, while stone is lowly. To be like jade is to regard oneself as noble; to be like stone is to remain humble. Since feudal lords take lowliness as their foundation, they should not exalt themselves like fine jade, but remain lowly like stone and preserve their humility.

Chapter 40: Reversal is the way the Dao (the Way) moves.

The previous chapter explained how Heaven and Earth can preserve the One, using this to warn people against self-importance and stubbornness. This chapter explains that adapting to circumstances and following the constant Way must go hand in hand. It further clarifies why what seems to defy common sense can, in fact, accord with what is right. Only by avoiding self-importance can people uphold the principle of valuing what is fundamental; only by understanding what is right can they adapt to circumstances. To deepen understanding that the Dao cannot be fixed or grasped, the text again explains the Dao’s function of emptiness and stillness.

Reversal is the movement of the Dao: “Reversal” means going against ordinary worldly expectations; “movement” means change and application, referring to the Way of adapting to circumstances. Living beings cling to their own lives and so turn away from the Dao. The sage therefore applies adaptable methods, helping people reverse their worldly views and return to the Dao. A commentary says, “Go against the constant and accord with what is right”: “the constant” means the enduring principles, while “what is right” means what is fitting. To take lowliness as the basis of honor, the humble as the foundation of the exalted, and “nonbeing” as the source from which “being” functions may at first seem contrary to ordinary expectations, but ultimately accords with reason. This is why it is called the Dao’s movement and transformation. Confucius said, “You may stand with someone in the constant Way, but that does not mean you can necessarily share with them the way of adapting to circumstances.” This adaptable Way runs counter to ordinary expectations and is difficult to understand, so it is compared to the flower of the tangdi plant: the flower first opens outward, then folds back in. The comparison shows how adaptation may initially seem contrary, yet ultimately accord with what is right.

The weak is the function of the Dao: This explains the Dao’s constant way of functioning. People commonly disdain softness and weakness and prize hardness and force, so domineering and impetuous behavior are regarded as the worldly way of acting. The Dao, by contrast, lets gentleness overcome hardness. Softness, Yin-like receptivity, and stillness are therefore the Dao’s usual way of functioning.

All things under Heaven arise from being, and being arises from nonbeing: All the tangible things under Heaven arise successively from other tangible things; hence they are said to “arise from being.” But if we trace tangible things back to their origin, we find that they must ultimately depend on the intangible. Liezi says that the movement of physical form cannot itself give rise to physical form; the activity of form has a source on which it depends.

All things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” in turn arises from “nonbeing.”

All things in the world that have form arise through the succession of other things with form, which is why it is said, “the formed is born from what exists.” If we trace formed things back to their root, they must depend on the formless in order to come into being. Liezi says, “Movement of what has form cannot produce what has form; it can produce only a shadow. Movement of what is formless cannot produce what is formless, but it can produce what has form.” Thus the void is the root of Heaven and Earth, and Nonbeing is the source of the myriad things. These words are meant to guide living beings to seek the source and know the root, and thereby understand the Dao.

So it is with Being and Nonbeing, and so too with the provisional and the real—the provisional manifestation and the true substance. Hence the commentary says that the real is manifested through the provisional, just as Being is born from Nonbeing. It also says that the utmost Dao is empty, still, and beyond names; the nature of all phenomena—the myriad things and their principles—is empty and still, with nothing depending on anything else. This means that the ultimate substance of the Dao is empty and tranquil: it is neither provisional nor real, so how could it be named? In principle, the true nature of all phenomena is neither Being nor Nonbeing; at the level of things, their mutual dependence is severed.

The claims that “things are born from what exists” and “what exists is born from Nonbeing” both describe the worldly appearance of things replacing and giving rise to one another. If we understand the principles of number and Nonbeing, and of phenomena and the absence of phenomena, we will see that there is no basis for saying that the provisional and the real give rise to one another. To understand this principle is to be called one who has attained understanding.

End of Volume Five of the Commentary on the Dao De Jing Composed by Imperial Command of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang

Volume Six of the Commentary on the Dao De Jing Composed by Imperial Command of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang

Chapter Forty-One: The Superior Person Hears of the Dao

The preceding chapter discussed the two approaches of the provisional and the real, which are ways the Dao functions. This chapter explains that the Dao may seem obscure, and that only those of the highest capacity will diligently put it into practice. It begins by describing the differing responses of people of three levels when they hear of the Dao: some believe, while others disparage it. Beginning with “Words established,” it then explains the paths for putting the Dao and De into practice. Finally, the passage beginning “Only by this” sums up the power of skillful giving.

When a superior person hears of the Dao, they diligently put it into practice.

Those of the highest understanding have far-reaching insight and can see clearly into the principles of things. When they hear that the Dao (the Way) appears subtle and hard to grasp in its adaptability, and is gentle and humble in its fundamental nature, they immediately put it into practice and never slacken. Thus, they are said to practice the Dao diligently.

Those of middling understanding who hear of the Dao sometimes believe in it and sometimes do not.

Those of middling ability do not yet fully understand its principles. When they hear of profound teachings, they are at times convinced and at times doubtful. To say they understand seems right, since they appear to believe and be willing to follow them; to say they do not understand also seems right, since they appear doubtful and unconvinced. Because they have not yet made up their minds, they are described as “half-present, half-absent.”

Those of the lowest understanding who hear of the Dao burst out laughing.

Those of the lowest understanding cannot grasp its principles. When they hear of the Dao, they do not believe in it, consider it absurd and false, and so mock it. It is like a merchant trying to sell ceremonial caps to people in Yue, who had no use for them; or the people of Chu, who failed to recognize the precious jade known as Heshi’s jade and cast it aside. The Zhuangzi also says that people of narrow understanding cannot be spoken to about the Great Dao.

If it were not mocked, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

The Great Dao is deep and mysterious, and cannot be fully known. It seems clear, yet also obscure; its principles often run counter to ordinary worldly expectations. People of the lowest understanding are ignorant and unenlightened, so they mock it. If even they did not mock it, it could not be called a subtle teaching; it would merely be a shallow, commonplace method, unworthy of the name Dao. The Great Dao is not an ordinary worldly convention, so the foolish and unenlightened mock it. It is precisely this that reveals its mystery.

Among the sayings handed down from ancient times is this:

“The bright Dao seems obscure.” Bright means seeing clearly; obscure means dim. Those who cultivate the Dao nurture inner clarity through stillness and Wuwei (non-action), letting go of attachment to the body and to clever, calculating knowledge. Their minds are in fact clear, yet they seem obscure. Hence the saying, “The bright Dao seems obscure.” Those of the highest understanding diligently practice the Dao and remain humble and reserved even when faced with clear principles. Those of the lowest understanding do not grasp these principles and so laugh. When those of middling understanding first hear of the “bright Dao,” they feel they seem to understand it; later, when they hear that it also seems obscure and difficult to grasp, they feel they seem not to understand it.

“Advancing on the Dao seems like retreating.”

Those who cultivate the Dao have no distracting thoughts within and can set aside worldly affairs without. Their pursuit of fame and success grows weaker day by day. True great accomplishment seems, paradoxically, to fall short; people of shallow understanding see it as decline and decay.

The level road seems winding.

The commentary says: “Level” means flat; “knotted” describes uneven thread, with bumps along its length. The cultivator’s mind and spirit are calm and clear, free of worldly desires. They move through life with ease and openness, at one with all things. Yet outwardly, they seem like thread with knots, not smooth and even.

The highest De (virtue, or power) is like an empty valley.

The commentary says: Those who diligently cultivate the Dao and nurture their De are called people of highest De. When De is full and complete, it can contain all things; hence the image of an empty valley.

The purest white seems stained.

The commentary says: “White” means purity; “stained” means dust and grime. Although those who have attained the Dao are pure within, they do not display it outwardly. They keep a low profile and blend into the world, so they seem as though they have been stained. Inwardly, however, they remain pure white, with De fully complete.

Vast De seems somehow deficient.

The commentary says: The De of a perfected person reaches everywhere, and so is called vast. They hold to gentleness and humility, and therefore often seem to lack something. The Records of the Grand Historian says: “A skilled merchant hides his precious goods deep away, appearing to have nothing; a gentleman of profound De looks, in appearance, like a fool.” Thus they seem foolish and deficient.

Building up De seems like acting in secret.

The commentary says: “Build” means to establish; “secretly” means to steal. Those who accumulate hidden De—good deeds done without seeking recognition—cultivate themselves in private and do good in secret, as though afraid of being discovered. Hence they seem to be acting furtively.

Genuine simplicity seems liable to change.

The commentary says: “Genuine” means simple and undivided; “change” means alteration. The cultivator’s De is simple and undivided, without artifice. Yet outwardly they seem ready to change at any moment, because they adapt to the affairs of the world, flow along with all things, and keep their radiance subdued.

The greatest square has no corners.

A corner is an angle. Deliberately refining one’s reputation and integrity to develop an upright and incorruptible character is the path of those who study and cultivate themselves; it is not the state of one who is truly “greatly square.” Those who are truly greatly square have steadfast natures: they are not worn down into weakness, nor stained by living amid filth. They can temper their radiance and live among all things in the world without seeming different from them, and so have no sharp corners. This is what is meant by “the greatest squareness has no corners.”

The greatest vessel is completed only at the very end.

Commentary: Something that can contain and serve many purposes is called a “vessel.” A great vessel takes a long time to make before it is complete; that is what makes it great. A superior practitioner of the Dao diligently cultivates the Way and accumulates merit, gradually attaining the fruit of the Dao. This cannot be accomplished overnight, hence the saying, “The great vessel is completed late.”

The greatest sound seems soundless when heard.

Commentary: The Dao can answer to every kind of sound, and is therefore called the “great sound.” Yet it has no particular audible sound, so it is called the “rare sound”—a sound difficult to hear. This is like a sage proclaiming the teaching of the One Vehicle, which guides all beings toward a single path. Its teaching sound spreads widely and responds according to the resonance of sentient beings; hence it is called the “rare sound.”

The greatest image has no fixed form.

Commentary: Any vessel with a concrete shape is confined to that particular form. Only the Dao of the “great image” has no material substance or form in its original nature, yet can respond to the resonance of sentient beings and appear in many forms. Hence the saying, “The great image has no form.”

The Dao is hidden and nameless.

Commentary: The Dao pervades and gives rise to all things, and people call it “Dao” only as a makeshift name. It does not reveal its own workings, and so remains hidden and unseen, without a fixed name. Names are used to identify things, but the Dao’s fundamental mystery is formless and cannot be defined by a name. Hence the saying, “The Dao is hidden and nameless.”

Only the Dao is adept at giving and bringing all things to completion.

Commentary: This summarizes the Dao’s workings and expresses praise. “Only” means unique; “grant” means to give. Though the Dao has no name, form, or sound, it alone can disperse primordial Qi, bring about transformation, provide all things with what they need, and help them grow to maturity. Hence the saying, “It is adept at giving and bringing things to completion.”

The Dao gives rise to the One Qi, which then divides into the two Qi of Yin and Yang. These two Qi join to form the three Qi; through their interaction, the myriad things come into being.

The “Dao” here is the deep and mysterious source from which all things emerge. The “One” refers to harmonizing Qi: primordial Qi in which Yin and Yang have not yet separated, balanced and in mutual accord. “Gives rise” means to set in motion and bring forth. The Dao first transforms into harmonizing Qi, but this alone is not enough for the myriad things to take shape. It therefore gives rise to Yang Qi. Yang Qi joins with the original harmonizing Qi to form two Qi, from which Yin Qi then arises, completing the three Qi. Yin and Yang join together, becoming balanced and rich; from this, the myriad things grow. This shows that the Dao can adapt to all things, nourishing and bringing them to completion.

The myriad things carry Yin Qi on their backs, embrace Yang Qi, and use harmonizing Qi to bring Yin and Yang into balance.

The myriad things can come into being and flourish because Yin and Yang Qi harmonize with each other. They therefore receive Yin Qi and embrace Yang Qi, while also nurturing harmonizing Qi so that they remain gentle and balanced. Guangchengzi once told the Yellow Emperor, “I hold fast to the fundamental One and embrace the Qi of harmony within it.” For this reason, after cultivating himself for twelve hundred years, his body had still not grown old. We can see from this that the balanced, harmonious primordial Qi is the foundation on which all beings depend for life. Laozi offers this principle to show that, since people are born endowed with harmonizing Qi, they should follow the way of gentleness and hold to humility and softness in order to preserve life’s foundation.

The titles people find disagreeable are none other than “orphan,” “widower,” and “one who lacks grain”—humble terms used by rulers in ancient times to refer to themselves. Yet princes and kings use these words to name themselves.

Humility and weakness are the foundation that nurtures all things. Laozi therefore cites the rulers who called themselves humble names as an example, showing that this foundation must be kept. “Orphan,” “Widower,” and “One Unworthy of Support” were all self-deprecating forms of address, not honorific titles. They were names people would not ordinarily wish to accept. The rulers used them for themselves precisely to express humility. As those responsible for educating and guiding the people, rulers affect the security of the state, and all under Heaven watch them. If they do not esteem humility and gentleness and stabilize the state, the people will not rally to them. Only by making humility and gentleness their foundation can they achieve greatness.

Thus, sometimes things gain through being diminished, and sometimes they incur loss through being increased.

Here, “thus” connects this passage to what came before. “Diminished” means lowering one’s status and holding oneself in low regard. When rulers humble themselves with names such as “Orphan” and “Widower,” the people are glad to elevate, respect, and serve them; in this way, the rulers gain instead. Conversely, if rulers exalt themselves and grow arrogant through favor, occupying a high position without being humble, their ministers and subjects will turn away, and they will ultimately incur loss. The Book of Documents says, “Self-satisfaction brings loss; humility brings benefit.” This is precisely the principle at work.

What people teach, I too will teach by my own principle.

Here, “people” refers to rulers. Rulers are the foremost agents of governance and the education of the people, and the character of a state is closely tied to their words and conduct. Thus Laozi says that when rulers use words to educate the people, they should teach them through the Way of emptiness and gentleness that I have described.

The forceful and violent often meet an untimely end.

“Strong and violent” refers to people who are brutal and rely on force. Such people do not understand the essentials of preserving life and will also deplete their allotted lifespan. They cannot live out their full years in peace. Immortal Yan said, “The powerful Qin fell because of its tyranny and arrogance; the great Han flourished through harmony and gentleness.” The overbearing depart from the Dao. Those who are rigid and eager to fight lose their spirit. Once the ruler of life has declined, how can life endure for long?

The commentary says that when one’s actions oppose external things, those things may in turn attack. “Resist” means to oppose or contend with. The idea of “external things attacking a person” appears in the line for the top nine of the Book of Changes, “Increase” hexagram: “No one increases him; someone may strike him.” This means that no one comes to help him; instead, someone attacks him.

“I will take this as the foundation of my teaching.”

The subcommentary explains that “father” means foundation. This sentence sums up the essential points of the preceding teachings: Lao Jun warns against the destruction of the overbearing and urges people to follow the gentleness that preserves them. To call this “the teaching’s father” means that the teaching of gentleness is like a father, the foundation of his children; therefore, it should serve as the foundation for all teachings.

Chapter 43: The Softest Thing Under Heaven

The previous chapter explains that living beings depart from the Dao and give free rein to their strength and competitiveness, so they cannot live out their full years in peace. This chapter teaches people to preserve the gentleness inherent in their nature. By cultivating this quality, they can accord with the Dao. The two chapters describe different paths, but both illuminate the same principle and ultimately converge. The chapter begins by pointing out that gentleness is fundamental to the nature of the Dao. If people understand this, they will see that losing it leads instead to the fault of rigidity. From “I am” onward, it explains that the Way of Wuwei (non-action) brings great benefits, which no other teaching can surpass.

The softest thing under heaven can move through the hardest things under heaven.

The subcommentary explains that human nature is originally clear and calm, with harmonious Qi (vital energy) abundant within. This is what “the softest” means. If people indulge their desires, become attached to worldly thoughts, and are tempted by sights and sounds, their original, true nature is the first thing to suffer.

Human nature is originally clear and pure, with a peaceful Qi within. It is therefore at its most yielding. If people indulge their desires, cling to worldly cares, and are enticed by sights and sounds, their nature becomes scattered and turns hard and rigid.

“The Nonexistent enters where there is no gap.”

“Nonexistent” means that when people realize that nothing in the myriad things has fixed, substantial existence, they can return to their nature, unite with the Dao, and enter where there is no gap. “No gap” refers to the Dao; “entering” means uniting with the Dao. The Dao is called “without gaps” because its nature is still and undifferentiated, without boundaries or fissures.

Thus I know that Wuwei is beneficial.

“I” is how Lao Jun refers to himself. This chapter also admonishes rulers to govern the world through the Way of Wuwei. Lao Jun says: I see that living beings are originally gentle, but when they rush about in pursuit and competition, they become hard and forceful. If people can see clearly into the mind and its external surroundings, and understand that nothing has fixed, substantial existence, they can unite with the Dao. We can therefore know that cultivating oneself and governing the country through stillness and Wuwei benefits people. From this, we may infer that active instruction cannot match the benefit of Wuwei.

Teaching without words: few in the world can match the benefit that comes from Wuwei.

The highest Dao relies on no words, yet it enables all things to grow. The sage does not act recklessly, but transforms all things through stillness. Thus, instruction can take shape without first being established in words. Few in the world can match this Wuwei teaching. Among the various schools and traditions, few can attain teaching through Wuwei. It may also be said that no one can achieve it without being a ruler who has realized the Great Dao. That is why the text says, “Few in the world can match it.”

Chapter Forty-Four: Between Fame and the Self, Which Is Dearer?

The previous chapter explained that human nature is gentle, but that indulging in restless pursuits makes people hard and forceful. This chapter asks which is closer and more important: fame and wealth, or one’s own person. It also explains why craving and hoarding bring calamity. The first three sentences raise the questions of gain, loss, and calamity; the next two explain what brings calamity; the chapter concludes with “contentment,” urging people to keep to their proper limits so they can endure.

Compared with life, which is dearer: fame or one’s own person?

“Compared with life, which is closer and more worth cherishing: one’s reputation or one’s life?”

The commentary explains: “Which” means “who” or “which one.” The question asks: pursuing fame and office and preserving life are not the same thing—which is the Dao that helps preserve one’s true nature and prolong one’s life? It laments that people of that time could not forget their reputations in order to preserve themselves.

“Compared with possessions, which is more precious: life or wealth?”

“Much” here means precious or highly valued. Life and possessions are different things; which, then, is more worth cherishing? This sentence is meant to show people that life matters more than possessions, and that they should not value possessions above life. The note’s reference to “casting away fine jade and smashing pearls” comes from one of the Outer Chapters of the Zhuangzi.

“Between gain and loss, which is more harmful?”

This brings together the previous two questions: is it more harmful to gain fame and wealth, or to lose them? Gaining fame and wealth may cost one’s life; preserving one’s life may mean losing fame and wealth. The difference between the two is clear, so it is easy to see which is more harmful. Yet those who are deluded and confused fail to recognize this in time, so the text answers the question in detail below.

“Therefore, excessive attachment to fame and gain inevitably comes at great cost; storing up too much inevitably brings heavy loss.”

The commentary says these two lines provide an overall answer to the questions above. “Excessive attachment” refers to craving fame too intensely. Forcing oneself and suppressing one’s nature in pursuit of reputation wears down the mind and spirit. The stronger the craving, the greater the cost. Here, “cost” means depletion, and “attachment” means cherishing.

“Storing up too much” means accumulating a great deal of wealth. The more one stores, the greater the loss when it is taken away. Swords and jade may invite disaster, just as carrying fine jade can attract thieves. Books and writings may also bring calamity: for example, someone might dig up a grave to steal a pearl buried with the dead. The harm that possessions can bring is enough to serve as a warning.

“Know contentment, and you will not be disgraced; know when to stop, and you will not be endangered. In this way, you can endure for a long time.”

“Disgrace” means harm or burden; “danger” means peril or decline and ruin. Not seeking closeness to fame shows an understanding of contentment; not hoarding possessions shows an understanding of when to stop. Contentment keeps one’s reputation in proportion to one’s actual standing, so one is not burdened by excessive ambition. Knowing when to stop keeps possessions from accumulating in excess and prevents the harms caused by greed. Only by avoiding both burdensome harm and attachment to precious things can one remain secure for a long time and extend one’s years.

Great Perfection Seems Incomplete, Chapter 45

The previous chapter discussed which is more precious, the body or possessions, and why attachment to and hoarding of possessions bring harm. This chapter explains that guarding against complacency and appearing to have something lacking allows one’s effectiveness to endure. The first seven lines set out principles for how to conduct oneself; the next two explain the relative merits of stillness and agitation; the final passage begins with quietude and concludes that only the quiet person can become the right way for all under Heaven.

Great perfection seems incomplete; its use is never impaired

“Impaired” means to decline. Those who cultivate themselves may accomplish great deeds and perfect their De, yet remain humble and self-contained, as though something were still lacking. In this way, their abilities and effectiveness will not be exhausted. A ruler whose moral cultivation has reached great perfection is the same: his achievements are vast, comparable to Heaven and Earth nurturing all things, and his De extends everywhere, comparable to the grace of the sun and moon shining on all things. Though his accomplishments are immense, he does not rely on a sense of completeness. He acts as though something were lacking, and so his effectiveness does not decline.

Great fullness seems empty; its use is inexhaustible

“Empty” means vacant; “inexhaustible” means not running short. Even when a sage enjoys abundant rank and income, he remains respectful and modest, restrains himself, and does not appear self-satisfied. He therefore seems empty. This is what is meant by “having seems like not having; being full seems like being empty.” Thus, his use is inexhaustible.

Great straightness seems bent

A person of great integrity seems as though somewhat bent.

“Straight” means uprightness, while “bent” means yielding. The first four lines speak of both things’ substance and their function; the three lines that follow speak only of their substance, without explicitly mentioning their function. Though the wording is abbreviated, the meaning can be inferred by analogy.

To keep oneself pure while pointing out the faults of others, or to recommend upright people while dismissing those who are not, is a lesser kind of uprightness. The greater kind does not cling to judgments about who is right or wrong, nor try to correct the world by correcting oneself. It responds to circumstances and yields as needed; hence the saying, “Great straightness seems bent.” The commentary’s phrase “upright, yet not rigid” comes from the first part of the Dao De Jing.

“Great skill seems clumsy” means this: showing off fine painting or the clever use of rulers and marking lines is lesser skill. Greater skill uses things in accordance with the qualities of their materials, allowing each thing to fulfill its own potential without losing what suits it. It does not deliberately cut or carve, nor display its achievements, and so appears plain and clumsy. Zhuangzi says that transformation carves the forms of the myriad things, yet does not regard itself as skillful.

“Great eloquence seems halting” means this: piling up metaphors, embellishing words, and carefully arranging sentences is lesser eloquence. Greater eloquence teaches without relying on words, distinguishes the myriad things, and fully explores the principles and nature of things. The most profound words often go beyond words; they engage in no dispute that suppresses or praises, and so sound as though the speaker were slow of speech.

Restlessness can overcome cold; stillness can overcome heat.

This passage uses changes in the movement of Yin-Yang energy in nature to explain a principle. When things develop to their utmost, they often turn toward decline. Clinging tightly to what has already been achieved, or remaining full without knowing when to draw back, can also bring about a fall. Thus, although the sage has done great things for the world, the sage does not claim them as personal achievements. It is as if something were still lacking, and so no harm results. Though occupying the highest rank, the sage is not satisfied with that exalted position. It is as if the space were not yet full, and so the sage avoids hardship.

To keep people from missing this principle, the passage uses the movement of Yang energy as an analogy. “Agitation” means restless movement; “utmost” means reaching an extreme. In spring and summer, Yang energy rises to the earth’s surface, and all things grow. When this agitation reaches its extreme, the weather turns cold, and all things wither and die. This shows that agitation is the root of death, and that reaching one’s height marks the beginning of decline. By analogy, when a task is complete, becoming complacent and failing to leave room to spare will eventually lead to ruin; being full without remaining open will eventually lead to a fall; and acting with rigid force and restless haste will also bring danger and destruction.

“Stillness overcomes heat” refers to the Yang energy of autumn and winter resting beneath the Yellow Springs, deep underground. When stillness reaches its extreme, it turns and gives rise to warmth; a gentle energy then comes forth. All things are able to grow from this. Life takes root in stillness, so stillness is the foundation of life and can also govern agitation. Great accomplishment and fullness remain free of harm and endure without limit precisely because they leave room to spare and preserve emptiness and stillness, thereby bringing forth life. Only those who practice Wuwei (non-action) and serenity accord with the foundation of life and growth. The passage therefore urges people to preserve life through stillness, rather than rushing carelessly toward danger and destruction.

Stillness and serenity are the standard for all under Heaven.

This sums up the preceding principle. Observing the advance and retreat of Yin-Yang energy, the sage knows that agitation is the root of the path toward death, while stillness is the foundation from which life arises. In managing human affairs and nurturing all things, one should grasp the root in order to govern the details and follow the Way of stillness and serenity. Only then can one become a standard for all under Heaven.

Chapter Forty-Six: When the Way Prevails in the World

The previous chapter discussed the workings of the five kinds of “greatness” to broaden the path of cultivation. This chapter discusses three kinds of “great” faults and explains the harm brought by pursuing desires. It first points out the gains and losses that arise when the Way prevails or fails in the world, then explains where blame comes from, and finally returns to the value of knowing contentment, warning people that greed brings disaster.

When the Way prevails in the world, warhorses are retired to plow the fields and spread manure.

“Removing” means to put aside or get rid of. The Dao is neither increased nor diminished. The text next explains where wrongdoing and calamity come from, then points to contentment as a virtue that warns against the harms of greed.

When the world is governed by the Dao, warhorses are withdrawn and returned to the fields to work.

Here, “removing” means putting aside, and “manuring” refers to tending the fields. When the world is governed by the Dao and rule through Wuwei (non-action) is practiced, moral guidance takes effect, the borders in every direction are secure, and there is no fighting on the frontiers. There is then no need to covet more land and bring hardship upon the people. Military equipment and warhorses can be withdrawn, and people can work the fields and tend the land.

When the world is not governed by the Dao, warhorses are born in the wilderness.

“Frontier” refers to the borderlands between two states. When a ruler does not govern by the Dao, enemies in distant regions may refuse to submit. The army and its warhorses are then stationed at the borders for a long time, unable to return.

No wrongdoing is greater than covetousness.

Breaking the law is called “wrongdoing,” while covetousness is called “desire.” The harm caused by warhorses remaining at the borders for a long time stems from a ruler’s coveting of land: seeing land, the ruler finds it desirable, greed arises, and the ruler then seeks to seize it. Thus, no wrongdoing is greater than covetousness.

No calamity is greater than not knowing contentment.

“Calamity” means harm, and also refers to losing the protection of the spirits. How does the calamity of a state’s ruin come about? It comes from coveting land, demanding without restraint, and never being satisfied. As a result, the state loses the protection of the spirits and invites disaster. People commit many kinds of faults, but the calamities caused by greed are especially grave.

No fault is greater than being single-mindedly intent on gaining more.

“Fault” refers to disaster and wrongdoing. Losing the protection of the spirits brings calamity. People commit many kinds of faults, but the calamities caused by greed are especially grave.

“Misfortune” means disaster. A person weighed down by greed has ever greater desires. Even after obtaining something, they are still not satisfied and continue to seek more. If what they pursue is contrary to the Dao (the Way), disaster will soon follow. Is this not only to be expected? “Something desirable” refers to greed arising in the heart before its object has been obtained; the fault is lighter at this stage. Those who do not know when to be satisfied have already obtained what they wanted but still want more, and the disaster they invite is greater. To have obtained what one sought yet remain utterly unsatisfied, with greed unceasing, is a fault more serious than the disaster itself.

Therefore, those who know contentment can remain content for a long time.

The commentary explains that this passage sums up the conduct of a ruler who follows the Dao. Such a ruler has few desires and does not covet territory. By keeping to his place and knowing contentment, he wins the support of the people under Heaven, remains secure himself, and governs the state well. This contentment can endure even when expressed through humility and yielding. The note explains that having plenty of external things is not the same as being content; true contentment lies in the heart. Contentment depends on inner satisfaction, not on external things. Those who keep to their limits and proper place feel they have enough even when they possess little. Those whose desires have no bounds feel deprived even when they possess much.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Without Going Out the Door

The previous chapter speaks of a world in which the Dao prevails and teaches people to keep to their limits and proper place: those who know contentment feel they have enough even when they possess little, while those whose desires have no bounds feel deprived even when they possess much.

This chapter says that one can know the world without going out the door, using this to show that governance can be accomplished without meddling. The opening two lines say that one can know things without going out. The next two say that when people’s hearts are in harmony, the world will fall into accord. The following two point out that the farther one travels, the more easily one strays from the Dao. The final four lines sum up how Wuwei (non-action) brings about the completion of moral teaching.

Without going out the door, one can know the world.

The commentary says that a sage ruler who follows the Dao governs the world through Wuwei. He need not send his commands beyond the palace gates: a simple and honest way of life will naturally spread in every direction. This may be called understanding the principles of governing the world. Another interpretation is that when a ruler is skilled at teaching the world, the people respond with goodness, so he can understand the state of the world without going out. Thus the Book of Changes says, “When a gentleman’s words accord with the good, people a thousand miles away respond to them—how much more so those nearby!” This is the point being made.

Without looking out through the window, one can see the Way of Heaven.

Human affairs and celestial phenomena respond to one another, and people’s Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) connect with the Qi of Heaven and Earth. When a ruler governs the state through virtuous conduct, the celestial patterns proceed without disorder. If the ruler is careless or acts against the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the movement of Yin-Yang becomes confused and the seasons fall out of their proper order. Thus the Book of Documents says: “When auspicious signs appear, rain falls at the proper time; when inauspicious signs appear, dark skies and lasting gales arise.” We can see from this that conduct begins with oneself, and the celestial patterns reveal its signs. Why wait to peer through a window before knowing? The Book of Changes says: “Words and deeds are what the noble person uses to move Heaven and Earth.”

The farther the ruler’s decrees reach, the less the ruler understands the principles of governance.

This explains the ruler who has lost the Dao: unable to remain grounded in Wuwei (non-action) and set himself right, he instead wants to issue ever more teachings to reform the people. The more numerous and far-reaching his decrees become, the further he departs from the Dao of Wuwei, and the more shallow his understanding of governance grows.

Therefore, the sage understands the world without going out.

This again explains how one can understand the world without leaving one’s door. The sage is free of affairs and acts through Wuwei, so teachings are not sent out; hence, “without going out.” By observing what is close at hand within himself, he can infer what is about to happen. When he practices Wuwei, the people are naturally transformed. Why wait until decrees have gone out before claiming to understand the world?

Without seeing with his own eyes, he can describe the nature of things.

This again explains how one can understand the Dao of Heaven without peering through a window. When a crane calls, its young answer; things respond to one another, and Heaven and Earth respond in turn. From the small, one can infer the great; by examining oneself, one can understand things beyond oneself. Auspicious outcomes are brought about by people’s conduct, and from this one can also infer the civilizing influence of peace. Why insist on seeing with one’s own eyes before describing it? Thus, without seeing with his own eyes, he can describe the nature of things.

Without deliberate action, matters are brought to completion.

This sums up the meaning of “without leaving one’s door” and “without peering through a window.” When those above act, those below are easily disturbed. The sage sits composed in the court, keeping still and refraining from issuing rash decrees. The ruler practices Wuwei, the people have no troubles, and every household lives in abundance; all forms of instruction and affairs are then accomplished naturally.

Chapter Forty-Eight: “In the Pursuit of Learning, One Gains Daily.”

In the pursuit of learning, knowledge increases day by day; in cultivating the Dao (the Way), one must diminish day by day.

Here, “doing” means cultivating and practicing, while “diminishing” means letting go and reducing. At the beginning of learning, people usually keep accumulating what they have seen and heard, taking this as progress. Once they set out on the path of cultivating the Dao, however, they must gradually let go of their accumulated practices and attachments. At first, people use knowledge to understand principles and practice techniques to make up for their shortcomings. When they finally grasp the principles, they no longer cling to words and let go of the traces left by their practice. Increasing what one has seen and heard is the starting point of cultivating the Dao; diminishing one’s practices is the gateway to awakening to the Dao.

After diminishing, one must continue to diminish, until reaching Wuwei (non-action).

The first act of diminishing is to let go of the practices undertaken while cultivating the Dao. The next is to remove even the thought, “I am letting go of my practices.” First forget the traces of cultivation, then forget the thought of forgetting those traces, so that neither thoughts nor actions remain attached. This is to reach the utmost point: Wuwei.

In Wuwei, nothing is left undone.

When one acts deliberately, one is often constrained, and so some things cannot be accomplished. Reaching Wuwei frees one from these constraints, allowing one to respond to things and act accordingly, with nothing left undone. This means that, in accord with the Dao, one can respond everywhere to all things. As the text said earlier: “The Dao constantly practices Wuwei, yet nothing is left undone.”

In governing the world, one should always take non-interference as the guiding principle.

The sage, the ideal ruler, has no fixed opinions of his own, but takes the people’s wishes as his own.

The commentary explains: The sage’s mind is empty and still, and does not cling to fixed opinions. When something in the world stirs him, he responds accordingly. The people’s circumstances differ, so the sage’s responses have no fixed pattern. Yet he always acts with compassion and a desire to help. Even when some among the people are distrustful or unkind, the sage responds to them and guides them through instruction. That is why it is said that the sage has no fixed opinions.

This passage describes how the sage responds to the different ways people behave in the world.

"I am good to those who are good, and I am also good to those who are not good; thus the De (Virtue) of the Dao is truly complete." Here "good" refers to a heart turned toward the Dao (the Way). For those whose hearts are already turned toward the Dao, the sage encourages them to keep cultivating, so that their good conduct is brought to fulfillment, and in the end they can even let go of their attachment to goodness itself. This is the deeper goodness. For those who are shaped by habitual tendencies, have lost their direction, or put their faith in what is deviant and turn away from the Dao, the sage also guides them with the way of goodness, so that they are transformed by the sage's De and come to do good.

"I am faithful to those who are faithful, and I am also faithful to those who are not faithful; thus the De of the Dao is truly trustworthy." Here "faithful" refers to hearing the principles of the Dao and practicing them sincerely, with no doubt or attachment in the heart. For such people, the sage responds with utmost sincerity and helps them strengthen their confidence. For those who are obstinate, unyielding, and turn away from teaching, the sage also guides them with an even-handed and upright conviction, so that they are transformed by the sage's De, set aside pretense, and return to sincerity.

"The sage dwells in the world, anxious and diligent without rest; for the sake of the people under heaven, they cause the people's hearts to return to simplicity." This describes how the sage enters the world and governs with care. The sage, having charge of all under heaven, is concerned that the myriad beings may not turn toward goodness and sincerity, and so they remain tireless in their diligence. While the people are not yet able to trust in goodness, the sage does not display any distinction of their own but mingles with the common people, and in this way cares for and guides them.